Goodbyekitty
Magistrate
The real me I guess the knife is hidden 
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Crucifixion Of The Belly Dancer
- Thread starter Corvid
- Start date
Stunning photo... Tree even refrains from a witty wise crack...The real me I guess the knife is hidden
Goodbyekitty
Magistrate
Corvid
Executioner
III. Breaking the Dancer
Drusus had just sated himself within the dancer, and was well pleased with the way he had sieged her womb and womanhood; his seed still trickled from between the raw lips of her sex. Parting her thighs as he pushed away from her gave him clear vantage on the open redness his bodyguards had made of her ass, blood and semen still streaming from the torn passage. Her buttocks and breasts were aflame with stripes, her belly livid from its prolonged and thorough pummeling.
And still, for all the signs of violence evident on the lushness of her body, he was not satisfied. He would have had her again, and again, and again, rent her until she was destroyed by the very lust her voluptuous form so incited.
But it was not to be. He had all but broken her, but her ending belonged to the state in recognition of her attempted insurrection.
He rose to his feet, realigning his clothes to a measure of decorum, and looked down on the semi-conscious woman.
"As provincial governor, I hearby state that the dancer, an Ethryian, is charged with the crime of insurrection in the form of attempted murder upon the person of a high official of Rome. The sentence proscribed for the crime is death by crucifixion. All here bear witness to the address of the accused, here present, and terms?"
Hector and Eduardus quickly called out their assent; Marcus gave his own a moment later, more grudgingly.
"Does the accused foreigner wish to say any words in her defense?"
Insensate, the dancer's breath whispered, moaned.
"Then within my mandate as provincial governor, I sentence this woman to death by crucifixion, to be carried out at first light."
He beckoned to one of Marcus' slaves for more wine, setting himself down on the couch he had occupied when the dance had begun.
"A few hour's rest will hopefully see her sufficiently restored to stand upright and receive her scourging."
Marcus visibly flinched. "Drusus... Governor... My friend... Surely she has been beaten more than enough? Women are usually exempt from scourging before meeting the cross, anyway!"
"Her bosom has been beaten. Her flanks have been beaten. Her belly has been beaten. And now, her back will have its turn. Such is her sentence as a rebel. If you had a desire to lessen her sentence, you should have spoken up during her trial." He took the cup offered by the slave, and drank deep; he was fatigued from the infliction of his lust on the woman. "Surely you have no cause to look askance on the sentence paid by an insurrectionist?"
His friend looked deeply unhappy. "I only... She was a great beauty, and I hate to see a beautiful thing so destroyed."
"And that is why you are merely a patrician, and I am a provincial governor. You feel loss in seeing beauty destroyed; I see reflection of my own power in being the one who can bring about its destruction."
It was very late, or very early, depending on how one looked upon it. Though the devastation of the dancer's body had taken a ravenous bite out of the hours of the night, there was still time to pass before the sun would make its appearance over the hills. In other circumstances, some fatigue might have been evident in the men settled around the courtyard; tonight the wakeful brew of tension, lust, anger, and violence kept everyone poised on a knife's edge.
Drusus smiled. "Do you have any other dancers to entertain us while we await Sol's appearance?" He asked Marcus with an arched eyebrow.
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, and then thought better of it. His lips closed, quirked, set.
Eduardus approached his master. "Where shall she be raised?"
"The crossroads to the south. That will give her plenty of visibility- plenty of chances for others to appreciate her charms as she makes the journey, and for visitors to see her staked out as a symbol of Roman indomitability."
The bodyguard nodded. "Not an easy passage. Shall I start the slaves dismantling the scaffold for her cross?"
"Yes. But leave planted the posts that thrust out her back; I think she will need their strength to remain upright while she takes the scourge."
Marcus shuddered, but remained silent. Moments later, Hector approached with the scourge, having been at work on the horrific instrument for the past two hours. The ox-leather strands clacked softly as he ran the four-stranded length through his fist, proudly showing off the shining tin weights at the ends, the shards of bone and horn jutting from its braided filaments.
"Looking forward to shredding her back, are we, Hector?"
The coarse bodyguard couldn't restrain a smirk.
"Try not to kill her before she can take up the cross, if you please."
He grunted. "Are you saying to go easy on her, sir?"
Drusus chuckled. "No. I haven't forgotten that the cunt tried to murder me; by all means, strip her skin. Just don't lay on the same spot so many times that you cut through the meat she needs to walk. It will be hard enough to judge how she endures with her bound-up as I intend."
"You could leave her free to fall. That might give some hint as to how she bears it."
"Yes," Drusus replied. "I could."
After a moment's silence, Hector snorted. Walking over to the fallen woman, he slowly trailed the strands of his new toy over the front of her body from shoulder to hip, his lips moving in an unheard pronouncement. Her torso shuddered briefly, and he bent over her, running the tip of his tongue over her cheek before stepping away.
