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They just flicked his penis with a whip, and he didn't seem to respond. My heart is beating hard. They're coming for me. They make me stand, then three of them together lift the heavy stopes from its place and lay it on the ground. They yank my gown from my hips and make me lie back on it naked, arms still tied out to the patibulum. I can see one of them slapping, whipping, and punching the murderer on the cross as others bind my crossbeam to the stipes. My heart is beating harder. There is nothing I can do.

Now they're tying my ankles together. I'm slightly relieved to have my legs closed, and yet having them tied together so tightly somehow feels just as humiliating. They cinch the knot tight, then bind my ankles to the stipes.

Now I can't move. My arms are stretched across the patibulum, my legs along the stipes. I am naked. I can't move.

The murderer just gasped again, much to the soldiers' chagrin. I am hardly relieved. It feels worse to wait.
 
So here I go spewing undeveloped thoughts again, but I do find it erotic... We're very accustomed to talking about death being natural, and how everybody has "their time." Whether or not you believe that, it's a very normal, natural way for our society to deal with it. Maybe it's not THAT different for a society like the one I'm imagining to think that every slave has his or her "time." And when it's time, you take the patibulum on your shoulders, follow the soldiers to the street, take off your clothes, and lie down to be crucified. Why fight it? It's natural. It's how slaves die when their time has come.
Certainly people were more fatalistic before modern medicine. Infants died. Women died in childbirth. Infectious diseases killed people. There were accidents. Death was all around, and normal. That's one reason people had large families.
 
I was within sight of Antioch when my wagon's axel cracked, and I had to wait up on the hill overlooking the city with my wares while my slave ran on foot to buy the supplies necessary to fix the wagon. It was an open area, and easily within earshot of the soldiers at the gate of the city below, so I was not terribly concerned about being robbed. With nothing else to do, I watched the many people coming and going through the gate.

When I had been watching for at least a quarter of an hour, I saw four soldiers emerge from the gate around a man carrying a cross, and my interest became somewhat less detached than it had been. At first I thought he must have been a Nazarite, because his hair went halfway down his back, but when they relieved him of his burden and his head no longer faced the ground under the weight, I saw he had no beard, and I wondered if perhaps it was actually a woman. Soon a soldier stepped behind the prisoner and pulled the cloak from his shoulders - or from hers. The condemned figure kept its hands to its face as the soldier folded the robe and set it down, increasing my suspicion that it was a woman. Next the soldier stepped up behind her again and tore the tunic apart at the collar, yanking it down and off of her body. She wore no loincloth, and even from my distance, her female breasts and round hips were clear. She was a woman. I wished I could leave my wagon for a closer view!

When she was naked, she fell to her knees and clasped her hands before the lead soldier, pleading. Did she really think he would let her go without crucifying her? Then I thought of her kneeling there naked by the main road for all to see, her cross lying inches away, knowing she was moments away from being nailed to it. I suppose I had a strange shot of pity go through me for a moment. But then I realized she had made her choices, and now she was about to be punished. She deserved it.

Of course the soldiers ignored her pleas, and soon had shoved her down onto the cross. I saw the hammer come down, and after a moment I heard the clank of it hitting the nail. This was followed closely by a scream of agony. This was repeated until she was nailed to her crossbeam.

Next I watched in fascination as the soldiers drew ropes through eyelets and pulleys, threading and hauling until the woman was dragged to her feet momentarily, then hoisted off the ground, against the stipes. They were so good at it! So efficient! The whole operation, from when they first appeared through the gate, to when they had finished crucifying her by nailing her feet to either side of the stipes, took less than 10 minutes, I'm sure. Then they left her there to die.

When my slave finally returned and we fixed the wagon and reached the gate ourselves, I paused to look at the crucified woman. She must have been truly beautiful when she was young. Even now, with the creases of middle age around her eyes, her face was elegant, and she had a certain air of dignity even as she hung there on the cross. Of course in the circumstances, the contrast between the dignity in her face and the nakedness of her body as she hung there, nailed to the cross, legs parted on either side of the stipes, arms outspread, only served to make her seem all the more humiliated and degraded. She went back and forth constantly between moaning and all-out weeping and sobbing. Even while we stood there looking at her, she peed in front of everyone. I chuckled. If she was enjoying it, it wouldn't be punishment!
 
