You be the judge.
I am judged most harshly here... I just do my job!
Get Marcella ready for trial and bring me spikes to sharpen!!!
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Marcella's Dangerous Liaison
- Thread starter Cella
- Start date
Get Marcella ready for trial and bring me spikes to sharpen!!!
malins
Stumbling Seeker
Heed the warning - if you don't have your own story to tell, you end up living someone else's ... or dying it...I have to warn you-you should write that story before someone else does
Cella
Spectator
You be the judge.
Well, let me look around. Yeah, there seems to be a crowd gathering. I wonder why?
Oh dear!!! The judge just seems to have had a heart attack!
(Maybe I can slip away during all the confusion . . .)
Marcius
Tribune
1) The judge is tired and emotional
, that's all. 2) Not like this, no. Some kind of top is advised.
malins
Stumbling Seeker
For sure, like this... there's hardly a place for a girl to slip away to where she wouldn't just be grabbed and nabbed
Marcius
Tribune
I'll have to consider this anew, consult the primary sources...It is?
They had a drinking contest, and Judge Arbor-Infelix won?
bobinder
ARTISAN
Marcella, your thread now exemplifies perfectly how members are willing to rally round in support when things are not going well for somebody.Well, let me look around. Yeah, there seems to be a crowd gathering. I wonder why?
I think many of us sometimes get stuck on how to develop our creative ideas, but I am delighted to read all the expressions of empathy concerning your frustration, in the posts above.
I can only produce half-decent work when I am enjoying the process - fortunately I receive lots of encouragement from friends who assure me that if I am patient, the inspiration will come eventually, and the results will be worth the wait.
I am confident that you will find many members willing to assist you in sounding out ideas for developing this story - and also sowing the seeds for more stories as yet unwritten.
P
Piper Marie
Guest
Mmmmm ... fantasy of mine too
Perhaps the 3 of us could be tried and sentenced together. though we do not know each other, and are being judged over seperate unrelated situations, our fate would be the same.
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P
Piper Marie
Guest
That's fine. We'll make them earn it.
We may be chained and helpless (or however it is that we are bound at the moment)
But this is appropriate:
Cella
Spectator
Looking back. . .
By all the gods! What is this? Why is she here? She seems so out of place, crucified with these horrible men! Wait. . .wait a moment! I know her! I know that girl!
*************************************
Marcella walks up and down the row of crosses looking to see if any one of the condemned is her sister Barbara. Trying not to be overwhelmed by the smell of filthy bodies, blood, feces and urine, she is quick to see they are all males, yet she pauses just long enough to read the titulus at the top of each cross to determine if they are rebels. If so, she might try to ask if they know of a woman named Barbara. Is she still alive? Where is she? Not likely she’d get an answer from a man nailed to a cross and suffering the worse agony imaginable, even if she had the opportunity to ask the questions. The guards might hear, and she might find herself in mortal danger.
Years ago, her sister Barbara ran off with a man—a rebel as it turns out—and was never seen again. Marcella’s parents were at first devastated with the loss of their eldest daughter but have since resigned themselves that she is lost to them forever. Though her mother holds out hope that Barbara may return one day, her father, Tirgar, a successful trader in fine textiles, has hardened his heart towards his eldest. Even if she were to return he would probably reject her, turn her away. She was supposed to be the responsible daughter, and she failed him.
Marcella was very close to Barbara growing up. She adored her older sister. In the years since Barbara’s disappearance she visits the site of every crucifixion, praying that one of the condemned is not Barbara. In this way she holds out hope of her beloved sister’s eventual return, even though she knows this is unlikely. Barbara could have died in other ways or perhaps is unwilling or unable to return to her family. She might even be a slave now, or worse.
*****************************************
Having only three daughters and no sons, Tirgar and his wife, Elira, planned for years that Barbara would marry a respectable man in the community—someone within her social class—and bear them grandchildren. They prayed to the gods and offered sacrifices that Barbara would marry Pannonius, the son of a well-to-do wool merchant, and produce a male grandchild who would eventually be the heir to the combined fortunes of both houses. The pair seemed well-matched. Pannonius, though not an especially handsome man and nearly ten years older than Barbara, was a decent fellow with a good disposition and a hard work ethic. Barbara seemed to like him and all their plans seemed to be coming to fruition.