Some time later, as Marcus' slaves tended to the last of taking apart the scaffolding they had so recently raised, sunlight peeked through the haze of twilight over the hills. Walking over to the dancer, Drusus poured the last dregs of his wine into his mouth before leaning over and spitting them into her face.
Her face contorted, eyes wrenching open. Her rib-cage heaved, and she emitted a pained moan as the ravaged muscles of her abdomen tried to do their work. Drusus ran his fingertips across the viciously striped curve of her breast, pausing as she whimpered, biting his lip as his cock stiffened within his loincloth. Then he gestured to the bodyguards.
"Up. Arms out."
Her head drooped forward as they took her underneath her shoulders, her obsidian hair spilling down over her chest. Another moan shook her body as she was pulled to her feet, and Drusus could see her legs stagger beneath her, calves tensing and shaking, hips swaying from side to side as she desperately tried to forbid her battered middle from doing any of the work of remaining upright.
Hector and Eduardus looped the stout ropes around her arms from bicep to wrist, tying hard knots that would bear her weight and struggles before extending the lines out to tie them tight around the poles to either side of the woman. When they were done, her arms thrust out rigidly at each side, ready to support her weight however her body should collapse; a prelude, Drusus thought in amusement, of what was to come.
Hector seized her hair and bound it with a leather cord before letting it fall forward over her left shoulder, leaving her breasts bared and her back exposed for the lash. He understood, the governor thought approvingly, that the scourging was as much for his master's delight as in fulfillment of the law.
"Such a feisty example of Ethyrian womanhood deserves flagellation sufficient to make apparent her subjection," Drusus announced. "Forty lashes. Hector, you may begin when you are ready."
The Jews, he mused, prohibited a scourging to inflict more than thirty-nine lashes upon the condemned. It pleased him to make the woman endure more than the murderers and insurgents judged by the Semites.
The shallow breaths the dancer drew grew faster.
Hector licked his lips from his view behind the woman. He looked upon her welted and swollen backside, and thought of the pleasure he had taken in driving his hips against it; the heat and tightness of her anal passage, the way she cried out when he thrust, the contortions of her belly as she was beaten, the lurching yielding as her bowels tore with his attack. He and his partner had used her like a whore and treated her like less than an animal, a thing to be hurt to make it best serve and discarded when it was no longer of use. Now she would suffer further for them on the road to her obliteration, and it seemed both right and natural.
His foot shifted back as his arm arced, and he drove the hateful weapon at the woman's back.
The sound of the scourge's impact, Drusus thought, was utterly unlike that of the simpler whip, even when the latter was driven with enough force to split open skin. It was less like leather on flesh and more like the sound of a butcher cleaving meat.
"NYAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
He smiled as her battered stomach billowed to make space for the scream, the attendant wheezing and choking that followed as the stretched and torn muscles deflated, bouncing with her sobs.
"One," He announced, a chilling smile upon his lips.
Hector rolled his shoulder before turning sideways, reeling back to deliver the second blow.
The weights at the end of the straps bounced off her shoulder as bone and horn tore open skin.
"AAAUUHHHH!"
"Two."
Watching her breasts bounce had lost none of its appeal for the vicious stripes that adorned them. Indeed, there was something marvelously primal in how her body bent under the force, the weight, of Hector's blows.
"AHHHH!....HA-ha-haaa....!"
"Three."
Drusus moved closer to better appreciate the way her body moved as she bore the scourging, the subtle twists and trembles as she fought both the bonds that kept her in place to accept the destructive blows and her afflicted body's increasing inability to endure the punishment.
"No! No! Spirits and devils-- AWWWHHH...!"
"Four."
He could not tolerate his mounting lust any longer, and did not care to. Let her see how her suffering pleased him. He pulled out his stiffening manhood and began to stroke it in his fist as she continued to wail with every terrible lash.
"You thought you could kill a scion of Rome?...Eight!..." He hissed. "Woman, your body was never anything more than forfeit...Nine...! Now your womanhood swims with better seed than you deserve... Ten...! Your very guts have been broken to make them fit to tease out Roman semen...! Eleven...! You will serve only as an example for how Ethyria shall suffer under our heel! Twelve...! All your arts, only to entice men to lust...! Thirteen...! And you shall die as you lived, a slattern, a distraction... Fourteen...! Breasts and belly, cunt and ass, fit only to be used, beaten, and discarded in the gutter...! Fifteen...!"
Her torso twisted from side to side as she wept, and he could feel that his words bit into her almost as harshly as the scourge. Hector slammed the heavy cords across her back in great crossing cascades, shoulder to opposite hip, opposite shoulder to hip, keeping her shifting so that the other side of her body was positioned closer to the lash just as the scourge was ready to sink its teeth into it.
"Will you dance for me, once more, under the scourge, whore?... Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one!... Will you rock your belly, heavy with fist and cock and cum, now that your mysteries are unshrouded and degraded?... Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! Thirty!"
Fisting his cock with increasing fury, he walked around her to watch as the scourge flayed skin from the graceful curve of her back.
