Yes, that's one of my fantasies - and when my pubes are almost bare, they finish the job with a blast of the flame-gun!
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Pre- Crucifixion Torture Ideas.
- Thread starter courtneylou
- Start date
dommmu
Governor
I think she can be happy that they did not have the same idea as Eulalia
From the hygienic point of view, at least all the bacteria will definately be gone then! But personally, I think burned hair is one of the most disgusting smells out there
(I know because I once acciedentally burned my hair on a candle when I was a kid)
foggybottom
Venator imaginum
foggybottom
Venator imaginum
I think she can be happy that they did not have the same idea as Eulalia
From the hygienic point of view, at least all the bacteria will definately be gone then! But personally, I think burned hair is one of the most disgusting smells out there
Yes burned hair does leave a foul stench. Numerous times I've gotten too close to the flame in the fireplace when adding wood and scorched the hair on my arm. Bad part is the smell stays with your nose for awhile.
culus
Governor
You wouldn't rather they be plucked one by one?
For unrepentant prisoners having each pubic hair plucked out slowly, one by one, is a most exquisite torment and makes for a lovely souvenir of the event. My MASTER keeps my bush curls in a special box as a trophy of HIS slave.
ThirteenDozen
Condemned
*for those who care, I'm a young male... Just so those who are strictly fans of female victims don't waste their time... 
*
Since my particular interest in this whole idea is being the victim, ideally in real life - with all the practical considerations thereof, it's from that point of view.
I'd be left chained naked to a post outside the entire night before, to suffer the cold and mosquitos, and contemplate my fate. A wooden gag with small nails fixed around the circumference would be tied tightly into my mouth, forcing my mouth open painfully just to keep the nails from piercing my mouth and tongue. A red ant hill is mere inches away, guaranteeing that sleep will evade me for the duration. My hands are chained behind the post, my ankles as well, leaving me in an awkwardly uncomfortable kneeling position, and disallowing me to protect anywhere sensitive from the ant bites.
After an exhausting and painful night outside, I'm awoken at 3am to begin the first round of preliminary torture. The sentence is to be continuous, varied, increasingly painful punishment which will keep me in excruciating agony without a break until noon when I'm to be crucified. The goal is to have me pleading and begging for even the dubious, fleeting relief of the actual crucifixion, before the light of dawn even arrives.
A muscular pair of guards in nondescript camo fatigues and ski masks come to retrieve me, unlocking my aching wrists and feet momentarily. Each guard carries a utility belt with handcuffs, short lengths of chain, assorted small pouches, and an evil looking stun baton hanging from a loop. A chain leash is locked just tightly enough around my neck to slightly constrict my air. It allows me to breathe, but it's digging into my windpipe and each breath is an effort. My wrists are recuffed and I'm dragged awkwardly stumbling behind them to a tall, thick wooden whipping post for the first of many beatings. I'm tied facing the rough wood, my arms embracing the post and chained to the top. I'm drawn up onto my tiptoes and fastened, half-hanging helplessly on the post. With no ceremony or delay, the first guard selects a whip. It has a long wooden handle and three thin, flexible rubber wires 3 feet in length for tails.
"100 lashes!" The second guard barks out. I cringe and press my face against the wood as my shoulders tense for the first stroke. The guard with the whip takes aim, draws his arm back for a full swing, and brings the whip whistling down to land with a loud crack across my bare shoulders. I flinch and my toes curl involuntarily in pain. A few seconds pass, just long enough for the pain of the stroke to set in, but not subside. A second stroke hits my upper back, curling over to bite into the side of my neck. I bite down hard on the gag, forgetting the spikes on my mouth. I open my mouth immediately and yelp, but it's too late- two of the thin carpet nails have embedded their sharp tips in the roof of my mouth and won't allow my jaw to fully open. A small trickle of blood runs down my chin, drops staining the wood my face is pressed against. I turn my head back to try and get the guards' attention, hoping to at least ask for them to pull the nails out. I struggle hopelessly to get intelligible words out, but the predicament only allows muffled groans. It is futile anyway, as they ignore me entirely- staring dispassionately at me like a mere task to complete. The next several lashes bite into the tender skin of my ribs and all I can do is wince and moan- trying not to bump the gag against the post. After 20 vicious strokes, there's a pause. I hopefully look behind me, sure that they realized what had happened and were taking a moment to fix it before the beating continues.
This hope is immediately crushed when the guard who had been striking me handed the whip to his companion, who took up position behind me. They were simply trading off to ensure that every whip stroke was as painful as possible. I struggled and kicked wildly in desperation, loudly grunting and attempting to yell to get them to notice the blood trickling down my chin.
The first guard stepped briskly over and jabbed his crackling stun baton into my side, silencing my yells and making my body flex and jerk in painful contortions. He held it pressed against me for a full 10 seconds, which felt like an eternity. My body went limp when the shock stopped and I hung painfully, unable to make anything but gagging, choking noises.
"Things can ALWAYS get worse. Don't make me warn you again. Behave..." he growled menacingly. I weakly nodded, then let out a yelp as he slapped the back of my head, slamming it against the wood and agonizingly knocking the gag as my head rebounded.
I felt foolish for even having the naive notion of hope, as the weight of my situation hit me. There was no hope for mercy, leniency, or even a slight human understanding for me. They didn't care even slightly for my comfort or well-being, and viewed me simply as an animal with no rights. They had one job to do- ensure that I suffer, and keep me alive, concious, and healthy enough to suffer on the cross for an appropriately long time. I really was past the point of no return. Defeated, I shut my eyes tightly as the guard with the whip wound up for the next strike...
To be continued....
*If this is the wrong area for this, please feel free to let me know- I figured it was germane to the topic of pre-crux torture, but if it's too lengthy, I can revise...*
*Since my particular interest in this whole idea is being the victim, ideally in real life - with all the practical considerations thereof, it's from that point of view.
I'd be left chained naked to a post outside the entire night before, to suffer the cold and mosquitos, and contemplate my fate. A wooden gag with small nails fixed around the circumference would be tied tightly into my mouth, forcing my mouth open painfully just to keep the nails from piercing my mouth and tongue. A red ant hill is mere inches away, guaranteeing that sleep will evade me for the duration. My hands are chained behind the post, my ankles as well, leaving me in an awkwardly uncomfortable kneeling position, and disallowing me to protect anywhere sensitive from the ant bites.
After an exhausting and painful night outside, I'm awoken at 3am to begin the first round of preliminary torture. The sentence is to be continuous, varied, increasingly painful punishment which will keep me in excruciating agony without a break until noon when I'm to be crucified. The goal is to have me pleading and begging for even the dubious, fleeting relief of the actual crucifixion, before the light of dawn even arrives.
A muscular pair of guards in nondescript camo fatigues and ski masks come to retrieve me, unlocking my aching wrists and feet momentarily. Each guard carries a utility belt with handcuffs, short lengths of chain, assorted small pouches, and an evil looking stun baton hanging from a loop. A chain leash is locked just tightly enough around my neck to slightly constrict my air. It allows me to breathe, but it's digging into my windpipe and each breath is an effort. My wrists are recuffed and I'm dragged awkwardly stumbling behind them to a tall, thick wooden whipping post for the first of many beatings. I'm tied facing the rough wood, my arms embracing the post and chained to the top. I'm drawn up onto my tiptoes and fastened, half-hanging helplessly on the post. With no ceremony or delay, the first guard selects a whip. It has a long wooden handle and three thin, flexible rubber wires 3 feet in length for tails.
"100 lashes!" The second guard barks out. I cringe and press my face against the wood as my shoulders tense for the first stroke. The guard with the whip takes aim, draws his arm back for a full swing, and brings the whip whistling down to land with a loud crack across my bare shoulders. I flinch and my toes curl involuntarily in pain. A few seconds pass, just long enough for the pain of the stroke to set in, but not subside. A second stroke hits my upper back, curling over to bite into the side of my neck. I bite down hard on the gag, forgetting the spikes on my mouth. I open my mouth immediately and yelp, but it's too late- two of the thin carpet nails have embedded their sharp tips in the roof of my mouth and won't allow my jaw to fully open. A small trickle of blood runs down my chin, drops staining the wood my face is pressed against. I turn my head back to try and get the guards' attention, hoping to at least ask for them to pull the nails out. I struggle hopelessly to get intelligible words out, but the predicament only allows muffled groans. It is futile anyway, as they ignore me entirely- staring dispassionately at me like a mere task to complete. The next several lashes bite into the tender skin of my ribs and all I can do is wince and moan- trying not to bump the gag against the post. After 20 vicious strokes, there's a pause. I hopefully look behind me, sure that they realized what had happened and were taking a moment to fix it before the beating continues.
