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My Master's Garden

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Happy Holidays to All! I will post again tomorrow evening. My Master has big plans for his slave tomorrow!
Wishing you a happy holiday culus and may your master make it a most special day for you, nekked slave boi. Does your present involve an anal hook? Or maybe a proper whipping? I would luv to watch you suffer, ha ha, but will have to wait for a report. Enjoy your punishment and do not cry too many tears.
 
Lucky you - I have been very good this year, so will be crucified on New Years Day by my Master. I am very excited.
Mmmmm ! Lucky you too !
I'll be not crucified but certainly whipped by my lovely Judith with the "DOG" , the best one !:rolleyes::rolleyes::rolleyes:
 

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Mmmmm ! Lucky you too !
I'll be not crucified but certainly whipped by my lovely Judith with the "DOG" , the best one !:rolleyes::rolleyes::rolleyes:

My New Year's Day crucifixion lasted around 45 minutes. Our weather was warm (75 degrees) and my Master was assisted by a friend in tying my wrists to the cross beam, lifting it off the ground and into the slot in the concrete base. I was allowed to hang there, legs dangling, for a few minutes, before my Master and his friend lifted and spread my legs, raising me up and gently lowering my hips until I felt the bulbous head of the cornu/phallus push against my anus and make its way up the passage. Once it was stuffed inside of me and jammed against the prostate my legs were pulled up and back and tied at the ankles behind the stipe, leaving me in a squatting position as I hung on the cross. I struggled and strained throughout the allotted time and my Master and his friend played a long game of chess and drank a bottle of wine between them. When I was taken down my muscles ached and I was still breathing heavily, but feeling satisfied and knowing that I will sleep well tonight!
 
My Master's Garden: The Painter and His Boi

From the position of the sun in the sky it was approaching noon and I hung, along with Liliana, wrists bound above our heads, my right and her left leg tied by the ankle to the huge phallus that projected from the middle of my Master's cross and our remaining limbs hanging free. I had lost all feeling in my wrists and my shoulders and arms ached with piercing pain. The flies and other insects persisted in their torments on our naked, whip lashed bodies and found their way into even our most private of orifices. Sweat poured from my chest and armpits and back and dripped off of my belly, tortured penis and balls.

As I suffered these many discomforts and indignities I soon heard footsteps, again, on the gravel path and raised my head to see who it was. Approaching the cross was a large, fat man, wearing a straw hat and a long, billowing cotton gauze robe of sorts, revealing his naked body beneath. He wore sandals and carried a box and an easel under one arm. Once he had stopped before our place of torture I could see his body quite well beneath the thin fabric, revealing a big, fat belly like a pregnant woman, sagging breasts and big man tits that poked at the cloth. His distended large navel sat like a jewel adorning his enormous belly, that, in turn, loomed over a tiny penis and small balls.

"Allow me to introduce myself, children" he spoke. "My name is Galen and Aurelia is my sister. I am an artist of some renown and have come to paint your portrait." He paused a few seconds, for affect, and again, footsteps were heard on the path. A young man, looking to be in his early 20's, appeared in front of us, wearing nothing but a small pair of thin white cotton shorts and sandals. He had a thick mane of curly black hair and a nice growth of hair on his mid chest and belly. He was tanned and fit, with well-muscled arms and legs but, curiously, a bit of fat around the middle, giving him a little bulge over the waistband of his shorts. He did not speak and Galen told us his name was Elias, his nephew and helper.

"Elias will make you ready now while I set up my canvas and palette." The boy proceeded to pull up the small ladder and, carrying a wet cloth in his hand, to gently wash Liliana's body from head to toe, caressing her breasts as he did so and pushing the cloth into her vagina. When he had finished those ablutions he brought out a brush and began to gently brush her long, black hair until it was untangled and fell upon her shoulders and back. Once he had finished he stood on the ground and reaching up and taking hold of Liliana's hips, pushed his tongue up into her pussy and lingered there for a moment as she moaned with unbridled pleasure. He then climbed back up a few steps on the ladder and removed her ball-gag, before giving her a long drink from a cowhide bota he had brought along. Once she had her fill he replaced her gag and climbed down.

