Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Two Weeks On The Cross

Jolene lay in the cell staring at the ceiling.

She had been in naked isolation for six months, never leaving this concrete, barren 8x10 cell. There was no privacy. She had no clothes and no sheets or other cloth with which to cover herself. On either end of the cell was a heavy glass observation portal with half-mirrored glass so that she could be observed at any time.

When she first arrived in the cell, it had been difficult using the toilet because she knew there were people watching her. Now she didn't care. The male guards had made many comments that showed they watched her all the time, there was no privacy.

Jolene was an especially pretty young girl with long brown hair and a fine body, and had always drawn the attention of men, whether she wanted it or not. It was no different now.

The food was slop, but nourishing. She was in good health, though her mind was beginning to crack from being locked in the cell for so long.

Her lawyer had been in and out that week, talking about the final appeals. He had tried to be hopeful, but she was incarcerated in Richland Prison. No one ever left Richland. She was surprised her lawyer was even allowed to visit her. The last time he visited he just shook his head.

Jolene was scheduled for execution. She knew this. She had broken the social justice laws, offending several protected groups including "Gingers", "Economically Disadvantaged", and "Tasmanians". Several of the times she didn't even know she had been offending anyone, and in fact still didn't know who the Tasmanian was that had been offended.

It didn't matter. Social Justice laws were strict, with no tolerance. Her execution was scheduled for Saturday at noon, in two days. The method was Crucifixion.

It was still unreal to her. That a civilized society would use such a horrible form of torture as punishment, and that she was going to be subjected to it.

On the other side of the mirror on one end of Jolene's cell stood two men and a woman. The woman and one man wore business suits, the other man wore the uniform of a prison guard, jet black.

"So warden, her appeals are up and we can proceed on Saturday. Noon," said the woman.

"Yes, Doctor Sykes. She is in excellent health, a perfect candidate for the experiment," answered the man in the suit.

The warden turned to the uniformed guard. "As prison executioner, you are to conduct the experiment. Do you understand the purposes? Have you read the brief?"

The executioner nodded. "As I understand it, the purpose is to see how long a crucified victim can be made to suffer the maximum amount, and yet be kept alive for the maximum time. The protocols are designed to balance the need for a slow, agonizing death, with the actions necessary to keep the victim alive."

Doctor Sykes nodded. "Right. Of course, we could probably keep someone alive on the cross indefinitely, if we were to feed, hydrate, and medicate them continuously. But this is an execution after all. So we are not trying to simply keep the victim alive, we are attempting to kill her slowly and with as much pain as possible. We wish to determine the best, most optimal method of causing an agonizing, prolonged death."

The executioner nodded.

The warden looked into the cell at Jolene. "She's masturbating."

The executioner acknowledged what the warden observed. "She does that at times. The cell is boring, stripped bare. I am surprised she is sane in any sense of the word. Masturbation is one of the few activities left to her."

Doctor Sykes looked on curiously as Jolene thrust her hips up, rubbing herself quickly, reaching orgasm.

"Saturday then," the warden said. "We meet in my office at 10:00 AM, and the execution will proceed at noon. The audience tickets are sold out, and the video feed is in place for all major networks."


That night the warden came to Jolene's cell. Now that her execution had been set and her appeals run out, she was no more than meat. She had no more rights. Her only real purpose was to die a slow, agonizing death on the cross, and as long as no one interfered with that, anything could happen.

Jolene saw the older gentleman enter her cell and wondered what was happening. She had never seen this man before.

"What... who are you?"

The warden said nothing. Jolene instantly knew what was happening and why the man was there when he unzipped and dropped his pants. She crawled back on the mattress, making a feeble attempt to avoid the inevitable.

It didn't help. The warden was on her, forcing her to the mattress. His hardened cock found its way between her legs and pushed, hard, forcing its way inside her. She screamed, though it would do no good. She knew no one would help her.

The warden raped Jolene, thrusting is throbbing cock deep inside her flesh pushing her body up against the wall with each thrust. His cock filled her, sliding in and out as he grunted and moaned until he shuddered in orgasm and withdrew, leaving her full of white, sticky semen. When he had finished, he stood up and commented, "It is a shame. You are a beautiful woman. A week from now you will be a rotting corpse."

Jolene rolled over and sobbed, knowing her death sentence had already begun.

Now that her fate had been set and her execution was certain, Jolene was fair game within the prison. Her rights as a human being had been stripped from her. The guards began to take her for their own pleasure. The next morning two more entered her cell and used her body.

The first, a gruff jail guard that had always been kind to Jolene, delivered her breakfast but before she could eat it, threw her on the bed and climbed on top of her. Removing his clothes his huge cock was exposed. Jolene gasped in pain when he forced it between her legs and into her body. He lay on top of her, his full, sweaty body pressing down on her light, thin body from above as his cock slid in and out of her cunt.

Before he was done another guard, a tall, mean black man, entered to join the party. His cock was even larger when exposed.

Jolene sobbed, crying out as the black guard tried to find a hole in her body into which he would fit.

Finally, the first guard rolled Jolene on top of him to ride his cock, and bending her over, the black guard managed to shove his cock into her ass from behind.

In that way, both guards took Jolene, satisfying their lust, pounding away in her distended and torn holes, leaving large amounts of white sticky semen inside her body to drool out after they left her. When those two guards left, it was barely five minutes before another prison official in a suit arrived to use the poor woman's body.

For the next two days, Jolene barely had a moment alone. A constant stream of guards and prison officials were pushing their way inside her at all hours of the day. Some visited her more than once. The smell of semen and sweat pervaded her cell. She was covered with crusty, dried cum. Her stomach was sick from having swallowed so much semen. Her cunt and ass constantly drained the white body fluid.

No sooner did she think she had a moment to rest and clean up than another rapist would show up to use her and deposit more semen on or inside her. She was exhausted, laying with her cunt and ass bleeding from the constant banging, her mouth sour and throat sore from the never ending visits of men abusing and using her body.

It all ended Friday evening. Suddenly she was left alone, and she fell asleep, and exhausted, used piece of meat. Every hole had been filled almost non-stop since Wednesday. For two full days she had been the prison's fuck toy.  Now she was being allowed to rest, to regain her strength for the execution ordeal ahead.

Saturday morning she was awakened by the noise of her cell door opening. She instantly crawled away from the man and woman entering, fearing yet another round of bodily sexual abuse. This time, though, it was Dr. Sykes and a strong, lean man in a uniform.

"Good morning, Jolene. Today is the day your execution will begin. I say begin because it will, in fact, take some time for you to die. This gentleman is your executioner, the person who will coordinate all the activities which will result, eventually, in your heart stopping."

Jolene looked in horror at the man. He had a kindly face, and smiled. Short cropped hair, a crisp uniform all gave the impression of a businesslike, efficient professional.

Dr. Sykes pulled out a couple of syringes. "Let's have your arm."

As she was injecting Jolene she explained.  "These are antibiotics. Fairly strong ones. They are designed to fight off infections you might get while up on the cross. This will prolong your life, of course. Unfortunately, your extra hours of life will be spent hanging from the cross."

Jolene was crying, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Please... don't do this. Kill me quickly. Give me a knife... let me do it. Just... don't leave me hanging there."

Dr. Sykes shook her head. "Good heavens no! You are to be the subject of an important experiment in capital punishment. The first time we are actually going to try and keep you alive as long as possible. Everything about you will be monitored and controlled to try and make your time up on the cross as long as possible."

The executioner chimed in. "We will, of course, not be unnaturally extending your life. Death by crucifixion usually comes about due to a number of different causes, or combination of them. Dehydration, or death by thirst, is very common. Internal infections or internal bleeding can also lead to death, sometimes due to the beating the crucified receive before being hung from the cross. For outdoor crucifixions, death can result from hypothermia, or hyperthermia; basically damage to the metabolism and organs due to exposure to cold or heat. Heat stroke or freezing to death."

The executioner kept talking while he made Jolene stand and started measuring her carefully. He measured her height, and then the length of her arms from her spine to her wrists, the length of her legs to her ankles, and to her knees.

The executioner actually seemed rather happy and excited while he explained how death might occur, and how his measurements were designed to assure they nailed her in place in exactly the right position to allow for maximum stress on the muscles and mobility that would allow Jolene to move about without truly being able to relieve the pain of her position on the cross.

Jolene sat back down on the bed, receiving her third shot, staring at the man, envisioning what it would be like to die from these causes, what it would be like to simply hang from a wooden cross for the last days of her life.  The man droned on for a while, but finally Dr. Sykes grew impatient.

"Jolene, dear. It is time to begin. We are keeping to the basic process of crucifixion, which some minor changes. We need to begin your beating."

