Sunday, November 30, 2014

Justice and punishment

Aureleus watched the woman's naked body spread out before the crowd that watched in mixed horror, excitement, and amusement. He had no doubt a few in the crowd also watched with lust. The woman hanging from the wooden cross was certainly beautiful, and the natural stretching and pulling of her body in the crux position accentuated her sexuality in rather macabre ways.

The girl's screams had died down and become loud moans, gasps and grunts; the song of the freshly crucified. At this point the condemned were still fully conscious, feeling the sharp pain and trying to cope with it however they could. The dance had begun, and she twisted in place, thrusting naked hips out, pulling them back, testing the position of her upper body and the limits of weight and motion on the spikes that held her to the cross. The victims were always driven to test the limits, trying to find a more comfortable (or less excruciatingly painful) position. After an hour or two of struggling, they settled down and simply hung, until the need to breathe forced them to move involuntarily.

He had seen it many times before, though not often with as beautiful a young woman as this. That was precisely the reason he was here, in the province of Dacia. Rumors of the unusual number of crucifixions had reached Rome. No one really cared about that, really. Local governors such as the prelate in Dacia had to be free to discipline their own people in the way that was necessary to keep order. No, what had raised eyebrows was who was being crucified.

In the past year, ten young women under the age of 21 had met their death on the cross. 13 young men under the age of 25. Older men? Only one, a notorious murderer who had been caught and executed. The disproportionate number of strong young men and women finding their fate on the cross was unusual and had caused some attention to be focused on Dacia.

Now Aureleus watched an example of what was causing the rumors. A simply gorgeous, strong, naked young girl was slowly struggling her way toward death, a death that was probably two or three days away. It was a remarkable display, and he had to admit he was more than a little aroused at the sight himself as the girl thrust her hips out again, showing her soft sex clearly, before screaming and pulling her hips back and slumping over, letting her heavy breasts fall and dangle forward.

The crucified always twisted and writhed in this way. It didn't matter who they were, male or female. Unless they had been beaten unconscious, they writhed in the most sensual, piteous way.

The trial had been quick. He had watched as two men accused the girl of killing a man in his bed and robbing him. The evidence was shaky at best, but the prelate had seemed convinced and sentenced the woman to death, to be carried out immediately.

A distinctly unusual aspect to the trial was the presence of the prelate's wife, Julia. Aureleus had never seen such a thing before. True, she simply sat by her husband's side and observed, but her mere presence at such a proceeding seemed... inappropriate.

And now, both the prelate and his wife stood with the crowd, watching the condemned girl as she struggled with agony. They seemed mutually interested. Yes, crucifixion was a horrible display that was at once sickening and fascinating. Still... Aurelius thought for a bit, looking at the husband and wife pressing their bodies against each other as they watched. There was something off here.

Aureleus turned abruptly away from the girl writhing on the cross and walked down the hill, past brush and trees that kept the top of the hill from being observed directly from the city. He was going to meet the centurion.


They met at a tavern, a small house on the edge of the city that served outlying farmers and a few travelers from the main road. They each had a mug a wine, and though Aurelius drank almost nothing, the centurion was drinking enough for both of them and rapidly getting drunk.

"Yeah, I supervise a lot of the executions around here. It isn't anything to be proud of, but it's an easy job. Makes me feel a little weird, though."

"And why is that, my friend?" Aurelius refilled the centurion's cup.

"Eh... well, I really shouldn't say. It's personal. Private, like, you know? Not something one talks about when you are in the military."

"Ah, so it is a military thing, eh?"

"No. No, no... I mean, it's just that I must have a certain loyalty to my superiors, ya know..." The centurion was getting drunker.

"I see. It has something to do with the prelate?"

"Well... it's both of them. They are both in it. Yanno, they are both people to watch out for, if you know what I mean"

"Both of them?"

"Him and his wife. The young pretty one, the waif. She has a dark streak in her, though."

Aurelius nodded knowingly. "Yes, I know them. Their type. Just a little... well, not normal."

"HA! Not normal? They are perverted. Do you know, I think they hand select some of the victims, just to get strong ones that will last, and good looking ones too. I don't know how they do it, but we always get these strong, beautiful people to nail to the tree. A lot of 'em, women, too, How many women get crucified in Rome, huh? Here, it's almost half. Seven in the last six months. And what they do..."

Aurelius leaned forward. "And what do they do?"

"God... I shouldn't say. They send me away. But they visit the execution hill at night, when no one is around. The two of them, together. The procurator and that girl that is his wife. They send the guards away. I don't know what they do. But... oh, fuck, what could they be doing?" The centurion looked out the window, took another swallow of wine and leaned back on his wooden chair with a creak.

"You've never seen what they do?"

"Well.... once. Maybe twice. It isn't something I would talk about."

"Tell me. I am curious! You can't lead me on like this, you must at least give me a hint." Aurelius was talking in a private, friendly manner, as if the conversation were between two good friends and confidants. More wine was poured.

"They do stuff. To the victims. Sexual stuff. They tease them. I've seen them masturbate a man until he spilled his seed on the ground, all the while he was moaning with agony and begging for mercy. Never thought it could happen. And once, I saw his wife, Julia, actually climb up and ride a man, fucking him right there on the cross. It was obscene, made me feel dirty. They do stuff to the women too, I am sure."

Aurelius sat back and thought for a moment. This was worse than he thought. No stranger to debauchery himself, he knew the depths to which some rulers would sink to satisfy their perversions. But this was dangerous. The populace would find out, if they didn't suspect already, and it would cause trouble.

A few more details spilled from the centurion's mouth before he sagged into unconsciousness. Apparently, the prelate and his wife were notorious for selecting prime candidates for execution and then assuring that the evidence dictated their conviction. The situation was serious; he would talk to some of the local administrators, but this couldn't continue.


After speaking with many of the administrators, it became clear the situation was worse than Aurelius had suspected. The area was on the verge of revolt, incensed by the debauchery of the ruler and his young wife, as well as their neglect of the truly needful governance that needed attention.

Aurelius sat in a large room at the palace, and had the prelate and his wife brought in.

"What is this!? Who are you, and what are you doing having me escorted by my own guards in my own home!?" The prelate was red faced angry as he was led in front of Aurelius. Julia, the wife, simply stood with a white, frightened face behind her husband, flanked by two soldiers.

"My dear prelate. My name is Antonus Aurelius and I am a judge sent as representative of the Emperor.  My business here is short and will be taken care of quickly. I have spoken with a number of people in the city, administrators, soldiers, religious and political leaders. Your governorship of this area has deteriorated in the last several years, and if something is not done now, Rome will have to deal with a revolt, a thing I will not allow to happen."

"Nonsense. Nonsense! I have discipline well in hand. Who are these liars, these traitors that dare slander me?!"

"It doesn't matter. The investigation is concluded and I act on my authority as representative of the Emperor. You and your wife are to be executed this afternoon, on the cross, nailed and hung there until you are dead, and for three days thereafter."

Soldiers grabbed the prelate and his wife and dragged them away, the prelate screaming, his young wife sobbing.

Aurelius sighed. It would be a few hours before the crucifixion. The soldiers always liked to have their way with the condemned before the actual execution took place. He turned to dine on a plate of cold lamb, grapes, and rice.


The centurion looked at Aurelius in shock, not quite able to accept what he had heard.

"Can you do it?" Aurelius asked of the soldier. "Is it feasible? Logistically, mechanically, I mean."

The centurion considered for a moment and then nodded. "Yes. Yes, I can see how it can be done. I suppose we will need some extra men to hold them in place while we nail them, but it can be done."

Aurelius nodded, pleased with the answer. "All right. Let it be done, then. Let justice be served."

The centurion snapped to attention, saluted, and left.


The prelate hung from the wall, his wrists in chains, as he watched his young wife's clothing torn from her body by the soldier. She screamed, ranted, cursed, and swore that she would revenge herself on them, but it made no difference. She was now the condemned, and was being treated like one.

Thrown down on the ground, two of the soldiers grabbed her legs and pulled them apart while a third one climbed on top of her, exposed his hardened member, and impaled her between her thighs. She didn't cry, but instead tried to head-butt the solider. He grabbed her throat and continued pushing, her body jostling and bouncing back and forth from his thrusts.

When the first soldier had ejaculated a load of slimy fluid into the prelate's wife, he switched position and let another soldier have a chance at the lovely young girl. While Julia was a thin, pretty young girl, she had a temper and will of steel and fought every soldier that mounted her. Nevertheless, five soldiers left their semen inside of her before all was done. It seeped out and down her legs in a shiny stream when she was chained to the wall next to her husband.

"You have an hour or so. We'll be back for the next part of the show." A soldier shut the door on the couple as they left.

Julia's beautiful naked body hung from chains attached to the stone wall. The chains were short enough and anchored high enough it was impossible to sit on the floor, and she sagged down, weakened by the abuse recently heaped on her.  The prelate observed her with lust; she always aroused him and now, chained and helpless as she was, raped and abused, she seemed all the more sensual and beautiful. He wondered why he had never thought of crucifying her himself. What an amazing thing that would have been!

It was still hard for either of them to believe they were to be executed on the cross. It quickly became more real when the soldiers returned an hour later, unchained them from the wall and forced them outside, where a heavy beam lay on the ground waiting for them.

"No, no! NO! You can't do this! I am the wife of the prelate, and I have done nothing!" Julia, struggling naked against the soldiers, screamed protests. It didn't matter. She was thrown on the ground and her arms forced apart and tied to the heavy wood beam.

"Get up! Get up and carry your cross!" The soldiers yelled at her, and when she resisted, one tall man took a whip and savagely sliced it across her breasts. They jiggled as she screamed from the impact and a red stripe appeared immediately. A second lash landed across her stomach, and another around her side. Julia struggled, tears streaming down her face, and finally managed to reach a standing position. The wooden beam was incredibly heavy and she was just barely able to keep it aloft without slipping to one side or another.

