I've been going through my archive looking for some things lately, and I found this old story by Dr Adolphus, who contributed to the old Crux group back in the distant past. The chapter names suggest that there were two earlier parts, but I do have the meaty bit and you can work out the background from the narrative. In 3 surviving parts, it's pretty complete as it is.
December 2000
CRUX GALACTICA
A tale of universal Mastery
by Dr Adolphus
CAPUT III: Outside a prison wall
There was no crowd yet. Caterina was highly esteemed among her comrades but
little known elsewhere and not even the street urchins had turned out to
watch her nailing. To the drivers passing by on the road this was a familiar
scene, as little noticed as the advertising displays further out. Just
background stimulation; live wallpaper; something to get the populace in a
good mood for work in the morning. The motivating satisfaction that came
with witnessing someone else's suffering, however subliminally, was a winner
every time. No doubt the odd pervert or two would come and gloat later in
the day. Maybe when the taverns closed tonight the fresher victims could
expect some lewd taunting.
The prison's senior mechanic stood beside the lowered access platform, his
colleague in the cab staring imaginatively at Caterina's body, eyes up and
down like a yo-yo. Knowing what was to come, Caterina found the motion
distinctly disturbing. Once the condemned woman, the decurio, the prison
mechanic and two common soldiers had stepped up onto the access platform, the
decurio lifted up and pressed the portable handset to communicate to the cab
their desire for elevation. The deck was railed on three sides, with a gate
on one of these, but the fourth was open against the wall as it now rose to
cross level and its padded edge made firm contact. Brakes were tightly
applied.
Caterina knew there was no hope of a reprieve. She might as well get things
done as wait tensely for the inevitable. Her last duty would be to display
the dignity appropriate to her class and former rank. Unbidden, she stepped
to the wall, laid her back to it and raised her arms to the pose she had seen
so many times before. She had watched her first public execution at the age
of seven and had even ordered the crucifixion of a number of insolent slaves
at her villa in Gaul. She had never imagined that she would one day be a
recipient of nails herself.
As the mechanic unzipped his bag of tools, the two soldiers stepped forward
to hold Caterina in place for nailing. One stood each side, his heavy,
uniformed body pressed against her breasts and flanks, one each of her strong
thighs squeezed between their legs as they pushed against her crotch,
scraping her back deliberately on the rough concrete behind. With both
hands, each held her arms out straight and tight against the wall. The
mechanic was now tying the red plastic bracelet around Caterina's right
wrist. These bracelets had been devised as a means of holding the nails in
place, ready for the application of compressed air, which would root them in
the wood. Consequently, each bracelet had a long conical protrusion on one
side, a plastic trellis that would grip the nail but collapse under impact to
leave a rose-like stub of no more than an inch. The mechanic made sure that
Caterina's wrist was correctly positioned against the wood. The nail would
enter the block about two-thirds across its width. Good. He checked that
the other wrist would also be able to make clean contact with wood and then
he brought out a nail.
The nail threaded easily through its groove and the tip came to rest against
Caterina's pulsating skin. With her arm held tight by the soldiers, she
waited for the blow. The mechanic lifted the pneumatic hammer from its rest
at the back of the deck and stepped forward, a long tail of hose snaking
behind him. The hammer was placed over the nail head and held in place with
his right hand, his thumb on the trigger. His gloved left pressed against
Caterina's right palm, holding it steady. Her thumb and fingers gripped
grimly at the industrial rubber, seeking warmth and consolation, her face
looking straight ahead, determined to remain serenely composed, as she braced
herself for instant agony.
There was a click as the trigger was pressed, a hiss of air, a dull thud and
nothing. Within seconds, Caterina's nerves were making a swift recovery from
the numbing shock of impact, telling her in no uncertain terms that something
truly terrible had happened to her wrist. It began with intense tingling in
her hand, then, as she turned her wrist, the throbbing moved upwards along
her pinned forearm. She took next to no notice as the mechanic let go her
hand, withdrew the hammer, and stepped across to her left wrist ready to
repeat his penetration.
The nailing process had been the subject of exhaustive study over the
centuries as the regulations had been progressively refined and modernised.
The latest edition specified that the red plastic bracelets were to be
secured tightly with the hole for nailing directly adjoining the median
nerve. Beneath the hole, adhering to the underside of the bracelet, was a
ring of surgical gauze, mirrored on the opposite side of the wrist by a
circular patch. These and the sheer force of impact acted to seal the wound,
staunching any flow of blood that might otherwise hasten the victim's demise.