Two guards were motioned in and Jolene struggled against them as she was dragged out of the cell. She was taken to a room that had a number of people sitting in chairs. She recognized her high school math teacher, as well as her ex-boyfriend. In fact, a number of old acquaintances were there. The were on the other side of a wire fence, separating her from the audience.

"These are some of your witnesses, those that chose to view your whipping. There will, of course, be a large number of witnesses to your suffering on the cross," explained the executioner.

Jolene's wrists were cuffed and locked above her head onto the wire fence facing the audience. Many of the people she was looking at appeared sympathetic. A few cringed at seeing her forced against the fence naked. One or two seemed excited.

Jolene's legs were forced apart to spread them. She was to stand naked, legs apart, covered with dried semen, in front of her friends and neighbors. Because she was strapped to a wire fence, the audience could observe the poor girl's full frontal nudity a she was whipped. The humiliation was overwhelming, but there was absolutely nothing Jolene could do.

It seemed like forever that she simply stood there, arms and legs spread wide before the audience. Her family was there, watching her. Some of her friends from school were also watching. They whispered and stared, pointing. Many were pointing between her legs and she felt the reason why. Semen was slowly dribbling down from her exposed cunt. It was humiliating for her family to see her like this. She closed her eyes.

Suddenly there was a hissing noise that warned her by a split second of the coming pain.  A whip sliced across her back, cutting into the flesh. It felt like fire, as if someone had pressed a hot poker across her back. Jolene screamed and temporarily sagged down against the fence. "Aaaaahhhh!!! NOOOooooO!!!!"

The audience reacted to Jolene's torment, many jumping at her scream, others turning away, cringing, averting their eyes. A few, the ones that were excited, opened their mouths in a silent "ohhhh" and stared.

As Jolene pulled herself back up into a standing position the whip lashed out again, striking her buttocks this time. Fire erupted on her ass, and she cried out, sobbing. As the whip struck her again, and then again, her body jerked and writhed, and she began to beg. She begged for mercy as she stared directly at the audience that was watching her agony. "Please... have mercy... I beg you...!"

How long this went on, she couldn't tell. It seemed like forever. Hours. But finally, as she sagged against the fencing and hung from her wrists, the whip fell silent. Some in the audience that watched her were sobbing. A couple of them were masturbating, secretly.

The executioner stood up and explained to the audience that the whipping Jolene had received was significantly milder than that normally dished out to the condemned. Her flesh, while red with welts, and not been cut. There was no loss of blood. Unspoken in was the reason. "So that she will live and suffer longer on the cross."

The next stage of the execution process now began. Jolene found her wrists and ankles unshackled. She dropped to her knees, temporarily unable to stand because of the pain from the whipping. Her face was wet from tears as well as the embarrassment of being exposed and her suffering examined by a group of friends and family at such a short distance.

She was lifted up to her feet by the guards, and dragged out of the building to an outdoor area. It was a sort of hill with gentle slopes. At the top of the hill lay a simple, wood cross. Jolene saw it and her breath caught for a moment. Such a simple device. A couple of wood beams. The instrument of her torture and death. She looked away.

The guards dragged her over to where the cross lay and threw her to the ground, but not before she saw the audience from her whipping slowly filing out of the prison building to surround her.

Panic overcame Jolene and she used all her strength to rise and try to run away. She made it barely three feet before strong arms grasped her, sliding along her naked wet skin but finally getting a firm hold of her by digging deep into her muscles. They pulled her back down, shoving her onto the cross. The beam crunched against her back, scraping the red, painful welts. She cried out again.

The reality of what was happening came home to her. She started to struggle and cried out continuously, but several of the prison guards held her down. Her right arm was stretched out and held in place.

The executioner had previously marked the exactly location on the cross where the spikes would drive through her wrist with a large X in black tape. The guards held her precisely in place and one of them produced a large metal spike with a wide head. It was wickedly sharp and when he pressed the tip against her flesh it poked a small hole and hurt. Jolene cried out and the guard laughed.

"Get used to it, bitch. It just gets worse from here." The guard was cruel.

The executioner had a heavy mallet. The guard held the spike precisely as the executioner directed, and then the first blow was dealt. The sharp spike sliced through Jolene's flesh like a hot knife through butter, penetrating and separating her flesh easily.

The spike was designed to be thin but strong. As it went in through Jolene's arm, next to her wrist, the metal point tore and shredded tissue and nerves, causing horrible, searing pain. But as the spike went through the arm, it did not break the bone. It simply pressed against the radius and ulna, pushing them aside and scraping against them.

The combination of all these actions caused immediate, horrible agony and Jolene's eyes went large and she screamed. The final reality of her coming agony sank home to her brain. The pain she would endure was far beyond anything she had imagined.

Once the spike had driven through into the wood, the guards let go of Jolene. She did not need to be restrained; just that one nail effectively held her in place.  She thrashed around, her legs kicking and her left arm flopped around. She tried to get up, but with one arm nailed in place, it was impossible without breaking the bones in her arm. She tried to pull her right arm away from the cross, but it was nailed fast.

The audience watched as the young girl flopped and flailed about for a while, in pain like an injured animal that needs to be put down. There was no such kindness for Jolene, though. Eventually, the guards grabbed Jolene's left arm and held it in place, the wrist positioned over the taped X on the cross.

Crying, sobbing, Jolene begged for mercy once again. "Please, humanity, please don't do this, just kill me, don't nail me again, I can't take it, please, please, please..."

Her breathing and sobbing actually made her body rise and fall, her stomach and chest moving in and out, up and down, breasts jiggling. Many members of the audience surrounding the condemned girl enjoyed this show.

The second spike was driven in. It took only a few blows to penetrate the soft, smooth flesh of the young girl and pin her arm permanently to the wood beneath.  When it was done, Jolene lay crying on the cross with her arms outstretched.

Her arms were not stretched out as wide as they would go, they were bent at the elbows. The position of the spikes was designed specifically to allow Jolene's body to hang down, her arms to rise up above her head in a V, and perhaps even allow her to fall forward somewhat. This extra slack allowed more movement on the cross, which in turn would provide for more pain and a better show.

Now it was time for Jolene to be raised up. Her feet were not to be nailed in until she was hanging upright. This procedure was strictly aesthetic; the image of the woman hanging from the cross, feet dangling free, was one that many wanted to see.

A deep hole had been dug near the foot of the cross, and four of the guards began lifting Jolene and her cross into the air. As she rose up into the air, Jolene's weight slowly shifted downward, and the extra slack came into play. Her arms stretched out tightly as she slid down and finally her body jerked to a halt when the cross was almost upright.

As she slid down, Jolene's wrists rotated on the spikes, a process that caused untold new heights of agony. It shredded more tissue, pressed on new nerves, scraped and dislodged more bone.

The screaming was continuous, stopped only for brief moments for Jolene to suck in more air.

In those initial moments, as Jolene hung from the cross on display for all to see her torment, a wave of horror and appreciation rolled over the observers.

Jolene's body was gorgeous. It was perfect and perfectly on display. Her arms, stretched above their head as they were, showed every muscle and sinew as she strained against the pain. The hanging weight of her thin body pulled her down, accentuating her figure. The flesh of her body was stretched across her ribs and hips, and her stomach was pulled in as it pulsed back and forth with her screaming.

Even her breasts appeared perfect, pulled up as they were from her hanging position.

Far from tainting the erotic and sexual exposure of her body, the signs of her agony and torment simply added to the sensuality of the display. She gasped, screamed, drooled fluid from her mouth that began to splatter on her chest and breasts. Her stomach pumped in and out as she breathed hard, panting and screaming. Her head thrashed back and forth, the only part of her body to really move, though her legs kicked some, as they were still free to move.

The executioner left Jolene to hang like that, simply dangling from her arms. The audience watched. Jolene screamed, but eventually her screamed descended to moans. She lost the strength to scream and her voice, her throat, was hoarse and torn.

Many members of the audience were family and friends of the condemned girl. They had been forced to attend, to observe the torment of their daughter, their sister, their friend, their lover. Yes, several of the audience had been lovers of poor Jolene, had actually been inside the beautiful body that now hung on display like a museum piece.

Finally the executioner gave the order to nail the girl's feet. This would relieve some of the pressure on her arms and chest, supporting some of the dead weight of the body as it hung.

Two nails were produced. Jolene's legs were lifted up, knees bent. She tried to kick and fight against it, but she put up very little resistance. Excessive movement simply jerked and scraped the wrist nails inside her arms and caused more pain; keeping still was the best way to endure.  She was also tired, and weak.