The prelate observed all this, restrained in chains but completely engrossed in watching his beautiful naked wife whipped, tied to a wooden crosspiece and forced to walk. He felt an erection growing, his arousal taking hold in spite of his despair and anger.

They walked out of the palace gate onto the road toward the execution hill. Julia was in the front of the group, naked and struggling to carry the heavy beam. Her struggles were evident in her body; the muscles observable straining through the flesh of her back and the back of her legs as she took each step and tried to keep the heavy beam aloft. Whenever she slowed or tried to rest, the soldier in front of her whipped her, lashing the leather around her body and yanking it away, stripping flesh away and leaving thin red stripes. Behind, the prelate walked in chains watching the show before him, a rock hard erection showing now and then as his robe drifted in the wind. His wife seemed more beautiful than ever, now that she was stripped, tied and tortured before him.

The centurion met the procession at the top of the hill. A crowd waited there. News of the crucifixion had spread rapidly, and the crowd was so thick most people could see nothing. They would have to be satisfied to simply hear the screams of the condemned.

Julia sank to her knees, letting the beam slide to the side, and then fell to the ground. The prelate watched as the soldiers, led by the centurion, dragged the long centerpiece of the cross next to where she lay on the ground. They untied Julia from the beam and it dropped to the ground, as did Julia, her exhausted but beautiful figure laying next to the wood on the ground.

It suddenly struck the prelate that there was only one cross piece, only one post, only one cross. His nude and whipped wife had carried the burden, and he had been so absorbed in the amazing sensuality of the sadistic display that he had not realized... there was no cross for him! His heart leaped, he suddenly understood. His wife Julia was the perverse one; she was being executed. While he was in shackles and undoubtedly would lose his position, the depravity of the past years would fall on her shoulders. The prelate heaved a sigh of relief and watched the show as the cross piece was nailed to the upright beam, forming the cross.

When the cross was constructed and ready the centurion gave the order and Julia was dragged over, turned onto her back, and placed on top. She struggled, but there were several soldiers that forced her arms out into position and held her in place as she kicked and yelled. She did not beg for mercy, instead she swore and threatened. This appeared to simply amuse the centurion.

With another motion, the centurion ordered the guards next to the prelate into motion. They grabbed his arms and pushed him to the cross. The prelate was confused at first. What were they doing? He didn't understand, why were they forcing him to the cross where his wife lay, ready for the nails?

He resisted and the soldiers grabbed his arms, forcing him forward. As he stood next to the cross, looking down at his wife's tear stained face, the prelate felt his robe being ripped from his body. He yelled, demanding to know what they were doing. Moments later he stood naked, his clear erection standing out for all to see. As humiliated as he was by this, his penis continued to stand at attention, pulsing slightly over his wife's naked legs.

The soldiers forced the prelate to his knees, dragging one of his legs over his wife's legs so he straddled her. He continued to struggle, but with five large men holding him, there was little he could do. His wife's naked body lay below him, and slowly the prelate was forced down on top of her, facing her. His erection pressed against her thighs, his face met hers. Julia grunted with the weight of the prelate's body as it was held on top of her. It was an incredibly erotic display, the beautiful young girl laying beneath the older man that faced her as if they were about to copulate. Two soldiers had even grabbed and separated Julia's legs so that they extended wide on either side of the prelate.

The prelate's arms were grabbed and forced up to where Julia's arms were held in position. His body now roughly conformed in position to hers, with their arms raised above their heads, against the cross.

Three men held Julia's left arm and the prelate's right arm in place as the centurion placed the point of a heavy spike against the prelate's forearm. A second before the hammer fell, the prelate realized what was happening. With careful positioning and aim, the centurion brought the hammer down on the spike with full force, penetrating the prelate's forearm, cracking his wrist bones. The prelate screamed with the sudden shock of agony, spewing spittle into the face of his wife. A second later the hammer struck again, and this time it was Julia that screamed as the spike entered her wrist, smashing it in the same manner as her husbands.

Husband and wife both struggled, flailing, screaming and writhing on the ground as the spike was driven through their wrists and into the wood beneath. The crowd made a noise, perhaps of horror, perhaps of satisfaction. Those in the back strained to listen to the nuance of the vocal agony expressed by their former rulers, wondering and imagining what the scene must look like.

Now the soldiers turned their attention to Julia's right arm and the prelate's left. They held them in position, making sure the prelate's wrist did not roll out of place over the smaller, more delicate arm of his wife. The centurion positioned the spike, then brought the mallet down hard, driving the spike all the way through the prelate's left wrist and part way into Julia's soft, weak flesh. Both victims continued their screams, their bodies pressed against each other, moving and thrashing about, but held in place by the soldiers.

Their writhing seemed overtly sexual to those that watched; the two naked bodies in the position of intercourse, her legs bent and spread and his hips on hers. They struggled together, heaving up and down, testing the strength of the spikes and reacting to the pain, but it looked as if they were writhing in sexual ecstasy.

Attention turned toward the condemned's feet. Now that they were secured to the cross by their wrists, the writhing of the condemned's limbs was troublesome but easier for the soldiers to control. Grabbing the prelate's left leg they bent the knee and forced the ankle along the side of the cross's upright beam. Then Julia's shapely right leg was forced wide to the side, away from her body. Her knee was bent and the sole of her foot placed against her husband's ankle. Held in this position, the centurion placed the spike above the top of Julia's bare foot, pressed the point into the flesh, and then hammered.

Screams and cries rang out once again as the couple had their feet nailed to the cross, knees bent. The prelate's legs protruded forward on either side of the cross, under Julia's thighs. Julia's legs were splayed wide apart, forced into the position by her nailed feet.

The soldiers took a brief rest as the couple lay on the wooden cross, sobbing but no longer writhing. The prelate simply moaned, but is wife spit obscenities toward the various soldiers and officials, the pain heightening her anger and manifesting itself as screams of rage instead of cries of pain.

Finally it was time to raise the victims into the air, on display for the crowd to see more easily. Several soldiers lifted the cross from its top, sliding the base toward the hole in the ground that had been prepared earlier. As they lifted higher the base caught in the hole and the two victims rose into view of the crowd for all to see. Their naked, sweaty bodies hung from the crossbeam, the beautiful woman with legs forced apart, the older but fit man hanging in front of her, facing her.

As the base of the cross slipped several feet into the hole the couple descended and jerked to a stop, their weight dragging and yanking on their nailed wrists. This produced new volumes of screams from both of them. At last the crucifixion was complete; the couple hung above the ground in view of the entire crowd in the obscene position into which they had been nailed. The citizens moved, jockeying for position to get the best view of Julia's body, her naked breasts pressed against the chest of the prelate, or even the prelates still erect penis where it pushed against his wife's genitals.

Never had the crowd witnessed such a humiliating execution scene.


Julia hung from the cross, sweating profusely with the intense heat of the day and the oppressive feeling of her husband's body held close to hers, and felt his cock pulsing between her legs. He disgusted her, as he had always disgusted her. He was old, and weak and perverted and had dragged her down into this abyss of perversion that was ending on the cross. The feeling of his cock made her sick, though it could be the dehydration and heat. Her hands were numb, arms a single bundle of agonizing, cramping pain that was invading her shoulders. Her feet hurt terribly, as well.

Still, the feeling of his cock aroused her, even as she hung from the tree. He had always been large, and the feeling of his member against her flesh brought back old sexual feelings. The crowd around her observed her every move, pleasuring from her agony. It was humiliating. Strangely, the humiliation aroused her further, and the cock between her legs and the humiliation together was making her... well... wet.


With a grunting of pain, the prelate lifted his hips slightly, the effort causing shock waves of pain to rip through his legs. But he was also rewarded by the feeling of his cock sliding up between Julia's thighs. The feeling of excitement mixed with his pain in a way he didn't understand, but he could feel the soft folds of her pussy just touching the sensitive glans of his cock, and this urged him on further. Another shock of pain and loud grunt and he was inside her. She reacted by moaning, either from pain or pleasure, or more probably both.

He began to thrust. It wasn't easy. They were held in place by nails, and the nails scraped and crushed bone and tendon with every small movement. In fact, it caused them both horrible pain. But there was also pleasure; their bodies pressed together in a sexual dance of pain as he thrust and she rode his cock on the cross. Julia was panting, gasping, her chest and breasts heaving up and down against him. Her head sank forward, face resting on his shoulder, a position they had experienced many times in the privacy of their bedroom. Their sweaty flesh slid and slipped against each other as they moved.

The pain was horrible. Searing, agonizing waves came over the prelate as he thrust into his wife. But the promise of one last orgasm in this life was enough to draw him on. He felt Julia shudder with pleasure as she climaxed. Seconds later he ejaculated inside her, semen spurting up straight up, contractions pulsing with one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

When it was over, he slumped down a few inches, the nails in his wrists digging into the muscles and scraping broke bone. He screamed and passed out, losing consciousness from the pain.


Julia watched as the crowd gathered around them, talking and laughing excitedly. She felt faint. It was inconceivable, having her husband penetrate and fuck her while she hung nailed from a cross in public, hundreds of people watching and observing their pain and sexual intimacy. The prelate hung in front of her, unconscious. His semen was oozing out of her now, tricking down her right leg.

Strange how with all this pain in her arms, back, and legs she could still notice his penis going flaccid and his goo on her leg. He was drooling from his mouth, as well, making her chest and left breast shiny wet. Her lower back ached from how her legs had been forced so wide apart, and she became aware that the entire city was now observing her exposed genitals, semen oozing out of her vaginal lips. She cried out in anger and pain.

The spectacle went on until dark; the two condemned hung on each other, their hands stiff claws that intertwined in a mockery of affection as if they were holding hands. In fact, their hands were ruined, all the nerves and bones leading to them smashed and broken. The moved only a little, occasionally engaging in the dance of the crucified, lifting or adjusting in a futile attempt to find a better position.

The entire city observed this spectacle until sunset, when many became bored and returned home. The cool of the night descended, and a fire was built in the execution clearing.