Then, unexpectedly, Barbara vanished. The word quickly spread that she had taken up with a roguish young man with a reputation as a troublemaker—a rebel! Everyone knew he was destined for a bad end someday—most likely at the end of a Roman sword or nailed to a cross. Barbara’s parent’s hopes were crushed. Their plans for a grandson and a future for their family were destroyed. They turned to their other two daughters—Marcella and Thessela—and made other plans.
Marcella, however, was as impulsive as Barbara had been responsible (at least until she suddenly vanished). A beautiful girl who physically matured early, she seemed obsessed with attracting men without actually being serious about any of them. Her mother understood that Marcella was “looking for her true love.” However, she wondered if her younger, impressionable daughter really understood the concept. They fought—as daughters and mothers often do—over Marcella’s lack of seriousness in finding a proper young man to marry. Perhaps it was due to Marcella’s precocious puberty, Elira reasoned. Marcella simply grew up too soon. She was tall and well on her way to having a woman’s figure at 13 years of age while her childhood friends were still skinny and flat-chested. Her friendships fell away and she became isolated—a girl in a woman’s body. And men were suddenly taking notice of her not always knowing she was still very much a child in years. While she should have been fostering relationships with girls her own age she had to deal with issues only a young woman of marriageable age should have to deal with. Absent female friendships, she transferred her attention to young (and sometimes older) men who were naturally drawn towards an apparently sexually mature and exotically attractive young woman. From an early age she had to learn how to control men and flirt with them without giving much of herself away. What Marcella lacked in the maturity of years she fortunately made up for in intelligence. She seemed to instinctually know how to handle young men when they became too free with their hands. She loved the power her nubile body gave her but, most importantly, knew the value of her virginity. Despite her impulsive attractiveness to men she pledged to herself to remain a virgin until marriage. And Marcella had very definite ideas about the type of man she wanted to marry.
Both Tirgar and Elira despaired that their impetuous, reckless, and overly sensual daughter could ever be the responsible young woman that Barbara was supposed to be. They feared she might come to a bad end if she didn’t marry soon and they both agreed that Pannonius—who after Barbara’s disappearance made his sincere interest in Marcella known—would be a good husband for her. Marcella, however, quickly made known her dislike for Pannonius as a worthy candidate for marriage. She considered him dull and unattractive—a “mere shopkeeper” as she referred to him. Her parents insisted that she reconsider. After all, she was now 19 years old and should be getting married. She was being too damn picky and unserious about such an important task! Tirgar considered forcing an arranged marriage—as was his right and the custom—but knew his highly rebellious daughter would never agree. He conceded that patience was the best tactic right now. Perhaps, in a year or two, Marcella would give up her impetuous romantic notions and become the responsible daughter he could be proud of. Oh, Tirgar loved Marcella enough. It was just the way she disappointed him in the present and his fear for her future weighed heavily on his mind.
For the present, Tirgar and Elira’s hopes rested on their youngest daughter, Thessela, who was still a child when Barbara vanished. In the years that followed she matured into a quiet, responsible young woman who, by the age of 17, had not yet attracted the eye of any of the respectable young men in the neighborhood. In fact, she showed little interest in men at all. Thessela was hardly unattractive, being very fair of face and even a bit taller than Marcella with a slender, rather willowy figure. Elira had hoped Thessela would have filled out more by now. Both Marcella and Barbara had shapely full breasts and Elira feared that her small-breasted daughter lacked an essential womanly allure. Perhaps this is what kept her from getting deserved attention from men. The poor girl just needed a little more meat on her! A young woman might make up for less obvious assets with an interesting and bright personality. But, alas, Thessela was a reserved—though secretively passionate—girl who kept close to her female friends. If any young man made her heart beat fast and warmed her in that special place between her legs she managed to keep it very much to herself. In her own way she placed as much stress on her parents as did Marcella.