First the left foot was pressed against the wood of the cross. As before, the placement was marked exactly by the executioner to provide optimum bending of the legs, the maximum pain.

The nail was placed on the top of Jolene's delicate, smooth skin, and with one hard impact of the hammer violated her body once again, plunging through skin, muscle, and tearing nerves and cracking bones apart. Jolene screamed once again, spittle and drool spraying from her mouth.

The second foot was placed right next to the first and was nailed quickly.

The nailing of the feet didn't actually help support Jolene's weight that much. Because her feet were twisted straight down to lay against the vertical beam of the cross, she could not push down and lift herself enough to lock her knees. This meant that while her weight could be shifted to her feet temporarily, her leg and calf muscles would quickly give out and she would sag back down into the hanging position.

Jolene's legs were spread slightly. The nails, when they went in, forced a slight angle, which caused her knees to be spread a foot or so apart. Just enough to expose her sex to the audience.  Her parents hid their faces at this sight, her ex lovers dreamed of when their cocks had entered there.

Jolene simply felt agony throughout her entire body. The humiliation of being nailed and hung naked out on display was sinking in. There was absolutely nothing she could do. She had never felt so helpless. Not even when she was in her jail cell had she been this helpless, this vulnerable.

She couldn't even brush the hair out of her face. It hung down across the sweaty flesh and clung like it was wet.

When Jolene was at the six hour mark, a guard with a long stick approached. The end of the stick had a large sponge, soaked with water.

"Drink," he said. By now, Jolene was so incredibly thirsty she would do anything for some water, and she put her head out and sucked on the sponge. The water was mixed with vinegar, which made her mouth pucker. She sucked it in though. The water helped, the vinegar made her thirstier, and she cried out, begging for regular water.

The audience had changed. The pathway to the hill had been opened to the general public after the initial crucifixion process, which was attended by family and friends. Jolene saw the last of her friends leave her sight and a new stream of people come through gates and up the hill, gawking at her naked body.

She was incredibly humiliated and felt like her brain would break. It was not that strangers were seeing her on display, observing her naked body. It was that she was in massive amounts of pain, and the strangers were here to observe that. It was her agony on display, not her nakedness.

But she was unable to do anything about it. She couldn't even scratch the itch on her face, the one on her cheek next to her nose, the one where the fly was crawling around and was eating into her mind with frustration and making her scream out because her arms were nailed up above her and she could not move.

Jolene's body was shiny with sweat from the heat of the day, and crusted from the dried semen left from the numerous rapes during the last few days.

As the sun went down, the sweat dried and made her cold. She started shaking. Her body shook, and her arms and legs wanted to contract inward so she could curl up to conserve body warmth but she couldn't. Her arms and legs were held stretched out, so her entire body was exposed to the varying temperatures.  This was part of the torment.

Faces drifted by in front of her. Some winced at her obvious pain. Others cringed at the site of nails protruding through her flesh. Some smiled and smirked. A few she could see were discreetly rubbing themselves between their legs.

She cried, tears streaming down her face and washing some of the hair away from where it stuck.

Mostly, she tried not to move. Any movement, any at all, caused massive ripples of new agony.

Thing was, she was in agony without moving. Her body demanded to move. Her body wanted to run, to escape whatever it was that had damaged her, was hurting her. And yet any attempt to move, to run, to get away, simply scraped the steel nails against the bone and nerves of her wrists and feet and made her scream out to the delight of the audience that now watched her every move.

The dark night was a long one. She did not sleep, she couldn't. The pain would not have allowed anyone to sleep. But at sunrise she was offered another sponge on a stick. She knew it would contain vinegar in addition to water, to hydrate her and yet torture her. She sucked it up anyway. Every last drop. When the sponge was dry, it was taken away.

The vinegar made her mouth shrivel up and pucker, giving her the sensation of thirst even though she had just taken in a cup of water.

She heard someone below explaining that by giving the condemned water they prolonged the suffering, as the poor girl would not die of dehydration.

That meant her. She would not die, because they were giving her water. She resolved not to drink any more. She had to die soon. She had to.

Jolene's second day on the cross. Humiliation and pain. The stream of observers was constant; at any given time there were 100 people watching her has she hung and tried to breathe, tried to struggle uselessly into a better position.

Jolene tried not to cry out because each time she screamed or moaned it caused some reaction in the audience. So many of them seemed to enjoy it, or at least be transfixed with fascination. Her suffering had become entertainment.

She peed on the ground below her once every few hours. The first time had been almost immediately after being raised up on the cross. The pain, the mind blowing agony of her stretched body was too much for her and she simply lost control. Urine sprayed out of her without her even being aware it was happening until she felt the warm liquid wash her legs and saw the audience react with horror and fascination.

The end of the second day and she realized how hungry she was. Thirsty as well, she was dying of thirst. Just dying... her body screamed for water. And the sponge of water came again.

Don't drink it, she thought. They are prolonging your suffering. She had made up her mind. But... her mind couldn't do it. She had to drink. She was sooo thirsty. When the sponge reached her lips she reached out and clamped on, bit it, sucked on it like it was her mother's teet. She pulled every bit of moisture from the sponge and needed more, more! It was not enough!

But it was just enough to keep her from dying, from dehydrating. Not enough to relieve her thirst, not enough to stop the torment. Just enough to prolong the torment.

She sagged down on the cross and sobbed. Tears still rolled down her cheeks because she still had water in her body. Urine still sprayed out from between her legs. Her flesh was still shiny with sweat in the hot sun, because she still had water in her.

Jolene lived on, continuing to suffer.

Even so, hanging on the cross was taking its toll. On the third day it became clear she was having trouble breathing. She would pant, and then stop. Then suck in a huge breath, expanding her chest, making her breasts rise erotically, and then collapse down.

Drool dripped from her mouth. Her head was hanging so far forward, her arms bent back at the shoulders so her body hung away from the cross, that the drool dripped down to a puddle on the ground below her.

The executioner came from his breakfast to observe the victim's progress on the third day. "It is time. Bring the sedile!"

Jolene did not know what was happening below her, she simply hung from the cross where she was nailed.

A sort of board was brought. It was about two feet long, a foot high, and the top part of it had been nicely carved to a thin, pointed ridge.

Just behind Jolene's cunt on the cross was a small notch. A lip on the board was designed to fit into this notch. The placement of this notch had been carefully measured based on Jolene's body dimensions.

The executioner took a heavy pole and shoved up on Jolene's pussy, lifting her slightly. Feeling this push Jolene cried out, not in pain but in surprise and further humiliation at being manipulated as she hung.

The sedile was slid into place, the lip at the end latching into the slot in the cross. When completed, the wood board stuck out between Jolene's legs. Jolene sagged back down and found there was support for her weight now.

The support between her legs came to a sharp point, not as sharp as a knife but still a very hard, pointed ridge. It settled in and jammed up against Jolene's pussy, spreading her cunt lips apart and digging into her. Jolene's ass even slid to either side of the board, and its edge pressed into her perineum.

Jolene cried out pitifully. While the sedile gave her support so not all her weight was hanging from her arms and shoulders and the nails in her wrists, much of it was now pushing down onto the knife blade edge of the sedile.

Small bits of blood appeared after a few minutes of struggling on the sedile ridge. It wasn't that sharp, but constant writhing on it had torn some of Jolene's sensitive cunt flesh. Her sobs were almost continuous as she moved to try and relieve this new pain.

The only way to relieve the pain of the sedile was to push up on her nailed feet, and pull on her nailed wrists.  This caused unspeakable agony and the position could not be held for more than 30 seconds or so before her shaking muscles gave way and she sagged back down onto the sedile.

The sedile bit cruelly into the poor girl's soft flesh between her legs, pressing and smashing, separating and even penetrating her somewhat.

As painful as it was, the sedile did its job, lifting and supporting Jolene and helping her breathe. As a result, she was able to cry more, sob more, give the men and women that crowded around to observe her suffering an even better show.

And so Jolene's third day on the cross came to a close, the sun went down and the temperature dropped. Jolene's naked body endured going from being sunburned and baked in direct sunlight to the cold of the night. She shivered on the cross, her muscles tighter, her skin taught.  Spotlights flooded the area, lighting Jolene up from every angle so her suffering could be observed by those who came, and recorded by cameras from every angle.

Jolene had forgotten why she was there. Her former life was fading away. Her entire present life was simple agony, muscles cramping, nerves screaming out when she moved, bones threatening to crack and separate whenever she moved. She was an agony machine, a bundle of pain.

She stank as well, the stink of death. Many who came to see her held their noses or rushed away. The stink was primarily from the body fluids Jolene had released over the several days. Urine gathered in a puddle below her, of course. The wood between her legs was stained with feces from when she had lost all bowel control. It had come splattering out on the morning of the second day.