This hope is immediately crushed when the guard who had been striking me handed the whip to his companion, who took up position behind me. They were simply trading off to ensure that every whip stroke was as painful as possible. I struggled and kicked wildly in desperation, loudly grunting and attempting to yell to get them to notice the blood trickling down my chin.
The first guard stepped briskly over and jabbed his crackling stun baton into my side, silencing my yells and making my body flex and jerk in painful contortions. He held it pressed against me for a full 10 seconds, which felt like an eternity. My body went limp when the shock stopped and I hung painfully, unable to make anything but gagging, choking noises.
"Things can ALWAYS get worse. Don't make me warn you again. Behave..." he growled menacingly. I weakly nodded, then let out a yelp as he slapped the back of my head, slamming it against the wood and agonizingly knocking the gag as my head rebounded.
I felt foolish for even having the naive notion of hope, as the weight of my situation hit me. There was no hope for mercy, leniency, or even a slight human understanding for me. They didn't care even slightly for my comfort or well-being, and viewed me simply as an animal with no rights. They had one job to do- ensure that I suffer, and keep me alive, concious, and healthy enough to suffer on the cross for an appropriately long time. I really was past the point of no return. Defeated, I shut my eyes tightly as the guard with the whip wound up for the next strike...
To be continued....
*If this is the wrong area for this, please feel free to let me know- I figured it was germane to the topic of pre-crux torture, but if it's too lengthy, I can revise...*
ThirteenDozen
Condemned
Part 2:
The whipping continued methodically onward, trading off every 20 strokes, and sounding like a cruel metronome in the cold morning air. Each guard had a particular style- the larger of the two struck all over my back with no discernible pattern. The smaller one preferred to land every stroke across my shoulders- seeming to almost make a game of it. Lashes would crack in a line across the exact same line for about 5 lashes before he picked a new target.
I bucked and struggled with every stroke, occasionally lifting my feet off the ground in an involuntary dance of pain when a particularly tender area was struck. By the final lashes I was tiring from my struggles, and simply writhed against the post in agony. My toes and fingers curled tightly and I left small cuts in my palms from my fingernails.
Finally, mercifully it was over. I sagged against the wood trembling, my back burning and throbbing, and arms aching from my struggles. I quickly began shivering in the crisp air as the heat of exertion died away. I winced as droplets of sweat stung the lattice of tiny crisscrossing cuts on my upper back. Looking down, I could see angry red stripes wrapping around my sides and overlaying my arms, as well as black bruise dots and small cuts where the tips struck. It seemed that this whip mainly raised welts, and didn't seem to break the skin as much as I had feared. I breathed a tiny sigh of relief realizing this, after having heard horror stories of the bloody gashes previous prisoners sported when they were exhibited on the cross.
The guards strolled away to a nearby building, I assumed to drink water and take a break. As I hang shivering against the post, I feel the adrenaline and endorphins fading away. I realize with a sinking feeling that this is the sole purpose of the brief break they're taking- everything about this process is tailored to ensure maximum suffering of the victim before his crucifixion. As the soreness in my aching muscles and stinging back increases, I realize that whatever is to come is going to hurt even worse now.
After about 15 minutes, they return to the post. I'm briefly released, and then replaced facing out this time, welted back against the splintered post. My hands are chained over my head again, but this time my ankles are fastened to the base. I'm stretched, exposed, and my heart is pounding out of my chest in fearful anticipation. The larger guard unties my gag and yanks it painfully out of my mouth. I cry out and my head sags forward as I tenderly close my aching jaw.
This isn't mercy however- the second guard forces my head back against the post and the first one places a long chain in my open mouth. It's drawn tight, jerked hard, and fastened behind the post, the chain keeping my head up and acting as a makeshift gag.
The same whip is used again, and I receive another 100 lashes on the front of my body. The majority of the strokes hit my chest and abdomen, but the opportunity my vulnerable position affords them is not wasted. As before, the larger guard strikes randomly and without pattern, about one out of every ten lashes landing on my exposed groin. The smaller guard continues focusing on different areas for multiple blows, and it is mind-numbingly agonizing when he eventually turns his attention to my privates. I shriek and bite so hard onto the cold chain that one of my teeth chips.
100 lashes are given, and I'm again left hanging, shivering, and moaning in pain. Goosebumps cover my back and arms, my hair is damp with sweat, and arms are shaking with the strain. My wrists are bruised and bleeding from the cold chains biting into them.
I have no way of marking the time, but I feel certain that it has to be close to dawn- 6:30 in the morning. In the distance a churchbell chimes, and my heart sinks as it sounds out 4:00. It felt like an eternity had passed, but I was only an hour into the torture!! 8 more hours of agony... I abstractly wondered what they would do if I passed out... Crucifixions are rigid in their scheduling, so perhaps I would simply be left hanging until the moment arrived. It was worth a try...
The guards return, and I'm released. My balance gives out momentarily and I collapse to a crawling position. They quickly fasten the chain leash back in place, slightly tighter this time. I cough a little, and draw my breath in laboured wheezes. The smaller guard brings his baton across my welted back so hard that it knocks the wind out of me. I lay gasping for air on the ground, choking on the chain around my neck, until my body jerks rigid again with a shock delivered to my lower back. The larger one jerks viciously on my leash, literally hanging me as I struggle to get my feet under me. He chuckles, "quit making a spectacle of yourself- that was just a schoolboy whipping. We haven't even flogged you yet. And then, you still have the scourging to look forward to. Also, did I mention you will be carrying your cross over one mile to the place of execution? There will be plenty of time to limp when you're hanging in the hot sun... We have ways of motivating you to be more stoic, if needs be."
The smaller guard hits me across my stomach this time, and I double over gasping. "Acknowledge that you understand and will obey, prisoner!" Gagging and coughing, I gasp out a weak "yes sir, I understand". The guard smiles at his companion, and they begin marching, dragging me hobbling along, red faced and still struggling with each breath.
I'm taken to a rectangular wooden block about waist high. I'm shoved down and bent over it, standing bent over with my arms stretched to manacles at the bottom of the block. My ankles are fastened tightly in place, and a rope is passed over my lower back, pressing me securely against the wood.
Big Guard selects a long, flexible wooden cane from a rack of assorted sizes. "100 strokes!" he calls out, and takes aim. The cane whistles through the air and lands with a loud crack that echos throughout the still camp. The pain was so explosive and unexpectedly intense that I gave a shrill yelp that pierced the quiet, and sucked air in a hiss thru clenched teeth. Little Sadist strode over and placed a stick between my teeth.
"Bite down on that, and control your volume. If you wake the commandant with your shrieks, I will flay you from your neck to your feet, by the gods... In fact, if you let that fall out of your mouth, the beating will start over- as many times as it takes."
I gasp out a "yes sir, I understand" while keeping the stick firmly in place. I briefly worried that I might bite through the stick in sheer desperate agony, but all thoughts were driven away by the next blow. My knees bent slightly, as far as my restraints allowed. My forehead banged repeatedly against the wood and my fingernails dragged scratches in the wood as I desperately tried not to scream. The caning proceeded as the whipping had, with brief breaks to swap guards. At 37 strokes, my fears wede realized and I bit down so hard that the stick snapped. The guard replaced it with another, and my heart raced as I realized it was even thinner than the first. "Starting over from 1 - 100 blows with the cane!" he called out, as Big Man hit me again. This time there wasn't as much skin to vary patterns with, and the flesh of my quivering buttocks was first welted, then bruised, then split, and finally cut with every whistling stroke. By 50, I could feel sever droplets of bloow running down my legs to the back of my knees. At 60, they paused while Little Sadist selected a cane and took up position opposite Big Man. He took the lead, and struck first, followed immediately by a blow across my other side from the second man. They alternated blows rapidly, scarcely giving ne time to draw a ragged breath before the next cut across my lacerated skin. My eyes rolled back into my head and my stomach flipped- dry heaving as my system was overwhelmed with excruciating pain. After a time, I couldn't even move between blows- my entire body locked up rigid and trembling, every muscle taut in a fit of mind numbing agony. I couldn't even draw breath as I lay there heaving, fists clenched. After the 100th strike I collapsed shaking uncontrollably. At first all I could do was gasp for air, which quickly gave way to sobbing moans as hot tears involuntarily spilled down my cheeks. I was too agonized to even be embarassed. Little Sadist noticed, and muttered something to his companion disgustedly.