Late that night Aurelius approached the couple where they hung. They had not moved in some time, heads slumped down on each other's shoulders. Aurelius observed them closely and then reached out to touch the prelate's flaccid cock where it hung down between his legs. As he stroked it he sensed it was alive, pulsing and slowly reacting to the touch. Continuing his masturbation of the prelate's member, Aurelius also reached a finger up to press between the folds of Julia's cunt. The soft flesh separated for him and he quickly found her clit.

As the prelate's cock grew hard from manipulation Aurelius lifted and directed it upward toward the flesh of Julia's cunt lips. He pressed the glans against the female organs, encouraging mutual stimulation.

The prelate groaned, and whispered in a harsh low voice, "you bastard... " But he moved his hips, unable to stop himself. Julia could not stop the movement and simply hung there as once again the prelate was urged and aroused and finally penetrated her. Though weak, the prelate had sufficient strength to thrust slowly but surely deeper and deeper into his wife.

Aurelius assisted in the fucking, lifting the prelate's ass up in rhythm with his thrusts for deeper penetration. The centurion stood nearby and watched, a smirk on his face.

The blood had trickled down from the victims' wrists and covered their feet, but overall the condemned had not lost a lot of blood. As Aurelius urged on and assisted this last agonizing rape, the movement caused new bleeding from the feet of both victims. The grunted, mostly from pain, as the fucking continued slowly but surely.

Aurelius observed the pulsing cock contractions when the prelate reached climax. Julia had not had an orgasm, but it didn't matter to him. Pleasure was not the purpose of this exercise; it was humiliation.

Water was given to the crucified couple, a sponge filled with cold liquid offered several times. This was no favor, it was a cruelty for it would prolong their suffering. Many victims of the cross died from dehydration fairly quickly.


Four days later the prelate hung dead from the cross, but Julia still lived. Each night Aurelius visited and took the prelate's cock and rubbed it against Julia's cunt. Julia was aware of what was happening, felt the humiliation as the soldiers watched. The pain from the nails had dulled to a massive ache that covered her entire body.

Even after he was dead, the prelate's cock was rubbed against Julia's cunt, and even forced partway inside. The young girl begged for mercy in her dry, gasping voice, but none came. The body attached to her had begun to stink, and the flies crawled everywhere, into her eyes, her nose, her mount, even her ears. It was hell not to be able to brush them away, but everything was hell when nailed to a cross.

On the sixth day Julia died. She had been silent and unmoving for at least a day before, but her breathing continued as a slow grating sound.

On the seventh evening Aurelius came, covering his nose against the smell of decay, gathered the dead prelate's cock one last time, shoving it up inside the dead girl's cunt. It stayed there along with the bodies for another seven days, a display and warning to others, just as with all crucifixions.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

The Toy

Hanging from the cross was a young man, arms stretched wide, muscles straining from pain and stress, hard stomach palpitating as his body insisted on trying to continue breathing.  A perfect specimen to watch as he suffered, agonized and desperate. He made small grunting noises with each breath.

What attracted both the prelate and his wife the most was how his legs were bent, splayed wide apart at the knee, drawing back to where feet crossed with a heavy spike fastening them to the wooden cross. The young man's genitals were fully exposed, flopping slightly from the shaking of his body as it hopelessly struggled to survive.

He had been hanging there for almost a day, and wasn't in good health. The area around his body smelled of urine, feces, sweat, and pain. Yet, he was young and strong, and would survive a while longer. The flickering torch light emphasized the strong muscles and wiry frame of the young victim, a handsome thief convicted of murdering a local prostitute.

"I want him," Julia said quietly, her eyes shining as she stared at the bundle of agony hanging before her.

"How?" the prelate asked.

"I don't know. A ladder. Something to get me up there. I can get him hard, I know it. I just need something to get me up there and in position. I want to feel him inside me. I want to feel his pain inside me."

"I guess... maybe we can get a stool or something. You could hang on once you mounted him?" The prelate was rock hard under his cloak. The idea of watching his pretty, nubile young wife ride a crucified man was very appealing to him. He only regretted it wasn't something he could do.

They called the centurion from where he had been sent down the hill, and gave instructions. The thick, muscular warrior nodded, understanding, and stumped down the hill, leaving the prelate and Julia alone with the victim once again.  Julia approached the young man and began playing with his cock.

"What... what is .... " the man knew something was happening. "What... I don't understand... aaaaaaaagggg...."

His protests ended in a cry as his hips shifted instinctively, which set off a chain reaction of severe muscle cramps in his shoulders and back.  His hands and upper arms had gone numb several hours before, but the pain of crucifixion had continued in other, never ending ways. Thirst was all consuming, he skin was on fire from being in hot sun all day, every muscle in his body cramped, the shattered bones in his feet were agonizing, the flies that landed on his face were unbearable; his entire body shuddered in pain. Except... for that one area... where she was playing.  The beautiful woman that had been watching him.

It was nearly a half hour before the centurion returned with the requested stool. He set it next to the prelate, and then descended the hill to where he and his men had been relegated, away from the condemned, to give the debauched prelate and his wife privacy.

By now, the crucified man was whimpering in a combination of pain and pleasure; the woman below him was very, very good. Patiently working on him, she focused on his most sensitive spots until his penis became engorged with blood, hardening and growing in size. The confusion in his brain was overwhelming. His body was dying, and yet struggling not to die, the pain was everywhere, searing agony, and yet he was hard and ready for her. It made no sense. It simply ... was.

She climbed the stool. Her face drew close to his. He saw her; she was gorgeous. Perfect features, and very, very young. The kind he would have... and perhaps had, killed to obtain. Thin, light skin, dark golden hair that reflected the firelight. He couldn't help but think sexual thoughts about her. He might be dying, but he was still a man.

Julia looked at the man's handsome face, carefully. He really was a good specimen. Good teeth, strong jaw, dark eyes... her hand reached out and caressed his cheek. He had several days of beard growing, scruff that aroused her even more. There was drool over his chin, though his lips were dried and parched from dehydration. She pressed her body against his, feeling his muscles move and shift so very slightly as he breathed, hanging slightly forward and out from the wooden cross.

She lifted the long drape of cloth from her dress above her hips and gathered it around her waist exposing her ass and genitals. Standing up straight on the stool, she was just able to find the thief's cock and slip it between her thighs, sliding it between her legs slowly. It was still several inches from her pussy, but that was OK. She wanted to relish this moment, feel the throbbing of his cock before she let him enter her.

The prelate watched his wife spread her legs slightly and then squeeze together. The tip of the man's cock was visible momentarily, protruding from between the back of her thighs. She then pushed her hips outward and the cock slid back, the tip disappearing between her legs.

"Aaa..... AAAAGGGHHHH" the crucified victim screamed in agony, for he had automatically thrust his hips forward. Any movement, any change in body position, made his pain increase and ripple in new and horrible ways. And yet... this beautiful woman, this nubile beauty was here, pressing her body against his, sliding his cock between her legs. The mixture of pain and pleasure deconstructed his last vestiges of sanity. Rationality left him and he became nothing but a simple bundle of flesh experiencing the pleasure/pain. The pleasure and pain became one.

Unable to participate, unable to move, unable to embrace the woman before him, the crucified man was being used as a toy. His body, his pain, his humiliation, had become this young girl's plaything.

Julia slid the gasping victim's cock higher between her legs until it pressed against the soft folds of her pussy flesh. She moaned when she felt the hardness pressing, pulsing against her, but held off inserting it while she pressed against the thief and felt his hard muscles contracting and shuddering with the pain and pleasure. He was whimpering now, a sound that drove Julia wild. She loved it, for it was the epitome of both pleasure and pain. She wanted both. She had to have both.

Standing just behind his wife's raised skirt and slightly separated legs the prelate watched as she teased the cock, sliding her wet lips over it, moistening it, getting it ready for insertion. The prelate had his own cock out and was masturbating in time with his wife's movements. This was the best experience yet, though he wanted to see more suffering from the crucified man. He wasn't suffering enough. There should be more pain.

The cock slid inside. Julia's gasp and moan was met with a howl of pain from the hanging man as the pain in his hips, legs and feet cramped and flashed across his lower body. He had thrust his hips upward, but the angle of this movement had made the spikes in his feet press and tear tendons, pushing delicately broken bones aside, and renewed cramps in his hips and thighs. "aaag... aghaggggg... eeaaghhhh...aaaaa!" the man gasped and cried out.

His cries increased piteously as Julia began a slow rotation of her hips, sliding his cock deep inside her and then sliding out. It took a lot of effort on her part to get the motion right, given she was standing upright on a stool, fucking a man hanging from a cross unable to move anything but his hips. She was on tip toe much of the time, getting enough space to pull the cock most of the way out of her, and then sinking down. He was large, and felt good.

What felt the best though was the knowledge of the pain. She pressed against him, caressed his naked body, feeling the pain, testing the misery, absorbing the agony. It got her off. Quite simply, it was the man's searing torture that was driving her to orgasm. Having the tormented body actually inside of her, that was the ultimate. She wanted his seed inside her. She wanted to feel his agony spill into her pussy.

The prelate watched the spectacle as he stroked his cock. He felt the coming orgasm, and tried to hold it off. He wanted to keep his pleasure going as long as his wife was on the stool, tormenting and torturing the poor soul hanging from the cross with mixed pleasures and pain.  Still, there was a moment when he saw the man thrust his hips deep inside, his wife's pussy flesh stretched and hugging the wide cock, and at the sound of the victim's howl of pain at his own thrust the prelate's cock exploded, spurting semen out over his wife's bare legs, onto the stool, onto the dirt below him.

The crucified man continued to cry out, and Julia's guttural sex noises joined him as she moved her hips, forcing him to join her in a macabre union. When he came inside of her, spurting his seed in a shuddering orgasm, his cries of pleasure were indistinguishable from his cries of pain. Julia knew, though. She could feel it. And she came as well, her nipples hard, her hips thrusting, her hands grasping the naked, sweaty, rippling muscled flesh of the hanging man.