This bit of grooming concluded, he moved the ladder to my side of the cross and, dipping the cloth into a small bucket of cold water, began wiping my head and neck, the curly hairs on his chest brushing my face as he did so. Moving down he bathed my chest and underarms, belly and groin, pulling softly on my still erect penis, before wiping the cloth across my buttocks and into the cleft there. As he lowered himself on the ladder to bathe my legs and feet he paused to kiss the tip of my penis with his lips, then took the organ into his mouth and suckled it, sending shivers throughout my pain wracked body - shivers of blissful ecstasy blended with agony and misery. Climbing up the steps Elias removed my ball gag and parted my dry, spittle-coated lips with his fingers and allowed me a long drink from the bota. He had completed his task and withdrew from the cross, walking quietly down the gravel path and disappearing from our sight.

Galen was now seated on a folding chair, paintbrush in one hand and palette in the other, his canvas propped on a wooden easel to his right. He began to paint what he saw and we proved to be perfect models, exhausted from our hours hanging from the cross beam and the severe whippings administered by Mistress Aurelia. I have no idea how long we "posed" for the artist, but the sun was lower in the western sky when he set aside his palette and began to pack up his easel and canvas. Elias returned and I watched as he followed Galen to Liliana's side of the cross and climbed the short ladder, his fat body balancing on the top rung, before reaching up to untie the slave's hands. Elias reached up and untied Eliana's foot from the phallus and together they carried her naked, limp body down the path until that small procession was out of sight.

Some few minutes later the artist and his boi returned for me and untied me from the cross and carried me to my small cell, chaining me to my mattress on the floor. I could hear echoes of their smiling voices as they locked the door and departed, no doubt for a pleasant dinner, with wine and delicious food. That night I cried soft tears of sorrow and loneliness and outside my bare four walls a full moon rose and bathed my Master's cross in soft, pale moonlight.
 
My Master's Garden: The Painter and His Boi

From the position of the sun in the sky it was approaching noon and I hung, along with Liliana, wrists bound above our heads, my right and her left leg tied by the ankle to the huge phallus that projected from the middle of my Master's cross and our remaining limbs hanging free. I had lost all feeling in my wrists and my shoulders and arms ached with piercing pain. The flies and other insects persisted in their torments on our naked, whip lashed bodies and found their way into even our most private of orifices. Sweat poured from my chest and armpits and back and dripped off of my belly, tortured penis and balls.

As I suffered these many discomforts and indignities I soon heard footsteps, again, on the gravel path and raised my head to see who it was. Approaching the cross was a large, fat man, wearing a straw hat and a long, billowing cotton gauze robe of sorts, revealing his naked body beneath. He wore sandals and carried a box and an easel under one arm. Once he had stopped before our place of torture I could see his body quite well beneath the thin fabric, revealing a big, fat belly like a pregnant woman, sagging breasts and big man tits that poked at the cloth. His distended large navel sat like a jewel adorning his enormous belly, that, in turn, loomed over a tiny penis and small balls.

"Allow me to introduce myself, children" he spoke. "My name is Galen and Aurelia is my sister. I am an artist of some renown and have come to paint your portrait." He paused a few seconds, for affect, and again, footsteps were heard on the path. A young man, looking to be in his early 20's, appeared in front of us, wearing nothing but a small pair of thin white cotton shorts and sandals. He had a thick mane of curly black hair and a nice growth of hair on his mid chest and belly. He was tanned and fit, with well-muscled arms and legs but, curiously, a bit of fat around the middle, giving him a little bulge over the waistband of his shorts. He did not speak and Galen told us his name was Elias, his nephew and helper.