The gauze was impregnated with an irritant chemical that would cause
maddening itching. Try as they might, no victim's finger could provide her
with relief.
Already Caterina was feeling this effect but as she flexed her fingers to try
to ease the sensation she learnt a painfully sharp lesson in human anatomy.
The arm is one entity. The median nerve runs all the way up to the spine.
Electro-chemical impulses run up and down and all must pass through the bony
junction of the wrist. Caterina wanted to scream but the pain was too
overwhelming to relieve and the pressure of the men's forearms against her
chest would prevent her. She would eagerly have had her arm amputated rather
than endure the searing fire now consuming her consciousness.
Then she felt the mechanic's gloved hand pressing against hers. Her last
lover. She looked towards him with a strength of emotion like nothing she
had ever experienced, straining through her pain to turn her face to the left
to catch a glimpse of his features. He was not looking at her at all. It
didn't pay in his job to feel anything for the women whose bodies he
punctured with unrelenting steel. He repaid her affection with an efficient
squeeze of the trigger. Caterina felt possessed by her executioners. Two
were still pressed firmly against her body to keep it still, their faces
breathing hard against her neck. Her naked breasts were crushed beneath
their warmth, her nipples rising in sympathy with the two erect manhoods
resting against her bare thighs. As the nailing proceeded, they moved
against her with a surreptitious, earthy rhythm, two strong legs pressed to
her sex as it helplessly dampened their uniforms. Both were experienced
crucifiers and knew that with both the woman's arms nailed, their weight
would be superfluous to her securing. Both pressed even tighter as the
mechanic fired the second nail into Caterina and the resulting shockwave of
pain was experienced as all but indistinguishable from her orgasm.
She was not left in peace for a moment as the soldiers stepped back. The
decurio pressed a button on the remote control unit he held in his hand,
signalling for the deck to be raised a very short way. Caterina felt the
ground rise beneath her feet, forcing her arms upwards, beyond the
horizontal, stretching them horribly against the nails in her immoveable
wrists as her knees buckled under her. The soldiers stepped forward, an arm
swiftly placed under each knee to steady and lift her further, spreading her
thighs wide. The mechanic knelt between them to unscrew one of the wood
blocks, grunting distractedly at the musky aroma assaulting his nostrils. In
place of the wood block, he inserted and secured a tightly-fitting - and
viciously large - hard rubber cornu, the velvety surface of its stem
impregnated with the same irritant chemical as the nail-pads. Caterina's
legs were released as the deck was again lowered. She felt the greased
bulbous head of the cornu bob mischievously beneath her perineum as she again
struggled to stand.
The three men stepped back to admire the morning's workmanship. The city's
whores always did good business after a woman was crucified. The girls would
be left sore and exhausted once the legionaries of Roma had disgorged their
pent-up emotions. The decurio snorted contemptuously. He was a noted
stickler for discipline; this was a job just like any other and he wanted it
done professionally, but it was oh, so easy for him to say that. He'd
forgotten what it was like to be young.
The decurio pressed the button yet again, this time signalling to the cab
that the woman was now all but secured. Slowly the deck began to lower
further. Caterina's feet went down with it but her hands stayed put. She
realised with amazement and terror that her body was being drawn down to rest
upon the nails in her painfully swivelling wrists and this time there was no
compensating action she could take. She could make her legs shorter but she
could not make them longer. Just as she thought that all the slack in her
arms had been taken up, the pesky cornu rubbed at her well-rounded bottom and
came to rest between its cheeks. She pressed back on it for support, then
realised her mistake.
At once the men moved forward again. The legionaries lifted her legs by the
calves, pushing back so that the cornu went deeper as Caterina moaned in
despair. Her legs were then bent into a right-angle at the knee. The
mechanic knelt before her and placed one foot over the other before binding
them both with the final red bracelet. The feet were pressed firmly to
another wood block in the wall, the nail was threaded through the plastic
trellis to scratch against the top of Caterina's foot and it was time for the
last painful injection of steel into her flesh.
Caterina looked down at the mechanic's head as he pushed the pneumatic hammer
against the head of the nail. She could feel only wonder at the thoroughness
of Roma. All this trouble, taken only so that she might, no, must, dedicate
what remained of her life to teach by example the need for loyalty to its
laws, for devotion to military duty, for utter submission to its imperial
will. She took the final nail into her body with a sense of relief. There
was nothing more they could do to her. This was her fervent delusion.