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Hi everybody - I don't get to spend much time here on CF, which is a real pity. And I'm very paranoid about any of my writing being discovered or linked to me in real life, so I don't really write when I'm offline.

I'm not trying to make you paranoid here but I was stalked by a guy at work AFTER he recognized my online writing style (both in stories and comments) and made the connection to my WORK presentations. We were both part of the same Yahoo crux group (since defunct), worked for the same company in the same building on the same floor for god's sake.

It was a harrowing experience and thankfully the full story never came out at work (he was fired for harassing several women but apparently didn't reveal WHY he was harassing me).

But the lesson I learned is you are who you are. And while the rest of the world may not understand you, you can not run far enough and fast enough to get away from yourself.

So if writing makes you happy, do it. Happiness is worth more than all the money in the world.

I mean is HR had called me in and said "Mr. Jerk said he met you in an online group that likes to torture and crucify naked women. What do you say to that?"

"Really? That's kind of delusional and messed up don't you think? Did you recommend that he should get some counselling?"

"Well we looked up the group and it exists."

"Really??? Did you see my name in the group?"

"No, he claimed you go by the name "Willowfall" in the group."

"Hmmm ..... and you beleive him? Maybe he's not the only one that needs counselling."

kisses

willowfall
 
I'm not trying to make you paranoid here but I was stalked by a guy at work AFTER he recognized my online writing style (both in stories and comments) and made the connection to my WORK presentations. We were both part of the same Yahoo crux group (since defunct), worked for the same company in the same building on the same floor for god's sake.

It was a harrowing experience and thankfully the full story never came out at work (he was fired for harassing several women but apparently didn't reveal WHY he was harassing me).

But the lesson I learned is you are who you are. And while the rest of the world may not understand you, you can not run far enough and fast enough to get away from yourself.

So if writing makes you happy, do it. Happiness is worth more than all the money in the world.

I mean is HR had called me in and said "Mr. Jerk said he met you in an online group that likes to torture and crucify naked women. What do you say to that?"

"Really? That's kind of delusional and messed up don't you think? Did you recommend that he should get some counselling?"

"Well we looked up the group and it exists."

"Really??? Did you see my name in the group?"

"No, he claimed you go by the name "Willowfall" in the group."

"Hmmm ..... and you beleive him? Maybe he's not the only one that needs counselling."

kisses

willowfall
There's ONLY one person on this forum who has met me in real life.... our secret is safe.
 
I'm not trying to make you paranoid here but I was stalked by a guy at work AFTER he recognized my online writing style (both in stories and comments) and made the connection to my WORK presentations. We were both part of the same Yahoo crux group (since defunct), worked for the same company in the same building on the same floor for god's sake.
Maybe it was risky to let your work reports and presentations end with 'kisses'.:eek::doh::facepalm:
(joking of course, it's very sympathetic).;)

Actually, it could indeed be that we leave personal syntax fingerprints in our stories, like in all written works we produce.
 
Maybe it was risky to let your work reports and presentations end with 'kisses'.:eek::doh::facepalm:
(joking of course, it's very sympathetic).;)

Actually, it could indeed be that we leave personal syntax fingerprints in our stories, like in all written works we produce.

I have been told for a long time that I write like I speak. I had a friend who told me every time she read one of my emails or presentations she could hear my voice.

And they only ended in kisses if I was seriously interested in the recipient.

kisses

willowfall
 
I have been told for a long time that I write like I speak. I had a friend who told me every time she read one of my emails or presentations she could hear my voice.

And they only ended in kisses if I was seriously interested in the recipient.

kisses

willowfall

There is something to that. I have been told the same. Your workplace story gives me the jitters.
 
There is something to that. I have been told the same. Your workplace story gives me the jitters.

It was a one in a million happenstance. It happened when I was working in upstate NY. NY has a population of around 18 million people so the odds were pretty overwhelming against it happening.

The worst part is that I was pretty powerless to oppose him. I mean I couldn't go to HR and say why he was harassing. Him sticking his head in my cubical and saying "I want to nail you to a cross." doesn't exactly fall under a no sexual harassment policy.