When it was over, Julia reached down and felt not only her own wetness between her legs, but the slimy feeling of semen trickling out. She curled her fingers, gathering some of the copious cum and raising it to the contorted face of the confused man before her. She smeared the white viscous liquid over his face, then kissed his lips and dismounted him.

The crucified man, unable to move, hung naked on the cross. His crying produced no tears, there was no water left in his body for that luxury. Quietly, in almost a whimper as his cock slowly lost its erection, he could be heard to ask, "why..... oh, why....." His head sagged down.

Hidden in the bushes and trees a short way down the hill the centurion watched as the young body of the prelate's wife was covered with her dress once again, and the prelate put his member, still hard, back inside his robes. It had certainly been a show. He had never seen a woman that beautiful naked, and certainly not having sex. And certainly not having sex with a man currently nailed to a cross. He had started to masturbate himself, but the agonized cries of the crucified man had been too much for him. He stopped, and simply watched.

That morning when his time on duty was over and he returned to the barracks, he ran the scene over in his head once more, and this time he did masturbate, spurting his own cum over his bare stomach.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Crucified Female, Again

The prelate was pleased that his new young wife had joined him in the sadistic fetishes his office allowed him to indulge.  They now visited the crucifixion hill about once a month to observe and play with the condemned as they suffered.

Since they had begun to share this activity Julia had become sexually insatiable. Her wild and passionate love making was all the prelate had ever hoped for in a young woman. Their shared lust blossomed and filled their nights.

It peaked when their was an execution. Julia would begin asking about the next crucifixion, who it would be, when it would be. As the time approached and anticipation built, their sexual encounters became more wild, dangerous, and frequent. The day before an execution Julia would sometimes come to the prelate during an audience with other officials, make an excuse to draw him away, and then take him just outside the great hall where surely their cries of lust and pleasure could be overheard echoing against the stone walls.

One night Julia was laying on her side while the prelate penetrated her from behind, his arms around her breasts as he pushed deep into her. One of her legs was raised and thrust back over him to expose herself and give him access more easily, and her soft panting as he thrust encouraged him on.

In front of them the door to their chamber opened and Julia's new maid Hestia entered, intruding on the couple's passion. She stopped in surprise, flushed, and began to back out.

"I'm sorry, m'lady... I thought you had said to come..."

"Wait!" Julia called out at the maid turned to go.  The prelate stopped his thrusting in surprise, wondering what was happening. The household staff were Julia's responsibility.

"Did you see what is happening here?" Julia asked sternly, allowing the prelate's member to slip out of her as she rolled over and then rose out of the bed.

"Yes, ma'am... I didn't mean to intrude..." Hestia stood uncertain.

"Did it arouse you?" Julia, still naked, walked closer to the maid. Julia had a spectacular body; smooth and young, firm, perfect pert breasts and long strong legs.

Hestia lowered her head and said, "I mean no disrespect, but... of course, you and your husband are..."

"Join us." Julia said. The maid opened her eyes wide and the prelate looked a little shocked, though pleased. Julia took Hestia's hand and pulled her toward the bed. Her dress slipped off quickly, revealing a supple body almost as beautiful as Julia's. Julia's hands slid slowly over the curves of her flesh, sliding over nipples as they became hard, guiding the girl to lay on the bed and spread her legs.

The three made love, and when the prelate grew tired and spent, Julia continued with Hestia, wringing more orgasms from her, exploring her body and penetrating it in ways not even her husband had. The early morning sun found the three of them in a tangle of exhausted and sweaty limbs, sleeping together soundly.

Hestia was drawn into a continuing affair with the prelate and his wife which went on for several weeks. It was pleasurable, yes. She enjoyed it, and found that she became a favorite in the palace. Yet she sensed that Julia was insatiable and desired more than she could ever give. Julia was dangerous, the situation was dangerous, and Hestia became frightened.

It still came as a surprise when she was arrested. Three guards found her where she was washing clothes near the back of the palace, grabbed her and placed her in irons. She was dragged before the prelate in his council hall where she stood dazed.

Julia stood on the dais with her husband, looking upset. She pointed at the maid, declaring in a loud voice, "There she is! The thief! She has been robbing me blind for the last month!"

Hestia stood in disbelief as two rather nasty looking men were brought forward and when questioned, admitted that they had purchased personal items of value from the maid such as a pearl hair comb, a gold necklace, and other jewelry. Hestia cried out that she had not taken these things, but Julia stood tall and said, "I saw you. I saw you last night when you though I was asleep, you took my onyx clasp when you left the room!"

That was it. The evidence was in. In spite of her protests, Hestia stood in shock as the prelate pronounced the guilty verdict and sentenced her to execution on the cross two days hence. She was then dragged away, weakened with shock and unable to walk. Taken to a dank cellar of the west wing of the palace, she was thrown into a dark windowless cell with no furniture and a dirt floor. A heavy door shut and she curled up in darkness.

Late that night, Julia came to the cell to visit her maid. Hestia fell on her face, begging for mercy, assuring her mistress that she had not stolen.

"Of course you didn't, dear. I sold some of those items and the rest are safe where they belong. But you... well, you are doomed. I just came to touch you, to observe you, to feel your anguish and see what it is like for you to know that soon you will be nailed to a tree and hung naked for all to see until you die. Tell me. Tell me what you feel."

Julia reached out to Hestia, the woman she had kissed and made love to for more than a month, and caressed her young pretty face, raising it so she could see.  Hestia sobbed, pleading for mercy. Julia reached out, slipping her hand under the woman's thin robe, touching the fine shape of her soft breasts, feeling the gasping sobs. She raised Hestia up until she was on her knees, and then bent and kissed her full on the lips.

"I look forward to experiencing your suffering, Hestia. I have looked forward to it and felt it each time I touched your beautiful body for the last few weeks." Julia ran her fingers through the young maid's hair, caressing her, and then stood and left the cell.

They don't bother to feed condemned prisoners, so two days later when the door opened and Hestia was pulled out of the darkness, she was faint with hunger. They gave her water, which she gulped down. She didn't realize it would probably be the last drink of her life, but she drank as if it was.  The guards then led her up the stone stairs to a small private courtyard where the prelate and Julia waited with several others, including a rough looking man wearing black clothing.

The guards pulled Hestia over to a tall pole in the middle of the courtyard. Hestia had never seen an execution so she had no idea that she would be first whipped. Her arms were pulled high above her head, stretching her lean body out. The Centurion then grabbed her robe and pulled, yanking hard and tearing the material until it fell away from her body. Hestia hung naked before those gathered to observer her punishment.

The prelate gave the signal and the man in black, the executioner, took a cruel looking whip and swung it around several times, finally letting it loose so that it kissed Hestia's naked body. At this first stroke, Hestia screamed loudly, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Her naked body wriggled, uselessly struggled to get free as the whip swung around and struck her again.

"Thank you so much for letting me watch, my dear," Julia whispered to her husband as she watched red streaks appear on the back of her former lover. "I'm so excited!"

The prelate kissed his young wife, and turned to watch the spectacle himself. Stroke after stroke slowly turned the young girl's back into a criss cross of bright red cuts which bled in trickles down. She had stopped struggling now, her weak condition bringing her to a state of exhaustion, but the whipping continued.

39 strokes. 41 was considered a death sentence and never administered. Hestia hung limp, her young body still shapely in spite of the ragged wounds from the whip. They left her hanging there as the guards brought over the heavy cross beam to which she would be nailed. It wasn't common to have the female condemned carry the patibulum, but Julia had insisted. She wanted to see Hestia struggle and work to drag it to the place of her execution.

They took Hestia down, and she collapsed next to the heavy beam. Tying her arms to the beam, the guards then prodded and forced the girl to struggled to her feet. The beam was incredibly heavy for the small girl and she tipped over, falling from the weight.

Julia watched in fascination as Hestia struggled, trying to give up but prodded with spears and the whip to get up and carry the cross beam. The prelate in turn watched his wife observing her gorgeous face and body as she focused on the victim's pain, wishing he could take her right then. Her leaned over to her and whispered.

"I want to fuck you now, when the nails go into her wrists. I need to feel you. I want to thrust into you as the nails go in."

Julia turned her head to her husband, not taking her eyes off the victim. "I want you too. I need you pounding inside me. Her pain is my pleasure. But the execution is public..."

 Hestia finally was on her feet and struggling out the gate to the road which would ascend the hill to the crucifixion place. The road was already lined with many people who were waiting to observer the spectacle of a young girl stripped and whipped, struggling with the heavy patibulum up the hill where she would be nailed. Word had gotten out it was a special execution; the victim was a young and lovely girl. Men and a few women jeered and laughed at Hestia as she struggled along the dirt road.

The girl couldn't make it to the top of the hill. She collapsed and no amount of prodding could get her to move more than a few feet, so the guards lifted the beam between them and dragged her the last 100 yards. There they dropped her on her back with a *whump*, which in turn pulled a scream from the poor girl.

The prelate and his wife arrived soon after. The crowd of onlookers was pushed back to create a space and the executioner got to work. Producing heavy spikes, he knelt beside the girl's outstretched arms which were still tied to the beam. Placing one spike at just the right spot at the small, delicate wrist, he raised his hammer.  Hestia saw the hammer go up and screamed out, realizing what was about to happen.

"NO! No! Please, mercy no!!!!"

Her cry morphed into a guttural scream when the hammer slammed into the nail which pierced her flesh and drove through her arm, spreading and separating the bones in her wrist. She continued screaming as the spike was pounded through the arm, out the other side and into the heavy wood beneath.

Hestia's naked body was writhing on the ground from the pain. The crowd, pushed back a ways, watched the obscene sight of the young girl exposing herself, unaware of anything but her vain struggles. Those who had gathered to watch but could not see listened to the young girlish screams, and envisioned what was happening so close to them.

The executioner switched sides, positioned the nail, and slammed it through the remarkably white, smooth flesh of the young girls wrist. Three strokes was all it took to drive it through the flesh and bone and embed it well in the wood. The girl continued to scream from the pain, though her cries began to quiet as her strength and voice failed. Her legs kicked, pushing against the dirt below her, aimlessly trying to move her body.