He came over and shoved a tennis ball in my mouth, then duct taped it in pace. He drew a cloth bag over my head and then hissed angrily in my ear quietly, "do you think sobbing like a little girl will help you? That we'd feel sorry for you? Go a little easier? All that makes me want to do is hurt you worse... Protocol calls for 100 with the cane, but there's nobody around but us and you... No one will believe you. If you're going to cry, I'll make you EARN those tears... Lets see how you like something a little heavier- a taste of hickory, I think..."
I desperately writhe and try to scream for help, but the gag renders all my cries useless. Big Man tightens my chains even further, stretching and refastening me so tight that my arms are trembling. I try wildly to buck and convulse enough to draw someone's attention to their added cruelty, but to no avail.
When he hits me, it's with a heavy, vicious blow squarely across my welted shoulder blades. The weight and hardness of the hickory cane makes the blow reverberate across my entire back. The wind is again knocked out of me and I'm left gasping for air. He winds up like a baseball batter and rains blows down across my bloody buttocks and legs. As soon as I've caught my breath, he hits me several times across my back again, knocking the air out of me. I begin to see stars and feel my vision dimming, but he stops before I pass out. I decide to try my luck and pretend to be unconcious.
He rips the bag off my head and presses his shock baton against my groin. "Passed out, eh? Let's just make sure, shall we?" I instantly come alive and try to beg him not to, but the shock courses through my privates. The pain is so intense that this time, I DO black out. Sweet blackness envelops me, and a warm feeling of gratitude washes over me like a dream...
The whipping continued methodically onward, trading off every 20 strokes, and sounding like a cruel metronome in the cold morning air. Each guard had a particular style- the larger of the two struck all over my back with no discernible pattern. The smaller one preferred to land every stroke across my shoulders- seeming to almost make a game of it. Lashes would crack in a line across the exact same line for about 5 lashes before he picked a new target.
I bucked and struggled with every stroke, occasionally lifting my feet off the ground in an involuntary dance of pain when a particularly tender area was struck. By the final lashes I was tiring from my struggles, and simply writhed against the post in agony. My toes and fingers curled tightly and I left small cuts in my palms from my fingernails.
Finally, mercifully it was over. I sagged against the wood trembling, my back burning and throbbing, and arms aching from my struggles. I quickly began shivering in the crisp air as the heat of exertion died away. I winced as droplets of sweat stung the lattice of tiny crisscrossing cuts on my upper back. Looking down, I could see angry red stripes wrapping around my sides and overlaying my arms, as well as black bruise dots and small cuts where the tips struck. It seemed that this whip mainly raised welts, and didn't seem to break the skin as much as I had feared. I breathed a tiny sigh of relief realizing this, after having heard horror stories of the bloody gashes previous prisoners sported when they were exhibited on the cross.
The guards strolled away to a nearby building, I assumed to drink water and take a break. As I hang shivering against the post, I feel the adrenaline and endorphins fading away. I realize with a sinking feeling that this is the sole purpose of the brief break they're taking- everything about this process is tailored to ensure maximum suffering of the victim before his crucifixion. As the soreness in my aching muscles and stinging back increases, I realize that whatever is to come is going to hurt even worse now.
After about 15 minutes, they return to the post. I'm briefly released, and then replaced facing out this time, welted back against the splintered post. My hands are chained over my head again, but this time my ankles are fastened to the base. I'm stretched, exposed, and my heart is pounding out of my chest in fearful anticipation. The larger guard unties my gag and yanks it painfully out of my mouth. I cry out and my head sags forward as I tenderly close my aching jaw.
This isn't mercy however- the second guard forces my head back against the post and the first one places a long chain in my open mouth. It's drawn tight, jerked hard, and fastened behind the post, the chain keeping my head up and acting as a makeshift gag.
The same whip is used again, and I receive another 100 lashes on the front of my body. The majority of the strokes hit my chest and abdomen, but the opportunity my vulnerable position affords them is not wasted. As before, the larger guard strikes randomly and without pattern, about one out of every ten lashes landing on my exposed groin. The smaller guard continues focusing on different areas for multiple blows, and it is mind-numbingly agonizing when he eventually turns his attention to my privates. I shriek and bite so hard onto the cold chain that one of my teeth chips.
100 lashes are given, and I'm again left hanging, shivering, and moaning in pain. Goosebumps cover my back and arms, my hair is damp with sweat, and arms are shaking with the strain. My wrists are bruised and bleeding from the cold chains biting into them.
I have no way of marking the time, but I feel certain that it has to be close to dawn- 6:30 in the morning. In the distance a churchbell chimes, and my heart sinks as it sounds out 4:00. It felt like an eternity had passed, but I was only an hour into the torture!! 8 more hours of agony... I abstractly wondered what they would do if I passed out... Crucifixions are rigid in their scheduling, so perhaps I would simply be left hanging until the moment arrived. It was worth a try...
The guards return, and I'm released. My balance gives out momentarily and I collapse to a crawling position. They quickly fasten the chain leash back in place, slightly tighter this time. I cough a little, and draw my breath in laboured wheezes. The smaller guard brings his baton across my welted back so hard that it knocks the wind out of me. I lay gasping for air on the ground, choking on the chain around my neck, until my body jerks rigid again with a shock delivered to my lower back. The larger one jerks viciously on my leash, literally hanging me as I struggle to get my feet under me. He chuckles, "quit making a spectacle of yourself- that was just a schoolboy whipping. We haven't even flogged you yet. And then, you still have the scourging to look forward to. Also, did I mention you will be carrying your cross over one mile to the place of execution? There will be plenty of time to limp when you're hanging in the hot sun... We have ways of motivating you to be more stoic, if needs be."
The smaller guard hits me across my stomach this time, and I double over gasping. "Acknowledge that you understand and will obey, prisoner!" Gagging and coughing, I gasp out a weak "yes sir, I understand". The guard smiles at his companion, and they begin marching, dragging me hobbling along, red faced and still struggling with each breath.
I'm taken to a rectangular wooden block about waist high. I'm shoved down and bent over it, standing bent over with my arms stretched to manacles at the bottom of the block. My ankles are fastened tightly in place, and a rope is passed over my lower back, pressing me securely against the wood.
Big Guard selects a long, flexible wooden cane from a rack of assorted sizes. "100 strokes!" he calls out, and takes aim. The cane whistles through the air and lands with a loud crack that echos throughout the still camp. The pain was so explosive and unexpectedly intense that I gave a shrill yelp that pierced the quiet, and sucked air in a hiss thru clenched teeth. Little Sadist strode over and placed a stick between my teeth.
"Bite down on that, and control your volume. If you wake the commandant with your shrieks, I will flay you from your neck to your feet, by the gods... In fact, if you let that fall out of your mouth, the beating will start over- as many times as it takes."
I gasp out a "yes sir, I understand" while keeping the stick firmly in place. I briefly worried that I might bite through the stick in sheer desperate agony, but all thoughts were driven away by the next blow. My knees bent slightly, as far as my restraints allowed. My forehead banged repeatedly against the wood and my fingernails dragged scratches in the wood as I desperately tried not to scream. The caning proceeded as the whipping had, with brief breaks to swap guards. At 37 strokes, my fears wede realized and I bit down so hard that the stick snapped. The guard replaced it with another, and my heart raced as I realized it was even thinner than the first. "Starting over from 1 - 100 blows with the cane!" he called out, as Big Man hit me again. This time there wasn't as much skin to vary patterns with, and the flesh of my quivering buttocks was first welted, then bruised, then split, and finally cut with every whistling stroke. By 50, I could feel sever droplets of bloow running down my legs to the back of my knees. At 60, they paused while Little Sadist selected a cane and took up position opposite Big Man. He took the lead, and struck first, followed immediately by a blow across my other side from the second man. They alternated blows rapidly, scarcely giving ne time to draw a ragged breath before the next cut across my lacerated skin. My eyes rolled back into my head and my stomach flipped- dry heaving as my system was overwhelmed with excruciating pain. After a time, I couldn't even move between blows- my entire body locked up rigid and trembling, every muscle taut in a fit of mind numbing agony. I couldn't even draw breath as I lay there heaving, fists clenched. After the 100th strike I collapsed shaking uncontrollably. At first all I could do was gasp for air, which quickly gave way to sobbing moans as hot tears involuntarily spilled down my cheeks. I was too agonized to even be embarassed. Little Sadist noticed, and muttered something to his companion disgustedly.