If he had tried anything stupid I can handle myself (thanks to my brothers) and if he had done something to me he would have had a short painful existence after that (again thanks to my brothers).

But it did make me back away from the group for a while.

That's one of the reasons I have a no identifying personal information or pictures policy with my internet actions.

kisses

willowfall
 
If he had tried anything stupid I can handle myself (thanks to my brothers) and if he had done something to me he would have had a short painful existence after that (again thanks to my brothers).

I think I would like to have brothers like yours ;)
 
She was sitting on a low stone wall by the side of the road when I passed by. She was naked, her tunic flung ignominiously on the rough turf a few paces away, where two of the soldiers were preparing her cross. They had probably stripped her not long before I came around the bend. The other two kicked the ground aimlessly, wandering in tiny circles nearby, able to stop her if she had tried to get up and run, but otherwise bored and useless. She held her knees tightly together, her hands gripping the stones on either side, staring at her bare feet, it seemed to me, and bouncing her feet just slightly in front of her, digging her toes in the dust, waiting.

Then she looked up at me - looked right in my eyes. It startled me a little, and I gave her a nod of acknowledgment. Then she looked back down. I wanted to get away from her. A nod? The nod hasn't felt right.

I wondered what she had done. I could see no titulus, and it crossed my mind to wonder if these men had any business nailing this girl to a cross. It was hard to tell for sure from the front, but as best as I could tell, they hadn't bothered to whip her. She would hang for a long time before she died.

And there she was, just waiting. She probably felt no pain just then. Being naked, she probably was more comfortable tan I was under the summer sun. But I knew that before I even reached the city gate just ahead, they would be pounding nails through her wrists. She was on the edge of a kind of torture we, the living, cannot even imagine. Sitting there naked. Waiting.
 
Julius was shoved into a holding cell with a young woman, probably about his age. She lounged in boredom on the straw floor, her back in the corner between the back stone wall and the iron bars separating the cell from the next. She rested one elbow on the bars and casually nibbled at a piece of straw. Julius paced for a few minutes in frustration, barely noticing her, then slumped to the ground in the opposite corner to put his face in his hands.

“What did you do?” she asked. It took Julius a moment to realize she had spoken, and he was not eager to converse, but at last he looked up and responded.

“Got in with the wrong crowd.” She looked toward something else for a few moments, and his answer seemed to satisfy her at first. But after a while, she spoke again.

“What’s the sentence?”

He looked up, annoyed. “Don’t know yet. Probably 10 or 20. So stupid.” His face was back in his hands.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, almost smirking, but not quite. “I’ve had 35 before.”

“Well you’re probably a slave,” he was upset and curt. “I’m not. I’m not the sort that goes around being beaten. I’m from a respectable family.”

Again, she took a long time to respond, and almost didn’t seem interested.

“My grandfather was a king,” she said at last.

“A barbarian king, I’m sure.”

“Yes...”

“Well what are you here for?”

“Crucifixion.”

Julius looked up, surprised, and suddenly ashamed of himself. “Really?” She only looked down. “When?”

“Why? You want to come watch?” In a strange way, she seemed to enjoy his shock.

“No! No, I just...” by this time his hands were down, and he had begun unconsciously moving very slowly toward her. “It’s just, hard to imagine, I suppose... Do you have long?”

“In the morning,” she said.
 
Julius was shoved into a holding cell with a young woman, probably about his age. She lounged in boredom on the straw floor, her back in the corner between the back stone wall and the iron bars separating the cell from the next. She rested one elbow on the bars and casually nibbled at a piece of straw. Julius paced for a few minutes in frustration, barely noticing her, then slumped to the ground in the opposite corner to put his face in his hands.

“What did you do?” she asked. It took Julius a moment to realize she had spoken, and he was not eager to converse, but at last he looked up and responded.

“Got in with the wrong crowd.” She looked toward something else for a few moments, and his answer seemed to satisfy her at first. But after a while, she spoke again.

“What’s the sentence?”

He looked up, annoyed. “Don’t know yet. Probably 10 or 20. So stupid.” His face was back in his hands.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said, almost smirking, but not quite. “I’ve had 35 before.”