"Your heavy breasts, never to nurse a child, only fit for the lash...! Thirty-three...! Your corrupt womb, never to carry life, only fit to endure the pangs of rape...! Thirty-four!"
Her neck bowed and swayed, the weight of her head too much to carry under the onslaught. Her screams had been crushed into anguished grunts. Sweat streamed down her face and over her breasts; blood coursed down her back where lash after crossed lash had opened her soft, fragile skin across her shoulder blades and spine.
"Suffer for me, dancer! Suffer, and know how your pain, your destruction, pleases me...! Thirty-eight! Thirty-nine!"
Teeth clenched, masturbating furiously, the governor's head jerked to regard his bodyguard. "Cut her to the quick, Hector! Strike hard!"
The whip cut into her back with a hideous thwack, and had to be jerked back with as much force as bone tore into her flesh, blood spraying from the new wound as her back arched.
"Forty...!"
Pressing close, he sprayed his seed across the bleeding rivulets on her back. Her body seemed to tremble in sympathy with his own orgasmic quivering as his pearl-white fluid seeped into her wounds, a thought which coaxed another jet from his aching scrotum, and another.
"Ah...! Three ejaculations in one night! Surely, word will spread that Ethyrian women are the finest whores... Once they are properly broken...!"
Drusus thought, for a moment, that she had passed out again. But as he walked back around to her front, trailing his hand down across her breast and belly, he could see her bloodshot eyes turn to regard him, tears slowly leaking from her eyelashes, miniature sobs still rattling her ribs.
"Oh, yes, pretty one. You will not be the last to suffer so... Your impertinence has assured that...!"
He pulled her knife from his belt, running the tip across the hollow of her throat, acorss the slopes of her breasts, down between them to her navel. Her belly hitched as the point pricked her skin, and she let out piping whimpers as the agonized muscles contracted. Then down to her sex, between her labia, and she shuddered as she tried to pull back her hips.
"I could peel the skin from your body," He whispered. "But then the citizens of my province would could not see the beauty Rome had brought to heel, her bounty bared on display on the cross..."
His hand closed on her wrist as he took the knife to her bonds, feeling her pulse fluttering under his grip. As he cut the second rope, she fell to her knees. He closed his hands around her rib cage and lifted her back to her feet, her eyes looking past him into some distant nothingness as he did so.
"None of that, now, harlot. You have been dancing for me all night; I shall not believe that you cannot take up timber and walk."
Eduardus lay the beam across her back- the same that had once arched her back to offer her belly up for beating. Her shoulders bowed and slumped, and another coughing sob wracked her torso.
Half-turning, he could see Marcus gathering slaves to form the procession that would follow behind the dancer as she made her way to the execution grounds. With grim pleasure, Drusus slapped her across the buttock. "Walk, Ethyrian wench..."
Drusus had just sated himself within the dancer, and was well pleased with the way he had sieged her womb and womanhood; his seed still trickled from between the raw lips of her sex. Parting her thighs as he pushed away from her gave him clear vantage on the open redness his bodyguards had made of her ass, blood and semen still streaming from the torn passage. Her buttocks and breasts were aflame with stripes, her belly livid from its prolonged and thorough pummeling.
And still, for all the signs of violence evident on the lushness of her body, he was not satisfied. He would have had her again, and again, and again, rent her until she was destroyed by the very lust her voluptuous form so incited.
But it was not to be. He had all but broken her, but her ending belonged to the state in recognition of her attempted insurrection.
He rose to his feet, realigning his clothes to a measure of decorum, and looked down on the semi-conscious woman.
"As provincial governor, I hearby state that the dancer, an Ethryian, is charged with the crime of insurrection in the form of attempted murder upon the person of a high official of Rome. The sentence proscribed for the crime is death by crucifixion. All here bear witness to the address of the accused, here present, and terms?"
Hector and Eduardus quickly called out their assent; Marcus gave his own a moment later, more grudgingly.
"Does the accused foreigner wish to say any words in her defense?"
Insensate, the dancer's breath whispered, moaned.
"Then within my mandate as provincial governor, I sentence this woman to death by crucifixion, to be carried out at first light."
He beckoned to one of Marcus' slaves for more wine, setting himself down on the couch he had occupied when the dance had begun.
"A few hour's rest will hopefully see her sufficiently restored to stand upright and receive her scourging."
Marcus visibly flinched. "Drusus... Governor... My friend... Surely she has been beaten more than enough? Women are usually exempt from scourging before meeting the cross, anyway!"
"Her bosom has been beaten. Her flanks have been beaten. Her belly has been beaten. And now, her back will have its turn. Such is her sentence as a rebel. If you had a desire to lessen her sentence, you should have spoken up during her trial." He took the cup offered by the slave, and drank deep; he was fatigued from the infliction of his lust on the woman. "Surely you have no cause to look askance on the sentence paid by an insurrectionist?"
His friend looked deeply unhappy. "I only... She was a great beauty, and I hate to see a beautiful thing so destroyed."