He came over and shoved a tennis ball in my mouth, then duct taped it in pace. He drew a cloth bag over my head and then hissed angrily in my ear quietly, "do you think sobbing like a little girl will help you? That we'd feel sorry for you? Go a little easier? All that makes me want to do is hurt you worse... Protocol calls for 100 with the cane, but there's nobody around but us and you... No one will believe you. If you're going to cry, I'll make you EARN those tears... Lets see how you like something a little heavier- a taste of hickory, I think..."
I desperately writhe and try to scream for help, but the gag renders all my cries useless. Big Man tightens my chains even further, stretching and refastening me so tight that my arms are trembling. I try wildly to buck and convulse enough to draw someone's attention to their added cruelty, but to no avail.
When he hits me, it's with a heavy, vicious blow squarely across my welted shoulder blades. The weight and hardness of the hickory cane makes the blow reverberate across my entire back. The wind is again knocked out of me and I'm left gasping for air. He winds up like a baseball batter and rains blows down across my bloody buttocks and legs. As soon as I've caught my breath, he hits me several times across my back again, knocking the air out of me. I begin to see stars and feel my vision dimming, but he stops before I pass out. I decide to try my luck and pretend to be unconcious.
He rips the bag off my head and presses his shock baton against my groin. "Passed out, eh? Let's just make sure, shall we?" I instantly come alive and try to beg him not to, but the shock courses through my privates. The pain is so intense that this time, I DO black out. Sweet blackness envelops me, and a warm feeling of gratitude washes over me like a dream...
ThirteenDozen
Condemned
I blearily return to waking life and lift my head weakly up to look at my surroundings. The sky is a lightening dark blue, portending the sun rise in aboit half an hour. This puts the time around 6:30. Time is a cruel tormentor to pass so slowly. As I move, a small scab on my chest catches on rough wood and it's cut is torn open again. I wince and try to press a hand to it, only to realize I'm immobile. My arms are stretched tightly in front of me as I lay horizontal, face down on a large slab of wood with gears at either end. My ankles are trussed together with coarse rope and affixed to metal brackets at the bottom.
"Ah good, still with us I see", the larger guard chuckles. I cough and immediately wince a little, as a sharp pain shoots through the right side of my back. I wonder fretfully if my beating with the hickory cane had fractured a rib, or if it was just a particularly painful bruise. Mine was supposed to be a torture crucifixion, as opposed to an execution. This meant non-fatal punishment, with the torture ending before the point where most people would die. It was a specific requirement that prisoners in this scenario be not placed in any danger of injuriy which could potentially be actually dangerous. This must be why I was allowed to remain unconcious instead of being immediately roused for more torture.
"I dismissed my partner there to go cool off for a while. He tends to get caught up in the moment and I think he overdid it a bit. It's just you and me now, friend."
My heart leaped at the almost congenial tone in his voice, and I sighed with relief. They must be regretting stepping outside the prescribed protocol for this type of sentence, and things would go a little easier for me until noon at least. The extra beating was almost worth the relief I was feeling now.
"But hey, you and I will do just fine on our own. Your flogging won't be for a few more hours, and the next few punishments don't require much effort on my part..." he patted my back in an almost friendly manner, then reached for a crank on the side. I nervously looked around as I realized my hope for relief was fading...
The gears at the top began pulling slowly on the rope around my wrists, stretching my arms tighter and straightening my back out. He kept turning, and I could feel vertebrae in my back popping and cracking like a painful chiropractic session. My entire body was taut, with no slack left in my arms and legs.
"Hmmm... I think we can do better than that... Want to find out?" he chuckled. I was too scared to reply- I was terrified to say or do the wrong thing and anger him like his partner. He began cranking again. My hands and arms were pale white with the strain, and my wrists and ankles were beginning to chafe and bleed from the rope biting into them. As the crank kept turning, my chest lifted slightly off the wood and my entire body was slightly suspended in the horizontal. I struggled to breathe and deperately tried to resist the pull of the restraints. If I relaxed my back and arm muscles even slightly, my shoulders burned with the strain. I was afraid of dislocated joints, so I strained and trembled with the effort of sparing them my entire weight. As I lay partially suspended and stretched, he picked up a hot soldering iron plugged into an extension cord.
"It's a new part of protocol that the prisoner have his crimes, resulting punishments, and dates thereof, inscribed permanently on their flesh as a warning against repeat behaviour. Hmmm... I'll start with your side here- lets do crimes here, yes?" I was under so much tension that I couldn't even reply, much less cry out when he jabbed the hot soldering pen against the one unmarked area on my side and began writing in scrawling cursive. Wisps of smoke wafted up and I could hear a faint hissing as he methodically marked my ribs with each crime I'd been accused of. My right elbow made a loud clicking noise, and he released a little tension. "You still have to carry your cross a ways today, so we can't have your joints popping out yet..." he said as he continuex to write.
My punishments were written in type and number on the back of my legs and calves as I writhed and whimpered. Finally, I shuddered and tried to twist away as he decided the date of my crimes would go on my left ankle, and date of punishments on the right.
At 6:50 am, I was dragged to a pillory in the middle of the camp and locked tightly in place. He took a pair of small, thin finishing nails and fastened my ears to the wood of the pillory- one ear nailed through the top, the other through the lobe. It was horribly painful, but simply having a repreive from being beaten made it seem almost tolerable in contrast. The morning mess tent was serving breakfast behind me, and the entire camp passed by the pillory in their way to eat.
As the first group of privates walked by, they blearily stopped to read a sign posted on the pillory center beam. I couldn't read what it said, but the larger of the three said "wow... This guy must've really pissed somebody off. Oh well, better get it over with so we can eat. Sorry buddy, nothing person..."
I couldn't see behind me, and was tightly gagged with a steel bit, unable to speak. One of his friends handed him a knotted cat of nine tails with a wooden handle over the pillory, and stepped back grinning to watch. As my stomach flipped in dread, I overheard a snatch of conversation in the crowd that was gathering to watch. "5 lashes with a cat from every person who walks by, from the commander to the groundskeeper..."
My eyes went wide and my body began trembling as my eyes shut tight in a grimace of expectation. I waited, and waited, fearfully flinching at every noise. Finally, I opened my eyes a little and relaxed slightly. Then I involuntarily shrieked as the cat landed with a heavy, wet smack on my right shoulder. They apparently had provided a bucket of rubbing alcohol and salt water to dip the cat in with each stroke. This served two purposes- infection prevention, and increased the weight of the cat for each stroke.
The private was in no mood for artistry, and laid all 5 strokes rapidly atop each other on my shoulder. His friends followed suit, and I cursed their lack of variance as they each laid my stripes on in the exact same place. A long line had formed, and a small, jeering crowd surrounded the pillory to watch the spectacle. I couldn't even be embarassed by my nakedness, as several female crew members sidled up and chatted amongst themselves as they awaited their turn. I made a valiant but very short lived attempt to clench my fists, bite the gag, and take my lashes without crying out. It lasted until the turn came for a sneering, particularly sadistic young squad leader. He looked quickly around to make sure no guards were present, then delivered his strokes as hard as he could on my right side, hitting my ribs and armpit with each strike. I moaned and bit into the gag so hard I left teeth marks, but was proud of myself for not screaming. Then his 6th blow came, and a 7th. I tried to shout for help thru the gag but received not one sympathetic look from the crowd. No one cared that he was over his quota, and the few who noticed seemed to be egging him on. When the next blow unexpectedly wrapped around my hip and bit my swollen, welted groin, I let out a shrill animal-like shriek and danced in pain, my head banging againat the wood in agony. His friends laughed, and he repeated the blow. Then they fell like rain, biting all over my stomach, inner thighs, and privates. He continued to get encouragement from his friends, and he mockingly bowed to the group of female cadets. "Ladies, allow me to deliver your quota for you- you may as well eat breakfast. I think I've discovered a knack for this..." They shrugged, and wandered off with most of the crowd to eat. The young sadist looked briefly around for officers, then posted one of his friends as a lookout. He was breathing hard and sweating from his exertion, so he took off his uniform top, folded it neatly, and did the same with his tie. Stripped down comfortably to slacks and a tank top, he picked up the cat again. I couldn't do anything but whimper and wait...