Guards removed the rope which had held Hestia's arms to the wood beam. They were no longer needed; the nails served to keep her arms in place. They dragged Hestia over to where the stipes was embedded in the ground. The stipes was a permanent post used for crucifixions; the victim was nailed to the patibulum and then raised to the top of the stipes where the victim would hang on display until dead.

The guards lifted the small girl's form on short ladders until the crossbeam slid over the top of the upright stipes and then slid down into place. Hestia moaned and grunted, unable to scream as more and more of her weight was supported by the nails through her wrists. She continued gasping, her chest and stomach expanding in and out, breasts heaving, legs swinging idly.

During this process Julia had positioned herself to stand just in front of the prelate. She felt him behind her, pressing into her body through her robe. He had an erection which pressed into her buttocks. She reached around discreetly and took it in hand, grabbing it through the cloth of his royal robe, and squeezing it. He moaned, placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her back against him as they watched Hestia raised into place.

The perverted couple watched as the young girl they had debauched and used in sex games for the last few weeks hung from the cross, dangling from nails in her wrists, struggling weakly. Julia continued to massage the prelates massive cock, guiding it to press between her buttocks even though they were both clothed with robes. All eyes were on the poor girl hanging naked from the cross.

It took a while for the guards and Centurion to put away the materials they had used so far, and while they were working elsewhere Hestia simply hung in place, in agony, weight completely held by two small spikes which had shattered through her wrists. She struggled to breathe, sweat poured down her face, her legs kicked against the stipes, which was rubbed smooth from prior executions.

Finally the executioner brought the final nail over. Two guard grabbed Hestia's pretty legs, bending them at the knee and lifting them slightly. The girl was small, and so her feet was positioned higher up the stipes than previous prisoners. When the angle of the legs was right, her knees were spread to expose her naked genitals and her feet placed one on top of each other against the cross. The executioner took the last spike, placed the point on the top foot just below the ankle, and then hammered.

As the final spike pushed and spread the foot bones apart, Hestia screamed once again, raggedly, painfully, releasing all her agony out into one single long scream that ended in a gurgling silence broken only by the last two metallic clangs of the hammer driving the spike home into the wood.

It was done. Hestia was nailed to the cross. The prelate felt his wife stroking his hardened member rapidly, and released his lust in a shuddering orgasm. He spurted semen out, wetting the inside of his robe, urged on by his wife's young but experienced hand. He made no noise except a very quiet groan as he ejaculated, his eyes on the face of his former lover contorted with agony on the cross.

And so began Hestia's ending. She would not move from this last place, this last position. The crowd gathered around her, observer her exposed body, leering over her clear agony. Some members of the crowd left, overwhelmed by the display, unable to take it. Others remained, watching this odd decoration in horrible fascination.

It was always the same, and though Hestia was younger, more beautiful, and smaller than most victims of the cross, her behavior was the same. At first, she hung there, rasping breath going in and out, head sagging. Sweat from the direct sun trickled down her body. This loss of water would be part of her undoing; the heat would leech the water out of her body and quicken dehydration and death. After about an hour, she urinated. She did it intentionally, letting her bladder go, unable to hold it. She turned her head to the side in humiliation.

After two hours she raised herself for the first time. Most victims raised themselves earlier, for some reason Hestia hung still for longer. With a scream and grunting agony, she pushed on the nail that spiked her feet, pulled on the nails in her wrists, and pushed as upright as she could. The position relieved some of the building pain throughout her shoulders, arms, back and hips, but came with a price. Her weight was transferred to the incredibly sensitive nerves in her feet, which made her scream out in pain once again, and slide back down.

At this display, the prelate and his wife left Hestia to dine at home. They would return later that night. They would clear the area of guards and spectators if there were any. Then they would make love to each other in front of her where she could see, and perhaps even work to stimulate and sexually arouse the poor girl suffering on the cross, her agony adding to their perverse pleasure. She was their lover, even while suffering on the cross. Perhaps... because she was suffering on the cross.

The prelate and his wife were sinking deeper into their debauched sadistic obsession.

Wednesday, January 29, 2014


Paul knew he wasn't normal. He had never been normal. He didn't care. Being abnormal was the only thing that made him feel real. Being a masochist wasn't easy.

It started at an early age, long before he lost his virginity. He tied himself up, and played with bizarre toys. When his parents left him home alone, he took pencils, wrapped socks around them and stuck them up his ass. He started giving himself enemas, each time increasing the amount of water he took in until his stomach was distended and cramped horribly. He masturbated during these times, finding the excitement of immobility and pain merely made the orgasms more intense, more pleasurable. Paul found he loved losing control, and most of all he loved pain. He wanted someone to hurt him. He dreamed of it.

The problem was that very few people were willing to accommodate his fetishes. Girlfriends left him once he started begging for more than just being tied up. He tried the gay community for a while, which got him closer to his desires than anything he had experienced, but in the end there was too much fear and caution. No one wanted to cut him, crush him, squeeze him, penetrate him, or hurt him the way he desired, the way he needed in order to feel as alive as he wanted.

Alice wasn't normal either. When Paul met her at the club he was fascinated by her dark black hair, light skin, multiple piercings, and aggressive attitude. She was anorexically thin, though she was wiry and very strong. Her face was beautiful, in a gaunt, emaciated way. She was hyper, drank heavily, and lost herself in frantic, violent dance at the clubs.

When he had first approached her and tried one of his pickup lines she had literally kicked him in the testicles and walked away. Paul collapsed in a fetal position and watched her incredibly tight jeans as she left.

The next evening he approached her again and thanked her for last night, asking if she was free for a dance. She looked at him with an odd coyness, grabbed his gonads and twisted as hard as she could while pressing her body up against his. Paul whimpered, tears coming to his eyes and he sank to his knees as she continued squeezing as hard as she could. When she finally released him he fell over to his side, curled in a ball on the dance floor, and wheezed "thank you".

She later confessed that what convinced her to start seeing him was the massive erection she had felt during the entire time she was crushing his balls as hard as she could.

A year later Paul lived life at least somewhat satisfied and happy. Alice detested him as a human being, and enjoyed finding new ways to hurt him and humiliate him. He loved Alice because she humiliated him, rejected him and hurt him in imaginative and unexpected ways. She made him do disgusting things, everything from consuming her body fluids to going to the movies while wearing a shock collar that she would activate during chase scenes. They had passionate, frantic sex that involved an equal amount of semen and blood exchange, both coming from Paul. They were a perfect pair and were often seen together at clubs and bars.

One night after Alice had brutally ass fucked Paul with the next in an increasing array of larger and larger dildos, they collapsed in a sweaty heap of naked flesh, intertwined and sated. Alice had reached climax twice and Paul had spurted semen onto the bare sheets of the bed once, when his anus had split and started bleeding from Alice's frantic thrusting. The pain was excruciating for him, which was what had brought both of them to orgasm.

Alice lay close to Paul, holding the dildo strapon covered with his blood and smears of shit. She idly ran it over his chest and face, leaving red and brown streaks.

"You know Paul, I was thinking of maybe getting you a genital lock of some sort. Maybe a male chastity device. I have seen some that work with small spikes on the inside, so if you get an erection, you end up impaling yourself. It might be fun to watch you get aroused. Or try, at least."

Paul grimaced at the thought. "OK..." he said slowly.

Alice grinned. "Yeah. Just the thing."

"You know..." Paul began hesitantly.

"Fucking pussy. Don't tell me that's your limit," Alice looked at him with disgust.

"No. If you wish to do that, it would be my pleasure to suffer for you in that way. I have just been thinking recently.... well, more quite some time, actually..." Paul hesitated again.

"What is it my little bitch?"

"Well. Something I have never had the nerve to really talk about out loud. Except... well, you know me so well. My insides. My desires. Most people would think me crazy," Paul turned his head and kissed Alice. Their saliva mixed as did a bit of Paul's blood and shit from the dildo Alice had rubbed across his lips moments before. They were used to exchanging any and all body fluids.

They broke the kiss and Paul continued. "Ever since I was a teenager, I have been fascinated with crucifixion. I have dreamed about it. Read about it. I know everything about it, how it worked, its variations, the pain, the humiliation, the process, the way people died."

As Paul talked, his cock grew hard. Alice notice this change in him as he talked about the torture. Long before Paul was done talking, his cock was stiff and throbbing. This guy is sicker than I am, she thought. Then she thought... maybe not.

"So," Paul finally got to the point, "I have always dreamed of being crucified. For real. Nailed to a cross, hung up there, in agony. Knowing that I was completely helpless, unable to move from that position, never able to free myself. Simply.... slowly feeling my body deteriorate in agony while others watched."

"Right," Alice said. "And you want me to crucify you. And get arrested and sent to prison for 20 years. I would rather castrate you and make you live with your balls in a jar."

Paul smiled. He loved Alice more than anything in the world.

"We would work it out. An alibi. Cover evidence. I could disappear. No one would know. Except for you, and whomever you invited to watch."

Alice frowned and looked at him. "Watch?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if you want to. But part of the humiliation is being out on display, having no control over who sees you suffering." Paul's cock continued throbbing. He sighed. "Stupid idea, and I suppose I wouldn't really want it."

"I don't think so. You aren't worth the risk of jail time," Alice said. She straddled Paul and took his hard member in hand pressing the tip against her pussy before sinking down on it. Paul grunted in pleasure as Alice began a slow up and down movement with her hips, leaned forward and slowly squeezed Paul's neck. She didn't cut off his blood flow completely but slowed it down enough his head pulsed and throbbed and he had trouble breathing. He heaved and gasped as the two of them fucked faster and faster, reaching simultaneous screaming orgasms as Alice suddenly released Paul's neck, letting the blood rush back into his brain as she thrust her hips down onto him as hard as she could to feel him deep, deep inside.

"Hey, Paul, are you OK?" The store manager looked concerned and frowned at the bruise on Paul's neck.