"And that is why you are merely a patrician, and I am a provincial governor. You feel loss in seeing beauty destroyed; I see reflection of my own power in being the one who can bring about its destruction."
It was very late, or very early, depending on how one looked upon it. Though the devastation of the dancer's body had taken a ravenous bite out of the hours of the night, there was still time to pass before the sun would make its appearance over the hills. In other circumstances, some fatigue might have been evident in the men settled around the courtyard; tonight the wakeful brew of tension, lust, anger, and violence kept everyone poised on a knife's edge.
Drusus smiled. "Do you have any other dancers to entertain us while we await Sol's appearance?" He asked Marcus with an arched eyebrow.
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, and then thought better of it. His lips closed, quirked, set.
Eduardus approached his master. "Where shall she be raised?"
"The crossroads to the south. That will give her plenty of visibility- plenty of chances for others to appreciate her charms as she makes the journey, and for visitors to see her staked out as a symbol of Roman indomitability."
The bodyguard nodded. "Not an easy passage. Shall I start the slaves dismantling the scaffold for her cross?"
"Yes. But leave planted the posts that thrust out her back; I think she will need their strength to remain upright while she takes the scourge."
Marcus shuddered, but remained silent. Moments later, Hector approached with the scourge, having been at work on the horrific instrument for the past two hours. The ox-leather strands clacked softly as he ran the four-stranded length through his fist, proudly showing off the shining tin weights at the ends, the shards of bone and horn jutting from its braided filaments.
"Looking forward to shredding her back, are we, Hector?"
The coarse bodyguard couldn't restrain a smirk.
"Try not to kill her before she can take up the cross, if you please."
He grunted. "Are you saying to go easy on her, sir?"
Drusus chuckled. "No. I haven't forgotten that the cunt tried to murder me; by all means, strip her skin. Just don't lay on the same spot so many times that you cut through the meat she needs to walk. It will be hard enough to judge how she endures with her bound-up as I intend."
"You could leave her free to fall. That might give some hint as to how she bears it."
"Yes," Drusus replied. "I could."
After a moment's silence, Hector snorted. Walking over to the fallen woman, he slowly trailed the strands of his new toy over the front of her body from shoulder to hip, his lips moving in an unheard pronouncement. Her torso shuddered briefly, and he bent over her, running the tip of his tongue over her cheek before stepping away.
Some time later, as Marcus' slaves tended to the last of taking apart the scaffolding they had so recently raised, sunlight peeked through the haze of twilight over the hills. Walking over to the dancer, Drusus poured the last dregs of his wine into his mouth before leaning over and spitting them into her face.
Her face contorted, eyes wrenching open. Her rib-cage heaved, and she emitted a pained moan as the ravaged muscles of her abdomen tried to do their work. Drusus ran his fingertips across the viciously striped curve of her breast, pausing as she whimpered, biting his lip as his cock stiffened within his loincloth. Then he gestured to the bodyguards.
"Up. Arms out."
Her head drooped forward as they took her underneath her shoulders, her obsidian hair spilling down over her chest. Another moan shook her body as she was pulled to her feet, and Drusus could see her legs stagger beneath her, calves tensing and shaking, hips swaying from side to side as she desperately tried to forbid her battered middle from doing any of the work of remaining upright.
Hector and Eduardus looped the stout ropes around her arms from bicep to wrist, tying hard knots that would bear her weight and struggles before extending the lines out to tie them tight around the poles to either side of the woman. When they were done, her arms thrust out rigidly at each side, ready to support her weight however her body should collapse; a prelude, Drusus thought in amusement, of what was to come.
Hector seized her hair and bound it with a leather cord before letting it fall forward over her left shoulder, leaving her breasts bared and her back exposed for the lash. He understood, the governor thought approvingly, that the scourging was as much for his master's delight as in fulfillment of the law.
"Such a feisty example of Ethyrian womanhood deserves flagellation sufficient to make apparent her subjection," Drusus announced. "Forty lashes. Hector, you may begin when you are ready."
The Jews, he mused, prohibited a scourging to inflict more than thirty-nine lashes upon the condemned. It pleased him to make the woman endure more than the murderers and insurgents judged by the Semites.
The shallow breaths the dancer drew grew faster.
Hector licked his lips from his view behind the woman. He looked upon her welted and swollen backside, and thought of the pleasure he had taken in driving his hips against it; the heat and tightness of her anal passage, the way she cried out when he thrust, the contortions of her belly as she was beaten, the lurching yielding as her bowels tore with his attack. He and his partner had used her like a whore and treated her like less than an animal, a thing to be hurt to make it best serve and discarded when it was no longer of use. Now she would suffer further for them on the road to her obliteration, and it seemed both right and natural.
His foot shifted back as his arm arced, and he drove the hateful weapon at the woman's back.
The sound of the scourge's impact, Drusus thought, was utterly unlike that of the simpler whip, even when the latter was driven with enough force to split open skin. It was less like leather on flesh and more like the sound of a butcher cleaving meat.
"NYAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
He smiled as her battered stomach billowed to make space for the scream, the attendant wheezing and choking that followed as the stretched and torn muscles deflated, bouncing with her sobs.
"One," He announced, a chilling smile upon his lips.
Hector rolled his shoulder before turning sideways, reeling back to deliver the second blow.
The weights at the end of the straps bounced off her shoulder as bone and horn tore open skin.
"AAAUUHHHH!"
"Two."
Watching her breasts bounce had lost none of its appeal for the vicious stripes that adorned them. Indeed, there was something marvelously primal in how her body bent under the force, the weight, of Hector's blows.
"AHHHH!....HA-ha-haaa....!"
"Three."
Drusus moved closer to better appreciate the way her body moved as she bore the scourging, the subtle twists and trembles as she fought both the bonds that kept her in place to accept the destructive blows and her afflicted body's increasing inability to endure the punishment.
"No! No! Spirits and devils-- AWWWHHH...!"
"Four."
He could not tolerate his mounting lust any longer, and did not care to. Let her see how her suffering pleased him. He pulled out his stiffening manhood and began to stroke it in his fist as she continued to wail with every terrible lash.
"You thought you could kill a scion of Rome?...Eight!..." He hissed. "Woman, your body was never anything more than forfeit...Nine...! Now your womanhood swims with better seed than you deserve... Ten...! Your very guts have been broken to make them fit to tease out Roman semen...! Eleven...! You will serve only as an example for how Ethyria shall suffer under our heel! Twelve...! All your arts, only to entice men to lust...! Thirteen...! And you shall die as you lived, a slattern, a distraction... Fourteen...! Breasts and belly, cunt and ass, fit only to be used, beaten, and discarded in the gutter...! Fifteen...!"
Her torso twisted from side to side as she wept, and he could feel that his words bit into her almost as harshly as the scourge. Hector slammed the heavy cords across her back in great crossing cascades, shoulder to opposite hip, opposite shoulder to hip, keeping her shifting so that the other side of her body was positioned closer to the lash just as the scourge was ready to sink its teeth into it.
"Will you dance for me, once more, under the scourge, whore?... Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one!... Will you rock your belly, heavy with fist and cock and cum, now that your mysteries are unshrouded and degraded?... Twenty-eight! Twenty-nine! Thirty!"
Fisting his cock with increasing fury, he walked around her to watch as the scourge flayed skin from the graceful curve of her back.
"Your heavy breasts, never to nurse a child, only fit for the lash...! Thirty-three...! Your corrupt womb, never to carry life, only fit to endure the pangs of rape...! Thirty-four!"
Her neck bowed and swayed, the weight of her head too much to carry under the onslaught. Her screams had been crushed into anguished grunts. Sweat streamed down her face and over her breasts; blood coursed down her back where lash after crossed lash had opened her soft, fragile skin across her shoulder blades and spine.
"Suffer for me, dancer! Suffer, and know how your pain, your destruction, pleases me...! Thirty-eight! Thirty-nine!"
Teeth clenched, masturbating furiously, the governor's head jerked to regard his bodyguard. "Cut her to the quick, Hector! Strike hard!"
The whip cut into her back with a hideous thwack, and had to be jerked back with as much force as bone tore into her flesh, blood spraying from the new wound as her back arched.
"Forty...!"
Pressing close, he sprayed his seed across the bleeding rivulets on her back. Her body seemed to tremble in sympathy with his own orgasmic quivering as his pearl-white fluid seeped into her wounds, a thought which coaxed another jet from his aching scrotum, and another.
"Ah...! Three ejaculations in one night! Surely, word will spread that Ethyrian women are the finest whores... Once they are properly broken...!"
Drusus thought, for a moment, that she had passed out again. But as he walked back around to her front, trailing his hand down across her breast and belly, he could see her bloodshot eyes turn to regard him, tears slowly leaking from her eyelashes, miniature sobs still rattling her ribs.
"Oh, yes, pretty one. You will not be the last to suffer so... Your impertinence has assured that...!"
He pulled her knife from his belt, running the tip across the hollow of her throat, acorss the slopes of her breasts, down between them to her navel. Her belly hitched as the point pricked her skin, and she let out piping whimpers as the agonized muscles contracted. Then down to her sex, between her labia, and she shuddered as she tried to pull back her hips.
"I could peel the skin from your body," He whispered. "But then the citizens of my province would could not see the beauty Rome had brought to heel, her bounty bared on display on the cross..."
His hand closed on her wrist as he took the knife to her bonds, feeling her pulse fluttering under his grip. As he cut the second rope, she fell to her knees. He closed his hands around her rib cage and lifted her back to her feet, her eyes looking past him into some distant nothingness as he did so.
"None of that, now, harlot. You have been dancing for me all night; I shall not believe that you cannot take up timber and walk."
Eduardus lay the beam across her back- the same that had once arched her back to offer her belly up for beating. Her shoulders bowed and slumped, and another coughing sob wracked her torso.
