Hangnail
Tribune
I think this is great. The color adds life and humanity to the victim.
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Some Sketches
- Thread starter Andyman
- Start date
I agree. The technique on these is excellent. The girl on the cross really stands out from the less detailed other figures. Very effective. Nicely done.
J
Juan1234
Guest
Andy - I was going to say that whenever you have the time, I do enjoy the color. But then this one is the one that really blew me away today, and it has no color.
So content wins again! (This is an amazing drawing - LOVE the anticipation, the dread, the hopelessness.)
Aedile
Magistrate
I’ve been going back through Andy’s drawings of couples crucified and mixed-sex crucifixions. I enjoy the idea of lovers, spouses, and even complete strangers of both sexes crucified together, so I added a story to one of Andyman’s amazing works:
I can’t bear to look at my wife as she hangs naked on the cross next to me. I failed in my most sacred duty: to protect her. In my greed and hubris, I got her involved in my counterfeiting of coins. I don’t know which of my partners turned me in, and I guess it doesn’t matter now.
They made me watch last night as they raped her, one guard after another spraying his seed into her womb. They taunted me while they humped my sobbing wife. One even put her on her hands and knees and turned her to face me, helpless and chained to the cell wall, unable to stop her dishonor. If we carry our memories to the afterlife, I will always remember the shame and fear in her eyes as the guard slapped her ass and rocked her back and forth, causing her hanging breasts to bounce forward and hit her in the chin.
Today, they made her watch as they put me on the cross first. They turned her strong, doting husband into a screaming animal as they first nailed me and put me into position on the cross then hammered the stake into my ass. The nailing had been agonizing, but the feeling of the sharpened wood pushing deeper inside me, piercing something and then stabbing into my innards felt *wrong* in a primal way. I bellowed with each blow of the hammer, and ended up begging my executioners to please stop, oh please stop it hurts!
Which is, of course, exactly what they wanted.
I barely registered my wife’s agonies as they put her on her cross, so wrapped up was I in my own pain and guilt. I should have called down to her, to tell her I loved her and this was just a short pain before we would be with each other in the afterlife, but I was weak. Even as she made the same noises as I when the stake went into her ass, I could only focus on myself.
Now we hang here naked, the bodies we delighted in together in our marriage bed displayed to the world. My cock hangs limp, useless, another display of my emasculation. Our bodies aren’t as youthful as they were the first time we saw each other naked on our wedding night, both of us frightened virgins barely out of childhood. 15 years and 6 children will do that. My wife’s breasts are softened from feeding those children, her hips and ass fleshier from carrying them. All of our imperfections are exposed to the world.
She’s calling my name. Gasping for breath and moaning as the cruel way they nailed our arms pulls at her shoulders. The only reason they haven’t dislocated and allowed us to finally die is the stake in our asses supporting our weight. But I still can’t look at her. How can I meet her in the afterlife now that I failed her even as we were dying? At this point I hope they dishonor our corpses. I’ve seen crucified couples tossed into separate trash pits. I saw a crucified couple once. The husband’s corpse was carefully placed between the legs of a dead, diseased whore thrown away at the same time. The wife went into the burial pit straddling a gladiator who died in the arena. All to keep the crucified couple from coming back together in the afterlife. I hope that happens to us. How could I face her for eternity?
I can’t bear to look at my wife as she hangs naked on the cross next to me. I failed in my most sacred duty: to protect her. In my greed and hubris, I got her involved in my counterfeiting of coins. I don’t know which of my partners turned me in, and I guess it doesn’t matter now.
They made me watch last night as they raped her, one guard after another spraying his seed into her womb. They taunted me while they humped my sobbing wife. One even put her on her hands and knees and turned her to face me, helpless and chained to the cell wall, unable to stop her dishonor. If we carry our memories to the afterlife, I will always remember the shame and fear in her eyes as the guard slapped her ass and rocked her back and forth, causing her hanging breasts to bounce forward and hit her in the chin.