"Yeah, sure. I just had a little tussle with a guy over some bitch at a club. It's OK, all straightened out." Paul didn't know if his explanation would satisfy his boss. The bruise was the left over abrasion suffered the other night when Alice had gotten pissed off and strangled him until he passed out.

She was one crazy bitch. He knew she didn't mean it though. She never did. Not really. She just liked to see him squirm, and had a bit of a temper. And liked pain. His pain. Yep, she was a crazy bitch, and he was completely OK with that.

"OK, Paul, but listen. You need to watch yourself, don't get into all these fights. I worry about your safety. Plus, it isn't good for work, I can't have someone servicing customers that looks like he has been beaten up."

"Sure, boss. I know. I will be more careful." Paul pulled his collar up and moved behind the counter. He had been with Alice for a year now, and she was everything he desired. She was like a drug that was terribly bad for him but he simply could not give up. He helped the last customer, and then moved to lock up.

It was late at night when he left the back of the store, the only employee left. The back parking lot was dark except for the one bulb over the back door. His car was alone, at the back of the lot, and he started walking towards it when a truck drove up. It was Alice. He wasn't expecting her, but felt happy to see her when she opened the passenger door and said "Get in."

Alice never asked him. She ordered him around. It could be embarrassing, but it was their relationship and ultimately very fulfilling for him. He got in and closed the door. "My car is over there. Shouldn't I--"

He was cut off when Alice shoved a cloth in his face. He didn't resist; he seldom resisted her, and the few times he did he regretted it later. It only took about 5 seconds for the ether in the cloth to knock him unconscious.

Consciousness slowly returned to Paul, the haze and cobwebs of ether dissipating as he opened his eyes and focused slowly. He was someplace strange that he didn't recognize. A massive, tall wood ceiling was overhead. He lay on his back staring up at it. It was old, made of weathered wood planks with cracks of daylight shining through.

He tried to get up, but was unable to. His arms were stretched to the sides and wrists were tied down. As his awareness became sharper, He struggled a little, testing the strength of the ties. He was secure. The knots were tight and the style was one he knew -- Alice. Struggling would make the knots tighter and cut off blood flow causing excruciating pain.

A noise drew his attention. Alice entered through a large doorway that swung open, accompanied by two girls he knew as friends of hers, Jenn and Sandi. They didn't associate with him so he knew them only slightly; they were lesbians that didn't like men, so his only contact with them was one time when they had kicked him in the balls while he was tied to Alice's kitchen table.

Jenn was a pretty brunette with long hair and a number of piercings. She dressed and looked like a goth slut, which she was, though she was lesbian. Sandi was blond and skinny, but had large breasts; her short hair was cut in a page boy or pixie cut. Her cute face and demeanor belied a cruel side that came out around men. She loved to hurt them, both emotionally and physically.

"He's awake," Jenn said.

Paul was still a little groggy but managed to ask with a thick tongued voice, "Where am I?"

"Doesn't matter, Paul," Alice said as she approached him and knelt down next to his head. "You are going to die here, and that's all you really need to know. Taste that bit of knowledge for a moment. Get used to it."

Paul's head suddenly cleared and he evaluated his situation. He was laying on his back, arms spread wide and tied to a large wooden beam that stretched underneath his shoulders and out along his arms. He struggled momentarily, but the beam was heavy and it was impossible to get up. The slip knots squeezed his wrists tighter, cutting off some circulation. He also determined he was naked, completely.

A pang of fear ran through his stomach. Alice didn't joke about things like this. He was secured, and if she said he was going to die, he felt sure she intended for that to happen. He looked up at her smirking face. God, she was beautiful, even now, in this situation, he melted. He wanted no one but her, and for her to hurt him. Bad.

Alice stood, and went over to where Jenn and Sandi stood. "He's awake enough. Let's get him going before we lose too much of the day."

"Fine. Do we nail him now, or later?" Sandi's question invoked another stab of fear through Paul's stomach. Nails?

"Prop him up against that bench. I want to make him come first, so he doesn't have as much sexual arousal. I want him to just hurt, not get off on it." Alice had a nasty look on her face as she walked around behind Paul's head.  Sandi went around to help her, but Jenn just watched as they dragged Paul up.

As they picked him up, Paul realized he was tied to a wood cross, made of very heavy beams. Sandi and Alice strained to lift him up into a semi-reclined position. Behind his back was another beam extending well below his legs; he also realized his ankles were tied to the beam. He was tied in a classic crucifixion posture on a heavy wooden cross. The recognition of what was happening hit him like boxer's blow to the stomach.

Alice had listened to him rambling about his crucifixion fantasies, and was actually going to do it.

"Wait. Alice, this isn't right. I never meant for you to actually--" Paul's protest was cut off when the cross was dropped a foot or so down onto the bench and a grunt was forced from his lungs with the sudden jolt.

"Can I hurt him, Alice? Huh? I wanna start." Jenn started moving toward Paul's stretched, prostrate body.

"Fuck off Jenn. He is mine, I get him first. You can make him scream later, I'm going to do this first!" Alice was lighter than Jenn, but her dominant attitude came out and she was no one to trifle with. Skinny, yes. But muscular and quick. Jenn backed off a step as Alice moved around and took Paul's cock in her hand.

"See, Paul? You really do want this. It is your dream, and I am going to give it to you. Believe me, I am going to give it to you." She began stroking Paul's already rock hard cock. It was true, Paul wasn't hurting yet, but the anticipation of being tortured by these three women was getting to Paul's fetish and his cock was hard.

"Jenn come here. If you really want some fun, fine. Grab his balls and squeeze all you want. It makes him come faster." Alice continued stroking as she moved to the side, allowing Jenn access. Jenn took Paul's testicles in hand, squeezing as hard as she could, then twisting. Paul yelped, moaned, and then let out a slight scream from the pain as it hit him. Alice was right though, the pain actually made him more aroused, and his hips began thrusting slightly. The pain of his balls being crushed by Jenn just made his cock harder, and he felt like the sperm was being forced out of his testicles, getting ready for ejaculation.

"Aaah! Ahha! Acck! Oh my god, that hurts, Oh, god, aaaah!" Paul grunted and called out as Jenn used her thumb and fingers to press in, trying as hard as she could to rupture his balls before Alice could make him ejaculate. It didn't work; the more she squeezed, the more the pain aroused him and the faster he would come. In barely two minutes he felt the semen flowing and the muscles contracting. He spurt up, straight out over his stomach, all the way on to his chest.

When he was done, Alice kept going, stroking his now super sensitive cock. Paul strained against the ropes that held him, and moaned, "Please, god, no Alice, that's terrible, its too sensitive, please stop!!!"

The ropes grew tighter around his wrists as he thrashed and pulled, cutting off circulation. His hands throbbed. He struggled against his ankle ties, as well, but it was no use. Alice kept on, stimulating him past his breaking point until he sobbed, begging for relief. Jenn stopped trying to crush his balls, but Alice kept stroking, and after about 10 minutes was rewarded by a second, less powerful but very real ejaculation of semen. She finally stopped.

"Fuck... just... fuck that was intense," Paul gasped. His penis was still hard, though sore. His hands and feet ached from the lack of circulation, and he lay still on the wooden cross. He rested as the three girls went to the side of the barn, gathering some things. He wasn't paying attention.

Until they arrived with the spikes and mallet.  He saw the mallet first. It was a huge thing, with a heavy metal head. It looked like it was a sledge hammer designed to drive steel rail spikes on railroads. His eyes grew wide; then he saw Sandi holding two ominous spikes in her hand. They were actual railroad spikes, small ones from a narrow gauge rail, but they looked huge in her hand. Nine inches long, tapering from a very thick head down to a sharp point, they would damage and wreak havoc with anything they were pounded into. Once in, it would be impossible for anything they fastened to work loose.

It was hot in the barn, but the sweat pouring down from Paul's was not from the heat. He was scared. They were going to nail him with those monsters. Where ever they pounded those things in would be permanently damaged.

"Please, no. Don't do this. Keep me around, hurt me, all you like. Just don't damage me permanently! People will miss me, you will be caught. I am so much more useful to you alive, don't you think? You can keep hurting me... chain me up, do anything. Just... don't ... " Paul was begging, and began to ramble, pleading as Jenn took the heavy mallet and stood behind Paul's head.

Sandi took the first spike and positioned it against Paul's right wrist. Not his hand, but right at the wrist where the bones of the hand and arm came together at the joint. She held it at a very specific angle and then looked up and Jenn. "Now, don't miss and hit my hand like you almost did when we were practicing. I want his hand crushed, not mine. Believe me, you don't want to make me scream."

Paul struggled, trying to move his arm to keep the spike from remaining in place but Sandi held it in place. Between Sandi and the tight wrist ropes, Paul's arm was held firm.

Paul watched in horror as Jenn raised the mallet into the air, holding it with both hands. Then with a sudden, swift movement the metal head descended and hit the spike head right on with a Clangggg....

Along with the metallic ring of metal on metal came a subtle soft squishy crack when the spike sunk through Paul's flesh and drove through the bones of his wrist, cracking and breaking them. A second later another sound was heard; Paul's scream. The pain of his shattered wrist hit him harder than anything he had ever known. His vision went red, and he thought he would pass out. He kept screaming, and did not see the second swing of the mallet as it descended, driving the spike deep into the wood below Paul's wrist.

The second stroke drove the spike in further, and while it didn't break any more bones it spread the ones it had broken out further, mangling the flesh, cartilage, bone fragments and nerves together in an organic mush. Paul continued screaming, pulling on his arm, trying to get it loose, his naked body taught and arched. That just made it hurt worse, and he almost lost consciousness.

The girls shifted to the other side and repeated the nailing process on Paul's left wrist. With four strokes of the heavy hammer, the spike was driven through the wrist and into the wood in the exact spot in which it would hold Paul's weight, and keep him from yanking free.

Alice cut through the ropes holding Paul's wrists. They weren't needed any more. Paul lay on the cross, crying, tears running down his cheeks.