There was also the acidic smell of vomit, which smeared and covered the front of Jolene's body. Nausea had struck during the second day on display, and Jolene had found herself pumping up the contents of her stomach onto herself.

As a result, after four days on the cross Jolene stank. Observers that came to see her were assaulted by the smell. Jolene herself was aware of the smell, but only to a small extent. She hated it, but could not get away from it. She was, after all, nailed hand and foot to a cross.

Jolene had already outlived any other crucifixion victim since crucifixion had been re-instituted as a way punishing social justice offenders. Most died two days after crucifixion, with a few lasting until the third day. One or two had made it to the beginning of the fourth day but Jolene was well past the beginning of the fourth day.

There were arguments in the social justice execution committee about whether Jolene's crucifixion was actually fair. It was, after all, an execution. It was never intended that she simply take up permanent residence on the cross, receiving food, water, medical care and the like, and never die. She was supposed to die, in agony.

Dr. Sykes simply invited the entire committee to come visit the execution scene, which they did on the fifth day.

The committee members filed through the entrance and up the hill upon which Jolene's cross stood, and there was the naked girl, sagged down, crusty from expelled body fluids, smelling like death, dried blood on the insides of her thighs, breathing but not otherwise moving. Her body hung down and out slightly from the cross so her arms were pulled behind her body.

The committee members were shocked. Jolene was alive, yes, even conscious. But her condition was not anything like what they had expected. Her hands were in the permanent shape of claws, fingers bent inwards. Her hands and wrists were black from lack of blood and damage done by the nails. Her feet were a bloody mangled mess from all the times she had tried to raise herself up. Her cunt was bruised and bloody from the sedile.

Jolene's breathing was raspy and heavy. Her breasts heaved, and skin was shiny from sweat. Slowly she looked up from the ground, opened puffy eyes and looked at the committee. She didn't know who they were, but she begged anyway.

"Please... please kill me... if you have any mercy in your souls, please just kill me..."

The committee members returned to the conference room and agreed quickly to continue the experiment. Jolene would die, either from starvation, from infections the antibiotics could not fight, from exposure to the changing heat and cold, or from simple exhaustion. It would happen soon enough.

On the seventh day the sedile was removed and Jolene sagged down so her entire weight was held by her arms. The pain was mostly in her back, chest, stomach and hips now. Her wrists, hands and feet were essentially dead and numb. The rest of her body was in remarkably good shape.

This was proven when the hose was turned on the suspended girl. A high pressure water hose sprayed her body and began washing the dried, crusted fluids off. The pressure was enough to shove Jolene to the sides, pulled and yanking on the nails. This caused new pain, new kinds of cramps, and new screaming.

Then the power wash of Jolene's body was done, she looked better than she had when first suspended on the cross. Her body was smooth, flesh glistening with the water in the sun. Muscles were stretched and could be seen easily, her ribs drawn tight and visible beneath flesh. She was significantly thinner now. She was starving to death, of course.

They continued to give her antibiotic laced water, and she continued to drink. It was only given once a day and when it came she was so thirsty she couldn't help herself. She needed water, no matter the consequences.

On the eight day she was humiliated in special ways. Her family was forced to attend, as were all acquaintances and her old co-workers. The crowed watched as their friend, sister, daughter, former lover Jolene hung from the cross for the eight day. Her body was subjected to indignities.

First, she was masturbated with a dildo. A large one. It was worked up inside her vagina from below. When Jolene first felt this she cried out, "Why, why?"

"Because you are a social criminal, and deserve to suffer as an example to others," came the response.  The dildo shoved deep inside her and then was pulled out. As it was shoved in and out of her bruised and damaged cunt, her family watched in horror. A couple of ex-boyfriends watched in interest. They took pictures for later.

Jolene was then given an enema. A huge one. Her stomach distended out in a bloated ball and she cried out once again, "Oh, god, oh god, please no, please... aaahhhhhh!" as the two gallons of water were forcibly pushed into her bowels.

When the enema was released a steady stream of water came out while Jolene sobbed. There was nothing to purge from her bowels, she had not eaten in over a week, so the water ran clear as it splattered over the wood of the cross.

Jolene had her nipples pierced. Two large rings were inserted into the holes and weights were placed there. They pulled Jolene's fine, firm breasts down, making them sag like old woman's breasts. It hurt, but what hurt her most was everyone watching as this was done to her.

A vibrator was attached to Jolene. A variation of the rabbit vibrator, it had a dildo portion that extended up into her vaginal cavity. An extension of this man phallus rose and pressed against her clit. It was designed and computer controlled to elicit orgasms from women in the most effective way possible. It was strapped in place, and turned on.

Jolene would never have believed it possible. Her entire body was in agony, her arms cramped and stretched all the way down to her shoulders. Her back cramped and ached. Her wrists and feet screamed out in pain. Her flesh was burning in the sun, and inside, her internal organs were revolting, causing nausea and internal pain. And yet, through all this, the vibrator worked its job, stimulating the pleasure center between her legs, slowly arousing her.

There was no choice. She didn't want to be on display for all these people watching her agony, and now watching her have an induced orgasm. But there was no choice. It happened, slowly, but it happened. The vibrator started slowly, then began to increase the strength of vibrations, massaging her clit. She jerked her hips, trying to dislodge the thing, but that did nothing but cause new waves of agony in her wrists and arms that almost made her pass out.

Finally she gave in, and relaxed. The vibrator continued to work on her, slowly bringing her cunt to a climax. There, hanging from the cross, Jolene's cries of agony became mixed with the cries of pleasure as her first orgasm took hold.

Yes, first orgasm. For the executioner left the vibrator in place. It sensed her climax and reduced its stimulation to a very low level. Then, after about a half hour, it began again, automatically increasing its stimulation and forcing yet another sexual climax from poor Jolene.

The audience of observers delighted in this show. The humiliation of being crucified and then forced to orgasm before the audience... for many it was the purest expression of the crucifixion agony.

Five times over six hours Jolene was forced to orgasm. It was humiliating in the extreme to have her body manipulated in this way for random strangers, and even her family and friends to observe. But her body, her life, were no longer hers. Sexual pleasure became simply another form of hideous torture for Jolene and she sobbed, her face covered with tears of pain and embarrassment.

Finally, the vibrator was removed, but the last humiliation was yet to be committed. The executioner fucked her. This final indignity was done by placing a short ladder in front of the condemned. The executioner greased his cock and mounted the ladder, and then mounted Jolene. Everyone watched as she was raped on the cross, unable to move to stop it in anyway. Jolene was as helpless and vulnerable as anyone could be.

The humiliation took its toll on the girl. On the ninth day she looked bad, as if she were near death. Somehow the rapes, the enemas, the piercings had caused a deterioration in her condition. Jolene hung without moving, her flesh grey and pulse weak.

Water was given to her, but she refused it for the first time. Her desperation to die was taking hold. She no longer wanted to exist, if existence meant hanging from this cross. She had grown very thin, and the holes in her wrists and feet had expanded. There was risk that she might come loose, because the nails had worn larger and larger holes in her flesh.

So, as a precaution, ropes were tied around her wrists to keep them in place.

She hardly knew what was happening.

The crowd of people flowing through to observe the poor girl had not slowed. The sadists, the masochists, the idly curious came to see the naked girl on humiliation display. She remained a beautiful sight.

On the eleventh day, Jolene took some water, but it was clearly because she was delirious and didn't know what she was doing. She sobbed at times, other times she spoke in a cracked, insane voice, talking about the people that stared at her below, or of some fantasy kingdom. She babbled about being Xena. At one point she begged a young man in the audience to come to her, to place his penis inside her, for she wanted his sperm. She had lost her mind, but was still on the cross, still suffering, still dying, slowly... oh, so slowly...

They stopped giving her water on the twelfth day. Everyone agreed she was close to death, though no one knew exactly what would cause it. Hunger? That usually took up to 30 days. Thirst? She had enough water to keep her alive. Infection? Perhaps, the antibiotics could not fight the impact of the dead flesh of her hands and feet.

On the 13th day the guards discovered a couple having sex behind some trees where they had a view of poor Jolene's body hanging from the cross. They were positioned so both could watch Jolene's suffering as they fucked and came to sexual climax. It was apparent this couple had been there several times over the previous week, watching the girl's suffering and using it to drive their sexual ecstasy.  The guards let the couple finish, grunting and straining to their climax, and then threw them out.

Jolene was unconscious at the beginning of the 14th day. While her body was much thinner than two weeks before, it was still a lovely sight, stretched out on display. Her face was no longer twisted in agony all the time, but held the peace of unconsciousness. Her breathing was barely discernible.

