Illara
Tribune
The Crucifixion of Illara
By Anonymous
Note: This is a fantasy story. Nothing more.
Chapter 1 - Arrest
Illara was a Prefect’s daughter, and for the preceding months she had been pouring over texts and tomes about diplomacy and economic theory and philosophy. She wanted to submit herself into the King’s service as an advisor now that she had come into adulthood. The Kingdom was sprawling and massive, and it would please her, and her family, and the Gods if she were to attain such a noble station.
Illara pulled her dark black hair back into a ponytail and adjusted her comfortable tunic. She wrinkled her little nose and bit her lip as she opened a thick manuscript about the history of the Kingdom’s notable advisors and heroic peoples. She loved the smell of old books.
A slave girl stood silently and obediently nearby, a tray with snacks and fruits and a cup of water and glass of wine in her hands. She wore a standard slave girl’s outfit; a grey tattered waistcloth that was far from reaching her knees and a leather belt across her chest, to reign in her breasts and cover her nipples. It was as close to naked as a person could be without actually being naked, showing off as much of the slave’s pale skin as possible.
The slave girl must be right around her own age, or maybe a little bit older. Illara wondered which village or conquered kingdom she had come from, but the question was fleeting, her book beckoned, and with it came knowledge and engaging ideas and fascinating stories.
But then there was a knock at the study door. It was rather loud and impolite, Illara thought.
“Go and answer it.” Illara said dismissively to the slave girl.
The slave nodded submissively and set down the tray carefully and walked to the door. She opened it and standing in the hallway were a half a dozen soldiers of the Kingdom. They had glistening panels of steel armor over maroon tunics and sheathed to their belts were swords. They did not wear helmets, as if going into battle, but Illara was still immediately alarmed. Why are soldiers here in my study she thought?
The leader of the formation stepped forward, his stern eyes locked onto her. As he spoke, the other soldiers moved with purpose into the spacious study.
“Illara Avenicii, you are under arrest for treason.” He declared.
Before she could even react in question or absolute shock, strong hands gripped her upper arms from either side and she was lifted from her comfortable chair. Flanked by soldiers, her hands were pulled behind her back, not roughly but firmly and unstoppably, and metal shackles were clasped onto her wrists.
“What is happening?” She blurted out breathlessly.
The lead soldier gave her a stern look, as if to reiterate his last statement.
Treason!? What in the Gods’ names were they talking about!? She had done no such thing, and had always been a loyal citizen of the Kingdom.
They marched her past her wide-eyed slave and out into the hallway. They led her promptly through her expansive family home and out of the main doors to the city street. There were another dozen soldiers standing there, and some of her neighbors had come out to see what was going on.
She blushed with embarrassment as she stood before them in shackles, soldiers on either side of her clamping tightly onto her upper arms. The leader of the soldiers waved at the gathering crowd dismissively.
“Go back to your business. This is an arrest under the King’s charge.” He announced. The crowd did not dissipate.
Illara was led through the streets of the Kingdom, towards the Citadel in the center of the city, where the Sacred Throne was. Will I be brought before the King she thought? Her mind was racing. She had always wanted to meet the King. But not like this. Not accused of something she would never ever fathom.
The walk to the Citadel passed like a blur. Marching up the marble steps to the large, ornate building, when they entered the expansive entrance hall, she was led to the left. She had heard where left in the entrance hall led to, the dungeons.
She was marched through the dark, torchlit halls and brought to an empty cell with nothing but a cot in it. She was walked inside, her shackles were removed, and the soldiers began to leave.
“Wait! Please! I’m innocent! Don’t leave me here!”
They ignored her and shut the iron-barred door and locked it. Then they left and she was all alone.
Chapter 2 - Preparation
She had paced nervously in her cell at first. Eventually she calmed herself. This has to be some big mistake she thought. It will all get sorted out. I’m not a traitor. Traitors suffer to appease the Gods and then they are crucified. I have done nothing wrong.
With her mind placated, she laid down on the simple cot. It was actually not too uncomfortable. She had never been to a crucifixion before. Her parents had always wanted her not to see such things. She had heard that the condemned were made to suffer and be humiliated before being placed on the cross to die. What a horrifying thing she thought.
She slept, but her dreams were troubling and anxiety-inducing. She wanted clarity and an explanation for what was happening.