"Elias will make you ready now while I set up my canvas and palette." The boy proceeded to pull up the small ladder and, carrying a wet cloth in his hand, to gently wash Liliana's body from head to toe, caressing her breasts as he did so and pushing the cloth into her vagina. When he had finished those ablutions he brought out a brush and began to gently brush her long, black hair until it was untangled and fell upon her shoulders and back. Once he had finished he stood on the ground and reaching up and taking hold of Liliana's hips, pushed his tongue up into her pussy and lingered there for a moment as she moaned with unbridled pleasure. He then climbed back up a few steps on the ladder and removed her ball-gag, before giving her a long drink from a cowhide bota he had brought along. Once she had her fill he replaced her gag and climbed down.

This bit of grooming concluded, he moved the ladder to my side of the cross and, dipping the cloth into a small bucket of cold water, began wiping my head and neck, the curly hairs on his chest brushing my face as he did so. Moving down he bathed my chest and underarms, belly and groin, pulling softly on my still erect penis, before wiping the cloth across my buttocks and into the cleft there. As he lowered himself on the ladder to bathe my legs and feet he paused to kiss the tip of my penis with his lips, then took the organ into his mouth and suckled it, sending shivers throughout my pain wracked body - shivers of blissful ecstasy blended with agony and misery. Climbing up the steps Elias removed my ball gag and parted my dry, spittle-coated lips with his fingers and allowed me a long drink from the bota. He had completed his task and withdrew from the cross, walking quietly down the gravel path and disappearing from our sight.

Galen was now seated on a folding chair, paintbrush in one hand and palette in the other, his canvas propped on a wooden easel to his right. He began to paint what he saw and we proved to be perfect models, exhausted from our hours hanging from the cross beam and the severe whippings administered by Mistress Aurelia. I have no idea how long we "posed" for the artist, but the sun was lower in the western sky when he set aside his palette and began to pack up his easel and canvas. Elias returned and I watched as he followed Galen to Liliana's side of the cross and climbed the short ladder, his fat body balancing on the top rung, before reaching up to untie the slave's hands. Elias reached up and untied Eliana's foot from the phallus and together they carried her naked, limp body down the path until that small procession was out of sight.

Some few minutes later the artist and his boi returned for me and untied me from the cross and carried me to my small cell, chaining me to my mattress on the floor. I could hear echoes of their smiling voices as they locked the door and departed, no doubt for a pleasant dinner, with wine and delicious food. That night I cried soft tears of sorrow and loneliness and outside my bare four walls a full moon rose and bathed my Master's cross in soft, pale moonlight.
 
I am aroused by this story culus. It is both erotic and at times mysterious and darkly foreboding. Your imagery is so vivid that I can feel and taste it. You've managed to use the cross and it's power in telling a story and the reader anticipates that the slave and Liliana will be crucified in the end but be subject to the most exquisite punishments and tortures crafted like foreplay. I am eager to read more.
 
I am aroused by this story culus. It is both erotic and at times mysterious and darkly foreboding. Your imagery is so vivid that I can feel and taste it. You've managed to use the cross and it's power in telling a story and the reader anticipates that the slave and Liliana will be crucified in the end but be subject to the most exquisite punishments and tortures crafted like foreplay. I am eager to read more.
 
I would luv to see pics of you crucified culus. Your avatar shows a nice small body and pretty cock and balls. I can only imagine how beautiful you must be tied and hanging from your Master's cross.
 
Like said Erick, it's a very curious story , full of mystery, of "fairies" perhaps ? (Liliana could be ...)
This lunar atmospher which is ending the episode adds to that ; I imagine well, a little window in your cellar and , like a ghost, this huge cross of your master of which the disquieting silhouette set down in the pale light of the moon ...:rolleyes:

Of course that we're waiting the following with impatience, Culus !:clapping:
 

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My Master's Garden: Damian's Return

The return of Master Damian followed my torments on the garden cross by two days. He woke me up with a tug on my sleeping penis and caressed my balls with his right hand. I awoke and for a moment was blissfully happy to see his face, but soon noted a look in his eyes that filled me with anxiety. "Let's get you up culus and have you take your morning piss. I have much work for you to do today boi." Unshackled from my mattress I followed Him outside into the garden and stood, legs spread wide apart, on the spot designated for me to urinate. He reached behind me and tickled my perineum with his index finger until I felt the stream of piss begin to flow, hitting the ground in a puddle. Once my bladder was empty He took me inside and fed me my meager breakfast. Following this He had me kneel in front of him and take His cock into my mouth, sucking it to the root until he exploded in my mouth and I swallowed his cum.

