There's been a good bit of discussion on several threads lately about what might happen to a girl in the hours before she's crucified - stripping, scourging, rape etc. - so I'll post again something I wrote a good while ago, it's got buried in the depths of the forums and even I can't find it now!
Stage 1: Arrest and Torture
When I'm arrested, as I'm a slave, Torture is routine, indeed compulsory – my testimony won't be accepted in Court unless it's been extracted from me under Torture. So, boys, you'll have to torture me!
Stripping and scourging are the usual starter – as a slave-girl, I'm well used to being whipped, but my first taste of the Scourge will be something to savour! Best not to rip my back to ribbons at this stage, though – half a dozen lashes each on my shoulders and bum will be enough to give me a taste of this new pain – oh, and a couple or three across my breasts too!
Then to the Torture Chamber, where your fecund imagination can devise all kinds of ingenious torment. You won't want to risk killing or crippling me, so you'll take it easy. You're in no hurry. Repeated visits to the Chamber, night after night, will give my wounds time to fester, my bruises to swell, my aching muscles to grow stiff. And I'll know that each time it will get a little worse, a little more refined and ingenious, a little more exquisitely painful...
My favourite techniques involve my body being stretched – the eculus (Little Horse), a kind of rack on which I'm alternately jerked up sharply by my wrists and ankles and dropped on my back, will test my youthful frame to its limits, and it'll be good vigorous exercise for me in preparation for the Cross! And after a few sessions of this, when my arms, flanks and thighs are aching from the repeated strain, you can exacerbate my agony by tearing my tortured muscles with sharp, red-hot, hooks. Again I don't expect my breasts to escape your attention!
I'll put up a good fight, I promise. But of course you'll win, you'll break me. When I've betrayed all my friends, yielded up all my secrets, and confessed to all the crimes you want to charge me with, you'll take me to the Magistrates for Trial. That's a formality – I'll just repeat the confession that you've made me learn, and receive my dreadful sentence: ad Crucem damnata! I quiver at the thought of hearing those terrible words...
Stage 2: After Sentencing
Once I'm condemned, I'll be entirely at your mercy, the only constraint on what you do to me is you must keep me alive and fit to endure my final ordeal on the Cross.
I know I'll be raped, that's necessary to make sure you don't commit the offence of executing a virgin. Will you consign me to a stint in the brothel by the barracks gate? As I'm a dancing-girl, you can make me entertain the punters – when word gets round, there'll be plenty of them, and they'll be free to use me in whatever ways they please. You'll probably enjoy other ways of mocking and humiliating me too, I leave it to your creative minds!
Stage 3: Softening Up
The night before my Execution, you'll make sure my body's utterly receptive to the pain that's to come – a final invigorating bout of rape, a strong dose of pain-enhancing stimulant herbs.
Scourging's traditional, in the barracks square after evening parade, so the whole cohort can enjoy the show. Enough lashes this time to make my body raw and bloody, but not so many that you over-weaken me. I'll be able to take at least the standard ration – 39 lashes – if you spread them over my shoulders, ribs, buttocks, loins and thighs, half a dozen or so across my tits, the odd flick or three lower down....
And a hot iron in my vagina will make me squeal deliciously and prepare me nicely for the cornu! You'll have to be careful, though – make it hot enough to really hurt and make my sex inflamed and ultra-sensitive, but not so burning that it numbs me.
Stage 4: Via Crucis
The long, slow march to the Place of Execution, with the patibulum bound across my shoulders, will be a cruel ordeal. You'll whip me and goad me. When I stumble, I won't be able to get up without help, and you won't give me that until you've thrashed me. And there'll be jeers and laughter from the crowd – I hope you'll have my Execution well-publicised, so all the city knows there's a pretty crucifixura on her way!