December 2000
CRUX GALACTICA
A tale of universal Mastery
by Dr Adolphus
CAPUT III: Outside a prison wall
There was no crowd yet. Caterina was highly esteemed among her comrades but
little known elsewhere and not even the street urchins had turned out to
watch her nailing. To the drivers passing by on the road this was a familiar
scene, as little noticed as the advertising displays further out. Just
background stimulation; live wallpaper; something to get the populace in a
good mood for work in the morning. The motivating satisfaction that came
with witnessing someone else's suffering, however subliminally, was a winner
every time. No doubt the odd pervert or two would come and gloat later in
the day. Maybe when the taverns closed tonight the fresher victims could
expect some lewd taunting.
The prison's senior mechanic stood beside the lowered access platform, his
colleague in the cab staring imaginatively at Caterina's body, eyes up and
down like a yo-yo. Knowing what was to come, Caterina found the motion
distinctly disturbing. Once the condemned woman, the decurio, the prison
mechanic and two common soldiers had stepped up onto the access platform, the
decurio lifted up and pressed the portable handset to communicate to the cab
their desire for elevation. The deck was railed on three sides, with a gate
on one of these, but the fourth was open against the wall as it now rose to
cross level and its padded edge made firm contact. Brakes were tightly
applied.
Caterina knew there was no hope of a reprieve. She might as well get things
done as wait tensely for the inevitable. Her last duty would be to display
the dignity appropriate to her class and former rank. Unbidden, she stepped
to the wall, laid her back to it and raised her arms to the pose she had seen
so many times before. She had watched her first public execution at the age
of seven and had even ordered the crucifixion of a number of insolent slaves
at her villa in Gaul. She had never imagined that she would one day be a
recipient of nails herself.
As the mechanic unzipped his bag of tools, the two soldiers stepped forward
to hold Caterina in place for nailing. One stood each side, his heavy,
uniformed body pressed against her breasts and flanks, one each of her strong
thighs squeezed between their legs as they pushed against her crotch,
scraping her back deliberately on the rough concrete behind. With both
hands, each held her arms out straight and tight against the wall. The
mechanic was now tying the red plastic bracelet around Caterina's right
wrist. These bracelets had been devised as a means of holding the nails in
place, ready for the application of compressed air, which would root them in
the wood. Consequently, each bracelet had a long conical protrusion on one
side, a plastic trellis that would grip the nail but collapse under impact to
leave a rose-like stub of no more than an inch. The mechanic made sure that
Caterina's wrist was correctly positioned against the wood. The nail would
enter the block about two-thirds across its width. Good. He checked that
the other wrist would also be able to make clean contact with wood and then
he brought out a nail.
The nail threaded easily through its groove and the tip came to rest against
Caterina's pulsating skin. With her arm held tight by the soldiers, she
waited for the blow. The mechanic lifted the pneumatic hammer from its rest
at the back of the deck and stepped forward, a long tail of hose snaking
behind him. The hammer was placed over the nail head and held in place with
his right hand, his thumb on the trigger. His gloved left pressed against
Caterina's right palm, holding it steady. Her thumb and fingers gripped
grimly at the industrial rubber, seeking warmth and consolation, her face
looking straight ahead, determined to remain serenely composed, as she braced
herself for instant agony.
There was a click as the trigger was pressed, a hiss of air, a dull thud and
nothing. Within seconds, Caterina's nerves were making a swift recovery from
the numbing shock of impact, telling her in no uncertain terms that something
truly terrible had happened to her wrist. It began with intense tingling in
her hand, then, as she turned her wrist, the throbbing moved upwards along
her pinned forearm. She took next to no notice as the mechanic let go her
hand, withdrew the hammer, and stepped across to her left wrist ready to
repeat his penetration.
The nailing process had been the subject of exhaustive study over the
centuries as the regulations had been progressively refined and modernised.
The latest edition specified that the red plastic bracelets were to be
secured tightly with the hole for nailing directly adjoining the median
nerve. Beneath the hole, adhering to the underside of the bracelet, was a
ring of surgical gauze, mirrored on the opposite side of the wrist by a
circular patch. These and the sheer force of impact acted to seal the wound,
staunching any flow of blood that might otherwise hasten the victim's demise.