Barbara had failed them, Marcella was not serious about assuming a woman’s proper role in society, and Thessela seemed uninterested in men at all. They had to admit that perhaps there was a character fault in their children that would forever deny them a sound, stable, respectable future. But they had to work with the children they had. So Tirgar and Elira pinned their hopes on Thessela as the daughter that would ultimately rescue the family’s respectability and fortune. Marcella, they feared, was only destined to cause them much pain.
By all the gods! What is this? Why is she here? She seems so out of place, crucified with these horrible men! Wait. . .wait a moment! I know her! I know that girl!
*************************************
Marcella walks up and down the row of crosses looking to see if any one of the condemned is her sister Barbara. Trying not to be overwhelmed by the smell of filthy bodies, blood, feces and urine, she is quick to see they are all males, yet she pauses just long enough to read the titulus at the top of each cross to determine if they are rebels. If so, she might try to ask if they know of a woman named Barbara. Is she still alive? Where is she? Not likely she’d get an answer from a man nailed to a cross and suffering the worse agony imaginable, even if she had the opportunity to ask the questions. The guards might hear, and she might find herself in mortal danger.
Years ago, her sister Barbara ran off with a man—a rebel as it turns out—and was never seen again. Marcella’s parents were at first devastated with the loss of their eldest daughter but have since resigned themselves that she is lost to them forever. Though her mother holds out hope that Barbara may return one day, her father, Tirgar, a successful trader in fine textiles, has hardened his heart towards his eldest. Even if she were to return he would probably reject her, turn her away. She was supposed to be the responsible daughter, and she failed him.
Marcella was very close to Barbara growing up. She adored her older sister. In the years since Barbara’s disappearance she visits the site of every crucifixion, praying that one of the condemned is not Barbara. In this way she holds out hope of her beloved sister’s eventual return, even though she knows this is unlikely. Barbara could have died in other ways or perhaps is unwilling or unable to return to her family. She might even be a slave now, or worse.
*****************************************
Having only three daughters and no sons, Tirgar and his wife, Elira, planned for years that Barbara would marry a respectable man in the community—someone within her social class—and bear them grandchildren. They prayed to the gods and offered sacrifices that Barbara would marry Pannonius, the son of a well-to-do wool merchant, and produce a male grandchild who would eventually be the heir to the combined fortunes of both houses. The pair seemed well-matched. Pannonius, though not an especially handsome man and nearly ten years older than Barbara, was a decent fellow with a good disposition and a hard work ethic. Barbara seemed to like him and all their plans seemed to be coming to fruition.
Then, unexpectedly, Barbara vanished. The word quickly spread that she had taken up with a roguish young man with a reputation as a troublemaker—a rebel! Everyone knew he was destined for a bad end someday—most likely at the end of a Roman sword or nailed to a cross. Barbara’s parent’s hopes were crushed. Their plans for a grandson and a future for their family were destroyed. They turned to their other two daughters—Marcella and Thessela—and made other plans.
Marcella, however, was as impulsive as Barbara had been responsible (at least until she suddenly vanished). A beautiful girl who physically matured early, she seemed obsessed with attracting men without actually being serious about any of them. Her mother understood that Marcella was “looking for her true love.” However, she wondered if her younger, impressionable daughter really understood the concept. They fought—as daughters and mothers often do—over Marcella’s lack of seriousness in finding a proper young man to marry. Perhaps it was due to Marcella’s precocious puberty, Elira reasoned. Marcella simply grew up too soon. She was tall and well on her way to having a woman’s figure at 13 years of age while her childhood friends were still skinny and flat-chested. Her friendships fell away and she became isolated—a girl in a woman’s body. And men were suddenly taking notice of her not always knowing she was still very much a child in years. While she should have been fostering relationships with girls her own age she had to deal with issues only a young woman of marriageable age should have to deal with. Absent female friendships, she transferred her attention to young (and sometimes older) men who were naturally drawn towards an apparently sexually mature and exotically attractive young woman. From an early age she had to learn how to control men and flirt with them without giving much of herself away. What Marcella lacked in the maturity of years she fortunately made up for in intelligence. She seemed to instinctually know how to handle young men when they became too free with their hands. She loved the power her nubile body gave her but, most importantly, knew the value of her virginity. Despite her impulsive attractiveness to men she pledged to herself to remain a virgin until marriage. And Marcella had very definite ideas about the type of man she wanted to marry.