She awoke when she heard the scraping of metal. Her cell door was being unlocked. A trio of soldiers walked inside.
“Stand.” One of them ordered emotionlessly.
She looked at him with her big, blue eyes. Why are they not sympathizing with me or telling me what is going on?
Nevertheless, she complied, and rose from her rough bed. Much like before, the other two soldiers took her arms, but this time they took out rough, strong rope and ties her hands at the wrist, in front of her instead of behind her back. Why is it different this time she wondered? The guards took her by her lean biceps and walked her out into the hallway.
The walked back the way she had come in. Am I being brought before the King? But they walked past the door that she had come through from the main entrance hall.
“Where are we going?” She asked nervously.
The lead soldier turned and looked at her for a moment, then continued without stopping. She could not read his expression.
After a few minutes, they came to a wood and metal set of double doors. The lead solider went forward and pushed the doors open. The room before them was quite large, also dark and torchlit like the rest of the dungeons.
In the center of the room was a wooden platform on wooden wheels. The platform sat on these large wheels about six feet off the ground. At the front of the platform were steps leading up to it. In the center of the platform was a single pole, also about six feet tall, with a rope and pulley mechanism at the top of it. In front of this wheeled platform, hanging from the ceiling parallel to the ground were three large wooden beams. On the sides of the beams facing the platform, chains were affixed that connected it to the front of the wheeled platform.
Her analytical mind was confused. What is this thing for? Was the platform meant to be pulled by people holding onto the three wooden beams?
There were about a dozen other soldiers in the room, some holding torches. Along the far wall was a line of slave girls, all with their hands bound behind their backs and metal collars around their necks, all connected by a long chain. They all had their eyes down respectfully, their barely covered breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath.
The soldiers guiding Illara gave her no pause to evaluate the room and its contents. They marched her straight towards the stairs to the top of the wooden platform. She that at the top of the pole on the platform, attached to the rope/pulley system, was a small metal hook.
She looked down at her bound hands, saw the gap of rope in between her wrists and suddenly it clicked. I am going to be affixed to that! Why?
She was right. They marched her straight to the pole in the center of the platform, moved her to where her back was to it, and held her there. The lead soldier reached up and grabbed the hook and brought it down before, securing it to her rope bindings. He nodded and the soldier on her right let go of her arm and began working a winch on the back of the pole, reigning in the rope. Her bound hands were pulled up over her head. Her shoulders ached slightly as the hook was pulled higher and higher.
He kept going, until her arms were fully extended, and she was standing on her tiptoes, pulled taught to where she could not move at all.
“What is happening?” She asked, her voice defaulting in these circumstances to a reverent, breathless whisper.
The lead solder grimaced. He looked pitying for a moment. But then he nodded. “Strip her.” He ordered.
Her mind reeled. What!? The two soldiers who had marched her here from her cell began to pull at her tunic. They were stripping it off her! Hands tied far above her head, she could only squirm, barely, as they pulled down the soft cloth and exposed her supple, ample breasts. She was a short girl, only five feet and one inch tall, but she had large, perky 32DD breasts with perfectly round, pink nipples.
She blushed intensely as her clothes were removed. She had never been naked in front of a man before. And now there were a bunch of soldiers, and a half a dozen slave girls, seeing her uncovered breasts! What is happening!?
They removed the tunic completely, the air flowing against her bare clitoris and she tried to raise her legs up to cover her womanhood. Her abdomen flexed and her skinny figure tightened as she tried to bring her legs up but taking her weight off of the floor caused her shoulders to scream out in pain and exertion. She had to leave her toes on the platform, meaning her nakedness was fully exposed.
She felt embarrassment and shame like never before. Standing stark and stretched, her breasts moving with every shaking breath, she felt truly humiliated. She could not move at all. Squirming would only make her breasts bounce more. She noticed a weird bulge in one of the soldier’s groin covering.
By the Gods! He has an erection! Because of me! Her lip quivered and her little nose wrinkled. She felt objectified and ashamed of her quivering, soft body.
Powerless to do anything, she watched with anxious curiosity as the soldiers walked down the steps and off of the platform. Are they going to just leave me hanging here? Then she saw the soldiers approach the line of slave girls. They looked them over dispassionately for a few moments, then the lead soldier nodded at one girl, a petite blond with green eyes and large breasts that were pressed against her chest by her slaves’ belt.