No one knew when she died, exactly. Death is not something that happens all at once. Various parts of Jolene's body stopped working, one after another, until they all were done. Her body continued to hang there, body fluids dripping out of her various holes.

Eventually she was drained of body fluids. There was no more urine, no more saliva, no more tears. Blood no longer flowed. She was dead.

Jolene's body was left on the cross for two more days as interested visitors filed past. Now she was dead, the visitors were allowed to come up to her and touch her cold body.

On the 16th day, her body was removed from the cross.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Crux Club

Sheri and Paul had joined the Crux Club 4 years before, and it had been all they had hoped for. Once every three months one of their tight knit and perverted group was crucified for all the others to enjoy. The crucifixion was done with ropes, of course, and carefully monitored and rigged to prevent any permanent damage or life threatening situations.

It could still be rather scary; there was the time when Len had been up for several hours and had lost consciousness suddenly. He had not shown signs of pain or stress, but later they determined the heat had gotten to him and he had reacted badly. After that one, they started monitoring body temperature (through the anus, a humiliating addition to the ritual). Another time Susan had started crying hard and begging to be let down. They finally relented and discovered that she had pulled a muscle in her shoulder, and had maybe even dislocated it temporarily.

Given the stress and pain the cross was designed to deliver, they had a pretty good track record.

That was about to change, and the decision was both exciting and terrifying. They were about to crucify one of their members for real. Real nails. Real torture. Real death.

The group had become restless. They all had spent time on the cross and sought something different, something exciting. Every member had some sort of sadomasochistic side; some more sadistic or masochistic, but they were all there to get off on the pain, the humiliation, the edge play, the simulated death. Some of the members had no interest in being hung on the cross at all; they were there simply to get off on seeing others suffer. But the desire was enough that they were willing to submit to the torture themselves, in order to participate when others were hung from the tree. It was part of the deal.

It was time to take it a step further and select someone to actually suffer and die on the cross.

Sheri and Paul organized the selection randomization process. There were a total of 32 members in the club, an equal number of men and women. Only one would die, chosen through a foolproof method that randomized the result and prevented anyone from influencing or perverting the selection process.

The chances of any one of them being selected as the victim was 3%. It seemed like a reasonable chance to take; the chance to take part in and observe a true crucifixion. The only price to be paid? A 3% risk that you might be the one crucified.

The Crux Club met early on a Saturday morning on a hill miles from the nearest town. The closest human habitation was a farm three miles away. The chances of being interrupted were practically zero. The hill rose high enough that they could see rolling hills and a valley in the distance, but trees obscured the view of anyone that might be close enough to see. It was a perfect and marvelous place for the ritual.

All the members of the club were there. All were between the ages of 21 and 35. There was a balance of 16 males and 16 females, a requirement that had been enforced since the first two couples had formed the group years before. The newest members were Kass, a tall thin brunette about 30, and a tough looking young blond guy named Bryce who was maybe 23. The two were not a couple, but had entered together.

The sun peeped over the horizon and lit the member's faces as they gathered in the circle at the top of the hill. The first step in the selection process took place. Each member rolled three dice. The member with the highest roll was selected to perform the next step in the selection process. Kass rolled 17, and was chosen.

The air was cool this early in the morning. Sheri and Paul hugged each other, sharing body warmth. Sheri was an intern at a hospital nearby. Paul was studying to be an attorney. They had met at an SM sex club several years before and discovered their common interests. It was a perfect match. They were both excited by the prospect of the day's activities. They only saw the other members of the group once every three months, they were there for the kink and weren't actually attached to anyone there except each other. This helped when it came to enjoying the sadistic side of the game.

Kass went to a bowl on a small table that contained a set of small round plastic containers, each with a name contained inside. She drew 6 of the plastic containers from the bowl and opened each one. She read the names out loud.  "Len."  "Alice."  "Scott."  "Kass."  "Sheri."  "Paul."

The six candidates had been chosen. Kass was one of them, having chosen her own name. Sheri and Paul were also candidates. Sheri felt her heart sink, and began to shake, clutching Paul. There was still only a 16% chance that any one of them would be chosen, but the odds had shot up significantly. There was also a 33% chance that it would be either her or Paul. She was scared for the first time. She knew what the cross felt like, the helplessness, the pain. How much worse would it be to feel the nails driven in and to know this was the final act, the final moments alive?

Paul held Sheri tightly. His face was white and lips pressed together tightly. He was under stress as well.

As arranged before, the six candidates were separated from the rest of the group. They were all stripped naked, all clothes, jewelry and other items removed so they were completely naked. It was still cold out in the morning air, and they shivered, trying to cover themselves.

Handcuffs then secured their hands behind their backs to prevent any last minute attempts to back out on the arrangement. Sheri and Paul were pried apart, though they stood close together once they had been cuffed.

The unchosen members of the group rolled the dice again. Bryce rolled the high value. Taking the next step in the selection process he took a sealed deck of cards and shuffled them. Another member of the group cut the deck and he laid the deck on the table. The top card was removed and placed face up. It was a six, and was placed in a position for the first of the candidates. The deck was cut again by another member; the top card drawn and placed next to the first. It was placed in the position for the second of the candidates.

In this way six cards were drawn.

Sheri's card was an Ace, as was Kass. They were the final two candidates.

Sheri broke down and began crying. Kass looked shaky, but stood firm. Paul suddenly broke out and began protesting, saying that he no longer wished to be part of the scene, that this wasn't right, that he refused to allow Sheri to be selected. Several members dragged Paul to the side where he was shoved onto the ground and hogtied. He lay struggling on the ground, crying out for Sheri.

The remaining unselected candidates had their handcuffs removed.

With the sound of Paul's protests in the background, the group gathered for the last throw of the dice. All members would throw one die. The first throw was for Sheri. The total count of all the dice was 97.  If the second throw of the dice was more than 97, Sheri was safe; Kass would be crucified. If it was less than 97, Sheri would be crucified and Kass was safe.

The last roll was made. The number, when counted, was 53.

Sheri was to be crucified.

Kass almost collapsed, the relief visibly overwhelming her. Sheri fainted, falling to the ground unconscious.

The handcuffs were removed from Kass. All 30 members of the group surrounded Sheri. Her limp body was dragged a few feet to the crest of the hill.

Each member of the group was both relieved they had not been chosen, and glad that they now could observe the actual crucifixion of Sheri. Sheri was deservedly considered the cutest, sexiest of all the women in the group. Seeing her suffer and die on the cross was exactly the outcome that many had desired.

Sheri recovered from her faint and stood naked in the clearing as the members of the group took the opportunity to taunt her. They called her names and threw rocks and rotten fruit at her. A whip was produced and she was made to dance, hopping and leaping to avoid the lash. Her bare flesh glistened from saliva that smeared over her, the result of the group spitting repeatedly. The whipping drew blood which mixed with the spit and made her skin shiny.

After a half hour of abuse, the poor, frantic girl was forced down onto the ground and laid on the wood beams of the cross. She wasn't giving up easily; she struggled and kicked but there were far too many others surrounding her. Getting away was simply not possible. Two of the women in the group sat on her body while others held her arm out on the crossbeam.

Plans had been made to drive the nail into the exact location where the wrist joined the arm, crushing the joint bones and driving between the ulna and radius bones. The first heavy metal spike was produced. It was angled correctly. The mallet was raised.

A scream echoed across the hillside as the spike drove home. Sheri's pain shattered their consciousness. She now writhed from pain and panic, her desire to get away taking over and causing her body to thrash around insanely.

Three, then four strokes and the spike was firmly in place, through her wrist and embedded deeply into the wood at an angle to support the pull of Sheri's weight on the spike.

Paul struggled and writhed as he watched his lover's wrist nailed to wood. He cried out, calling to Sheri and begging the others to have mercy. He was ignored.

Attention turned to Sheri's other arm. The spike and mallet were given to Kass this time, in honor of her having avoided Sheri's fate so narrowly. Kass carefully angled the spike at the wrist, just where it meets the palm of the hand. The point of the spike was pressed against the flesh, digging in slightly. Kass had an unexpectedly triumphant look as she paused to make sure the spike was placed and angled exactly right, and to taunt Sheri as she waited for the spike to be driven into her arm.

Kass brought the mallet down with an unexpected fierceness and the spike plunged through Sheri's flesh, deep through her wrist, shattering bones and crushing tendons as it went. Sheri screamed once again, her naked breasts heaving and shaking up and down. Kass hammered the spike through and down deep into the wood. When she was finished she stood and surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction.

Seeing Sheri suffering aroused her, deeply.