Half-turning, he could see Marcus gathering slaves to form the procession that would follow behind the dancer as she made her way to the execution grounds. With grim pleasure, Drusus slapped her across the buttock. "Walk, Ethyrian wench..."
Corvid
Executioner
Even with Eduardus carrying the longer beam of the cross, the dancer's progress was slow and staggering. Blood continued to slowly trickle down from her back, streams of gore growing tacky on her hips, thighs, and buttocks.
Individuals and groups passed them as they made their way towards the crossroads- some travelers from foreign lands, some Roman citizens. Drusus took delight in telling them of the woman's crimes and her fate.
"As you can see, her lush body has been well-punished for her crimes, and now she carries the instrument of its destruction to the site of her execution. Not especially well, though- like many an Ethyrian slut, she is weak and stupid, too pathetic even to bear up to her final labors with dignity. Come to the crossroads later, and you shall see her ample assets stretching and baking in the sun."
After a series of stumbles, he invited a passing Roman man to cut a switch and spur her along her path for a time. Onlookers laughed and jeered as the thin wood whicked across her buttocks, raising yelps and cries from the hurting woman.
It was far from the most terrible beating she had received, but it was no less humiliating.
When at last they reached the crossroad, she trembled and fell to her knees. Hers was not the only cross, there; two others of older vintage stood along side the road, one with only the remnant of a tattered arm bone still pinned by a nail to its cross-piece, the other with a fragrant corpse half-consumed by scavengers.
Drusus lifted the beam from her back, handing it to Hector to aid in assembling the cross. His hand rested on her head as she knelt, bowed, her shoulders rising and falling slowly. He stroked her hair almost affectionately.
"Yes. Rest now. Save your strength to provide a show as you ride the cross. Muster your energy to fight the foe you cannot overcome."
A choking cough bowed her over, and Drusus looked on the wounds on her once-pristine back, looked down on torn skin and exposed muscle.
Yes. It was almost over.
The beams set together, the bodyguards lifted the dancer. Her body had seemed so solid and vibrant, the governor thought, as he drove himself into her; now, lifted by the powerful men, she seemed lighter, like her body had been hollowed out by its torment. She put up no resistance as they lay her upon the cross and stretched her arms out upon it, only giving a whimper as her scourged back came in contact with the wood.
Hector set the spike against her left wrist. Her hand fluttered, fingers stretching and clenching. He raised the hammer high, and brought it down solidly.
"AIYAAAA...!!"
Drusus would have sworn such a sound was not left in her, her wail piercing the hot blue sky above her. Passers-by on the nearby roads began to congregate to watch.
The hammer fell upon the metal spike again, and again, her hand spasming and clenching as the metal rod pierced between the bones of her wrist, tearing a permanent hole in her limb.
"AHHH--- AHHH...!"
Her body turned towards the injury as though she could allay its pain if only she could look on it, comprehend it, cradle the stricken limb to her best ability. But now Hector passed the hammer to Eduardus, and he pulled her right arm back into position, laying her once more against the wood.
Her chest shook as Eduardus set the spike to her right wrist.
"P-p-please..." She whispered. "Have mercy... For all that I am a woman... For what I have suffered... That my body has brought you pleasure... I do not ask forgiveness, only a quick death...!"
The bodyguard turned ever so briefly to regard his master, but saw no mercy there in his gaze.
The hammer lifted, came down, shearing metal through skin and sinew.
"AAUUGGGHHH-HAAH-HAAAA...!"
Three more blows, and it was done. Her crippled hand would never leave the post again- at least, not at the behest of its owner.
Her feet were set against either side of the cross, keeping her legs bowed to allow men to look upon the obvious abuse her sex and anus had endured. Her cries rumbled in her throat as the spikes pierced her feet, the energy even to express her anguish again seeping from her body with her blood and sweat.
Then the cross was raised, and the nails took her weight. Her jaw clenched, eyes turning up to a sky without pity.
Once more, Drusus' eyes locked on the Ethyrian woman's torso.
Her reddened stomach quivered, hip bones and rib cage jutting as she struggled to breathe.
"hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee...!"
Then a surge as she tried to draw her body upward to take a deeper breath, a life-sustaining breath; her shoulders shook, her belly drew in, the cords of her neck went rigid, and her mouth dropped open in a soundless scream of agony.
She dropped back down with a low and piteous moan to resume the short, piping breaths that drew as much poison into her lungs as air.
"Did you feel it, Hector?" Drusus whispered to his bodyguard. "Did you feel the woman's belly tear as you rutted inside of her?"
"Yes, sir, I did. And then I fucked her harder."
"How the fruits of your labors grind within her, now... Marvelous."
The pattern repeated- short, piping breaths as the dancer tried to gather enough strength to lift herself, then the struggle to lift her aching lungs with muscles that were weakened and torn. Only once did she actually succeed in pulling herself up enough to take a proper deep breath, and she looked out at Drusus with something like joy that she had managed it, that small defiance.