The soldiers unlocked her collar and marched her towards the wooden beams hanging from the ceiling. The submissive slave did not resist in the slightest. One of the soldiers removed her loincloth and then undid the belt around her chest. They tossed these to the side. The now naked slave’s shackles were removed and soldiers on either side of her took rope cords and wrapped them around each of her wrists. She was short, and the beam hung parallel to the floor at a level almost above her head. One of the soldiers said something and another one by the wall worked another winch and the beam was lowered slowly until it rested just above the height of her shoulder blades.
The naked slave’s arms were raised and she was pressed back against the beam (the soldier doing the pressing resting his hands on her ample breasts), and the ropes on each side of her were wrapped around the beam of wood.
Illara now noticed that the beams of wood each had horizontal notches along the edges, and a small ring on the back, so that the ropes could be tightened and affixed, stretching the naked slave’s arms taught as she was pulled against the beam and her feet arched to support her weight.
Illara’s mind wrapped around what was happening. These were crucifixion beams. A part of the cross that traitors were crucified upon. She realized why they were chained to the platform. These slaves were going to be bound to the wooden beams, and then they would pull the platform. She presumed to know where they would pull her to.
In the biggest city square there was a large wooden platform that had three tall beams of wood that could lie on the ground, or be raised up perpendicular to the ground through a series of pegs and gears. And crossbeams such as the three before her could be attached to those tall beams for crucifixion.
Am I going to be crucified!? Her head swam and her eyes blurred as her heart pounded at the thought. Her breasts were bouncing now as she nearly hyperventilated.
Once the naked, blonde slave girl was pulled tightly to the crossbeam and lowered her head, clearly already in an uncomfortable position, the process of stripping and binding was done on two more slaves. There was a curvaceous, black haired slave girl with large breasts and oval nipples who was bound to the center crossbeam. And then another petite, auburn haired girl who was very skinny and had small, perky breasts.
With three naked slaves attached to the crossbeam, their chests already beginning to rise and fall in anticipation of the coming march, the stark naked Illara could now be moved.
“Let us proceed.” The lead soldier said to the room, and the far wall of the room opened. It was a massive wooden door that she had thought to be a wall! They were going to march her out through the city to the execution square! This cannot be happening she thought!
By Anonymous
Note: This is a fantasy story. Nothing more.
Chapter 1 - Arrest
Illara was a Prefect’s daughter, and for the preceding months she had been pouring over texts and tomes about diplomacy and economic theory and philosophy. She wanted to submit herself into the King’s service as an advisor now that she had come into adulthood. The Kingdom was sprawling and massive, and it would please her, and her family, and the Gods if she were to attain such a noble station.
Illara pulled her dark black hair back into a ponytail and adjusted her comfortable tunic. She wrinkled her little nose and bit her lip as she opened a thick manuscript about the history of the Kingdom’s notable advisors and heroic peoples. She loved the smell of old books.
A slave girl stood silently and obediently nearby, a tray with snacks and fruits and a cup of water and glass of wine in her hands. She wore a standard slave girl’s outfit; a grey tattered waistcloth that was far from reaching her knees and a leather belt across her chest, to reign in her breasts and cover her nipples. It was as close to naked as a person could be without actually being naked, showing off as much of the slave’s pale skin as possible.
The slave girl must be right around her own age, or maybe a little bit older. Illara wondered which village or conquered kingdom she had come from, but the question was fleeting, her book beckoned, and with it came knowledge and engaging ideas and fascinating stories.
But then there was a knock at the study door. It was rather loud and impolite, Illara thought.
“Go and answer it.” Illara said dismissively to the slave girl.
The slave nodded submissively and set down the tray carefully and walked to the door. She opened it and standing in the hallway were a half a dozen soldiers of the Kingdom. They had glistening panels of steel armor over maroon tunics and sheathed to their belts were swords. They did not wear helmets, as if going into battle, but Illara was still immediately alarmed. Why are soldiers here in my study she thought?
The leader of the formation stepped forward, his stern eyes locked onto her. As he spoke, the other soldiers moved with purpose into the spacious study.
“Illara Avenicii, you are under arrest for treason.” He declared.
Before she could even react in question or absolute shock, strong hands gripped her upper arms from either side and she was lifted from her comfortable chair. Flanked by soldiers, her hands were pulled behind her back, not roughly but firmly and unstoppably, and metal shackles were clasped onto her wrists.
