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Amanda's story

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It is dawn on what they call ‘market day’. I am led from my cell and outside where I am handed my cross. Any thought of covering my body is chased from my head by the weight of the cross.
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My naked body is only to draw crowds. Do not think I am any less aware of my nude body. The spectators certainly haven’t forgotten I am bare. The cross probably isn’t that heavy but I have lived a sheltered life. My last hours on earth will not be so easy. I have never carried anything this size or weight in my life. And I am stark naked. The stone road tears at my feet with every step. The mob hurls insults they would never have dared if I was back at home. They also throw things at me that smell worse than dirt… a lot worse!
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They either love Arbor or really hate me. Either way I am carrying a cross naked before them. There is no effort to protect me from the scum thrown at me.
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I am scoffed at when I fall and the guards only efforts are to get me back on feet. I think my crucifixion is more important than anything happening to me now. I arrive at the Mound of Death. I have never heard of such a place but am about to become very intimate with it. This is where I am to die.

The cross is laid on the ground and I upon it. Strong hands stretch my arms over the wood. Tree shows no emotion as he drives the first spike through my left wrist. I howl like a wounded animal as he shifts to my right wrist. I don’t notice him press the spike against my arm. I do notice when he drives the spike through my wrist.
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I don’t notice when my feet are folded over the stipe. I don’t think I notice when he swings his hammer. I do know when the spike tears through bones of my feet. I am crucified!
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I am nailed to two pieces of wood. I cannot move more than the spikes allow. Crap fills the cleft of my ass and I can do nothing about it. I am the cross’ prisoner!
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Move??? I don’t think so. I feel the shanks of the spikes between my bones. There are people surrounding me yet I don’t see them. I know only pain and the cross and spikes are sure that is all I know. There could be a hundred people around me or just a fly. It matters not- I am prisoner of the cross!
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-Amanda
Amanda is where she has never been outside her dreams. She feels the cross lift and knows whatever torment and humiliation she has felt was about to be eclipsed by being raised.
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This is me… Amanda.

I did my best.

I refused to wed whatever his name is. I gave up my royalty for this. I am nailed naked to a cross and all the crowd approves. My body leaks as it is raised. Piss flows from my loins and shit purges from my ass.

I am a crucified dog… what could be worse?
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-Amanda

I can think of worse things… Give me time…

Tree
 
Wragg said:
Ah, but which seems to last longer, and which feels worse? :confused:

But Tree has served up some pretty nifty images once again! :)
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Jollyrei said:
The Archbishop is really not supposed to comment on that. ;)
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I am trying to be respectful here...

A small amount of help would be...

..oh, fuck that!!!
 
Jollyrei said:
ONE DOES TAKE SOME CARE ABOUT THE DIGNITY OF THE OFFICE, YES.
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Thank goodness one cares about his job! Let us continue...

Time means nothing to me. I judge its passage by pain and humiliation. It is still early morning and I am in agony. My body is trying to tear my arms from my shoulders while the spikes seem to rip at the base of my hands. The third spike torments my shattered feet limiting to what support my legs can offer. The cross effectively holds me spread against its face.

I am naked and displayed by the side of a road that leads into the town. I am exposed to those passing on their way to market day. Some pause to comment about me hanging bare before them. To them I am a condemned convict- maybe a whore or witch but certain not Princess Amanda. The remarks made are lewd with no concern I can hear them. I can do nothing but hang displayed for their pleasure while the cross slowly kills me.

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The sun burns off the morning’s fog. The cold dawn becomes a warm morning. This only changes the pain I feel. My thirst grows with my hunger. Neither will be sated. Only my death will end the torment.

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As time passes I find new ways to try to ease my torment. None of the moves ease all my pain but moves the agony around. Some of the poses are less than lady-like. I don’t give a damn.
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Those passing seem to enjoy my gyrations and are less than shy about commenting about my moves. I have been called words I have never heard before and will die before I know what they mean but the laughter tells me they aren’t kind words!

Midday approaches and it has become a hot day. Sweat pours from me while my mouth is sticky dry. Two women pause to look at me and note my shaggy appearance. One of them comments that crucifixion must be horrible way to die. The blond says “Of course it is! Don’t you think the cunt deserves what she got?”

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I doubt they care I refused to marry someone…

-Amanda

Tree
 
thehangingtree said:
Those passing seem to enjoy my gyrations and are less than shy about commenting about my moves. I have been called words I have never heard before and will die before I know what they mean but the laughter tells me they aren’t kind words!

Midday approaches and it has become a hot day. Sweat pours from me while my mouth is sticky dry. Two women pause to look at me and note my shaggy appearance. One of them comments that crucifixion must be horrible way to die. The blond says “Of course it is! Don’t you think the cunt deserves what she got?”

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The fairer sex can be very hard on their sisters who they judge to have fallen and let the side down. There they stand, well groomed and dressed, discussing Amanda who hangs right there in front of them. Writhing naked, sweating like an animal, she has no way to hide her suffering body, no privacy to protect her every agonised gasp and bodily function.
A horrible way to die. And yet her body is magnificent there on the cross, every curve and muscle displayed to the best advantage, belly taught, skin glowing with natural moisture. Front and back gives a splendid view of a young woman in her prime. She suffers, yes. But the cross draws more from us than just suffering. I'm sure there is a tingle deep inside her as these passers by stare frankly at her nudity, as they discuss her so coldly. She is the centre of attention, she draws their interest, she quivers with a mixture of powerful emotions.
A horrible way to die. And yet . . . . .
 
thehangingtree said:
Thank goodness one cares about his job! Let us continue...

