I have been a member of CF for over a decade, but completely forgot about it until very recently. A couple of years ago I started making 3d images of mostly nude ladies in various perilous situations (you can find them at visionsofdarknes.com), but somehow completely forgot about the subject of crucification.
Well, this is the place to learn about it! When I came across the inspiring thread about
Alice Kiss I decided to give it a try, and here you are: my first image specifically produced for CF.
The Traitor's Daughter
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I just have this one image, so really I don't know much about this girl or why she ended up on the cross. If anybody happens knows more about her, please do tell.
I don't often use strong language on this forum but - fucking hell, that is one image of power. The only infinitesimal issue I have with it are the nails through the palms.
So, here is my response in prose to this wonderful picture.
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Daughter is a powerful word.
The arrival of a baby daughter is a moment of joy for any parent, a beautiful bundle of feminine potential. If a daughter is lucky she will follow her mother in beauty and grace, but she will form a special lifelong bond with her father, her first male relationship, her window into an alien world.
And so it was for this young woman, daughter, princess. For isn't every girl a princess to her father?
Palms tear, sinews scream, blood flows.
But the day came when her father could longer play king to her princess, protector to his daughter. The day came when others called him proditor, not protector.
Arms stretch back, slim shoulders take the strain.
They came for him, they came and cast him down, traitor, unworthy servant to his people. They came for all of them, wife and daughter were not spared. How could they be, tainted as they were? Condemned by those who spoke against him, she was taken from her life of comfort. Her father's love was no longer her joy, but her condemnation. Knowing nothing of politics, she was sentenced to suffer, for how could she be innocent?
Young flesh tight over ribs, see the movement as she draws in breath.
Condemned. Stripped. Humiliated. Nailed.
That potential she once had is no more, this is the end, to hang here struggling on this unyielding wood. Her legs try to take some of the strain, but her nailed feet cry out with every movement, as if she is standing on the hard nails. Her sex is barely visible behind her sweet bush, matted with sweat. No man will win her love now, no man find pleasure at the end of the day between those slender thighs.
Back arches, muscles cramp, agony etched on her face.
She cries out in pain and despair to one who shares her gender. Mother Juno have pity! This girl is tortured beyond her endurance, degraded beyond all dignity. Let her find release!
Flies taste her, crawl on her face, between her legs.
This is the meaning of true helplessness. This torture is almost the worst of all, the sensation causes her to twist in frustration.
Her body is young and desirable, she draws a crowd of onlookers to witness her fall, to enjoy her final agony. Most of them barely know who she is, they don't care, it is naked lust that drives them, or pleasure in the suffering of one so beautiful.
Come stranger and stand with me here, you have a good view of her small shapely breasts as they rise with each breath. Look, between her thighs, see the portal of Venus that hides behind the thicket of her body? As she pants and grunts with the effort of crucifixion you may imagine her straddling your own body, her cries a response to your powerful thrusts. Think what a ride she would be, eh? That fine skin, those shapely young limbs, and such a face! Such a pity, to end like this.
Daughter to a traitor.
Filia Proditoris.