“What is happening?” She blurted out breathlessly.
The lead soldier gave her a stern look, as if to reiterate his last statement.
Treason!? What in the Gods’ names were they talking about!? She had done no such thing, and had always been a loyal citizen of the Kingdom.
They marched her past her wide-eyed slave and out into the hallway. They led her promptly through her expansive family home and out of the main doors to the city street. There were another dozen soldiers standing there, and some of her neighbors had come out to see what was going on.
She blushed with embarrassment as she stood before them in shackles, soldiers on either side of her clamping tightly onto her upper arms. The leader of the soldiers waved at the gathering crowd dismissively.
“Go back to your business. This is an arrest under the King’s charge.” He announced. The crowd did not dissipate.
Illara was led through the streets of the Kingdom, towards the Citadel in the center of the city, where the Sacred Throne was. Will I be brought before the King she thought? Her mind was racing. She had always wanted to meet the King. But not like this. Not accused of something she would never ever fathom.
The walk to the Citadel passed like a blur. Marching up the marble steps to the large, ornate building, when they entered the expansive entrance hall, she was led to the left. She had heard where left in the entrance hall led to, the dungeons.
She was marched through the dark, torchlit halls and brought to an empty cell with nothing but a cot in it. She was walked inside, her shackles were removed, and the soldiers began to leave.
“Wait! Please! I’m innocent! Don’t leave me here!”
They ignored her and shut the iron-barred door and locked it. Then they left and she was all alone.
Chapter 2 - Preparation
She had paced nervously in her cell at first. Eventually she calmed herself. This has to be some big mistake she thought. It will all get sorted out. I’m not a traitor. Traitors suffer to appease the Gods and then they are crucified. I have done nothing wrong.
With her mind placated, she laid down on the simple cot. It was actually not too uncomfortable. She had never been to a crucifixion before. Her parents had always wanted her not to see such things. She had heard that the condemned were made to suffer and be humiliated before being placed on the cross to die. What a horrifying thing she thought.
She slept, but her dreams were troubling and anxiety-inducing. She wanted clarity and an explanation for what was happening.
She awoke when she heard the scraping of metal. Her cell door was being unlocked. A trio of soldiers walked inside.
“Stand.” One of them ordered emotionlessly.
She looked at him with her big, blue eyes. Why are they not sympathizing with me or telling me what is going on?
Nevertheless, she complied, and rose from her rough bed. Much like before, the other two soldiers took her arms, but this time they took out rough, strong rope and ties her hands at the wrist, in front of her instead of behind her back. Why is it different this time she wondered? The guards took her by her lean biceps and walked her out into the hallway.
The walked back the way she had come in. Am I being brought before the King? But they walked past the door that she had come through from the main entrance hall.
“Where are we going?” She asked nervously.
The lead soldier turned and looked at her for a moment, then continued without stopping. She could not read his expression.
After a few minutes, they came to a wood and metal set of double doors. The lead solider went forward and pushed the doors open. The room before them was quite large, also dark and torchlit like the rest of the dungeons.
In the center of the room was a wooden platform on wooden wheels. The platform sat on these large wheels about six feet off the ground. At the front of the platform were steps leading up to it. In the center of the platform was a single pole, also about six feet tall, with a rope and pulley mechanism at the top of it. In front of this wheeled platform, hanging from the ceiling parallel to the ground were three large wooden beams. On the sides of the beams facing the platform, chains were affixed that connected it to the front of the wheeled platform.
Her analytical mind was confused. What is this thing for? Was the platform meant to be pulled by people holding onto the three wooden beams?
There were about a dozen other soldiers in the room, some holding torches. Along the far wall was a line of slave girls, all with their hands bound behind their backs and metal collars around their necks, all connected by a long chain. They all had their eyes down respectfully, their barely covered breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath.
The soldiers guiding Illara gave her no pause to evaluate the room and its contents. They marched her straight towards the stairs to the top of the wooden platform. She that at the top of the pole on the platform, attached to the rope/pulley system, was a small metal hook.
She looked down at her bound hands, saw the gap of rope in between her wrists and suddenly it clicked. I am going to be affixed to that! Why?
