Vindex
Tribune
A fantasy that often tickles me right now is to be placed in the context of Ancient Rome and all kinds of torture; he's the one who puts me on stage with another person. A woman of course. Here it is the masochistic side which stands out strongly.
In a context of martyrology this woman and I are condemned to the torture in the arena. Extracts from the dungeons we are brought, with other victims, into the arena. Everyone wears a little loincloth hiding their privacy. It's hot, very hot. The arena is packed with spectators eager for this spectacle.
Several wooden a gantry have been erected here and there. They make it possible to tie up, quartered, the condemned who will receive the flogging prior to any good crucifixion.
Heavy wooden crosses lie on the sand of the arena, most facing each other after they are erected. Hammers, ropes and bags of nails placed on the ground.
I am seized by the executioners and brought to the portico. Arms and legs torn in chains. The same goes for the other males. Then, by a random selection, the condemned women are brought to the men. A beautiful slave of my size is assigned to me by my porch.
She is tied torn face to face with me; body against body. We still have our loincloths, but all of them are bare-chested.
We are covered in sweat. His opulent chest against my chest, our sweats mix. We look into each other's eyes, aware of our fate, aware of our last moments of life. Under the loincloth my sex hardened in contact with the lower abdomen my partner suffering. Our thighs are tied against each other. We kiss with passion.
The torment of flogging begins. Our bodies twist and rub under the blows. Our torn skins, blood flows over our shoulders, flows on our chest, blood mixes. And there; at this moment, the masochist who is in me, excited by the friction of the body of the victim, ejaculates all the sperm still contained in his balls.
The executioners unhook me and pull me back towards the cross on the ground. My partner, the bloodied body will have to feed on the vision of my decline before suffering the same fate. With a firm hand and with a sadistic laugh, an assistant executioner tears off my loincloth and shows it off to the crowd, shouting loudly: "This slave dog has managed to enjoy". He brandished the linen loincloth high with my blood, my sweat and my sperm.
Then everything goes very quickly. Plated on the cross, my arms and legs are tied with ropes. When the nails are driven into my wrists my body twists, paralyzed by excruciating pain. My pelvis lifts and at this moment, my bladder drops. A powerful and long stream of urine spills over my chest, mixing with my sweat, my blood. The executioner grabbed his whip again and plowed my belly and torso calling me "bastard, no reserve kind of dung". My feet are then nailed to the beam. With the help of the ropes, the cross is hoisted under the cheers of a hysterical crowd. The shock of the beam falling into the hole made on the ground tears cries of pain from me.
My partner attended the spectacle of my forfeiture, forfeiture which will now be hers. Detached she is now pulled back, her loincloth ripped apart with rage. From my cross I dominate the scene. Once his arms are nailed, the executioners take their reward before fixing his feet. A serial rape, alternately the executioner and his two assistants showing off their tense and turgid member, take her by force and smash her pussy. The last to take it withdraws at the last moment and takes pleasure in ejaculating between her busty breasts. His feet will then be nailed to the beam, the cross erected facing mine.
We thus remain to suffocate and to twist on the cross, under a blazing sun. With the end of the afternoon, the moment of our deliverance will come, we leave this world to sink into eternal limbo. Some will have broken legs, others a spear, which was the case with my partner. As for me, these are four archers who are riddling me with their arrows.
In a context of martyrology this woman and I are condemned to the torture in the arena. Extracts from the dungeons we are brought, with other victims, into the arena. Everyone wears a little loincloth hiding their privacy. It's hot, very hot. The arena is packed with spectators eager for this spectacle.
Several wooden a gantry have been erected here and there. They make it possible to tie up, quartered, the condemned who will receive the flogging prior to any good crucifixion.
Heavy wooden crosses lie on the sand of the arena, most facing each other after they are erected. Hammers, ropes and bags of nails placed on the ground.
I am seized by the executioners and brought to the portico. Arms and legs torn in chains. The same goes for the other males. Then, by a random selection, the condemned women are brought to the men. A beautiful slave of my size is assigned to me by my porch.
She is tied torn face to face with me; body against body. We still have our loincloths, but all of them are bare-chested.
We are covered in sweat. His opulent chest against my chest, our sweats mix. We look into each other's eyes, aware of our fate, aware of our last moments of life. Under the loincloth my sex hardened in contact with the lower abdomen my partner suffering. Our thighs are tied against each other. We kiss with passion.
The torment of flogging begins. Our bodies twist and rub under the blows. Our torn skins, blood flows over our shoulders, flows on our chest, blood mixes. And there; at this moment, the masochist who is in me, excited by the friction of the body of the victim, ejaculates all the sperm still contained in his balls.
The executioners unhook me and pull me back towards the cross on the ground. My partner, the bloodied body will have to feed on the vision of my decline before suffering the same fate. With a firm hand and with a sadistic laugh, an assistant executioner tears off my loincloth and shows it off to the crowd, shouting loudly: "This slave dog has managed to enjoy". He brandished the linen loincloth high with my blood, my sweat and my sperm.
Then everything goes very quickly. Plated on the cross, my arms and legs are tied with ropes. When the nails are driven into my wrists my body twists, paralyzed by excruciating pain. My pelvis lifts and at this moment, my bladder drops. A powerful and long stream of urine spills over my chest, mixing with my sweat, my blood. The executioner grabbed his whip again and plowed my belly and torso calling me "bastard, no reserve kind of dung". My feet are then nailed to the beam. With the help of the ropes, the cross is hoisted under the cheers of a hysterical crowd. The shock of the beam falling into the hole made on the ground tears cries of pain from me.
My partner attended the spectacle of my forfeiture, forfeiture which will now be hers. Detached she is now pulled back, her loincloth ripped apart with rage. From my cross I dominate the scene. Once his arms are nailed, the executioners take their reward before fixing his feet. A serial rape, alternately the executioner and his two assistants showing off their tense and turgid member, take her by force and smash her pussy. The last to take it withdraws at the last moment and takes pleasure in ejaculating between her busty breasts. His feet will then be nailed to the beam, the cross erected facing mine.
We thus remain to suffocate and to twist on the cross, under a blazing sun. With the end of the afternoon, the moment of our deliverance will come, we leave this world to sink into eternal limbo. Some will have broken legs, others a spear, which was the case with my partner. As for me, these are four archers who are riddling me with their arrows.