Both Tirgar and Elira despaired that their impetuous, reckless, and overly sensual daughter could ever be the responsible young woman that Barbara was supposed to be. They feared she might come to a bad end if she didn’t marry soon and they both agreed that Pannonius—who after Barbara’s disappearance made his sincere interest in Marcella known—would be a good husband for her. Marcella, however, quickly made known her dislike for Pannonius as a worthy candidate for marriage. She considered him dull and unattractive—a “mere shopkeeper” as she referred to him. Her parents insisted that she reconsider. After all, she was now 19 years old and should be getting married. She was being too damn picky and unserious about such an important task! Tirgar considered forcing an arranged marriage—as was his right and the custom—but knew his highly rebellious daughter would never agree. He conceded that patience was the best tactic right now. Perhaps, in a year or two, Marcella would give up her impetuous romantic notions and become the responsible daughter he could be proud of. Oh, Tirgar loved Marcella enough. It was just the way she disappointed him in the present and his fear for her future weighed heavily on his mind.
For the present, Tirgar and Elira’s hopes rested on their youngest daughter, Thessela, who was still a child when Barbara vanished. In the years that followed she matured into a quiet, responsible young woman who, by the age of 17, had not yet attracted the eye of any of the respectable young men in the neighborhood. In fact, she showed little interest in men at all. Thessela was hardly unattractive, being very fair of face and even a bit taller than Marcella with a slender, rather willowy figure. Elira had hoped Thessela would have filled out more by now. Both Marcella and Barbara had shapely full breasts and Elira feared that her small-breasted daughter lacked an essential womanly allure. Perhaps this is what kept her from getting deserved attention from men. The poor girl just needed a little more meat on her! A young woman might make up for less obvious assets with an interesting and bright personality. But, alas, Thessela was a reserved—though secretively passionate—girl who kept close to her female friends. If any young man made her heart beat fast and warmed her in that special place between her legs she managed to keep it very much to herself. In her own way she placed as much stress on her parents as did Marcella.
Barbara had failed them, Marcella was not serious about assuming a woman’s proper role in society, and Thessela seemed uninterested in men at all. They had to admit that perhaps there was a character fault in their children that would forever deny them a sound, stable, respectable future. But they had to work with the children they had. So Tirgar and Elira pinned their hopes on Thessela as the daughter that would ultimately rescue the family’s respectability and fortune. Marcella, they feared, was only destined to cause them much pain.
I feel they judge Marcella poorly. This is unfair to Marcella but could be good for the mercenary and his crew...
Cella
Spectator
Looking back. . .
By all the gods! What is this? Why is she here? She seems so out of place, crucified with these horrible men! Wait. . .wait a moment! I know her! I know that girl!
*************************************
Marcella walks up and down the row of crosses looking to see if any one of the crucified is her sister Barbara. Trying not to be overwhelmed by the smell of filthy bodies, blood, feces and urine, she pauses just long enough to read the titulus nailed to the upright above the head of each crucified person. Several are identified as rebels, but she also sees some identified as murderers, thieves, and highwaymen. The authorities are nothing but conscientious about properly indicating the reason a man or woman has been crucified.