He smiled back. It would not last.
Nor did it. Her face grew flushed as she began to suffocate, her eyes crossing as she struggled to remain conscious. Again and again she tried to lift herself, only to flop back down, sending new wells of blood coursing out of the holes in her wrists and feet.
"Yeah, jiggle those tits for us, you filthy whore!" Jeered one of the onlookers. There was a chorus of laughter.
"eep...! eep...! eeep!..."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, half-drowning, struggling to surface in a lake of poison while being held down beneath its surface. Her shoulders shuddered, hips pulsing out from the cross in a grotesque parody of the sexual act.
"Yeah, show us how you fuck, Ethyrian slut!"
"Only one she's going to be fucking is the boatman!"
Her bladder released, spilling onto the ground before the cross; one more loss of dignity.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her contractions growing weaker.
One last push, with a wheezing scream, trying to pull herself up, to fight for her life. Only to fail, fall, eyes closing, head lolling to the side.
"eeeep... eeep... eeeeeep..."
The governor moved forward as her body shuddered. He pressed his fingers against her broken belly, feeling the warm flesh shudder and cave as her last breaths wheezed from her body.
"Pass into darkness, woman. All you ever were, I hold in my hands... And it is a ruin."
"hhh-hh-hhhhuhhhhhhhh..."
And then the belly dancer's breath ceased.
The onlookers began to peel away. Drusus withdrew his hands from her body, now only a husk battered in the summer sun.
"I must return to my own manor, now, Marcus," The provincial governor announced as Eduardus and Hector took up their places at his sides. "I trust you shall entertain us at your home again soon. You wouldn't want me to think you were avoiding my scrutiny."
As the governor walked slowly away on the road, Marcus was left to stare at the woman on the cross, her hair sticking inelegantly to the sweat of her skin, her body mottled with bruises and blood.
Her act had not murdered Drusus, he thought. But it had slain their friendship. He wanted to be angry that her rash act had cast him in suspicion, but instead he felt only grief, and an odd kind of gratitude.
For who would die to distract the governor's suspicion, next time...?
Individuals and groups passed them as they made their way towards the crossroads- some travelers from foreign lands, some Roman citizens. Drusus took delight in telling them of the woman's crimes and her fate.
"As you can see, her lush body has been well-punished for her crimes, and now she carries the instrument of its destruction to the site of her execution. Not especially well, though- like many an Ethyrian slut, she is weak and stupid, too pathetic even to bear up to her final labors with dignity. Come to the crossroads later, and you shall see her ample assets stretching and baking in the sun."
After a series of stumbles, he invited a passing Roman man to cut a switch and spur her along her path for a time. Onlookers laughed and jeered as the thin wood whicked across her buttocks, raising yelps and cries from the hurting woman.
It was far from the most terrible beating she had received, but it was no less humiliating.
When at last they reached the crossroad, she trembled and fell to her knees. Hers was not the only cross, there; two others of older vintage stood along side the road, one with only the remnant of a tattered arm bone still pinned by a nail to its cross-piece, the other with a fragrant corpse half-consumed by scavengers.
Drusus lifted the beam from her back, handing it to Hector to aid in assembling the cross. His hand rested on her head as she knelt, bowed, her shoulders rising and falling slowly. He stroked her hair almost affectionately.
"Yes. Rest now. Save your strength to provide a show as you ride the cross. Muster your energy to fight the foe you cannot overcome."
A choking cough bowed her over, and Drusus looked on the wounds on her once-pristine back, looked down on torn skin and exposed muscle.
Yes. It was almost over.
The beams set together, the bodyguards lifted the dancer. Her body had seemed so solid and vibrant, the governor thought, as he drove himself into her; now, lifted by the powerful men, she seemed lighter, like her body had been hollowed out by its torment. She put up no resistance as they lay her upon the cross and stretched her arms out upon it, only giving a whimper as her scourged back came in contact with the wood.
Hector set the spike against her left wrist. Her hand fluttered, fingers stretching and clenching. He raised the hammer high, and brought it down solidly.
"AIYAAAA...!!"
Drusus would have sworn such a sound was not left in her, her wail piercing the hot blue sky above her. Passers-by on the nearby roads began to congregate to watch.
The hammer fell upon the metal spike again, and again, her hand spasming and clenching as the metal rod pierced between the bones of her wrist, tearing a permanent hole in her limb.
"AHHH--- AHHH...!"
Her body turned towards the injury as though she could allay its pain if only she could look on it, comprehend it, cradle the stricken limb to her best ability. But now Hector passed the hammer to Eduardus, and he pulled her right arm back into position, laying her once more against the wood.
Her chest shook as Eduardus set the spike to her right wrist.
"P-p-please..." She whispered. "Have mercy... For all that I am a woman... For what I have suffered... That my body has brought you pleasure... I do not ask forgiveness, only a quick death...!"
The bodyguard turned ever so briefly to regard his master, but saw no mercy there in his gaze.