While the pain of her shattered wrists had drawn much of Sheri's strength from her, the panic, fear and agony triggered huge amounts of adrenaline that made the poor condemned girl thrash and writhe about on the ground. She did not cry, she was far beyond crying. She screamed over and over, kicking and pulling herself around, seeking to free herself from the wooden cross beneath her.

Sheri would go nowhere now with both wrists nailed to the cross. The members of the group stepped back to admire Sheri as she writhed. She really did have a beautiful body, and it was moving, muscles rippling and legs flailing. Her arms were stretched wide and there was nothing she could do about it. She was nailed down. Her eyes were crazed, face flushed, and foam gathered at the corners of her mouth. Her breasts heaved up and down and stomach contracted enticingly as she panted.

Three of the guys in the group grabbed Sheri's legs as they thrashed about, forcing them to bend and pushing her feet to the ground on the top of the cross's beam. They had decided on nailing her feet with a spike driven directly through the top of her foot, which would shatter and spread the delicate bones that extended through the foot to her toes. A spike was angled in place, the point dead center of Sheri's foot. Her other foot was shoved underneath so the spike would go through both feet in the same manner.

The mallet struck the spike, which in turn easily penetrated the flesh. The strike was weak, though, and the point barely penetrated to the bones. Sheri screamed as the spike was pulled free, repositioned and held in place by the wound that had been made from the first strike. Once again the mallet came down, this time strongly, enough to penetrate deep into the foot, smashing bone, ripping through nerves, causing searing pain.

The spike was struck again and again. On the second blow it exited the bottom of Sheri's right foot and just scraped the surface of her left. With repeated strikes, the nail penetrated the second foot, smashed bone and spread that shattered remains of both feet apart as the widening girth of the spike penetrated deeper and deeper. Sheri's screams were non-stop at this point.

Both arms and legs were now nailed and all Sheri could do was to cry out, move her hips and torso up and down, and shake her head back and forth. This she did, though in a few minutes she calmed and lay sobbing, motionless. Body movement simply placed strain on the parts of her limbs that were nailed down, and it became clear to her that it was less painful when she was motionless.

Paul shrank back in his cage as he watched five of the men in the group lift Sheri's wooden cross up into the air, slowly, very slowly. It was angled slightly as they got their grip, and as she was raised into the air Sheri was easier to see. Her body slid down slightly on the cross as gravity began to pull her down.

Slowly, slowly, the cross raised higher, and it became clear that Sheri's arms were already stretched out wide to their limit. Even so, her own weight pulled her down, her back scraping on the wood beneath her, gouges and large splinters embedding themselves in her back and ass. Her arms did not move any further, but her body's own weight stretched it out as gravity pulled it away from the spikes that held her in place.

When the cross passed 45 degrees, Sheri's body slid down even further, stretching her arms above her head. It was fascinating watching her body elongate and stretch, the muscles of her arms, shoulders and chest stand out as she hung from her nailed position. Flesh pulled tight over her ribs, and her stomach went concave as her hips slid down and away, her body stretching as it went from a laying position into a hanging position. The muscles in her arms began to define themselves better, stretching and going tight, as well.

Sliding the base of the cross to the hole prepared earlier, the bottom sunk quickly down and jerked to a stop in the upright position. Sheri's body jerked down as well, all her weight yanking on the nails through her wrists. She didn't scream; she passed out.

It only lasted a minute or so before Sheri regained consciousness. She began moaning, gasping and crying. Paul was silent in his bonds off to the side. Others in the group gathered and examined the woman's body closely, looking for physical signs of her suffering.

Sheri's knees had been bent before her ankles were nailed, and now that she had sagged down on the cross they naturally bent outward because of the angle at which her feet had been nailed on top of each other. Her sex was clearly visible.

Several members of the club moved forward and began to feel Sheri's nakedness. This was a common occurrence during their rituals. It was arousing to touch another's body, especially one that was helpless to respond. Usually, the person on the cross also was aroused by the touching and invasion of their exposed nakedness; it was part of the crucifixion experience. This time, Sheri felt the probing and fondling with horror and fear.

The sun was halfway up into the sky. Sheri faced south, so the sun hit her clearly and lighted her body well. Everyone could see her suffering in detail. The heat of the sun began to make her sweat, extracting precious water from her body. Part of the crucifixion process was dehydration, sometimes hurried by the heat that burned the naked flesh of the condemned.

There was little blood. A trickle of dark red descended down each ankle and dripped onto the ground. A small amount of blood also ran from the spike's in Sheri's delicate hands, down the underside of her thin arms, and was slowly trickling down her sides.

The members of the club began to taunt Sheri, and then ask her about what she was feeling.

"Where does it hurt, Sheri?"

"Can you feel your fingers, Sheri?"

"Try standing up on your nails, and tell us what it feels like!"

"Sheri, Can you breathe OK?"

The girl's sobs had quieted some, and she was not answering the questions. The agony was obvious, and she was shifting her body back and forth, seeking a better position that didn't exist. Every movement simply caused more pain.

The sweat was breaking out on her body, mixing with the blood and trickling down. Her flesh was shiny, making her look even sexier in the sunlight.

Kass went up to Sheri and reached up to her cunt, slipping fingers inside.

"She's wet! She's wet!" Exclaimed Kass.

Everyone had to feel after this was revealed. Each club member roughly examined Sheri's exposed sex, and the consensus was that while Sheri was, indeed, quite moist, it was most probably due to sweat and strain.

"Speak, tell us what hurts!" Shouted one of the men. Sheri was refusing to respond, instead simply moaning and crying.

The man got out a whip and snapped it in front of Sheri. "Where does it hurt? Tell us!"

The whip lashed out and kissed Sheri's naked flesh. She yelped, and screamed at the second brutal lashing.

"It hurts everywhere!" She screamed.

"Your hands, they are shaped like claws! Can you move your fingers?" asked one of the women.

Sheri looked at her fingers, indeed curled like claws but stiff and unmoving.

She gasped, and then grunted out, "I can't... I can't. They hurt, they hurt so badly, but I can't move them at all."

Sheri tried to raise herself up, pushing down on the nails that pinioned her feet to the cross. A sickening crunching noise was heard as the shattered remnants of her bones scraped and she screamed, then collapsed again, and screamed again as her weight jerked on her wrists.

"Do you want water? Do you want wine?" Cried out one of the men.

Sheri shook her head. She wanted to drink desperately, but she knew it would only prolong her agony. She was dying, and it would take a long time. There was no need to make it longer.

Snacks were served. A light lunch, with cheese, bread, fresh fruit and wine. Sheri watched as 30 people all dined in front of her, laughing and enjoying themselves as she suffered and hungered and thirsted on the cross.

"Take her temperature!" Someone said, and they did. Serena got the thermometer and reached between Sheri's legs and pushed her ass cheeks apart. She jammed the unit into Sheri's asshole, and left it there for a while. Sheri didn't react to this indignity, she was too distracted by the throbbing pain that was spreading from her shoulders across her entire back.

It was like a full body charlie horse cramp.

Finally, Serena pulled out the thermometer. "101" she called out.

"Infection setting in? Or just heat stroke? She might die sooner than expected!" The discussion centered around how well Sheri was doing.

She didn't look good. Her flesh varied between pale and bright red sunburn. Her face was gaunt and her eyes puffy as they darted around.  Flies had started gathering around her face, and a few were landing between her legs.

"AAaartrgghghghgghh!" Sheri groaned, almost shouting in frustration from not being able to scratch itches, not being able to brush flies away, not being able to wipe her nose where the mucus hung in a long thin strand.

Her body arched out, stomach and hips protruding as her body weight pulled her away from the cross. That was incredibly painful and she almost fainted again, and slumped back.

That was when she peed. A sudden, unannounced steady stream of urine sprayed out from between her legs an onto the ground.

"Whoa... " said Serena. "Glad she didn't do that when I was in there."

Sheri hadn't even realize she was going to pee; it just happened. She was losing control of her body. Muscles were not obeying, senses were betraying her.

It came to be late afternoon and Sheri was watching the sun go down, shining directly into her eyes. She could do nothing to shield them; it was just another small piece of the agony. Another piece that was beginning to drive her insane were the flies, which now swarmed all over her head and between her legs.

The flies on her face crawled into her eyes and mouth. Some had crawled up her nose. Sheri shook her head, trying to get them to go away, but that only got rid of them for a few seconds. They somehow knew there was nothing Sheri could do to them and they started exploring her orifices.

Sheri's long hair had plastered to her face and neck, made wet by the sweat. Some of it was in her eyes but she could do nothing about it.

She screamed once again, both in pain and in frustration for all the indignities, the complete exposure and inability to even wipe her nose, which had been draining in long gobs of mucus for some time.