I rose to my feet and followed Damian outside into the morning sun. There, on the ground was a wooden yoke, and he picked this up and fastened it around my neck and wrists. I was yoked like a beast of burden and He lead me like this to a place just outside the garden wall where a heavy iron plow leaned against a tree. Damian harnessed me to this plow and pointed to the small field that had been marked off for a vegetable garden. The ground was hard and cracked from the summer sun. "You will make me 12 perfect furrows culus, long and straight and beautifully formed. I've brought my whip in case you need encouragement, boi. Now start pulling that plow and work like a dumb beast to please your Master."

I began to stumble under the weight of the yoke and the heavy plow, my bare feet treading on the hard, cracked dirt beneath me. I had made one course down the side of the garden and the ground was not yielding to the plow. I struggled with all my strength to push the plow as deep as possible into the dirt and finally, my exertions began to yield results. The dirt was parting now and I could see the plow coursing through the soil. Energized by my success I worked diligently and, even though my shoulders and back ached from the labor I found myself pushing with all I had to plow the garden and please Master Damian.

In the comparative silence of mid morning I heard hammering noises and voices coming from inside the walled garden, but as I made my rounds with the plow could not see what was happening there.

Once I had completed the plowing Master Damian waled the furrows and pronounced them well-formed and ready for planting. He gave me water and removed the yoke. I was covered with dirt from head to toe, mixed with sweat and the filth of the earth clinging to my naked body. Master told me to follow him back inside the garden and as we passed through the gate I saw two men, carpenters, it seemed, assembling a second, large cross, to be positioned across from the original, putting them about 15 feet apart. They paused in their work to stare at me, naked, collared and filthy, as my Master tied me by the wrists to the whipping post gibbet, leaving me dangling there, just an inch or so off the ground. He then took the garden hose and began to rinse me off with a strong jet of cold water, until the last bit of grime was gone. I was left hanging there to dry out in the sun, and my Master returned to the house to tend to morning business.

The workers came closer to examine me and one of them was heard to remark, "I'll bet this is the boi who will soon enjoy our finished project. He'll look nice tied to the cross. It's too bad we won't be here to watch!" He pinched my nipples hard and fingered my navel, before pulling hard on my penis. I felt his finger pushing against my unprotected anus, but he did not push it in. The workers laughed as they returned to their work and I could hear them hammering and sawing as I hung from the gibbet and a dragonfly flew in circles around me before settling on my bald head.

It seemed an hour or more before Master Damian returned to take me down from the gibbet. As my feet finally touched the ground he fastened a chain to my collar and led me back to the house. I expected to be returned to my cell, but soon found that we were entering a large room with no windows. Against the back wall was a large "X" shaped wooden cross, with shackles attached and to this I was secured, my arms and legs stretched to an almost painful degree. I was ball-gagged and had my balls cinched tight with heavy weights hanging down between my legs. Master placed razor clips on my nipples and attached a short chain to each that dangled on my belly, a heavy weight swinging there. My misery was complete and Master Damian was pleased with his work. He left me then and I could hear the heavy door slam and lock behind him. My eyes scanned the room and I what I saw frightened me. Along the wall were arranged, hanging and shelved, various implements of torture, ranging from whips and chains to tongs, clamps, dilators, dildos, hoods, vices and manacles. Panic set in and I tried to struggle, but my movements were so restricted that I could only move my fingers and toes. A scream tried to make its way up my throat and out of my mouth but nothing came out and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and begin to trickle down my cheeks. The horror of my situation somehow did not communicate itself to my genitals and I could feel my penis stiffen and push out, throbbing and erect, drops of pre-cum forming on the head. My stretched, open anus was throbbing and clinching as well and my nipples, burning and tortured beyond imagination, still stood erect, poking out from the forest of hair on my chest. I was one with the X cross and left alone in agony to contemplate my own suffering. Outside the workman had finished the cross, tightening the heavy bolts to fasten the heavy beam to the stipe. And the sun sat in its place in the late summer sky, while I blended with the cross in my Master's torture chamber.
 