He began viciously beating me again, harder and faster with every blow. He didn't even pause to aim his strikes, and simply rained down lashes on my now-bleeding shoulders and upper back. I howled, gasped, writhed, and screamed, and tore both of my ears free in agony. I barely noticed them as the knots of the cat clawed and ripped at my bare skin. I lost track of the lash count and began losing my voice- going hoarse from screaming. I cried, I begged, I pleaded, I sobber for mercy, but this only seemed to spur him on. His eyes flashed angrily and his face grew red almost as if with anger. He seemed to forget where he was, and just kept viciously tearing at my back with the cat. He stopped wetting it between strokes early on, and kicked the bucket out of his way.
I began to feel warm blood trickling down my back and sides, and the cat began to start making slapping noises again. I realized with a sickening feeling that it must be getting wet with blood now. My legs gave out partway through, and I collapsed, strangling in the pillory as I hung from it. I weakly tried to stand back up and brace against the demon's attack behind me.
Suddenly, I heard an arc of electricity and the pain stopped. The guards had returned, and tased the young squaddie to the ground.
"Goddammit" the large on growled, "there's no way he'll survive a scourging now on top of that." He sounded disappointed. "We've only got two sessions left besides the scourge, so we'll have to just make it up during those instead. We've got three hours until he needs to be up on that cross... Let's make them count. As for you... The good news is you won't be getting scourged today. Pity... I love the look of surprise when that first strip of skin gets torn off... Bad news is, you're going to have to have it made up with something else..."
He conferred with his partner a moment, and they seemed to come to an agreement. I was released from the pillory and collapsed on the ground exhausted. I could see tiny flecks of my blood spattered all over the backside of the pillory, and could only hoarsely groan in defeat.
Half crawling, half stumbling, I was dragged over to tall wooden frame at the edge of the camp. I stood obediently under the cross piece as a thick rope was tied around my neck, then thrown over the beam. The other end was attached to a crank winch and secured. By now the summer sun was already getting hot, and I could feel sweat seeping into my lacerated back and buttocks. The blood on my back had mostly dried, and the cuts were no longer actively oozing, but had yet to seal. My ass was raw and no unmarked skin was left my tailbone to mid thigh.
"For the next hour, you'rr going to get some practice hanging, before the main event. Don't worry- we'll do it enough times that you should be an expert by the time this hour's up. You're going to WANT to die, but that's not the purpose if this little lesson..."
With no further discussion, he began slowly cranking the winch. The rope pulled me stumbling backwards, then slowly tightened around my neck. It continued constricting until I was drawn up onto my tiptoes, swaying unsteadily as I tried to balance with my wrists and ankles cuffed behind me. He stopped when just a small stream of air was able to pass my throat, so slowly as to be agonizing. He kept me like this, fighting for every breath for a few minutes, then let me down enough to chokingly gasp a few lungfuls. After only a few breaths, he drew me back up straining on tip toes, red faced and choking for the tiniest breath. This cycle continued for several minutes. Then I was drawn back into the tiptoe position for a few minutes, and instead of releasing me, several more turna creaked out and I was lifted kicking and twisting into the air. My feet strained and desperately tried to reach the ground, but couldn't. When he let me down, it was all at once and sudden, dropping me collapsed in a heap in the dirt. He would continue hanging me, keeping me kicking just shy of actual unconciousness, then released. I was never allowed to catch my breath fully, just a few quick gasps and then back in the air strangling. After a few dozen times of this, my position was changed.
My wrists were attached behind me this time and I was slowly pulled high into the air, 6 feet off the ground, hanging by my arms bent sharply behind me. My shoulders burned, and throbbed, and popped with each hang, and I cried out in pain every time my feet left the ground.
The final set was simply to drag me up to hang naked, suspended by my wrists overhead this time. My feet were chained to a heavy log, pulling my arms and stretching me. I was told that the commander had given the ok to go ahead and give me the final scourging, but at a half reduced sentence. The guards were told to make every effort to keep me alive for the crucifixion, but that they wouldn't be held accountable if I succumbed. Instead of the typical method where the prisoner is beaten until they pass out, I would get a limited sentence. While hanging, I would be beaten by both guards for no less than 5 full minutes, one whipping my back, the other my front.
Unlike the other whips, the scourge is specifically designed to tear the prisoner's skin. Proper technique is to swing it hard enough that the small spikes and sharpened bones embed in the skin, then to jerk the whip away drawing blood.
"Ah good, still with us I see", the larger guard chuckles. I cough and immediately wince a little, as a sharp pain shoots through the right side of my back. I wonder fretfully if my beating with the hickory cane had fractured a rib, or if it was just a particularly painful bruise. Mine was supposed to be a torture crucifixion, as opposed to an execution. This meant non-fatal punishment, with the torture ending before the point where most people would die. It was a specific requirement that prisoners in this scenario be not placed in any danger of injuriy which could potentially be actually dangerous. This must be why I was allowed to remain unconcious instead of being immediately roused for more torture.
"I dismissed my partner there to go cool off for a while. He tends to get caught up in the moment and I think he overdid it a bit. It's just you and me now, friend."
My heart leaped at the almost congenial tone in his voice, and I sighed with relief. They must be regretting stepping outside the prescribed protocol for this type of sentence, and things would go a little easier for me until noon at least. The extra beating was almost worth the relief I was feeling now.
"But hey, you and I will do just fine on our own. Your flogging won't be for a few more hours, and the next few punishments don't require much effort on my part..." he patted my back in an almost friendly manner, then reached for a crank on the side. I nervously looked around as I realized my hope for relief was fading...
The gears at the top began pulling slowly on the rope around my wrists, stretching my arms tighter and straightening my back out. He kept turning, and I could feel vertebrae in my back popping and cracking like a painful chiropractic session. My entire body was taut, with no slack left in my arms and legs.
"Hmmm... I think we can do better than that... Want to find out?" he chuckled. I was too scared to reply- I was terrified to say or do the wrong thing and anger him like his partner. He began cranking again. My hands and arms were pale white with the strain, and my wrists and ankles were beginning to chafe and bleed from the rope biting into them. As the crank kept turning, my chest lifted slightly off the wood and my entire body was slightly suspended in the horizontal. I struggled to breathe and deperately tried to resist the pull of the restraints. If I relaxed my back and arm muscles even slightly, my shoulders burned with the strain. I was afraid of dislocated joints, so I strained and trembled with the effort of sparing them my entire weight. As I lay partially suspended and stretched, he picked up a hot soldering iron plugged into an extension cord.
"It's a new part of protocol that the prisoner have his crimes, resulting punishments, and dates thereof, inscribed permanently on their flesh as a warning against repeat behaviour. Hmmm... I'll start with your side here- lets do crimes here, yes?" I was under so much tension that I couldn't even reply, much less cry out when he jabbed the hot soldering pen against the one unmarked area on my side and began writing in scrawling cursive. Wisps of smoke wafted up and I could hear a faint hissing as he methodically marked my ribs with each crime I'd been accused of. My right elbow made a loud clicking noise, and he released a little tension. "You still have to carry your cross a ways today, so we can't have your joints popping out yet..." he said as he continuex to write.
My punishments were written in type and number on the back of my legs and calves as I writhed and whimpered. Finally, I shuddered and tried to twist away as he decided the date of my crimes would go on my left ankle, and date of punishments on the right.
At 6:50 am, I was dragged to a pillory in the middle of the camp and locked tightly in place. He took a pair of small, thin finishing nails and fastened my ears to the wood of the pillory- one ear nailed through the top, the other through the lobe. It was horribly painful, but simply having a repreive from being beaten made it seem almost tolerable in contrast. The morning mess tent was serving breakfast behind me, and the entire camp passed by the pillory in their way to eat.