"Look, Sandi. I told you! He still has a hard on! I made him come twice, and he is still fucking hard. He is suuuuch a pain slut. He is going to die in ecstasy."

It was true. Paul was stretched out, wrists nailed, but his cock was hard and he was mysteriously enjoying the agony. Through tear distorted eyes, he looked up at Alice, worshiping her. Her beautiful face looked down with a happy smile at his agonized face. Paul was still amazed at Alice's beauty, and the pain that wracked his body simply felt like an offering to her, worshiping her body and soul.

"Get his feet nailed, then we can lift him up," Alice said to the other girls. Sandi got out another spike and knelt at Paul's tied feet. Alice stepped back again to watch as Jenn held Paul's feet still and Sandi positioned the spike just below the ankle. Paul wasn't thrashing around as much, his body was sweating and wet from the pain and he was breathing hard, moaning.

When the sharp tip of the spike pressed against his flesh, Paul seemed to become aware of what was about to happen, once again. He writhed, raising his head to look down at the two beautiful young women who were about to pound a nail through his feet, and cried out. "NOOOO!!!! PLEASE!  Ohgod....ohgod..."

Alice stood to the side with her legs apart, her hand thrust into her jeans. She was playing, touching herself, getting off on the pain and fear Paul exhibited. She thought she might have an orgasm if she kept on rubbing herself, maybe right when the--

Clang!!!!  Jenn swung the heavy hammer down on the spike. This time a small spray of blood went up and covered Sandi's face as the spike penetrated Paul's flesh. His screech of pain echoed in the barn, and Alice rubbed herself even harder, trying to achieve the orgasm she felt was within reach.  She had never felt so excited, so alive. Paul's agony was feeding her, stimulating her deep inside.

The spike had gone through the top foot, cracking and separating bones but had barely entered the lower foot. Jenn swung the hammer up again and down, smashing the spike through the lower foot, pulverizing bone into flesh. Paul screeched again, yelling, screaming until the air was gone from his lungs then taking a deep breath and screaming again.

It came. The climax Alice had felt approaching came as Jenn hammered the spike into the wood below Paul's feet. His screams had pulled it from her, with the help of two of her fingers sliding inside and her thumb on her clit. She leaned back against the barn wall and felt the warmth of pleasure flood her, inspired by Paul's agony as he lay nailed to the wood a few feet away.

"Daammiitt... I got blood all over my face!" Sandi was pissed off. She stood and walked away, looking for a rag to clean herself up. "I sure hope he's disease free, Alice. I wouldn't want to be getting AIDS over this, yanno. Bastard."

Jenn discarded the heavy mallet. Alice, recovered from her climax, joined her to look over the site of Paul's nude body stretched out on the cross. It was a fascinating sight, to see a human being literally nailed like a piece of wood, unable to move, just laying there. His face was glistening wet from tears and spittle from screaming. His eyes stared wildly, his mouth hanging open, moaning again, constantly.

Sandi returned with a rag from their car, wiping her face and hands.

"He looks pretty, doesn't he? I always thought pain makes a man more attractive."

"Let's get him up and into position. Then we can relax and watch him suffer. The long, slow suffer." Alice knelt next to Paul and whispered in his ear. "Yes... you will hang now, suffer, the pain never going away, the only escape is death. You will beg for death. It won't come fast enough for you. God, you turn me on right now... I wish I could fuck you again. Just one more time, as you approach death soooo slowly."

The girls arranged themselves around the wooden cross and lifted it up. It rose into the air slowly, from the top where Paul's head rested. It took the three of them pushing and heaving. At one point the cross tipped sideways, ready to fall over but Alice grabbed it in time and straightened it out. That caused a scream from Paul as his body was jerked to the side, yanking on his left wrist and arm.

As the cross rose up Paul's body slid down, his arms stretching taut above his head. His knees bent as his body descended toward his nailed feet, his back scraping on the rough wood. When he was almost upright, the bottom of the cross slid toward a hole in the floor of the barn, and moments later the cross slid down inside the hole, sinking almost two feet. The cross came to a sudden halt, as it nestled into place, jerking Paul's body down, yanking the nails in his wrists, scraping the cracked bones of his arms, straining the tendons of his arms and shoulders.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The scream from Paul's upturned face went on, slowly dwindling as the air in his chest ran out. The pain from the sudden jolt was unbearable and he felt blackness descend on him. He sagged down on the cross, hanging limp and motionless.

Alice checked Paul's still form. "He's alive. He's fine. I think he just fainted. Look, he's coming around already."

Sure enough, a few seconds later Paul was conscious again, grunting and gasping for air, his chest distended outward, stomach drawn in as his body hung forward from the wooden frame.

"Look!" Jenn was pointing at Paul's groin. The penis that had gone flaccid when the spike was driven through Paul's feet was coming to life again. Slowly it became engorged with blood, growing thicker, harder, longer. It rose into the air in a salute to the three girls.

Paul was suffering on the cross, yes. But he was also showing his colors as a true masochist. The agony coursed through his body, arousing him. He looked down at the three girls observing him, humiliated, unable to move, watching them observe his pain, and this just made him even more aroused. He knew just how perverse he was at that moment. He deserved to die, to be tortured and suffer at the hands of these girls. He was nothing but dirt, a piece of meat to torture for their pleasure.

For her part, Alice was loving the pain that was obviously straining Paul's body. She imagined the cramping that was forming in his arms and shoulders, perhaps even down his back. She saw him try to shift his body to get relief, only to be rewarded with new pains in new areas.

Sandi was getting turned on, and said so. "Fuck, this is hot. Look at him. I never knew it would be this hot. I need you to fuck me, Jenn!"

Paul watched as Jenn wrapped her arms around Sandi, struggling to tear her clothes off. He wished he could participate, both girls were incredibly hot and he wanted to feel them. But he was... well, nailed to a cross. Moving wasn't an option, so he stared as Sandi pulled off Jenn's black jeans, revealing white smooth flesh and smoothly shaved pussy. Sandi went to work between Jenn's legs, sucking and licking expertly.

Jenn lay as Sandi serviced her, staring up at Paul. His muscles twitched and flexed as he shifted on the cross, his faced grimaced as tears slowly descended his cheeks. His breath came and gasps. He was staring at the two of them, and Jenn knew it. Seeing him suffering like this made her whole body flush, and she reached down to Sandi's head, smashing it in to her pussy hard. Her hips rose and she ground her flesh into Sandi's face, feeling a climax coming as she watched Paul gasping for breath.

When it came, Jenn threw her head back, closed her eyes and cried out, "aaaaaaahhhhhhhh......." The orgasm made her body shudder, intense beyond all belief.

"Do me. Do me, now," Sandi was already maneuvering into position, demanding that Jenn service her. Alice watched them with satisfaction. She knew Paul was incredibly turned on by the whole situation. She could see it in him, as he struggled and stared. His rock hard penis wobbled as he writhed. She knew the pain was terrible, but also knew it was triggering intense sexual responses in him. The humiliation of being exposed and observed, legs nailed at an angle exposing his sex, in agony, as two girls had sex and used his agony to intensify their enjoyment, was feeding back to Paul and making his own sexual arousal and frustration intense.

Removing her top so she was naked from the waist up, Alice moved to Paul and reached out to touch his engorged member. At the sensation of her fingers on his sensitive flesh, Paul moaned. He thrust his hips out, immediately regretting the movement as it caused the broken bones in his wrists to scrape against the nails. He sobbed.

Alice moved closer, her bare breasts pressing against Paul's torso as she began stroking his penis. Paul continued to sob as she slowly slid up and down.

"Please... please... oh... my god... please..." Paul gasped.

"Please what, dear? Please make you cum? Please stop? Please... kill you?" Alice spoke quietly to Paul, looking into his face as she continued stroking.

"I.... I don't know. All of it. I don't know. It hurts, Alice. It's horrible. Fuck it hurts!" Paul cried again, sobbing, tears streaming down his cheeks. Alice kept stroking his cock, feeling its hard length. Behind her, Sandi let out a moaning cry as her orgasm peaked. Alice ignored her girlfriends and kept working Paul's cock.

"Cum for me Paul. You are going to die here, but not for a while. It is going to take you a long, long time to die. Cum for me. Cum and continue dying for me. Die for me Paul..." Alice kept talking gently, rubbing her body against Paul as he hung helpless, stroking his cock.

It took a while, but eventually Paul shuddered, pushed his hips out, cried out in pain and pleasure and convulsed into an orgasm. He ejaculated, but because it was the third time that day, his seed didn't spurt as strongly as before. It pumped out, globs of white slime forced out of the tip of his cock over Alice's hand and finally dribbling down onto the barn floor.

After the initial orgy of arousal, sex and orgasms over Paul's hanging body, the girls calmed some and sat to watch the slow process of death which is the inevitable end of a crucifixion. Paul simply endured. There was nothing else he could do. His body hung nearly motionless. His hands had taken the shape of claws, a reaction of the nerves and muscles of his wrists when they were destroyed.

The girls became bored after a while. Paul's pain was exciting, but after three or four hours they wanted something more. Finally, they all agreed to leave and get dinner at around 5 o'clock. They put on their clothes (all had been naked for most of the afternoon, increasing Paul's frustration as they played with each other). They left him alone.

The time alone was terrible; Paul could not move. His hands were a giant bundle of dull, aching pain. His arms and shoulders cramped without ceasing and movement did nothing to relieve the pain. He had trouble breathing, and pushed up on his nailed feet to try and get a better position. It helped, but the agony of grinding his crushed foot bones into the nails was too much and he sagged down once again. It got darker, and colder. His face itched; sweat trickled down but he couldn't wipe it. He peed, releasing his bladder onto the floor below where the urine mixed with the semen he had ejaculated earlier.

Paul thought death was coming. Surely, it must be. He begged for it now, hoping it would not be long. His body slumped forward a bit, away from the cross, but that position pulled and strained his nailed wrists even more. He pulled back, trying to straighten his body but that strained his wrists and back as well, and placed more weight on his feet. No matter what he did, the pain kept coming, morphing, expanding.