To the side, Paul was still hogtied until someone figured he was no longer a danger. Sheri was too far gone to save now, she would only survive with the help of a hospital, and the entire group that could not happen. No one would know what had happened to Sheri.

Paul came over to Sheri, who looked down at him. "Paul... oh, god... Paul... please help me..."

She was begging in a hoarse, husky voice that no longer sounded like Sheri. Paul reached out and touched Sheri's feet, running his hands over the bumps and blackened bruises caused by the shattered bones beneath the flesh. He touched the end of the spike where it was exposed above her skin.

He kissed her feet, his arms sliding up her legs to her hips, and then he slid his hands between her legs to feel her cunt one last time.

Sheri screamed in frustration, feeling that even Paul had abandoned her, and Paul backed off. He hunched over, and went to a table to get a glass of wine and have some cheese and crackers.

"Do you want some water yet, Sheri?" Called someone.

"Just give it to her!"

A sponge filled with water was raised to Sheri's face on the end of a stick. She didn't want to take any, but she couldn't help herself. She reached out and took a long suck.

The group laughed as Sheri suddenly spat out the liquid and moaned in frustration. It was water mixed with vinegar. The vinegar made her mouth feel ten times worse. It was another form of torture.

The entire front of Sheri's lovely body was bright red with a massive sunburn. She was no longer slick with sweat, and indication she was entering severe dehydration.

Several of the members of the Crucifixion club had sex at that point. In face, something of an impromptu orgy occurred as the sun went below the horizon. A pile of bodies writhed, arms and legs intertwined, cocks entering pussies randomly, tongues sliding along bodies. Sheri was barely aware of what was happening before her.

There was a fire that night. Not a huge one, for a large bonfire might draw too much attention. But a nice, warm blaze that lit up Sheri's body and made it's hanging form that much more beautiful.

Sheri had adopted a body position where she pushed her hips and back all the way out, curved away from the cross. No one knew why, but apparently it was easier to tolerate. It was more fun to watch, that was certain.

Finally Sheri weakened enough she no longer struggled and simply hung from the cross.

"I think she is near death," Serina said.

"Let me take her temperature," Kass took the thermometer, shoved it up her ass. Sheri didn't move when Kass invaded her rectum.

After a few minutes Kass reached to remove the thermometer. As it slid out, so did a load of diarrhea. Shit spewed from Sheri's beautiful rounded ass, hit the cross and slid down.

"Ohhhh god ewwwwwww" Kass exclaimed, jumping out of the way. "She did that on purpose!"

"I doubt it," someone said. "It was just the stimulation of the thermometer in her ass. I think her body has been reduced to rather automatic responses at the moment."

"Sheri? Sheri? Can you hear us? Does it still hurt?" Several of the members were curious whether Sheri was nearing death, and whether she was still in agony or whether she was losing consciousness.

Sheri lifted her head and tried to spit on the others on the ground below her. It didn't work; she had no saliva in her mouth. The other laughed at her when she did this. "I guess she is still with us and lucid, eh?"

One of the members of the club got a step ladder to get closer to Sheri's face.

"Sheri. Tell me. Where does it hurt? How does it hurt? Tell us of the torture."

She was delirious, but responded. "My hands... numb. Gone. Arms ache horribly. Shoulders cramping, terribly. Can't stop it. Back hurts. Front burns, burning up. Feet gone, numb. Stomach is nauseous. Dizzy. World... is going around. Want to stop it, but can't. Want to get down. Please let me down. Please... please..."

"Can't do that Sheri. You have to die first. You know this will get worse and worse until you die, right?"

Sheri nodded and her head sunk down, hair falling forward.

"She smells," someone said.

"Well, people that are dying, and ones that are tortured, usually smell," someone said.

The night wore on. The entire group stayed, camping out. Most slept, some stayed up and watched the poor victim hanging.

As the sun came up the next day, those that had slept rose and came over to check on the victim. "Is she dead? Did she go during the night?"

"No, she is still alive, but barely. I think she is dehydrating pretty fast."

"I thought she would last several days."

"Yeah, me too."

"She still seems to be in pain, though she isn't moving much."

It was true. Sheri simply hung from the cross. She had lost the strength to struggle. At some point during the night she had vomited over herself, but there wasn't much to come up and the little slime she had produced dried on her breasts and stomach.

Someone listened to her heart, and said it was still beating.

"Whip her! Get a reaction from her!"

"No... get the step stool. I want to fuck her!"

"Think she will even know what is going on?"

Someone pulled the step stool over and wriggled up into place and stuck his cock between Sheri's legs. It was hard to do because she was a little too high, and wasn't moist at all. He spit on his cock, and finally got some of it in.

Sheri roused, and cried. There were no tears, her body didn't have enough fluid, but she sobbed as her club-mate pushed his cock into her and pushed. It jerked her body around and caused more pain, and she did react, crying and pleading for him to stop.

He did stop, after he dumped a load of semen inside her. After he left, it quickly trickled down her left thigh then dried.

Sheri was covered with dried body fluid; shit, urine, vomit, saliva, sweat, semen. She stunk.

At about noon, when the sun had reached the top of it's arc, they checked her heart again. There was no heartbeat.

She had died. No one knew when. Her breathing had become so shallow it was almost invisible, and she had stopped moving after the one club member had fucked her.

Paul had hooked up with Kass, and they had fucked in sleeping bags during the night. He stood looking at Sheri's suspended, dead body hanging from the cross, his arm around Kass.

"She died well, though I would have hoped she could have lasted longer. 28 hours. Not a lot. I think that done properly, the crucified could last several days."

Kass nodded. "Perhaps next time."

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Techniques of Crucifixion

This time the condemned was a young woman, barely 18, with a lean, hard body, small but well formed breasts, a cute face, and lovely hair.

How many crucifixions had it been?

He couldn't remember. Couldn't count. Dozens, well over a hundred during the 5 years he had spent in Gaul. And those were the ones he had done personally, himself. If you counted ones he had observed, it would be more like a thousand.

Every one was unique, just a little different. A different person, a different body in a different condition. Some came to him almost dead by the time he stretched them out and nailed them, others were barely touched, healthy, fully aware of what was happening to them.

The girl was begging. The words didn't matter, it was begging, entreating him for her life, to not put her on the cross. She might be offering her body to him, which was not uncommon when the victim was a woman.

Every one was the same. Begging. Crying out for mercy. Sobs, morphing to screams as the nails went in. Shock setting in from the pain, humiliation from the nakedness. Then screams again as they were lifted, and the long, slow ordeal toward death.

He had resorted to varying little things when he nailed them up. The body position could be changed; perhaps bending the knees a little more, or stretching the legs out straight. He had once tried stretching a condemned tightly, nailing his extremities wide so there was no room for sag or movement.That had turned out poorly, the man had died in less than an hour. Usually is was better to give some bend to the knee to allow for struggle, shifting weight, and to push up to relieve strain on the arms and chest.

The best position was with arms nailed not straight out, but slightly closer together. This caused the victim to lean forward as they hung, which always improved the appearance of their struggle. It also provided more room for them to push themselves up, pulling and straining to reach the upright position, only to collapse when the pain in the feet became too much, or weakness overcame them.

This girl continued begging, struggling against the guards as they held her down on her cross. Her cross, he liked to think of it. It was the last thing that she would possess in life. Her last home. He positioned her right arm at the exact correct location to create strain when she hung and then drove the nail in. The angle was perfect. Just a slight outward angle to keep from slipping off; the girl had good arms, too and the spike had gone through just above the wrist. The bones there would hold nicely.

He watched carefully as the nail lay on the unbroken flesh, this girl's smooth white flesh, so delicate. It was like a rape when it finally pierced in, deeply cutting the flesh, pushing it aside and penetrating into her arm. Blood welled up in the indentation where the nail was driving through, but it seldom amounted to much.

Sometimes he used larger spikes; especially on smaller bodies, like hers. Their size would spread more flesh and was wide enough to impact, shatter and pulverize the arm and wrist bones. That was another variation he had played with, but in this girl's case, the classic position was best. He wanted her to survive as long as possible.

Then there was the sedile. He had heard of it from a Centurion passing through a few years back, and wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. It provided quite a bit of variety for a while and was the most interesting and successful of all the variants he had played with.

The sedile could be a small wood stick driven into the stipes, just long enough the condemned could find it useful to support weight. If it was thin enough, and angled correctly, it ended up jammed inside the poor victim's rectum, which didn't help them much. A wider sedile would provide more support, and served to prolong the life of the condemned.