My Master's Garden: The Barber Does His Work

I remained shackled to the X cross in Master Damian's chamber. Night fell and I spent a sleepless night stretched taut, my nipples burning in pain from the biting clamps, my balls cinched tight and weighted, dangling like a pair of hard stones, numb and heavy, and my poor, unpredictable penis full of blood, rigid, throbbing and pointing toward the ceiling, pre-cum dripping from the meatus. The ball gag in my mouth left my jaws aching and produced drool and spittle on my chin and chest.

There were no windows in the chamber and the darkness enveloped me like a thick blanket. I was alone with my jumbled thoughts and private terrors and the agonies of my tormented, naked body.

It seemed like hours later when I became aware of a faint light, growing brighter by degrees. It was a torch held by an unseen hand and soon joined to a candle wick in a standing lantern on the floor near my cross. The lantern lit, the unseen hand moved to light it's companion, soon illuminating the chamber and allowing my eyes to adjust to the room.

Standing before me was a young man, no more than 20, wearing a long apron over his clothes, his long red hair pulled into a pony tail in the back. He had a well-trimmed beard and a glimpse of ginger chest hair peaking just over the neckline of his shirt. He was trim and muscular and had an efficient air about him. He began to speak: "May I introduce myself. My name is Marcus and I am a barber by trade and employed by Damian, your Master, to make you ready for what is to come." He carried a small bag and placed it on a table in front of me and proceeded to empty the contents and arrange them carefully. My eyes now fully adjusted to the light I could see a pair of scissors, a sharp razor and several sizes of pincers and tweezers, all laid out in measured arrangement.

Marcus continued to speak, moving closer to me as he did so, and stood as close to my body as possible. "We must rid you, boi, of all of this fur. Your Master wants you smooth for what is to come and that is my job. I will begin now." He removed my ball gag, placing it on another table, before pulling the clamps from my nipples. Finished with that he took the cinch off of my stretched balls and placed it with the other restraints.

The barber picked up the scissors and went to work trimming the thick hair on my chest until it was short enough to his eyes, then clipped away at the hair growing in my arm pits, before moving to my hairy belly. He was careful to separate the hair into individual piles. This preliminary shearing completed, he took my hard penis in his left hand and pulled it up and against my belly, before taking the scissors and carefully clipping my bush, fingering each pubic curl before snipping it off as close to the skin as possible. Soon my bush was gone and relegated to its own delicate pile on the table, resembling a bird's nest.

Marcus stood back a moment to admire his work, then moved to the table and picked up the razor. He pushed my chin up and began to shave my chest stubble with the dry, sharp razor, using certain, soft strokes to depiliate the hairs there, but leaving the hairs growing around my nipples. My chest was soon smooth and he went to work on my belly, shaving the skin smooth but leaving the hairs surrounding my navel. My belly now mostly hairless, he shaved my groin and inner thighs, leaving the root hair of my bush and on my balls and scrotum.

Once again he stepped back to observe his work for a few seconds, before reaching for a pair of tweezers on the table. "I will call your Master now boi, as He has asked to watch this stage of my work." Marcus then left and returned with Master Damian. Our eyes met and mine implored His, but I could see it was of no use. He took a seat in a comfortable chair and motioned for Marcus to continue.

