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.
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.
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... eee....g..g...gg... 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.