To Marcella’s relief, the crucified appear to be all males. At least for now she can still believe her sister is possibly alive. She wants to ask the crucified rebels if any of them know of a woman named Barbara. Can they describe her? Is she still alive? Where is she? Marcella knows she is not likely to get an answer from a crucified man, even if she has the opportunity to ask the questions. The guards might hear, and she might find herself in serious trouble as spectators are not supposed to get too close to the crosses. Yet, Marcella is so desperate to know of her sister’s fate that she’s willing to take some risks. It looks to her that she’d better ask any questions quickly. This lot was crucified at dawn and now it’s midday, so they’ve been hanging for nearly six hours. They’ll not die soon—probably will last through the night—but soon they’ll be too exhausted and insensible to answer any questions.
The men hang utterly naked on their crosses. Arms, stretched to the ends of rough crossbeams, are nailed through wrists to the wood. Legs are bent at the knees with feet nailed side by side to the tall uprights, thus spreading thighs apart to obscenely display dangling cocks and ball sacs. The penises of the younger men are semi-erect, even as they struggle in unrelieved agony. Though still a virgin at 19 years of age, Marcella knows very well that a man’s cock becomes hard when he is sexually aroused. Yet, she cannot understand why these men should show arousal when suffering so terribly. She concludes she clearly does not understand men very well at all.
Under the watchful eyes of the posted guards, Marcella dares to stand as close as possible to a cross that, by the titulus, bears the body of a rebel. His body is young and fit. Her face flushes with embarrassment as she stares at the man’s tumescent cock dancing in the air above the level of her head. A sticky fluid drips from its bulbous head. Despite the gore rising in her throat, she wants to ask him about Barbara. She tries to raise her eyes to look up at the man’s face, to get his attention, but she seems fixated on his bobbling cock that appears to suddenly grow more erect as she watches! What the fuck? Why is that happening? She gets her answer when she raises her eyes to the man’s face and sees him staring down at her, despite grimacing in agony, with leering, wide-open eyes, no different from the looks she often gets from men in the street. There she doesn’t mind knowing her body attracts the wandering gaze of men. She’s proud of her lush body and takes pleasure in knowing that men want her. But here it’s the lustful gaze of a crucified man who is obviously staring down the deep cleavage between her full, heaving breasts, barely contained within the fitted top of her tunic. Suddenly, as she senses her nipples getting hard, she instinctively brings her arms across her chest to better cover herself. Blushing scarlet, she steps back from the cross and turns away from the hanging man. As she does, he speaks to her with a low, raw, raspy, breathless voice.
“Hey girlie, come back. Why don’t you suck my cock? Come on, I can’t hurt you.” Marcella turns to face the crucified man again and sees he is thrusting his now fully erect cock forward, as though he believes Marcella would actually take his organ into her mouth!
He begs, “Come on, cunt! Suck my cock! Ain’t that what you’re here for you fucking whore?”
Revolted by the sight and request, Marcella quickly turns away but runs into several other people nearby. She feels the hands of a man grabbing at her breasts and ass. She pushes him away as he curses her. She stumbles, gains her footing, and quickly marches away from the crosses. She wants to get back to the city and to safety. Her idea of putting questions to crucified rebels suddenly seems idiotic. What could she have been thinking!
Only then does Marcella hear the high-pitched wails of a woman, and the agonized screams and curses of another female voice. She looks towards the sound and at the end of this long row of crucified men she sees the outline of the body of a young woman hanging on a cross. She lurches toward the sound. As she approaches the writhing figure of the naked, crucified woman, her mind suddenly reels in recognition. It’s someone she knows! I know this girl, she says to herself. Why the fuck is she here?
By all the gods! What is this? Why is she here? She seems so out of place, crucified with these horrible men! Wait. . .wait a moment! I know her! I know that girl!
*************************************
Marcella walks up and down the row of crosses looking to see if any one of the crucified is her sister Barbara. Trying not to be overwhelmed by the smell of filthy bodies, blood, feces and urine, she pauses just long enough to read the titulus nailed to the upright above the head of each crucified person. Several are identified as rebels, but she also sees some identified as murderers, thieves, and highwaymen. The authorities are nothing but conscientious about properly indicating the reason a man or woman has been crucified.