Stage 5: Crucifixion
When we get to the Place of Execution, I've seen how the little ritual is performed, slowly and methodically. With the patibulum off my back, you'll make me stand, repeat my confession, and hear my sentence read once more. Then you'll hand me over to the Execution Squad. If they'll let me, I'll strip myself of whatever blood-soaked rags I'm still wearing, but I expect the men will want to do it, and I'll co-operate if they do – either way, it'll be a nice feeling.
Let me have a few moments just to stand there while the crowd enjoy my nakedness and I prepare myself for what's about to happen. Then you can lay me stretched out on the Cross and strap me down - ah! that moment when I'll know my bare feet will never feel the earth again...
The nailing, with slow, rhythmic hammer-blows will be, of course, the high spot of the performance. I'll put on a good spectacle with my shrieks and helpless writhing. When the nails are firmly fixed through my wrists and ankles, and you've fitted the cornu between my legs, pushing the Spike just a little way into my pussy, you'll pause and enjoy the sight of me helpless, sweating, shuddering. You can drive home my utter wretchedness and humiliation by urinating over me.
And perhaps, at this point, you'll inflict additional cruelties, to punish me for any little acts of disobedience, impudence or resistance while I've been in captivity? Tearing out my tongue, mutilating my breasts? A very, very cruel thing you could do would be to slice off my eyelids – then I won't be able to blink, and as I hang on the Cross the sun will burn my eyes slowly and painfully blind.
Stage 6: On the Cross
Once I'm on the Cross, you can rely on me to torture myself, constantly struggling to balance the unbearable loads of pain in my wrists, arms and shoulders, my ankles and legs, my genitals on the Spike, while the heat of the sun, biting insects and maddening thirst all drive me to frenzy.
Yet, of course, my stretched-out nakedness will remain a tempting target for your attentions. You'll have your whips, hot irons and tearing hooks at the ready to make sure the spectators don't get bored - and if I show any signs of fainting or even of coming to terms with my terrible situation, you'll make sure my agony is renewed by holding blazing torches under my armpits. So you'll do your best to keep me alert and in agony throughout the long, long hours – even days – until the vultures come to feed on my still-throbbing flesh...
What you'll do to me
Stage 1: Arrest and Torture
When I'm arrested, as I'm a slave, Torture is routine, indeed compulsory – my testimony won't be accepted in Court unless it's been extracted from me under Torture. So, boys, you'll have to torture me!
Stripping and scourging are the usual starter – as a slave-girl, I'm well used to being whipped, but my first taste of the Scourge will be something to savour! Best not to rip my back to ribbons at this stage, though – half a dozen lashes each on my shoulders and bum will be enough to give me a taste of this new pain – oh, and a couple or three across my breasts too!
Then to the Torture Chamber, where your fecund imagination can devise all kinds of ingenious torment. You won't want to risk killing or crippling me, so you'll take it easy. You're in no hurry. Repeated visits to the Chamber, night after night, will give my wounds time to fester, my bruises to swell, my aching muscles to grow stiff. And I'll know that each time it will get a little worse, a little more refined and ingenious, a little more exquisitely painful...
My favourite techniques involve my body being stretched – the eculus (Little Horse), a kind of rack on which I'm alternately jerked up sharply by my wrists and ankles and dropped on my back, will test my youthful frame to its limits, and it'll be good vigorous exercise for me in preparation for the Cross! And after a few sessions of this, when my arms, flanks and thighs are aching from the repeated strain, you can exacerbate my agony by tearing my tortured muscles with sharp, red-hot, hooks. Again I don't expect my breasts to escape your attention!
I'll put up a good fight, I promise. But of course you'll win, you'll break me. When I've betrayed all my friends, yielded up all my secrets, and confessed to all the crimes you want to charge me with, you'll take me to the Magistrates for Trial. That's a formality – I'll just repeat the confession that you've made me learn, and receive my dreadful sentence: ad Crucem damnata! I quiver at the thought of hearing those terrible words...
Stage 2: After Sentencing
Once I'm condemned, I'll be entirely at your mercy, the only constraint on what you do to me is you must keep me alive and fit to endure my final ordeal on the Cross.