Today, they made her watch as they put me on the cross first. They turned her strong, doting husband into a screaming animal as they first nailed me and put me into position on the cross then hammered the stake into my ass. The nailing had been agonizing, but the feeling of the sharpened wood pushing deeper inside me, piercing something and then stabbing into my innards felt *wrong* in a primal way. I bellowed with each blow of the hammer, and ended up begging my executioners to please stop, oh please stop it hurts!
Which is, of course, exactly what they wanted.
I barely registered my wife’s agonies as they put her on her cross, so wrapped up was I in my own pain and guilt. I should have called down to her, to tell her I loved her and this was just a short pain before we would be with each other in the afterlife, but I was weak. Even as she made the same noises as I when the stake went into her ass, I could only focus on myself.
Now we hang here naked, the bodies we delighted in together in our marriage bed displayed to the world. My cock hangs limp, useless, another display of my emasculation. Our bodies aren’t as youthful as they were the first time we saw each other naked on our wedding night, both of us frightened virgins barely out of childhood. 15 years and 6 children will do that. My wife’s breasts are softened from feeding those children, her hips and ass fleshier from carrying them. All of our imperfections are exposed to the world.
She’s calling my name. Gasping for breath and moaning as the cruel way they nailed our arms pulls at her shoulders. The only reason they haven’t dislocated and allowed us to finally die is the stake in our asses supporting our weight. But I still can’t look at her. How can I meet her in the afterlife now that I failed her even as we were dying? At this point I hope they dishonor our corpses. I’ve seen crucified couples tossed into separate trash pits. I saw a crucified couple once. The husband’s corpse was carefully placed between the legs of a dead, diseased whore thrown away at the same time. The wife went into the burial pit straddling a gladiator who died in the arena. All to keep the crucified couple from coming back together in the afterlife. I hope that happens to us. How could I face her for eternity?
Cella
Spectator
Andy - I was going to say that whenever you have the time, I do enjoy the color. But then this one is the one that really blew me away today, and it has no color.
Yes, I agree. This is an older woman (40-ish) who is desperately trying to be brave in contemplating the horrible reality, only moments away, that will befall her. She's not some common slave or whore, or a woman of a humble station in life. She is proud and was a person of importance in her life to this point. She took a principled, courageous stand that came with a huge risk to her very life. She didn't have to do it, but she did. It was the honorable thing to do. The only thing she could do.
She was brought down and condemned to death for it.
I will not scream! I will uphold my dignity and composure. Oh gods! Why must I suffer this? Here they come! Hammers! I must not show weakness! No! No! I must be strong! Oh gods, help me!"
"Auuuugh! Aughhhhh! Aughhhh!"
"Shit! Listen to this bitch scream! What a voice! And those tits! About to fly off her chest"
"Yeah, she tried not to. But as soon as that first nail went in she let loose. I could tell she was trying not to scream . . . but they all do. They all do. Can't help it."
"Look! She's passed out. And crapped herself too. Let's get her up and hanging. She'll come around, and scream a lot fucking more! They all do. They all do."
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Well written short story, going into the man's head. He is dishonored and humiliated in more than one aspect. He is publically crucifed, naked, the most dishonorable punishment there is. He has witnessed the rape of his wife, and next, her crucifixion. He is demasculated by the cross, raping him too. He feels guilty towards his wife, in so far that he does not want to meet her in afterlife.
It could be up to his wife to ensure him, she does not hold him responsible for what happened to her. She was the strong woman befind the strong man. That was the role she had taken on! All the humiliations she had to endure, was the risk, she knew she took in advance. Was she opportunistic as long as things went well, and was she caught by the events? Or does she really stand by her husband and accept her fate? What is going through her mind? One word from her, will either be a relief, or a stab in his back!
Cella
Spectator
I’ve been going back through Andy’s drawings of couples crucified and mixed-sex crucifixions. I enjoy the idea of lovers, spouses, and even complete strangers of both sexes crucified together, so I added a story to one of Andyman’s amazing works:
I can’t bear to look at my wife as she hangs naked on the cross next to me. I failed in my most sacred duty: to protect her. In my greed and hubris, I got her involved in my counterfeiting of coins. I don’t know which of my partners turned me in, and I guess it doesn’t matter now.