The barber began with my almost denuded right arm pit, taking the tweezers and grabbing at the remaining hair there and, with a short jerk of his hand, pulling it out by the root. I struggled on the X cross and cried out at the sharp, stinging pain, tears filling my eyes. Marcus continued steadily pulling out my arm pit hair, making sure that the right arm pit was smooth before beginning work on the left. Once that work was done he took his fingers and ran them along the smooth and bleeding skin and smiled broadly, nodding to Master Damian.

He then turned serious and deliberate attention to my sore nipples, rubbing the erect and tortured tits between his fingers. Taking the tweezers he began to pluck out the remaining hairs growing there, producing electric pain that shot through my chest and upper body and left me howling like a wounded animal. Master Damian betrayed no emotion, unlike my wild and terrified eyes and guttural cries.

Marcus employed tweezers around my navel leaving me smooth there. On the table I could see the perfectly arranged piles of my body hair, now enriched with the torn out hairs, like macabre trophies.

I cannot describe the intense pain I felt as the barber tore out the hairs from my penis and balls. There was blood there, but Marcus was thorough in his medical attention and used a special stiptic pen to alleviate that.

Master Damian rose from his chair and walked to the side wall of the chamber and pushed a wooden trestle into the space in front of my cross. The top was padded and there were iron rings attached to the legs. Once the trestle was in place He began to unshackle me from the X cross and then carried me the short distance to the trestle, before placing my body, belly down, on top of it, pulling my arms and legs apart and shackling me, once again, to the rings provided. My legs were spread so wide that my anus was left open and fully accessible to the barber.

Marcus shaved my neck, back and buttocks with quiet skill and efficiency. He employed his scissors for the longer curls that decorated my puckered hole like a soft hairy wreath, and placed them carefully in a separate pile on the trophy table. What hair remained, there around the anus and on my scrotum and perineum were soon torn out with the pincers and tweezers, each hair ripped out by the root as I screamed screams that came from somewhere deep and primal and I found the pain so unbearable that I soon passed out.

Awaking sometime later I saw Master Damian and Marcus, chatting amiably. Noting my return to consciousness Master Damian spoke up, "Excellent work Marcus. You have left my slave as smooth and hairless as a newborn and he will present splendidly for my invited guests on his special day! The Executioner's Assistant will be arriving in a few hours and begin his skilled and artful preparations on this smooth, beautiful flesh!"

My Master took my chin in hand and raised my head up so that He could look deeply into my eyes. Wiping away tears from my cheeks he whispered, "There now culus, let me wipe away those tears of sadness and fear. You are on the cusp of a magnificent journey and your approaching agonies will bring you a sublime ecstasy. Your final surrender and climax will entertain the crowd assembled and you will end your days in beautiful glory, a testament to your devotion to me."

Now I understood that I was to die. When I did not know. Where I did not know. How I did not know. I lay slumped across the trestle, shackled wrist and ankle to its legs, my naked body strangely denuded of the hair that had signified my masculinity, that hair laying in nicely separated piles on the table before me. My head dropped down in despair and once again I wept a flood of tears that fell to the cold stone floor without a sound.

In My Master's Garden it was late afternoon and the two massive stipes for the rough wooden crosses were no where to be seen. Only the two heavy patibulum remained, laying on the ground and awaiting the condemned.
 
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My Master's Garden: The Executioner's Assistant

Early the next morning I awoke, still shackled belly down across the trestle, my limbs aching and stiff from being restrained in this position throughout the night. I had pissed on the stone floor and a pool of urine on the floor attested to my inability to control my bladder. My back was wracked with pain, as well as my hips and thighs. My head raised slightly, I could see light filtering in from a small window high on the chamber wall.

My eyes soon adjusted to daylight and to the table just in front of me, exhibiting the small piles of hair that the barber had shaved and plucked from my body. Just then I recalled the words that Master Damian had spoken to me before and a cold shudder of fear and unmistakable dread came over me. I was going to die for whatever sins I had committed or to satisfy the warped desires of my Master. Struggling with all my might I began to try to break free from the heavy iron shackles that secured my wrists and ankles to the trestle, rocking it violently and feeling it pound against the stone floor. In a desperate frenzy I fought the shackles, hoping against hope that I might break free and escape, though I knew not where.