As the first group of privates walked by, they blearily stopped to read a sign posted on the pillory center beam. I couldn't read what it said, but the larger of the three said "wow... This guy must've really pissed somebody off. Oh well, better get it over with so we can eat. Sorry buddy, nothing person..."
I couldn't see behind me, and was tightly gagged with a steel bit, unable to speak. One of his friends handed him a knotted cat of nine tails with a wooden handle over the pillory, and stepped back grinning to watch. As my stomach flipped in dread, I overheard a snatch of conversation in the crowd that was gathering to watch. "5 lashes with a cat from every person who walks by, from the commander to the groundskeeper..."
My eyes went wide and my body began trembling as my eyes shut tight in a grimace of expectation. I waited, and waited, fearfully flinching at every noise. Finally, I opened my eyes a little and relaxed slightly. Then I involuntarily shrieked as the cat landed with a heavy, wet smack on my right shoulder. They apparently had provided a bucket of rubbing alcohol and salt water to dip the cat in with each stroke. This served two purposes- infection prevention, and increased the weight of the cat for each stroke.
The private was in no mood for artistry, and laid all 5 strokes rapidly atop each other on my shoulder. His friends followed suit, and I cursed their lack of variance as they each laid my stripes on in the exact same place. A long line had formed, and a small, jeering crowd surrounded the pillory to watch the spectacle. I couldn't even be embarassed by my nakedness, as several female crew members sidled up and chatted amongst themselves as they awaited their turn. I made a valiant but very short lived attempt to clench my fists, bite the gag, and take my lashes without crying out. It lasted until the turn came for a sneering, particularly sadistic young squad leader. He looked quickly around to make sure no guards were present, then delivered his strokes as hard as he could on my right side, hitting my ribs and armpit with each strike. I moaned and bit into the gag so hard I left teeth marks, but was proud of myself for not screaming. Then his 6th blow came, and a 7th. I tried to shout for help thru the gag but received not one sympathetic look from the crowd. No one cared that he was over his quota, and the few who noticed seemed to be egging him on. When the next blow unexpectedly wrapped around my hip and bit my swollen, welted groin, I let out a shrill animal-like shriek and danced in pain, my head banging againat the wood in agony. His friends laughed, and he repeated the blow. Then they fell like rain, biting all over my stomach, inner thighs, and privates. He continued to get encouragement from his friends, and he mockingly bowed to the group of female cadets. "Ladies, allow me to deliver your quota for you- you may as well eat breakfast. I think I've discovered a knack for this..." They shrugged, and wandered off with most of the crowd to eat. The young sadist looked briefly around for officers, then posted one of his friends as a lookout. He was breathing hard and sweating from his exertion, so he took off his uniform top, folded it neatly, and did the same with his tie. Stripped down comfortably to slacks and a tank top, he picked up the cat again. I couldn't do anything but whimper and wait...
He began viciously beating me again, harder and faster with every blow. He didn't even pause to aim his strikes, and simply rained down lashes on my now-bleeding shoulders and upper back. I howled, gasped, writhed, and screamed, and tore both of my ears free in agony. I barely noticed them as the knots of the cat clawed and ripped at my bare skin. I lost track of the lash count and began losing my voice- going hoarse from screaming. I cried, I begged, I pleaded, I sobber for mercy, but this only seemed to spur him on. His eyes flashed angrily and his face grew red almost as if with anger. He seemed to forget where he was, and just kept viciously tearing at my back with the cat. He stopped wetting it between strokes early on, and kicked the bucket out of his way.
I began to feel warm blood trickling down my back and sides, and the cat began to start making slapping noises again. I realized with a sickening feeling that it must be getting wet with blood now. My legs gave out partway through, and I collapsed, strangling in the pillory as I hung from it. I weakly tried to stand back up and brace against the demon's attack behind me.
Suddenly, I heard an arc of electricity and the pain stopped. The guards had returned, and tased the young squaddie to the ground.
"Goddammit" the large on growled, "there's no way he'll survive a scourging now on top of that." He sounded disappointed. "We've only got two sessions left besides the scourge, so we'll have to just make it up during those instead. We've got three hours until he needs to be up on that cross... Let's make them count. As for you... The good news is you won't be getting scourged today. Pity... I love the look of surprise when that first strip of skin gets torn off... Bad news is, you're going to have to have it made up with something else..."
He conferred with his partner a moment, and they seemed to come to an agreement. I was released from the pillory and collapsed on the ground exhausted. I could see tiny flecks of my blood spattered all over the backside of the pillory, and could only hoarsely groan in defeat.
Half crawling, half stumbling, I was dragged over to tall wooden frame at the edge of the camp. I stood obediently under the cross piece as a thick rope was tied around my neck, then thrown over the beam. The other end was attached to a crank winch and secured. By now the summer sun was already getting hot, and I could feel sweat seeping into my lacerated back and buttocks. The blood on my back had mostly dried, and the cuts were no longer actively oozing, but had yet to seal. My ass was raw and no unmarked skin was left my tailbone to mid thigh.
"For the next hour, you'rr going to get some practice hanging, before the main event. Don't worry- we'll do it enough times that you should be an expert by the time this hour's up. You're going to WANT to die, but that's not the purpose if this little lesson..."
With no further discussion, he began slowly cranking the winch. The rope pulled me stumbling backwards, then slowly tightened around my neck. It continued constricting until I was drawn up onto my tiptoes, swaying unsteadily as I tried to balance with my wrists and ankles cuffed behind me. He stopped when just a small stream of air was able to pass my throat, so slowly as to be agonizing. He kept me like this, fighting for every breath for a few minutes, then let me down enough to chokingly gasp a few lungfuls. After only a few breaths, he drew me back up straining on tip toes, red faced and choking for the tiniest breath. This cycle continued for several minutes. Then I was drawn back into the tiptoe position for a few minutes, and instead of releasing me, several more turna creaked out and I was lifted kicking and twisting into the air. My feet strained and desperately tried to reach the ground, but couldn't. When he let me down, it was all at once and sudden, dropping me collapsed in a heap in the dirt. He would continue hanging me, keeping me kicking just shy of actual unconciousness, then released. I was never allowed to catch my breath fully, just a few quick gasps and then back in the air strangling. After a few dozen times of this, my position was changed.
My wrists were attached behind me this time and I was slowly pulled high into the air, 6 feet off the ground, hanging by my arms bent sharply behind me. My shoulders burned, and throbbed, and popped with each hang, and I cried out in pain every time my feet left the ground.
The final set was simply to drag me up to hang naked, suspended by my wrists overhead this time. My feet were chained to a heavy log, pulling my arms and stretching me. I was told that the commander had given the ok to go ahead and give me the final scourging, but at a half reduced sentence. The guards were told to make every effort to keep me alive for the crucifixion, but that they wouldn't be held accountable if I succumbed. Instead of the typical method where the prisoner is beaten until they pass out, I would get a limited sentence. While hanging, I would be beaten by both guards for no less than 5 full minutes, one whipping my back, the other my front.
Unlike the other whips, the scourge is specifically designed to tear the prisoner's skin. Proper technique is to swing it hard enough that the small spikes and sharpened bones embed in the skin, then to jerk the whip away drawing blood.
ThirteenDozen
Condemned
Fast forward to 30 minutes before noon. I'm dragged stumbling and barely able to walk, up to the starting line where my cross is waiting. My wrists and neck are shackled to the heavy wooden cross pieces, and I'm ordered to march. The guards follow behind me, one with a bullwhip, the other with his shock baton. I'm immediately punished for slowing even slightly, and viciously beaten and shocked if I stumble or stop.
I collapse in the clearing where I'm to be crucified and I hear guttural screams of agony. Looking over, I see the cadet who had beaten me with the cat earlier. He is naked, his thin white body caked with blood and dirt, welts and bruises covering him from neck to feet. Someone must've gotten wind of what he did, and ordered summary judgement, I thought with satisfaction.
I continue ruminatingnon the sweetness of karma even as the assistants dust my bloody cuts4c with cayenne pepper, rubbing alcohol, salt, and lemon juice. The burn doesn't set in fully for a few minutes.