Time means nothing to me. I judge its passage by pain and humiliation. It is still early morning and I am in agony. My body is trying to tear my arms from my shoulders while the spikes seem to rip at the base of my hands. The third spike torments my shattered feet limiting to what support my legs can offer. The cross effectively holds me spread against its face.

I am naked and displayed by the side of a road that leads into the town. I am exposed to those passing on their way to market day. Some pause to comment about me hanging bare before them. To them I am a condemned convict- maybe a whore or witch but certain not Princess Amanda. The remarks made are lewd with no concern I can hear them. I can do nothing but hang displayed for their pleasure while the cross slowly kills me.

View attachment 563133

The sun burns off the morning’s fog. The cold dawn becomes a warm morning. This only changes the pain I feel. My thirst grows with my hunger. Neither will be sated. Only my death will end the torment.

View attachment 563135

As time passes I find new ways to try to ease my torment. None of the moves ease all my pain but moves the agony around. Some of the poses are less than lady-like. I don’t give a damn.
View attachment 563132

Those passing seem to enjoy my gyrations and are less than shy about commenting about my moves. I have been called words I have never heard before and will die before I know what they mean but the laughter tells me they aren’t kind words!

Midday approaches and it has become a hot day. Sweat pours from me while my mouth is sticky dry. Two women pause to look at me and note my shaggy appearance. One of them comments that crucifixion must be horrible way to die. The blond says “Of course it is! Don’t you think the cunt deserves what she got?”

View attachment 563134

I doubt they care I refused to marry someone…

-Amanda

Tree
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Love the last picture : )
 
I hang nailed to a cross for a crime I never knew. My body is stretched in ways I never imagined it could be and I am naked before whoever passes. I am- no, was- a princess. I should not suffer this shaming! Does no one care?
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Evening is coming and I am still stretched on this damn wood. No one does care. I am a condemned woman worth nothing more than quick glances and an occasional snide remark, some of which I know. But I am one with this cross. I will hang from it until I die. It is going nowhere. Neither am I.
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Who thought of this torturous way to die? I hang naked before the people that pass. I want to tell them I have been executed wrongfully. I have done nothing wrong any free woman would have. Yet the cross does not release its grip. I hang stretched over it.

Besides the pain, thirst, and hunger there is boredom. Everybody dies. Some die younger than I. But few know when or how they are going to die. I know. All I have to do is to wait for the cross to soak the life out of me. I have become complacent with my nudity and the looks and remarks it draws. I have even accepted my sentence handed down as punishment for refusing to wed Taurus. I am a traitor to my mother and her people. I hang here for anyone to see. I am the worthy targets of their remarks. And I am bored waiting to die.
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No one passes without at least a look. One young man near my age stops with his woman. He fetches a cucumber from a sack and holds it up for my inspection. He says “Word is you don’t like cock. Let’s see if this makes you cum.”

He then rapes me with it much to the delight of his woman! It is longer than my forearm and as big around as his fist. Something tells me he has done this with his woman. Before the gathering mob he makes me cum! With a croaking howl, I orgasm from his stroking. He laughs and declares loudly what a slut I am to the cheering crowd then tosses the cucumber on the ground announcing it is the devils cock.

The crowd thins after my show. I rest the best I can hanging from my wrists. I can’t muster the strength to gather my legs together and feel the light breeze tickle my gaping cunt. I look at the cucumber lying below me. I don’t care that I was fucked with it. I’m so hungry I would eat it right now.
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-Amanda

Tree
 
Tree, the last manips in yesterday’s and today’s posts are, in different ways, absurdly hot. You’re really good at this.
 
Amanda was crucified shortly after daybreak. She has hanged from the cross for more than a dozen hours. It has been a warm late spring day with the sun conspiring with the cross to torture her young body. She has been denied food or drink since her last supper the evening before.

Evening is approaching and the fear of hanging from this cross at night grows as the light begins to change. The people passing by dwindle as night nears. My body aches in places I never knew I had. Hunger and thirst gnaw at my throat and belly. And soon I will be crucified in the darkness of night.
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But night does come. There are two guards that huddle by a bonfire and drink from flasks. I presume they are mercenaries as most of the time they talk in a tongue I do not know and the few times they address me I barely understand them. One thing I have found is they have no plans to share their food or drink with me.

The night would be comfortable in a dress but I am not given such a luxury. After hours crucified I feel chilled on the cross and my muscles spasm with pain. Occasionally I push up with my legs. They are weak but I have lost feeling of my broken feet and I get some relief for my arms. I find it ironic the only movement I have is a bit up and down and side to side. The spikes allow that much.
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I don’t know if I sleep or pass out during the night. When I come to the pain is still there and my hunger and thirst have grown. I am exhausted by my cross holding me in a way I could not imagine sustaining even an hour. Time and the night drags on and I hang here waiting to die.
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Dawn will be here soon. My chest hurts from trying to breathe while stretched over the cross. It was never such work before now. I’ve shit again. At least even the guards were asleep. This is not right! I am a princess- not some common whore! I watch the sky start to brighten and realize I will have been hanged for a full day.
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How can they do this to me? I am Aphrodite’s daughter yet I hang nailed to wood. And as much as I cannot escape the cross the sun does rise. It begins to warm me. It is no comfort as it will be warmer today than yesterday.
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I am sore, thirsty, tired, and hungry. I am not ready for what crawls out of a tent near the side of the woods...

-Amanda

Tree
 
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