The gauze was impregnated with an irritant chemical that would cause
maddening itching. Try as they might, no victim's finger could provide her
with relief.
Already Caterina was feeling this effect but as she flexed her fingers to try
to ease the sensation she learnt a painfully sharp lesson in human anatomy.
The arm is one entity. The median nerve runs all the way up to the spine.
Electro-chemical impulses run up and down and all must pass through the bony
junction of the wrist. Caterina wanted to scream but the pain was too
overwhelming to relieve and the pressure of the men's forearms against her
chest would prevent her. She would eagerly have had her arm amputated rather
than endure the searing fire now consuming her consciousness.
Then she felt the mechanic's gloved hand pressing against hers. Her last
lover. She looked towards him with a strength of emotion like nothing she
had ever experienced, straining through her pain to turn her face to the left
to catch a glimpse of his features. He was not looking at her at all. It
didn't pay in his job to feel anything for the women whose bodies he
punctured with unrelenting steel. He repaid her affection with an efficient
squeeze of the trigger. Caterina felt possessed by her executioners. Two
were still pressed firmly against her body to keep it still, their faces
breathing hard against her neck. Her naked breasts were crushed beneath
their warmth, her nipples rising in sympathy with the two erect manhoods
resting against her bare thighs. As the nailing proceeded, they moved
against her with a surreptitious, earthy rhythm, two strong legs pressed to
her sex as it helplessly dampened their uniforms. Both were experienced
crucifiers and knew that with both the woman's arms nailed, their weight
would be superfluous to her securing. Both pressed even tighter as the
mechanic fired the second nail into Caterina and the resulting shockwave of
pain was experienced as all but indistinguishable from her orgasm.
She was not left in peace for a moment as the soldiers stepped back. The
decurio pressed a button on the remote control unit he held in his hand,
signalling for the deck to be raised a very short way. Caterina felt the
ground rise beneath her feet, forcing her arms upwards, beyond the
horizontal, stretching them horribly against the nails in her immoveable
wrists as her knees buckled under her. The soldiers stepped forward, an arm
swiftly placed under each knee to steady and lift her further, spreading her
thighs wide. The mechanic knelt between them to unscrew one of the wood
blocks, grunting distractedly at the musky aroma assaulting his nostrils. In
place of the wood block, he inserted and secured a tightly-fitting - and
viciously large - hard rubber cornu, the velvety surface of its stem
impregnated with the same irritant chemical as the nail-pads. Caterina's
legs were released as the deck was again lowered. She felt the greased
bulbous head of the cornu bob mischievously beneath her perineum as she again
struggled to stand.
The three men stepped back to admire the morning's workmanship. The city's
whores always did good business after a woman was crucified. The girls would
be left sore and exhausted once the legionaries of Roma had disgorged their
pent-up emotions. The decurio snorted contemptuously. He was a noted
stickler for discipline; this was a job just like any other and he wanted it
done professionally, but it was oh, so easy for him to say that. He'd
forgotten what it was like to be young.
The decurio pressed the button yet again, this time signalling to the cab
that the woman was now all but secured. Slowly the deck began to lower
further. Caterina's feet went down with it but her hands stayed put. She
realised with amazement and terror that her body was being drawn down to rest
upon the nails in her painfully swivelling wrists and this time there was no
compensating action she could take. She could make her legs shorter but she
could not make them longer. Just as she thought that all the slack in her
arms had been taken up, the pesky cornu rubbed at her well-rounded bottom and
came to rest between its cheeks. She pressed back on it for support, then
realised her mistake.
At once the men moved forward again. The legionaries lifted her legs by the
calves, pushing back so that the cornu went deeper as Caterina moaned in
despair. Her legs were then bent into a right-angle at the knee. The
mechanic knelt before her and placed one foot over the other before binding
them both with the final red bracelet. The feet were pressed firmly to
another wood block in the wall, the nail was threaded through the plastic
trellis to scratch against the top of Caterina's foot and it was time for the
last painful injection of steel into her flesh.
Caterina looked down at the mechanic's head as he pushed the pneumatic hammer
against the head of the nail. She could feel only wonder at the thoroughness
of Roma. All this trouble, taken only so that she might, no, must, dedicate
what remained of her life to teach by example the need for loyalty to its
laws, for devotion to military duty, for utter submission to its imperial
will. She took the final nail into her body with a sense of relief. There
was nothing more they could do to her. This was her fervent delusion.