Suddenly the world snaps back sharply into focus, as my bloody back is slammed against the wood of the cross on the ground, and my arms stretched by assistants pulling on ropes. My arms and legs are bound to the cross in several places and I'm left immobilized. I briefly feel relief that this is all I'll have to face now, and that the extra pain is finished.
My sentence requires me to hang on the cross in the searing sun, from noon to 9pm every day for a week. I'm to be left locked in a cell each night, and whipped every morning at dawn, on my way back to the cross, on my way back to camp, and before I'm locked up for the night.
The ropes are fastened and I prepare to be hoisted in the air, but the assistants are still stretching my arms out with their ropes. I feel sick to my stomach when the guard produces four long, thin nails. He marks a place on my palm with a sharpie and then begins slowly hammering a nail through it into the wood. I howl and buck, but am too exhausted to put up a fight. He takes his time slowly nailing my palms, then through the top of my feet. The ropes will hold my weight, but the nails will pin me in place.
He chuckles when he informs me that a new, different nail hole will be made each day when I'm on the cross. He nods to the assistant and I am slowly hoisted up into the air to hang.
My lips are already cracked and parched, and the sun is unbearably hot. Next to me in the blistering heat I can make out the naked figure of my erstwhile tormentor writhing in agony, sobbing as he raises himself up on nailed feet to momentarily relieve the pain in my arms and hands...
Time slows to a crawl...
I collapse in the clearing where I'm to be crucified and I hear guttural screams of agony. Looking over, I see the cadet who had beaten me with the cat earlier. He is naked, his thin white body caked with blood and dirt, welts and bruises covering him from neck to feet. Someone must've gotten wind of what he did, and ordered summary judgement, I thought with satisfaction.
I continue ruminatingnon the sweetness of karma even as the assistants dust my bloody cuts4c with cayenne pepper, rubbing alcohol, salt, and lemon juice. The burn doesn't set in fully for a few minutes.
Suddenly the world snaps back sharply into focus, as my bloody back is slammed against the wood of the cross on the ground, and my arms stretched by assistants pulling on ropes. My arms and legs are bound to the cross in several places and I'm left immobilized. I briefly feel relief that this is all I'll have to face now, and that the extra pain is finished.
My sentence requires me to hang on the cross in the searing sun, from noon to 9pm every day for a week. I'm to be left locked in a cell each night, and whipped every morning at dawn, on my way back to the cross, on my way back to camp, and before I'm locked up for the night.
The ropes are fastened and I prepare to be hoisted in the air, but the assistants are still stretching my arms out with their ropes. I feel sick to my stomach when the guard produces four long, thin nails. He marks a place on my palm with a sharpie and then begins slowly hammering a nail through it into the wood. I howl and buck, but am too exhausted to put up a fight. He takes his time slowly nailing my palms, then through the top of my feet. The ropes will hold my weight, but the nails will pin me in place.
He chuckles when he informs me that a new, different nail hole will be made each day when I'm on the cross. He nods to the assistant and I am slowly hoisted up into the air to hang.
My lips are already cracked and parched, and the sun is unbearably hot. Next to me in the blistering heat I can make out the naked figure of my erstwhile tormentor writhing in agony, sobbing as he raises himself up on nailed feet to momentarily relieve the pain in my arms and hands...
Time slows to a crawl...
ThirteenDozen
Condemned
Noticed quite a few typos and errors throughout this, but I was writing at 1am with very little sleep. Can't figure out how to edit it, so apologies...
Reed319
Magistrate
i would add a dildo insertion in vagina or rectum (or both) with pepper or nettles juices in order to add unbearable discomfort and pain once the slave is crucified. The slave would have to scream and needing more oxygen and given the position on the Cross, it would lead to quick suffocation.
jacksjg89
PROCRASTINATOR
You got to bring that up to your CF union rep. The new one. Before she gets crucified.
RopeSavageCrux
Executioner
After the battle that saw the enemy capture me. They soon would realize who they had captured and they would have two of the guards pull me out. And force me down on my knee. As they has they had fun stirping me down to the loincloth and they pulled my wrists behind my back and they tied my wrists together tight. And so they grabbed my arms and forced me along. As I would try and look to see where they were forcing me. One of them would roughly force my head back down. Soon they would have forced me back to the fort that was built before their invasion. Soon they threw me down on my knees before their leader. “Well what do we have here” He laughed down at me. One of the guards grabbed my long hair and pulled my head back hard as he held me down on my knees. “AHAH” I would yell as he did. And the leader looked down and smiled. “So you have a Savage. Their young leader.” He would laugh again. As he takes a riding crop. “How did you get this Savage?” Leader asked. The guard pulled back my head again with my hair and held my head back hard. “AHAh!!” I say again as they were being rough. “We caught him trying to blend in.” Other Guard says. As the leader takes his crop runs it along my body. And a smile comes over this face. “Take this Savage and show him his place. To the post of the night. And we have to show him off to the city.” The leader says. And the two guards would take me and force me way and over to the post that was in a place that all could see. And they forced me up against the post as they untied my wrists. After that they forced me back around. So my back is against the post. As they pulled my wrists back behind my back around the post as they tied my wrists again. The other guard grabbed my balls and he squeezed roughly “Down on your knees savage slut” he laughed as they forced me down on my knees tied to the post.
The Next day the guards were all getting ready for the triumph that they want to have their new savage walk in to be more humiliation. In the city main square where the climax for the fun would take place. The rest of the pre-work was being done back at the fort. It would only be a short walk to the walls and gate. As soon as the other things were in place. Two guards come over and they force a steel collar on my neck. And then the other one would put ankle shackles on. Then they put a chain on the collar. Before they untied me and pulled hard on the chain. And falls on the sandy ground. The third guard pulled my hair hard and pulled me to my knees. “AhAhh.” I yelled, and the guards all laughed. “Tie this savage to the wooden bar and make it tight.” one of the officers said. And the guards forced the wooden bar over my shoulder and then forced my wrist over the top. And they tied it to me tightly. After they got me ready. The three of them would force me to walk the half mile to where everything was set. And they pulled me along behind they leader through the streets and the guards would force me to walk with my knees bent and head down and forward. As one would used a riding crop on my ball. Make me fall on my knees as the pull on my chain. The crowd would love this. Soon they get to the city square where it was set up for the big humiliation.
After they had got me to the area that was set up what they wanted. And the two guards kick me down on my knees in front of the crowd and their leader. And they leader started to talk to the crowd. “Behold, we have a special treat for you. Never had seen before. And you as the crowd have some options. You could have us jump right to the main event or you could have a show of how we capture this savage.” the leader say and looked at the crowd. The crowd started cheering loudly. “We want a show! We want a show! We want a show! Capture the savage again!” the crowd chants again. And the leader looked at the crowd. “Very well.. You shall get a show.” the leader say. And the guards both looked at the leader and node. And the three who had captured me came out. And they all have swords that are metal but not sharp. It was all for show and the enjoyment for the crowd who had gathered around. So the guard put the sword in to my hand and they would force me to fight them again only this would just be them having fun. After about eight minutes of them just messing with me. One of them hit my sword and then the other hit the back of my leg on my knees. “Ahah!” I yelled as I fell back down on my knees. And the third one holds the blade on my neck. And the other two pulled my hands behind my back again. And the other one started to tie my wrists together again tight. As they force me up and move me over to where their leader is in front of the crowd. And then one of them pulled my head back hard infront on the crowd. And then make me make some sexual sounds. “Ahah” I yelled and moaned as they did. And one of the others starts to stroke my cock in front of the crowd as they all are enjoying this. “What should we do to him next?” the leader says. The crowd all started to chat at once. “Hang him up! We want to see his cum! Bandage Crucifixion him! Hang him up! We want to see his cum! Bandage Crucifixion him! Hang him up! We want to see his cum! Bandage Crucifixion him!” The crowd kept saying and cheering. “Then let us get started! Move him over to the cross area!” their leader say. And the guard force me to walk through the crowd and let them get a good look at me. As they were enjoying this more and the women were as much as the men.