To Marcella’s relief, the crucified appear to be all males. At least for now she can still believe her sister is possibly alive. She wants to ask the crucified rebels if any of them know of a woman named Barbara. Can they describe her? Is she still alive? Where is she? Marcella knows she is not likely to get an answer from a crucified man, even if she has the opportunity to ask the questions. The guards might hear, and she might find herself in serious trouble as spectators are not supposed to get too close to the crosses. Yet, Marcella is so desperate to know of her sister’s fate that she’s willing to take some risks. It looks to her that she’d better ask any questions quickly. This lot was crucified at dawn and now it’s midday, so they’ve been hanging for nearly six hours. They’ll not die soon—probably will last through the night—but soon they’ll be too exhausted and insensible to answer any questions.
The men hang utterly naked on their crosses. Arms, stretched to the ends of rough crossbeams, are nailed through wrists to the wood. Legs are bent at the knees with feet nailed side by side to the tall uprights, thus spreading thighs apart to obscenely display dangling cocks and ball sacs. The penises of the younger men are semi-erect, even as they struggle in unrelieved agony. Though still a virgin at 19 years of age, Marcella knows very well that a man’s cock becomes hard when he is sexually aroused. Yet, she cannot understand why these men should show arousal when suffering so terribly. She concludes she clearly does not understand men very well at all.
Under the watchful eyes of the posted guards, Marcella dares to stand as close as possible to a cross that, by the titulus, bears the body of a rebel. His body is young and fit. Her face flushes with embarrassment as she stares at the man’s tumescent cock dancing in the air above the level of her head. A sticky fluid drips from its bulbous head. Despite the gore rising in her throat, she wants to ask him about Barbara. She tries to raise her eyes to look up at the man’s face, to get his attention, but she seems fixated on his bobbling cock that appears to suddenly grow more erect as she watches! What the fuck? Why is that happening? She gets her answer when she raises her eyes to the man’s face and sees him staring down at her, despite grimacing in agony, with leering, wide-open eyes, no different from the looks she often gets from men in the street. There she doesn’t mind knowing her body attracts the wandering gaze of men. She’s proud of her lush body and takes pleasure in knowing that men want her. But here it’s the lustful gaze of a crucified man who is obviously staring down the deep cleavage between her full, heaving breasts, barely contained within the fitted top of her tunic. Suddenly, as she senses her nipples getting hard, she instinctively brings her arms across her chest to better cover herself. Blushing scarlet, she steps back from the cross and turns away from the hanging man. As she does, he speaks to her with a low, raw, raspy, breathless voice.
“Hey girlie, come back. Why don’t you suck my cock? Come on, I can’t hurt you.” Marcella turns to face the crucified man again and sees he is thrusting his now fully erect cock forward, as though he believes Marcella would actually take his organ into her mouth!
He begs, “Come on, cunt! Suck my cock! Ain’t that what you’re here for you fucking whore?”
Revolted by the sight and request, Marcella quickly turns away but runs into several other people nearby. She feels the hands of a man grabbing at her breasts and ass. She pushes him away as he curses her. She stumbles, gains her footing, and quickly marches away from the crosses. She wants to get back to the city and to safety. Her idea of putting questions to crucified rebels suddenly seems idiotic. What could she have been thinking!
Only then does Marcella hear the high-pitched wails of a woman, and the agonized screams and curses of another female voice. She looks towards the sound and at the end of this long row of crucified men she sees the outline of the body of a young woman hanging on a cross. She lurches toward the sound. As she approaches the writhing figure of the naked, crucified woman, her mind suddenly reels in recognition. It’s someone she knows! I know this girl, she says to herself. Why the fuck is she here?
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bobinder
ARTISAN
An excellent installment for taking your story forward, Marcella.
Great to have you writing this one again!
Cella
Spectator
An excellent installment for taking your story forward, Marcella.
Great to have you writing this one again!
Thank you bobinder. It's all about getting in the correct writing mood after a dry spell.
Oh yes! This helps. It's amazing how a little erotic pain helps the creative process. The nipple clamps are sooo wonderful! Really gets my juices flowing!