The hammer lifted, came down, shearing metal through skin and sinew.
"AAUUGGGHHH-HAAH-HAAAA...!"
Three more blows, and it was done. Her crippled hand would never leave the post again- at least, not at the behest of its owner.
Her feet were set against either side of the cross, keeping her legs bowed to allow men to look upon the obvious abuse her sex and anus had endured. Her cries rumbled in her throat as the spikes pierced her feet, the energy even to express her anguish again seeping from her body with her blood and sweat.
Then the cross was raised, and the nails took her weight. Her jaw clenched, eyes turning up to a sky without pity.
Once more, Drusus' eyes locked on the Ethyrian woman's torso.
Her reddened stomach quivered, hip bones and rib cage jutting as she struggled to breathe.
"hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee...!"
Then a surge as she tried to draw her body upward to take a deeper breath, a life-sustaining breath; her shoulders shook, her belly drew in, the cords of her neck went rigid, and her mouth dropped open in a soundless scream of agony.
She dropped back down with a low and piteous moan to resume the short, piping breaths that drew as much poison into her lungs as air.
"Did you feel it, Hector?" Drusus whispered to his bodyguard. "Did you feel the woman's belly tear as you rutted inside of her?"
"Yes, sir, I did. And then I fucked her harder."
"How the fruits of your labors grind within her, now... Marvelous."
The pattern repeated- short, piping breaths as the dancer tried to gather enough strength to lift herself, then the struggle to lift her aching lungs with muscles that were weakened and torn. Only once did she actually succeed in pulling herself up enough to take a proper deep breath, and she looked out at Drusus with something like joy that she had managed it, that small defiance.
He smiled back. It would not last.
Nor did it. Her face grew flushed as she began to suffocate, her eyes crossing as she struggled to remain conscious. Again and again she tried to lift herself, only to flop back down, sending new wells of blood coursing out of the holes in her wrists and feet.
"Yeah, jiggle those tits for us, you filthy whore!" Jeered one of the onlookers. There was a chorus of laughter.
"eep...! eep...! eeep!..."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, half-drowning, struggling to surface in a lake of poison while being held down beneath its surface. Her shoulders shuddered, hips pulsing out from the cross in a grotesque parody of the sexual act.
"Yeah, show us how you fuck, Ethyrian slut!"
"Only one she's going to be fucking is the boatman!"
Her bladder released, spilling onto the ground before the cross; one more loss of dignity.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her contractions growing weaker.
One last push, with a wheezing scream, trying to pull herself up, to fight for her life. Only to fail, fall, eyes closing, head lolling to the side.
"eeeep... eeep... eeeeeep..."
The governor moved forward as her body shuddered. He pressed his fingers against her broken belly, feeling the warm flesh shudder and cave as her last breaths wheezed from her body.
"Pass into darkness, woman. All you ever were, I hold in my hands... And it is a ruin."
"hhh-hh-hhhhuhhhhhhhh..."
And then the belly dancer's breath ceased.
The onlookers began to peel away. Drusus withdrew his hands from her body, now only a husk battered in the summer sun.
"I must return to my own manor, now, Marcus," The provincial governor announced as Eduardus and Hector took up their places at his sides. "I trust you shall entertain us at your home again soon. You wouldn't want me to think you were avoiding my scrutiny."
As the governor walked slowly away on the road, Marcus was left to stare at the woman on the cross, her hair sticking inelegantly to the sweat of her skin, her body mottled with bruises and blood.
Her act had not murdered Drusus, he thought. But it had slain their friendship. He wanted to be angry that her rash act had cast him in suspicion, but instead he felt only grief, and an odd kind of gratitude.
For who would die to distract the governor's suspicion, next time...?
Nice touch. This is a beautiful detail.
A brutal, but compelling story. Good characters and a nice enigmatic point with Marcus at the end. I hope we see more of your work.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Perhaps a new blond slave called Messaline ?
Mmmmm ! How you know well to tell your stories, Corvid !
I'm so much dreaming in reading it ........
morten sigurdson
Voivode of Wallachia
Very good !
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
For a lover of bellies and belly punching, this was a fantastic story! Well written and paced. Thank You! Thank you!
Corvid
Executioner
Thanks, Geoff! Glad you enjoyed the story.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Have you any other stories? Any coming up?
Corvid
Executioner
On Crux, just one other at this time:
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/rumeli-captive-of-the-orcs.6290/
I have a few others on "Bring Out the Gimp"
http://ralphus.net/special/stories/moreauthors/
And some others spread around RPP, CHYOA, RapeCage and other places.
As for current projects, I have a fair amount of unfinished stubs that are awaiting further work, but nothing solid.
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Boris Spider
Guard
Sheesh, how could I have forgotten about RPP? Seems ages since I read anything there. Alebeard still run it?
Corvid
Executioner
Last I heard, Ale and Emma are still at the wheel. New contributions have been slowing down a bit, though. I feel somewhat guilty that I haven't offered a new story there in a while.