I was lost in my escape attempt and did not hear the sliding bolts on the heavy chamber door or hear it open. Temporarily exhausted from my struggle I was startled to hear footsteps behind me and then see black leather boots standing on the floor in front of my hanging head. The boots retreated from my sight and a full figure of a man materialized, clad in black leather breeches, a big silver buckled belt holding them up. As my eyes traveled up I could see that he was half naked, with a deep, large navel hollowed out of a big, but muscled, stomach and a forest of dark, black hair covering his powerful chest, belly and arms. He wore a loose black leather hood over his head, with eye holes and a hole for his mouth. A large silver chain hung around his neck with a skull ornament as the centerpiece, the skull resting in the cleft of his muscled pectorals.

"Good morning to you prisoner," he spoke, in a firm and melodious voice. "I am the Executioner's Assistant and I am here to begin the work today which will end on Master Damian's cross the day after next. But first I must see what I have to work with and what price I can exact from your flesh and most private organs." He began by holding up my head, then pushed it down and ran his hands over my bare neck and back, then reaching down and cupping my nipples. Following this cursory examination he ran a hand down my sagging belly, fingering my navel, fondling and pulling on my limp penis and feeling of my balls. Satisfied with his tactile observations he turned to my bare buttocks and gaping anus, kneading the flesh of my ass cheeks and then prying the hole apart and shoving in a large index finger. I flinched and moaned as he probed my hole and he laughed to himself before withdrawing his finger. "I will delight in making you ready prisoner and the little, special tortures I inflict upon you will be manifest upon your naked body before the crowd in attendance and will meet with great approval, no doubt".

My thoughts were tumbling and I had begun to quiver, helplessly, as he spoke. I was to be crucified! And not only crucified, but naked, my body probably mutilated, for the benefit of a crowd! Never had I imagined such a thing. I had come to Master Damian ready to serve as His slave and had obeyed Him dutifully. Surely my few acts of disobedience did not merit the loss of my life? Was this all a terrible dream, a nightmare? Might I close my eyes and then open them again and find I was only dreaming? I did close my eyes and when I opened them again I found that I was not dreaming and that the Executioner's Assistant was selecting suitable tools of his trade.

In the midst of this scene another voice could be heard and the boi, Elias, entered the chamber and, greeting the Executioner's Assistant, proceeded to the table where the trophy hair had been assembled. He very carefully picked up each pile and deposited it into small, soft bags and labeling each with the type of hair it now contained. Once all of the bags were full Elias left as quietly as he had come and the table was now bare.

The Executioner's Assistant walked to the table and began to arrange his own display of tools: several sharp knives, a small torch, a delicate and thin steel band, a variety of scalpels, a steel dilator with numerous ribs, a small vice, three large steel needles and a metal spreader. As he placed these instruments of torture on the bare table I began to scream - not just cries but full-throated screams that emanated from deep inside my bowels. Even with my ball-gag in place my screams reverberated in the chamber and echoed against the stone walls. "Please, Sir, have mercy on this poor slave! For the love of God have mercy on me! I beg you to spare me this pain and suffering! I will gladly go to hang upon My Master's cross and be crucified as He desires, but I cannot bear your tortures, Sir!" And I began to sob uncontrollably, lost in my own self-pity and fear of death.

He only smiled and spoke in a low and almost comforting voice, "Prisoner, there will be no mercy extended to you and your death will not be quick or easy. You and I will be most intimate during our time together and I shall know your body better than you do. When my work is done you will have experienced a tortured foreplay, with a most exquisite climax to be fulfilled as you hang naked and stretched taut upon Master Damian's cross with your most intimate of organs obscenely on display. You will be fucked by that large phallus as you struggle on the cross and brought to orgasm repeatedly before you take your last breath. My job is to see to it that you last as long as possible and put on a show for the crowd. And now my work begins . . ."
 
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