Finally, the girls came back. They carried a couple of lanterns which illuminated the interior of the barn well.

"Look at him! He is still doing OK, though he isn't moving as much. Life beginning to drain away, Paul?" Alice said cheerfully, and rather cruelly.

Paul simply stared down at her, a look of desperation in his eyes.

"We went to Denny's for dinner. Ever do that? We had breakfast. I love breakfast for dinner. Eggs, hash browns, bacon. mmmmmm. Coffee and juice, too." Paul looked at her and suddenly felt overwhelming hunger, but worse than that, overwhelming thirst. He had not had anything to drink in 24 hours.

"What, you want something to drink?"

"Yes.." Paul's voice came out in a croak.

"Well, OK. But just remember this, if you drink, you will take a lot longer to die. You might want to hold off. It will help you feel better now, but you might regret it later, you know?" Alice had a bottle of water in her hand, and raised it to Paul's cracked lips.  He took one small sip and then realized she was right. If he wanted this to be over, he needed to die as soon as he could. This was one of the few things he could still choose, still have control over. He turned his head away from the bottle and shook his head.

"I see. Well, good boy then. I see you still have a pretty good hard on. Want me to do you again? Hmmmmm????" Alice reached out and touched Paul's cock, which wasn't as hard as before but still showed signed of life.  As she touched it, she felt it react and get harder.

She stroked again. Paul's fourth masturbation of the day. She knew he could come four times in one day, she had seen him do it before. In fact, she had made him do it. Even when he begged her to stop. This time he didn't beg for her to stop, he simply closed his eyes and let her stroke. She poured a bit of water to lube the skin, and kept going. As he slowly became more aroused, he cried, sobbing quietly.

Alice could almost feel the pain he was in. Touching him like this, stroking him, she could sense the agony and the pleasure she was heaping on his poor body. Ten minutes of stroking, patiently massaging the head, letting him get close to orgasm then releasing him momentarily, and then beginning again. All her skills culminated when he moaned and she felt the pulsing of his cock in her hand. Out came white goo, not in a stream but in a dribble. Paul was dehydrated and while he was ejaculating, there was not much to pump out. Nevertheless it came, his muscles contracting and pushing it out.

Alice cleaned up, wiping her hand and then joined the other two girls where they sat in lawn chairs to watch the spectacle of Paul's slow, agonizing death. The three girls sat, drinking tequila and getting drunk, swapping stories about how they had humiliated various guys at the club the frequented, and gossiping about other lesbians in their social circle.

Through it all, Paul simply hung from the cross. The pain was now across his entire body; there were white hot points at his hands and feet, but really the pain simply throbbed across every muscle, every fiber. His thirst was overwhelming. His desire to move to relieve cramps as overwhelming. It was getting really, really hard to breathe.

Occasionally Pail felt a flush ripple across his entire body. It came when he realized just how humiliating and degraded he was. He was a show. These three young women were watching him suffer. He was hanging naked in front of them, providing them entertainment through is pain. His pain, his humiliation, was arousing to them and he watched as the kissed and made out, occasionally turning back to watch him.

"I want to see him move some more. This is getting boring. It is almost 2AM and he isn't dead yet, and he isn't moving. He is just hanging there." Jenn was cruel in her tone.

"That's what crucifixion is, dear. Slow, meaningless, humiliating death." Alice was still enjoying it. She knew Paul so well, she understood him and was loving every minute of his agony. If she could have fucked him right then, she would have. Just to be able to have him inside her while he was in that much pain would have been a massive turn on.

"Let's poke him. Or cut him. Or something." Sandi said as she downed another margarita.

"No. But we can do something I heard about once. Come help me." Alice stood and went over to get a left over spike and mallet. The other two joined her next to Paul's distended body.

"Lift him up. His hips. Just like, six inches maybe."

Jenn and Sandi each grabbed one thigh and lifted. Paul screamed at the movement as it shifted weight and pulled and damaged new tendons. As he was lifted higher, Alice took the spike and aimed it toward the wood of the cross, right between his legs, just below his hanging scrotum. She pounded it into the wood so that it angled up slightly, about four or five inches sticking out.

"OK, let him down." The girls released Paul and his body suddenly slid down the cross once he was no longer supported. But this time, before he was jerked to a stop by his nailed arms, his crotch hit the nail.

"AaaaahhhhHH!!!!" Yelped the helpless man. The nail smashed into the soft flesh between his anus and scrotum, digging in and piercing through. Blood trickled down the inside of his thighs. He tried to lift himself, pushing down on his feet and pulling on his nailed wrists. He rose two or three inches, thrust his hips forward to try and avoid the metal protrusion and then sank down.

Instead of avoiding the nail, it slid nicely into his anus. There it dug into the sensitive flesh and mashed it against his tailbone. "Oh, fuck.... fuck... oh my god... aaahhheeeeeee!"

Paul cried from the added pain and indignity. After watching him struggle with the added torture, the girls saw him finally collapse onto the nail, letting it dig deep into his rectum.

"Now, that was fun! God, I am so hot," Sandi was very drunk and making out with Jenn again. She thrust hands under Jenn's pants and found her cunt, which she worked with eager fingers. Jenn undid Sandi's jeans once again, and the two made out in front of the dying man, getting off on each other and his agony.

It was 5AM. Paul had been on the cross for about 18 hours and wasn't moving much any more. Sandi and Jenn were bored and hung over. They left in their car, leaving Alice to watch the final death throws of her ex-boyfriend. Alice moved to Paul, noticing his cock was still somewhat hard. Not rock hard, but it wasn't flaccid.

She took it into her mouth. Paul hung limp from the cross. Alice sucked his cock. Paul moaned slightly, and his cock grew hard in her mouth. He opened his eyes and looked down at his beautiful Alice, the girl of his dreams, the girl that had nailed him to the cross and was murdering him, while she sucked his cock. The pain and pleasure mixed once again and he embraced both. The two intensified each other, and in moments he was writhing on the metal beams, pushing his hips, begging for more.

Alice continued to suck him. She deep throated his cock until she gagged, reaching hands behind his buttocks to feel where the spike was embedded in his anus. She felt it slide in and out as his cock thrust in and out of her mouth. His pushing became more urgent as well as painful. His anus bled again but he continued thrusting. She felt his testicles, hanging loose in his scrotum. She felt his pain, she felt his pleasure, and she felt it when he convulsed in orgasm.  But there was no fluid; her mouth was not filled with cum. It was his fifth time in the last 24 hours; he came but he had no fluid to give. He was spent, dehydrated.

When he was done he sagged back down. the nail tearing deeper into his rectum. She had thought he was close to death; now it didn't appear so. He might last a while yet.

She sat back in her lawn chair and watched him, remembering with fondness the times when she had stuck pins in his testicles, or made him take a huge butt plug that tore the sides of his anus. She had loved fucking him while he whimpered. What a pain slut he was. She hated him, as she hated all men, but she loved hurting him.

Slowly, she dozed off, and slept.

When Alice woke it was nearly noon and Paul hung motionless before her. The blood on his wrists, feet, and between his legs was dried. She wondered if she had missed the death while she slept, but then saw his chest move as he struggled for breath. It had been more than 24 hours now. She had heard that some victims survived the cross for days. She didn't think Paul would be one of them.

"You are sure you got rid of the body, right? Like, no place he will be found? At least for a long, long time." Sandi was looking worried as Alice drove her home from the club several nights later. They had danced, enjoying the men's attention. Jenn had gone home with one of them, though they knew her well enough that the little tryst would not end well.

"Yes, yes. Like I said, acid on the hands and feet, then bagged with lyme for fast decomposition. Buried way out in the desert where nothing will find him. OK?"

"OK. Babe... that was intense. I don't know if I would want to do it again.. but.... well, if you ever do come up with something. Let me know."

"Sure, Sandi. It was intense, wasn't it? I got off on it. I dunno if I would ever do it again, either, but... well, I am not sure I will ever find a masochist like that again. Pity." They pulled up outside Sandi's apartment.

Sandi leaned over and kissed Alice on the lips. "Sure you don't want to come up?"

"Nah. Tired and I got to take care of some things at home."

Alice drove back to her house carefully. No reason to get pulled over for drunk driving.

She went inside, removing her top and and leather pants. Wearing nothing but her panties she got herself a bottled water from the fridge and then grabbed a box of dog food. Opening a door in the hall, she bent over to avoid hitting her head on the low door jam and descended stairs to the basement. Turning on the single light bulb overhead harshly illuminated a clean concrete room with a bed and bucket toilet in the corner.  On the bed lay Paul, a chain attached to a metal collar around his neck. The chain hung over the bed to a ring planted solidly in the concrete floor. His hands and feet were heavily bandaged.

"Hey Paul. I brought you dinner. Drink up the water, it has your antibiotics in it." Alice poured some of the dog food into a large bowl and the water from the bottle into a silver dish. Paul slowly rolled over, getting off the bed. He descended to his knees and scuffled over to the dog feeding dishes. Lowering himself onto his elbows, he took a bite of the solid dog food.

"I'm afraid those hands aren't ever going to really work again. Or the feet. But at least I didn't have to amputate... I dunno. Maybe we will crucify you again some day. But not right now. I have plans for you, right now."

Paul stopped eating, a sob interrupting the crunching.

"It hurts, Alice... it still hurts... my hands... "

"Yes. I know Paul. And when it stops hurting, I will find a new way to make you hurt. For now, would you like to cum?"

Paul looked up at the mostly naked body of Alice standing over him. Between his legs his cock throbbed, rock hard. It pointed down as he knelt on all fours with elbows on the ground. He was silent for a moment, and then said, "Yes. Please. Alice. Make me cum." He looked at his hands. "I can't even masturbate any more."

"No." Alice kicked him in the ribs. The air whooshed out of him in a grunt as he fell over. "Maybe tomorrow."

Alice climbed up the basements steps, turning out the light and plunging Paul's new prison into darkness.