She was right. They marched her straight to the pole in the center of the platform, moved her to where her back was to it, and held her there. The lead soldier reached up and grabbed the hook and brought it down before, securing it to her rope bindings. He nodded and the soldier on her right let go of her arm and began working a winch on the back of the pole, reigning in the rope. Her bound hands were pulled up over her head. Her shoulders ached slightly as the hook was pulled higher and higher.
He kept going, until her arms were fully extended, and she was standing on her tiptoes, pulled taught to where she could not move at all.
“What is happening?” She asked, her voice defaulting in these circumstances to a reverent, breathless whisper.
The lead solder grimaced. He looked pitying for a moment. But then he nodded. “Strip her.” He ordered.
Her mind reeled. What!? The two soldiers who had marched her here from her cell began to pull at her tunic. They were stripping it off her! Hands tied far above her head, she could only squirm, barely, as they pulled down the soft cloth and exposed her supple, ample breasts. She was a short girl, only five feet and one inch tall, but she had large, perky 32DD breasts with perfectly round, pink nipples.
She blushed intensely as her clothes were removed. She had never been naked in front of a man before. And now there were a bunch of soldiers, and a half a dozen slave girls, seeing her uncovered breasts! What is happening!?
They removed the tunic completely, the air flowing against her bare clitoris and she tried to raise her legs up to cover her womanhood. Her abdomen flexed and her skinny figure tightened as she tried to bring her legs up but taking her weight off of the floor caused her shoulders to scream out in pain and exertion. She had to leave her toes on the platform, meaning her nakedness was fully exposed.
She felt embarrassment and shame like never before. Standing stark and stretched, her breasts moving with every shaking breath, she felt truly humiliated. She could not move at all. Squirming would only make her breasts bounce more. She noticed a weird bulge in one of the soldier’s groin covering.
By the Gods! He has an erection! Because of me! Her lip quivered and her little nose wrinkled. She felt objectified and ashamed of her quivering, soft body.
Powerless to do anything, she watched with anxious curiosity as the soldiers walked down the steps and off of the platform. Are they going to just leave me hanging here? Then she saw the soldiers approach the line of slave girls. They looked them over dispassionately for a few moments, then the lead soldier nodded at one girl, a petite blond with green eyes and large breasts that were pressed against her chest by her slaves’ belt.
The soldiers unlocked her collar and marched her towards the wooden beams hanging from the ceiling. The submissive slave did not resist in the slightest. One of the soldiers removed her loincloth and then undid the belt around her chest. They tossed these to the side. The now naked slave’s shackles were removed and soldiers on either side of her took rope cords and wrapped them around each of her wrists. She was short, and the beam hung parallel to the floor at a level almost above her head. One of the soldiers said something and another one by the wall worked another winch and the beam was lowered slowly until it rested just above the height of her shoulder blades.
The naked slave’s arms were raised and she was pressed back against the beam (the soldier doing the pressing resting his hands on her ample breasts), and the ropes on each side of her were wrapped around the beam of wood.
Illara now noticed that the beams of wood each had horizontal notches along the edges, and a small ring on the back, so that the ropes could be tightened and affixed, stretching the naked slave’s arms taught as she was pulled against the beam and her feet arched to support her weight.
Illara’s mind wrapped around what was happening. These were crucifixion beams. A part of the cross that traitors were crucified upon. She realized why they were chained to the platform. These slaves were going to be bound to the wooden beams, and then they would pull the platform. She presumed to know where they would pull her to.
In the biggest city square there was a large wooden platform that had three tall beams of wood that could lie on the ground, or be raised up perpendicular to the ground through a series of pegs and gears. And crossbeams such as the three before her could be attached to those tall beams for crucifixion.
Am I going to be crucified!? Her head swam and her eyes blurred as her heart pounded at the thought. Her breasts were bouncing now as she nearly hyperventilated.
Once the naked, blonde slave girl was pulled tightly to the crossbeam and lowered her head, clearly already in an uncomfortable position, the process of stripping and binding was done on two more slaves. There was a curvaceous, black haired slave girl with large breasts and oval nipples who was bound to the center crossbeam. And then another petite, auburn haired girl who was very skinny and had small, perky breasts.
With three naked slaves attached to the crossbeam, their chests already beginning to rise and fall in anticipation of the coming march, the stark naked Illara could now be moved.
“Let us proceed.” The lead soldier said to the room, and the far wall of the room opened. It was a massive wooden door that she had thought to be a wall! They were going to march her out through the city to the execution square! This cannot be happening she thought!