They then moved me over to the other area. It was a large open sandy area where there are three upright cross posts and the beams were off to the side. The leader looked at the guards and nodes. They force me back down on my knees. And the crowd watches and they get to enjoy seeing this. A group of well dressed and three guards come over. The lead woman was the Empress. And she looked at the two guards holding me down on my knees. “Let me see him and I will decide what to do with him.” She said and smiled. One of the guards reached over and grabbed a large handful of my long black hair and pulled my head back hard as he held it back for the Empress. “AHahah” I moaned in front of her. As the guard held my head back as she looked at me. “We shouldn't kill him, I think we will use him as a Savage slave! Tie him to the post and whip him good! And then BDSM Crucifixion him. That way we can see how much he can cum and prostate milk cum too” The Empress says. The guards forced me over the post and started to retire me to the post so my back was facing the crowd. The guards get a leather flogger out. And they started to take turns whipping me fifty times. “AHah.. Ahah.. Ahah.. Aggrrr.. Ahah.. AHah.. Ahah.. Ahah.. Aggrrr.. Ahah.. AHah.. Ahah.. Ahah.. Aggrrr.. Ahah..” I yelled and moaned and after the last whip fell on my knees. The Empress looked at the guards and she nodes “go on next part get him tied down on the beam and then let the crowd see how hard his cock is” she say and smile becomes bigger.
The two Guards would grab me and they force held me down on the wooden beam that as on the ground. And the Empress came over and she had a smile and then tied down my forearms to the beam. And then she looked at the guards. “Get him up and start getting him to walk up the the location” She say and smiled. The two guards force me to my feet, and then the Empress Whip me again. “Ahah” I would say as I would start to walk. And the crowd would follow. As the Empress would continue to whip me as I walked and the guard would lead me around. And soon they would lead me to a small hill that was near the Empress personal living area. And this was clear that I was to be her personal sex toy and she was get enjoyment out of me. And then the guard force me down on my back with the post not too far way. And the Empress looked at the guard and she had them pull off my loincloth and so I was very naked. And then she run the leather whip over my cock and ball. To get me to react. As my cock gets larger. And then she nodes to the two guards who started to tie down my wrists to the beam. And one of the guards pulled my long black hair hard. “AHah” I yelled and moans out. The other guard started to grip and rub my hard cock to get me all turn on. “Look at the slut he must want to be hang up so all can watch him cum on the cross.” the other guard continued to rub and laugh. As the crowed want more and they enjoyed watching. Soon as the guard got me rock hard and my balls hanging down fall all to see. One of guards punched me in the gut and then the balls. As they started to hang me up on the post. And crowed is cheering and laughing. I am hanging there as my feet are just there. The other guard grips my ball and started to rub me cock too and the crowd is wanting to see my first cum on the cross. And I cant hold it. I cums out hard and lot for the crowd only this was just the beginning of my cross humiliation.
The Next day the guards were all getting ready for the triumph that they want to have their new savage walk in to be more humiliation. In the city main square where the climax for the fun would take place. The rest of the pre-work was being done back at the fort. It would only be a short walk to the walls and gate. As soon as the other things were in place. Two guards come over and they force a steel collar on my neck. And then the other one would put ankle shackles on. Then they put a chain on the collar. Before they untied me and pulled hard on the chain. And falls on the sandy ground. The third guard pulled my hair hard and pulled me to my knees. “AhAhh.” I yelled, and the guards all laughed. “Tie this savage to the wooden bar and make it tight.” one of the officers said. And the guards forced the wooden bar over my shoulder and then forced my wrist over the top. And they tied it to me tightly. After they got me ready. The three of them would force me to walk the half mile to where everything was set. And they pulled me along behind they leader through the streets and the guards would force me to walk with my knees bent and head down and forward. As one would used a riding crop on my ball. Make me fall on my knees as the pull on my chain. The crowd would love this. Soon they get to the city square where it was set up for the big humiliation.
After they had got me to the area that was set up what they wanted. And the two guards kick me down on my knees in front of the crowd and their leader. And they leader started to talk to the crowd. “Behold, we have a special treat for you. Never had seen before. And you as the crowd have some options. You could have us jump right to the main event or you could have a show of how we capture this savage.” the leader say and looked at the crowd. The crowd started cheering loudly. “We want a show! We want a show! We want a show! Capture the savage again!” the crowd chants again. And the leader looked at the crowd. “Very well.. You shall get a show.” the leader say. And the guards both looked at the leader and node. And the three who had captured me came out. And they all have swords that are metal but not sharp. It was all for show and the enjoyment for the crowd who had gathered around. So the guard put the sword in to my hand and they would force me to fight them again only this would just be them having fun. After about eight minutes of them just messing with me. One of them hit my sword and then the other hit the back of my leg on my knees. “Ahah!” I yelled as I fell back down on my knees. And the third one holds the blade on my neck. And the other two pulled my hands behind my back again. And the other one started to tie my wrists together again tight. As they force me up and move me over to where their leader is in front of the crowd. And then one of them pulled my head back hard infront on the crowd. And then make me make some sexual sounds. “Ahah” I yelled and moaned as they did. And one of the others starts to stroke my cock in front of the crowd as they all are enjoying this. “What should we do to him next?” the leader says. The crowd all started to chat at once. “Hang him up! We want to see his cum! Bandage Crucifixion him! Hang him up! We want to see his cum! Bandage Crucifixion him! Hang him up! We want to see his cum! Bandage Crucifixion him!” The crowd kept saying and cheering. “Then let us get started! Move him over to the cross area!” their leader say. And the guard force me to walk through the crowd and let them get a good look at me. As they were enjoying this more and the women were as much as the men.
They then moved me over to the other area. It was a large open sandy area where there are three upright cross posts and the beams were off to the side. The leader looked at the guards and nodes. They force me back down on my knees. And the crowd watches and they get to enjoy seeing this. A group of well dressed and three guards come over. The lead woman was the Empress. And she looked at the two guards holding me down on my knees. “Let me see him and I will decide what to do with him.” She said and smiled. One of the guards reached over and grabbed a large handful of my long black hair and pulled my head back hard as he held it back for the Empress. “AHahah” I moaned in front of her. As the guard held my head back as she looked at me. “We shouldn't kill him, I think we will use him as a Savage slave! Tie him to the post and whip him good! And then BDSM Crucifixion him. That way we can see how much he can cum and prostate milk cum too” The Empress says. The guards forced me over the post and started to retire me to the post so my back was facing the crowd. The guards get a leather flogger out. And they started to take turns whipping me fifty times. “AHah.. Ahah.. Ahah.. Aggrrr.. Ahah.. AHah.. Ahah.. Ahah.. Aggrrr.. Ahah.. AHah.. Ahah.. Ahah.. Aggrrr.. Ahah..” I yelled and moaned and after the last whip fell on my knees. The Empress looked at the guards and she nodes “go on next part get him tied down on the beam and then let the crowd see how hard his cock is” she say and smile becomes bigger.
The two Guards would grab me and they force held me down on the wooden beam that as on the ground. And the Empress came over and she had a smile and then tied down my forearms to the beam. And then she looked at the guards. “Get him up and start getting him to walk up the the location” She say and smiled. The two guards force me to my feet, and then the Empress Whip me again. “Ahah” I would say as I would start to walk. And the crowd would follow. As the Empress would continue to whip me as I walked and the guard would lead me around. And soon they would lead me to a small hill that was near the Empress personal living area. And this was clear that I was to be her personal sex toy and she was get enjoyment out of me. And then the guard force me down on my back with the post not too far way. And the Empress looked at the guard and she had them pull off my loincloth and so I was very naked. And then she run the leather whip over my cock and ball. To get me to react. As my cock gets larger. And then she nodes to the two guards who started to tie down my wrists to the beam. And one of the guards pulled my long black hair hard. “AHah” I yelled and moans out. The other guard started to grip and rub my hard cock to get me all turn on. “Look at the slut he must want to be hang up so all can watch him cum on the cross.” the other guard continued to rub and laugh. As the crowed want more and they enjoyed watching. Soon as the guard got me rock hard and my balls hanging down fall all to see. One of guards punched me in the gut and then the balls. As they started to hang me up on the post. And crowed is cheering and laughing. I am hanging there as my feet are just there. The other guard grips my ball and started to rub me cock too and the crowd is wanting to see my first cum on the cross. And I cant hold it. I cums out hard and lot for the crowd only this was just the beginning of my cross humiliation.
gregorsamsa45
Assistant executioner
Before crucifixion, I would get 20 hard lashes across my back and after that,the executioner would throw a saltwater bucket in my back