He had experimented with simple iron spikes protruding from the stipes for a while. It tended to rip and tear between the condemned's legs, they lost a lot of blood and while very painful tended to bring death more quickly. A larger wooden rod, or even a flat piece of wood could provide better support and actually prolong life, and thus the torture.

The sedile was the most fun with a female. The challenge was to get a thin enough of a rod that it would impale the girl, penetrating their female parts. To do that, you had to get the angle just right, but it could be done. He had loved seeing some of his female victims as they struggled, lifting themselves up, the narrow round phallus of the sedile pulled out of their vagina, only to plunge in deep again when their strength gave out and they sagged down.

For this girl there would be no sedile. Later, perhaps tomorrow, after she had hung free for a day, he might nail a heavy spike just below her female parts. It would help keep her from suffocating too quickly, but would also penetrate and shred inside her holes.

The placement and angles of the nails were also fun to play with, but he had learned the hard way to stick with some tried and true methods. Nailing directly through the hands was not a good idea; even if the condemned didn't try to rip their hands away, the sheer weight of their body sagging down could dislodge them. He stopped trying that after one victim ended up hanging by one hand, twisted around and screaming, and the weight on the remaining hand had ripped the nail right through the remaining flesh and bone and the body had fallen to the ground, hands and feet horribly mangled. They had simply run that condemned through with a sword to finish him off. A botched execution.

No, the standard way was best for the wrists. Nails carefully positioned at the base of the hand, right on the wrist. Drive through at a slight angle to prevent the arm from slipping off the nail by accident.

The feet were a lot easier; you could nail those any way you wanted. His favorite was on the side of the stipes; one nail through each ankle, right where the bone bulged. It smashed the greatest amount of bone, causing widespread damage to nerves and subsequent pain. It also separated the legs so you could get a view of the genitals.

He had also played with the more traditional method of nailing the feet one on top of each other. Two often the knees bent and came together, effectively covering and hiding the genitals, and he was a firm believer the condemned should show their genitals for anyone wishing to see.

The current victim smiled up at him from where she lay on the cross. No, not a smile, a grimace. Even in pain she looked incredibly cute, very young and pretty. He decided he would nail her ankles to the sides of the stipes, to spread her legs reliably.

He had always enjoyed crucifying women more than men, even though there were more men to be executed. The occasional woman was a treat. They tended to live longer, probably because their lighter frame meant less weight, and perhaps because women were just hardier than men. The women also didn't seem to be scourged as horribly as most of the men, so they were stronger when the nails went in and they were raised up for public viewing.

This girl had not been scourged at all. Quite rare. It meant she would survive a long time on the cross, several days he hoped. It was one reason he was taking care in his positioning of her. The maximum pain, the maximum survival time, the best exposure.

Getting the placement of the wrists on the patibulum just right was critical for women, because if you had the correct angle they hung forward, and that made their breasts dangle slightly. He had truly enjoyed one of his first female executions, a young woman with especially large breasts. The nails had been positioned perfectly and she had hung forward, her back a foot or two away from the stipes, her breasts wobbling and bouncing as she struggled and coped with the agony.

Still, men could be fun as well, especially since he had begun playing with the sedile. Some of the men actually had erections while on the cross. He hadn't been able to figure out how to make that happen yet, it seemed random. He had tried phallus shaped sediles, angling legs wide open or angling them closed. He had even resorted to stroking a few of them, to see if he could get an erection started. That usually did not work. Either the victim had an erection or not. He liked it when they did.

He had changed the shape of the cross when he had the materials. In general, that didn't matter much, except for the X shaped cross which provided the ability to force the condemned's legs wide apart. That was fun for a while because he liked looking at the genitals dangling out there, but he had been instructed not to use that cross. Apparently the condemned didn't suffer as much on an X shaped cross, and it took them too long to die for the official's liking.

Another variation was nailing the condemned so they faced the cross. This technique provided some amusement, but he only did it once with a male, and once with a female. The problem was that too many people (including himself) wanted to see the front of the victim and didn't like having the stipes in the way.

He had seen someone else use an inverted cross, and he thought they got it all wrong. The victim's arms had been nailed above them, and their legs spread wide to the patibulum below. While interesting, that just didn't seem right to him.

If the cross was to be inverted, then the victim should be inverted as well. He actually enjoyed doing this occasionally. The last woman he had crucified had been done upside down. Seeing her breasts sag up, toward her head, was interesting. The disorientation of being inverted, and extra blood pressure pounding in the head probably increased the overall discomfort.

But an inverted crucifixion was harder to get right; the knees had to be bent properly to make sure the victim's weight was still on their arms and wrists. Also, there was little struggling when inverted; victims just sort of hung there, and died faster.

A special treat for those crucified upside down was that their face could be positioned in a very accessible location. So, the mouth could be forced open and his cock inserted. He found this to be the most satisfying reason for an inverted crucifixion; the ability to rape the victim's mouth while they hung. Care had to be taken that they did not bite down, but this was usually easily arranged.

He would have liked to have crucified this young girl upside down, because his cock ached to get inside her. She had been delivered to him in public, right before the crucifixion time, so he had not been able to arrange a private moment. Her fine, lean body that struggled and strained so on the cross... he wish he had been able to penetrate her before hand, or even inside her mouth after she hung.

But, inverted crucifixion was not allowed by the current commander, except in special cases. So, this girl lay on the wooden cross, arms spread wide, stipes stretching below her, ready to be hauled up into the hanging position, on public display.

She had stopped screaming and was simply sobbing. He always liked how women looked on the cross; their bodies stretched, flesh tight over the bone, showing every breath they took.

Time to lift her up. The ropes were tied and several men grabbed the patibulum and began lifting. The girl rose into the air, still sobbing.

A hole had been dug, a good three foot hole to provide some stability to the cross.

One thing he liked to change a lot was the height of the cross. Sometimes the cross was up high, well above a man's head. The condemned body could be seen by all, it was on display like a trophy. People could see the victim's struggles from 500 feet away, or more. This was good with criminals that everyone wanted to see, when there was high interest in the execution.

It was perhaps the most humiliating, to be placed on high, hanging where all could see.

But this girl was crucified close to the ground. There was something to be said for a short stipes, which kept the criminal close to the ground, the body close and accessible to those around it. The victim was no higher than those around her, and the observers of her agony could see every shift of weight, every breath, every bit of drool. Best of all, people could touch the victim. Slide their hands over her body, Stand close and have a conversation. Such intimate proximity added to the torment.

When the stipes slid into the hole, it jerked to a stop, yanking the girl's body down to a sudden halt as her weight was stopped by the nails in her wrists. This was always the starting point of the real agony, the true crucifixion torment. This part never changed, that scream when the victim's body was suddenly jerked to a stop in the hanging position.

This girl was no different. She screamed, a long scream that ended in a gut wrenching gurgle. Because of her low position, he was standing right next to her, observed the expansion of her chest, the rise in her breasts, the stomach muscles contracting as she pushed the air out of her lung to perform the scream.

Now they would wait.

She would wait. Wait for death. Beg for death, really, though begging never helped. The whole idea was that death on the cross was not quick; it was a long, drawn out agony to be observed by all the populace as a warning.

You, too, could hang from the cross and slow die in torment, as is this poor soul.

If you wanted a victim to die fast, you left them in the sun, gave them nothing. If you wanted the victim to suffer and maybe die faster, you gave them wine-- this dehydrated them. Soak a rag in the liquid and offer it to them. Often they were so thirsty it didn't matter it was wine; the condemned would suck it down. Then of course their mouth would shrivel and the thirst ten times worse. They could never get enough wine down to get them drunk, dull the pain.

He liked to give water. A rag soaked in water. The victim usually thanked him, or at least said nothing, just bit on the rag and sucked.

It wasn't a kindness. Giving a condemned water could keep them alive, hanging in torment, for another day, even two days. It prolonged the process.

This girl would get water. He wanted to see how long she lived, and watch her while she clung to life while suffering.

She was in place now, hanging in the sun. He always had them facing the sun; stripped as they were, naked, the victims would burn. The sun burned their flesh, sweated the moisture out of them. This girl was already sweating, her entire body glistening. The sweat was part of what would kill her; for the more she sweated, the less water her body had. When she stopped sweating she would be close to death.

He might splash a bucket of water on her then, to cool her down, keep her alive for a few more hours.

The nails in her wrists drew no blood; a couple of trickles had dried in the sun. Her ankles and feet were swollen, distended and black from the broken bones caused by the nails. Her legs were apart, her knees perhaps a foot and a half separated, making it easy to see her genitals.

He reached out and touched them. She gasped and turned her head away, humiliated by her exposure and his touch.

This one would last three days, he thought. With care, he had done it right. He would enjoy watching this one die.