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Some Sketches

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The delicate young condemned girl, who was so feared, humble and submissive that she even didn't try to resist the executors when being stripped and nailed, was considered a stupid coward and treated by them like a worthless slut.
“Can I buy you a drink, my Queen?”

I raise the wine-soaked sponge to the naked girl’s lips. She grabs the old, dirty thing and sucks noisily and greedily. I smile in satisfaction. They all go for the wine, thief and rebel and self-proclaimed “Queen” alike. So much for nobility.

She’s crucified on a low cross, with her feet just inches off the ground, so I take the opportunity to stroke the girl’s thigh, smooth and slick with her sweat. “A couple more of these, and maybe you’ll go home with me.” Someone behind me laughs.

“Some Queen you are,” She looks at me with sad, pained eyes, but she continues to suck on the sponge, stopping only to take in a ragged gasp. The wine stains her lips.

“Just look at these!” I cup a tiny breast with my free hand. “These aren’t the tits of a queen! They’re smaller than Gaius’s over there!”

I wrench the sponge away from her mouth and stride toward the old man crucified next to her. “Save some for your subjects, Your Majesty!”


Stumbling Seeker
According to the ancient Near Eastern sources, being tied to the tree and left to starve was perhaps one of the predecessors of the real crucifixion. And it was applied especially to the females.
Oh, someone is going to harvest her for his own use...

Awaiting their unevitable fate.
I love that,

what I see is ... I got a compassionate executioner, who's giving me time to mentally cope with my fate.

Instead of just slamming me down on the hurt-beam and pounding in the nails, he gives me enough time ...

to contemplate my patibulum,
... to move closer to it, touch it, accept it ...

... and he patiently waits until I find the strength in me to offer myself up,

... placing my hand to be fixed to the wood that will carry me up, up up and hold me and carry me finally beyond this tragic hopeless life.

... he looks me in the eye, and he understands, that what I'm asking for is not mercy, we are past that.

I'm asking for a bit more of that which he has been so generous in giving me -- patience -- so that I can muster the courage to close my fingers around the nail that lies so near, my nail, one of the death-nails, that will hold me, firm and unyielding ... I will feel its heavy weight and pointed sharpness, so clear in its purpose, and its coolness and texture. I will recognize His mercy in that it is a straight and clean nail, made for me to end upon, and not a crooked dirty one pulled from ... .... something rotting, decaying, something that is already, ... what I know ... I must be.

I would take it, caress it, and then, eyes locked, hand it to him.

I am ready, I hope you are too. Now don't hesitate and be quick.


The entertainment #2

I have heard similar sentiments from many long-time strippers I’ve worked with, interestingly enough. Most new dancers start out nervous and amazed that (mostly) men will actually pay to see them naked. After a while, that sense of self-doubt and “am I really worth it?” morphs and evolves. First, it hits a sweet spot of confidence and participation in the fantasy world of dancing, but after a while the girls actively begin to have contempt for their customers. They loathe the men whose money they take, and they hate other women who look down on them for what they do.

When I start to see these attitudes in a girl, I tend to start encouraging her to take a break from dancing. Since I am part of the industry, but still a man, I can be a bridge between the psychologically corrosive universe of the club and the real world. Some girls take my advice, leave for a while, and come back to dancing (often part-time) refreshed and with a better grounding. Some leave and never come back to dancing. Some do not leave, either because they don’t have the means/opportunity to leave or because they can’t break the mental cycle. These girls, sadly, almost always start a spiral of self-destructive behavior.

I could see a crucified woman similarly hating the people who come to gawk at her. I like some of the stories published here where women try to shout back at their tormentors. It never ends well for them, as the crowd has the ultimate comeback line, “Remind me again which one of us is naked on a cross?”
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The involuntary temptress.
When young Publius Marcus Magnus Secundus, a son of a praetor, fell in love in this poor girl, instead of a daughter of the consul, thus threatening far-reaching plans of both families, her fate was sealed. The cify praefactus was called by the consul to pay him visit in private and received the classified instructions. Within a week the father of an involuntary temptress was in prison and his property was sold, including his daughter. She was sold to one of the uncles of the Marcus Magnus Secundus and immediately crucified for some imagined reason...


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