I know I'll be raped, that's necessary to make sure you don't commit the offence of executing a virgin. Will you consign me to a stint in the brothel by the barracks gate? As I'm a dancing-girl, you can make me entertain the punters – when word gets round, there'll be plenty of them, and they'll be free to use me in whatever ways they please. You'll probably enjoy other ways of mocking and humiliating me too, I leave it to your creative minds!
Stage 3: Softening Up
The night before my Execution, you'll make sure my body's utterly receptive to the pain that's to come – a final invigorating bout of rape, a strong dose of pain-enhancing stimulant herbs.
Scourging's traditional, in the barracks square after evening parade, so the whole cohort can enjoy the show. Enough lashes this time to make my body raw and bloody, but not so many that you over-weaken me. I'll be able to take at least the standard ration – 39 lashes – if you spread them over my shoulders, ribs, buttocks, loins and thighs, half a dozen or so across my tits, the odd flick or three lower down....
And a hot iron in my vagina will make me squeal deliciously and prepare me nicely for the cornu! You'll have to be careful, though – make it hot enough to really hurt and make my sex inflamed and ultra-sensitive, but not so burning that it numbs me.
Stage 4: Via Crucis
The long, slow march to the Place of Execution, with the patibulum bound across my shoulders, will be a cruel ordeal. You'll whip me and goad me. When I stumble, I won't be able to get up without help, and you won't give me that until you've thrashed me. And there'll be jeers and laughter from the crowd – I hope you'll have my Execution well-publicised, so all the city knows there's a pretty crucifixura on her way!
Stage 5: Crucifixion
When we get to the Place of Execution, I've seen how the little ritual is performed, slowly and methodically. With the patibulum off my back, you'll make me stand, repeat my confession, and hear my sentence read once more. Then you'll hand me over to the Execution Squad. If they'll let me, I'll strip myself of whatever blood-soaked rags I'm still wearing, but I expect the men will want to do it, and I'll co-operate if they do – either way, it'll be a nice feeling.
Let me have a few moments just to stand there while the crowd enjoy my nakedness and I prepare myself for what's about to happen. Then you can lay me stretched out on the Cross and strap me down - ah! that moment when I'll know my bare feet will never feel the earth again...
The nailing, with slow, rhythmic hammer-blows will be, of course, the high spot of the performance. I'll put on a good spectacle with my shrieks and helpless writhing. When the nails are firmly fixed through my wrists and ankles, and you've fitted the cornu between my legs, pushing the Spike just a little way into my pussy, you'll pause and enjoy the sight of me helpless, sweating, shuddering. You can drive home my utter wretchedness and humiliation by urinating over me.
And perhaps, at this point, you'll inflict additional cruelties, to punish me for any little acts of disobedience, impudence or resistance while I've been in captivity? Tearing out my tongue, mutilating my breasts? A very, very cruel thing you could do would be to slice off my eyelids – then I won't be able to blink, and as I hang on the Cross the sun will burn my eyes slowly and painfully blind.
Stage 6: On the Cross
Once I'm on the Cross, you can rely on me to torture myself, constantly struggling to balance the unbearable loads of pain in my wrists, arms and shoulders, my ankles and legs, my genitals on the Spike, while the heat of the sun, biting insects and maddening thirst all drive me to frenzy.
Yet, of course, my stretched-out nakedness will remain a tempting target for your attentions. You'll have your whips, hot irons and tearing hooks at the ready to make sure the spectators don't get bored - and if I show any signs of fainting or even of coming to terms with my terrible situation, you'll make sure my agony is renewed by holding blazing torches under my armpits. So you'll do your best to keep me alert and in agony throughout the long, long hours – even days – until the vultures come to feed on my still-throbbing flesh...
I'd be exhausted just getting you to the cross! Hell, you'd probably wear out a team of executioners! Too many of your kind and I might have to apply for a workplace disability!
thanks. X