They made me watch last night as they raped her, one guard after another spraying his seed into her womb. They taunted me while they humped my sobbing wife. One even put her on her hands and knees and turned her to face me, helpless and chained to the cell wall, unable to stop her dishonor. If we carry our memories to the afterlife, I will always remember the shame and fear in her eyes as the guard slapped her ass and rocked her back and forth, causing her hanging breasts to bounce forward and hit her in the chin.
Today, they made her watch as they put me on the cross first. They turned her strong, doting husband into a screaming animal as they first nailed me and put me into position on the cross then hammered the stake into my ass. The nailing had been agonizing, but the feeling of the sharpened wood pushing deeper inside me, piercing something and then stabbing into my innards felt *wrong* in a primal way. I bellowed with each blow of the hammer, and ended up begging my executioners to please stop, oh please stop it hurts!
Which is, of course, exactly what they wanted.
I barely registered my wife’s agonies as they put her on her cross, so wrapped up was I in my own pain and guilt. I should have called down to her, to tell her I loved her and this was just a short pain before we would be with each other in the afterlife, but I was weak. Even as she made the same noises as I when the stake went into her ass, I could only focus on myself.
Now we hang here naked, the bodies we delighted in together in our marriage bed displayed to the world. My cock hangs limp, useless, another display of my emasculation. Our bodies aren’t as youthful as they were the first time we saw each other naked on our wedding night, both of us frightened virgins barely out of childhood. 15 years and 6 children will do that. My wife’s breasts are softened from feeding those children, her hips and ass fleshier from carrying them. All of our imperfections are exposed to the world.
She’s calling my name. Gasping for breath and moaning as the cruel way they nailed our arms pulls at her shoulders. The only reason they haven’t dislocated and allowed us to finally die is the stake in our asses supporting our weight. But I still can’t look at her. How can I meet her in the afterlife now that I failed her even as we were dying? At this point I hope they dishonor our corpses. I’ve seen crucified couples tossed into separate trash pits. I saw a crucified couple once. The husband’s corpse was carefully placed between the legs of a dead, diseased whore thrown away at the same time. The wife went into the burial pit straddling a gladiator who died in the arena. All to keep the crucified couple from coming back together in the afterlife. I hope that happens to us. How could I face her for eternity?
I should have called down to her, to tell her I loved her . . .
Well, yeah! You should have! The poor thing is probably desperate for any loving attention right now. Get over your limp dick bub! Your wife needs you.
This is a change of style for you, Andy, not as gritty and brutal. I’m truly torn as to which I prefer.
Migoz2
Senator
The black and white images work better for me.
And I love the woman on the right in this one:
And I love the woman on the right in this one:
Cella
Spectator
Is it me, or are andyman's nails/spikes getting bigger?
They seem as long as some of the condemned women's forearms! 
Yikes! The nail is longer than the stipes is wide! I'm sure I'd pass out with fright seeing that at my crucifixion. Talk about inducing soul-shattering terror in the soon-to-be-crucified with those monster spikes! Driven all the way in, pushing apart bones and scraping raw flesh as they're pounded in centimeter by centimeter (or whatever is the Roman equivalent), is horror and agony beyond imagination for those poor bitches being nailed to their crosses.
Pounded all the way through, with the head tightly compressing the bones and flesh between it and the wood behind--wow! A gal has to feel pretty damn secure when she's hanging!
The spikes are so long, the executioners might have a problem.
"Shit! What the fuck! I can't pick up my end of the crossbeam." The winded executioner steadies himself on one knee and wipes the dripping sweat off his forehead. "That hammering was exhausting, especially in this heat. My arm is still aching."
"Yeah, can't raise my end either," says the other sweating executioner at his end of the screaming woman's crossbeam. They look at each other. This is just the first of five women they have to crucify today. Already they are tired. He gives another tug on his end of the crossbeam. It doesn't budge. He stands up, groans and stretches as the semi-crucified woman howls even louder. "As if this isn't hard enough on my aching back! But I think I know why we're having so much trouble."