“Well you’re probably a slave,” he was upset and curt. “I’m not. I’m not the sort that goes around being beaten. I’m from a respectable family.”

Again, she took a long time to respond, and almost didn’t seem interested.

“My grandfather was a king,” she said at last.

“A barbarian king, I’m sure.”

“Yes...”

“Well what are you here for?”

“Crucifixion.”

Julius looked up, surprised, and suddenly ashamed of himself. “Really?” She only looked down. “When?”

“Why? You want to come watch?” In a strange way, she seemed to enjoy his shock.

“No! No, I just...” by this time his hands were down, and he had begun unconsciously moving very slowly toward her. “It’s just, hard to imagine, I suppose... Do you have long?”

“In the morning,” she said.
I really love this fragment! I'm impressed by the generosity and indifference to life and death of the woman about to be crucified, and I have to say that in a few short sentences this very different character has been successfully portrayed. If you have time I hope to see the follow-up to this story please, I hope she can take her pride to leave this world. :)
 
Ok, Ruoliuming - you pushed me over the edge. :) Here’s a part 2:

They came for Julius just an hour later, around sunset, and he took his ten lashes in the privacy of the barracks courtyard. That night he hardly slept. Every movement stung his back, but more than that, he was haunted by the thought of the barbarian princess with whom he’d shared a cell. This was her last night on earth. Tomorrow she would be raised up on display, never to return.

When he finally did fall asleep, he stayed asleep until late in the morning, so by the time he had risen, eaten, and made his way to the gate, the barbarian girl was already crucified. There she hung, naked and bleeding, her head bent downward, her face a grimace of concentration, as if she were studying her own inward agony to forget her outward shame. It looked to Julius as if she had taken several times as many lashes as he had, and semen dribbled from her exposed vagina.

“So you did come to watch!” she spat, straining to lift herself and exhale. Julius didn’t know what to say.

“No...” he said softly.

“And How was your whipping?” she asked, again with great effort, then slumped back down to hang. Julius just stared at her, unable to deal with his own thoughts and feelings. After a while, the girl made the enormous, wincing effort to speak again, apparently for no other reason than to end the awkward silence. “Well, here I am. Is it everything you hoped for?”

Julius still couldn’t find words. He wanted to apologize - but for what?

“Well,” she spoke again, grimacing hard in the middle, “you can always come back later - I’ll be here a few days.” Julius shook his head, trying to tell her she didn’t understand, and that he felt bad for her. “Or you can stand there a while, and you might get to see me piss.”
 
Ok, Ruoliuming - you pushed me over the edge. :) Here’s a part 2:

They came for Julius just an hour later, around sunset, and he took his ten lashes in the privacy of the barracks courtyard. That night he hardly slept. Every movement stung his back, but more than that, he was haunted by the thought of the barbarian princess with whom he’d shared a cell. This was her last night on earth. Tomorrow she would be raised up on display, never to return.

When he finally did fall asleep, he stayed asleep until late in the morning, so by the time he had risen, eaten, and made his way to the gate, the barbarian girl was already crucified. There she hung, naked and bleeding, her head bent downward, her face a grimace of concentration, as if she were studying her own inward agony to forget her outward shame. It looked to Julius as if she had taken several times as many lashes as he had, and semen dribbled from her exposed vagina.

“So you did come to watch!” she spat, straining to lift herself and exhale. Julius didn’t know what to say.

“No...” he said softly.

“And How was your whipping?” she asked, again with great effort, then slumped back down to hang. Julius just stared at her, unable to deal with his own thoughts and feelings. After a while, the girl made the enormous, wincing effort to speak again, apparently for no other reason than to end the awkward silence. “Well, here I am. Is it everything you hoped for?”

Julius still couldn’t find words. He wanted to apologize - but for what?

“Well,” she spoke again, grimacing hard in the middle, “you can always come back later - I’ll be here a few days.” Julius shook his head, trying to tell her she didn’t understand, and that he felt bad for her. “Or you can stand there a while, and you might get to see me piss.”
Sorry, I hope I'm not bothering you and thank you so much for writing this! To be honest, this girl is my favorite type in all novels (including reality), although her crucifixion was painful, but she overcame death. I am very glad that you gave her an optimistic ending! :clap:
 
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