"Uh? Why?"
"Think about it. The new nails as so long we not only nailed this bitch to the wood but also the fucking crossbeam to the ground."
"Wha-?"
"Yeah, must be at least six inches of spike coming out the back of the beam. It went right into this fucking stony ground." Exasperated, the executioner kicks the end of the crossbeam. It only makes the nailed woman scream all the louder, if such is even possible. "Fuck! Who's the asshole who wrote the specs for these new nails, anyhow? I don't see his ass out here wrestling with these cunts and swinging a hammer in this heat!"
"No wonder we're sweating so much. Damn! That was hard work."
"No shit. Now go get the crowbar. We gonna have to pry this crossbeam from the ground. Hurry up. Got four more of these bitches waiting."
"Um, sorry boss. No crowbar."
"The fuck you say! Why?"
"Ah, only the clean-up crew has a crowbar . . . to, um, you know, to pry the nails out after they're dead. Ain't never needed a crowbar at the beginning before."
Migoz2
Senator
I always love your augmentations, Marcella, but that is hilariously imaginative!Is it me, or are andyman's nails/spikes getting bigger?
View attachment 863321 They seem as long as some of the condemned women's forearms!
View attachment 863320 Yikes! The nail is longer than the stipes is wide! I'm sure I'd pass out with fright seeing that at my crucifixion.
Talk about inducing soul-shattering terror in the soon-to-be-crucified with those monster spikes! Driven all the way in, pushing apart bones and scraping raw flesh as they're pounded in centimeter by centimeter (or whatever is the Roman equivalent), is horror and agony beyond imagination for those poor bitches being nailed to their crosses.
Pounded all the way through, with the head tightly compressing the bones and flesh between it and the wood behind--wow! A gal has to feel pretty damn secure when she's hanging!
The spikes are so long, the executioners might have a problem.
"Shit! What the fuck! I can't pick up my end of the crossbeam." The winded executioner steadies himself on one knee and wipes the dripping sweat off his forehead. "That hammering was exhausting, especially in this heat. My arm is still aching."
"Yeah, can't raise my end either," says the other sweating executioner at his end of the screaming woman's crossbeam. They look at each other. This is just the first of five women they have to crucify today. Already they are tired. He gives another tug on his end of the crossbeam. It doesn't budge. He stands up, groans and stretches as the semi-crucified woman howls even louder. "As if this isn't hard enough on my aching back! But I think I know why we're having so much trouble."
"Uh? Why?"
"Think about it. The new nails as so long we not only nailed this bitch to the wood but also the fucking crossbeam to the ground."
"Wha-?"
"Yeah, must be at least six inches of spike coming out the back of the beam. It went right into this fucking stony ground." Exasperated, the executioner kicks the end of the crossbeam. It only makes the nailed woman scream all the louder, if such is even possible. "Fuck! Who's the asshole who wrote the specs for these new nails, anyhow? I don't see his ass out here wrestling with these cunts and swinging a hammer in this heat!"
"No wonder we're sweating so much. Damn! That was hard work."
"No shit. Now go get the crowbar. We gonna have to pry this crossbeam from the ground. Hurry up. Got four more of these bitches waiting."
"Um, sorry boss. No crowbar."
"The fuck you say! Why?"
"Ah, only the clean-up crew has a crowbar . . . to, um, you know, to pry the nails out after they're dead. Ain't never needed a crowbar at the beginning before."
Andyman
Senator
Sentenced to the cross, Margot spent a restless night, being raped by the soldiers one by one till they finally let her to fall asleep at three o'clock. At five she must be ready for her last short walk with her patibulum to the main city gate and long one to the top of Ravenhill, where the flocks of crows and vultures awaited her eagerly.
Attachments
Andyman
Senator
Just now I realized that the above scene corresponds perfectly with one of the old digital images / manipulations by some other author, "improved" by my with few birds and a skeleton, posted here long time ago. Let me remind it:
