JustJJ
Governor
I sat down to write and this happened. It's not a complete story, just after this unnamed character is nailed to the Patibulum, but I wanted to share it anyway.
After the nails
By JudithJesus
The hilarity in her desperate, futile struggle to endure the unendurable made the soldiers laugh. Tugging at the nails brought pain, but it was instinctual to pull the outstretched arms back to cover oneself in the fetal, protective position. So it was that she rolled and shuddered and screamed and tears were dripping all into her ears and matted hair, unable to stop moving and unable to stop reacting, even though some distant part of her situational awareness beyond the unbearable pain knew she was only making it worse. But rather than almost immediately pulling her up to the stipes as expected, it seemed that she was not of interest to the soldiers. She had a moment to blink at the sun and feel sick with horror at the blood pooling under her wrists. Hysteric breathing took the place of the tears when she finally pulled herself out of the fevered floods of pain and held still.
It was impossible to endure the pain, but she gritted her teeth hard, unable to even fathom the hope that perhaps they’d left her alone here to die, instead of crucifying her.
Sounds of returning footsteps made her jump in terror, which in turn made an enraged yell escape her lungs as movement sent shocks of pain through her arms and jolted at her back. She felt her legs being lifted, and then she was roughly dropped, bruising her tailbone on a rock they’d rolled under her. This left her cunt exposed, and her legs spread, and her already-nailed hands could do nothing about it. A young soldier looked at several whips before handing a Cat-o’-nine tails to an older, more cruel-looking soldier. This landed with such force on her pussy that she howled in despair. But, to her astonishment, her ankles were free and she put her legs together to protect her already-tortured pussy. The soldier smiled. “I love it when they try to use some kind of control. You can do nothing about what I want to do to you, girl.”
He began viciously whipping the outside of her closed legs, not neglecting her buttocks, and yelled over the sound of lashes that she’d better open her legs.
The girl had no strength to protest, and took a few more lashes before letting her legs spread open.
“That’s better, slut. Die with respect for those with the power to kill you.”
She closed her eyes, shaking with fear as he ran the whip between her legs slowly, letting her feel the hardened leather softly on her sensitive lips, tickling her shaved mons. She knew he was waiting for her to let her guard down, but there was no chance she could relax her muscles or not be on high alert with the amount of pain she was in. The whip whistled through the air. She screamed and heard laughter – he’d taken advantage of her closed eyes and used the sound to scare her. Before she could register what had just happened, her guard had dropped and the lashes came hard, and she closed her legs again, and he whipped all outside of her legs until she opened them and was too defeated to close them anymore. The last time she weakly lifted her knees in defense, the soldier beckoned to two strong young men who held her ankles in place. He left about a dozen more lashes, and her cunt was bruised and bleeding and covered in white and scarlet welts. Then he dismissed the other soldiers and said, “You won’t fight now, girl.” And he raped her weakened, tortured body until his cum mixed with the sweat and blood covering her body and glistening in the sun.
Finally, the rock was kicked out from under her and she landed hard on the desolate gravel. She hardly had time to gasp when two soldiers lifted the patibulum on either end and lifted it onto the stipes. The dance had started before they’d even finished crucifying her. With relentless pain shooting down her arms and making her stomach and ribs cramp from the stress, she tried to find a foothold, but her bare and tired feet only scraped against the rough wood. She tried wrapping her legs around the stipes briefly, not caring about her exposed sex, but it was no good. She tried to push against the flats of her feet, again to no avail. Air filled her lungs and she could not exhale, and her eyes widened in the terror of suffocating, and she yelled weakly, her whole body now flailing against the cross like a fish out of water. Only a minute or so had passed when she collapsed, letting the full weight fall on her pierced wrists, and it seemed like an eternity of indescribable agony before she felt soldiers surrounding her, lifting her legs for a little sweet relief.
But she had hardly breathed before more pain, unexpected in her delirium, shot through her right foot, and then her left. They’d placed each foot on either end of the stipes, spreading her wide for display. The hands left her knees and ankles, and she was on her own to suffer, hanging by four nail wounds.
The dance has been described many times, and she wailed openly as each movement failed to reduce the pain or give any comfortable position whatsoever. She was hovering above the ground, and it spun beneath her. Her mind kept saying, “sit down, get down, lay down, breathe, relax,” but she had no ability to listen to the needs of her own body. She could only strain up, down, trying to push her ass against the cross for support, shifting her weight ever so slightly between her upper and lower body, but finding no way to, even for a moment, stop the muscles in her entire body from straining to hold her up.
She pushed against the nails in her feet, and tried to use her back for leverage, but cried out when she remembered that this would only scrape what little skin she had left on her back against the rough wood. How long does it take to die like this? The words could hardly form themselves between gasps and cries, and looking down at herself only made her feel dizzy from the sight of her own blood, her own naked body, the faraway and taunting earth beneath her. She longed for an end, and started begging for someone to kill her with sputtering words, yet it had been less than ten minutes since she’d been nailed.
The dance progressed more slowly as she weakened further. As she pulled herself up once again to support herself with her upper body, a new pain spread through her abdomen and expanded almost instantly down through her thighs and knees, up toward her chest. Cramps. It was like her entire bloodflow was tapping out, giving up on her. But she had no choice but to struggle and lift herself up. There was no rest, no stopping for breath, no breaks, not even water. This pain was so intense that it would be difficult to endure if resting on a soft bed, sipping spoonfuls of water. In her confusion, this image made her feel more thirsty, and she lurched up with parched lips and urinated. The warm liquid made her feel all the more wretched and disgusting.
She looked over at her nailed wrists, and it occurred to her that they would never be free again. This would be the position she would die in. This was the rest of her life, this constant pain, this ever-increasing pain.
Nobody deserves to die like this. I don’t deserve to die like this. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, these thoughts were pounding distantly through waves of throbbing in her underhydrated head and resonating in the searing pain of the cramps, never overpowering but only compounding the constant pull of the nail wounds. She hung her head, giving her a disgustingly short moment of rest from holding it up. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Even that level of understanding and compassion in her traumatized heart was not enough to save her from the torment.
Squatting made her all the more exposed, but it didn’t matter who saw anymore what her beaten and fucked cunt looked like. It put a terrible strain on her shoulders, and sent incredible pain through her nailed feet, but it allowed for at least a change in position. The sun had dried up her blood, except for the slow trickle down each arm that slowly added fresh blood to the already-dried stream that fell down her torso. Even without the pain, just trying to stay up on a cross would make any trained athlete sweat from the effort. Her young body was drenched, and soon she was panting with exertion and thirst. With this thought wandering through her exhausted mind, she dissociated just enough to forget her thirst for a moment before being called back to the need to exhale, and she pushed against the nails in her feet, yelping and shaking uncontrollably, to pull herself up again.
Perhaps she would have had an appetite if her stomach didn’t feel like it had been filled with rocks to add weight to her ordeal. Several flies had begun feasting on her warm, wet pussy, and when she saw one crawl inside her and felt it climbing, she flew into a fresh frenzy of trying to close her legs, shake it out, steel her abdomen. But the fly continued to crawl inside her throbbing vulva, and she felt its little feet inside her tender, sore vagina. She screamed and beat her head against the cross, but this only brought more pain. Maybe I can kill myself this way, get it over with, she thought deliriously, and whacked even harder, making her head ring. This caught the attention of one of the soldiers, who came over and put his hand between her and the wood, blocking her from this self-destruction.
“You want it to be over?” He asked with a mocking tone. “We’ve hardly gotten started.” And with one hand keeping her from the release of numbing or breaking her skull, he slid the other hand easily down to her exposed sex. A finger began caressing her clit, with slow movements. She flailed and fought, but it was a weak effort. Like an invalid try to get out of bed, with no strength left to hold themselves up, was this poor victim’s attempt at fighting the molestation. The pain didn’t decrease at all as he slowly built her orgasm up, keeping her on the edge and then intensifying the build, making her moan and squirm and shout livid demands that he leave her alone. Just before she felt like she could not build anymore without cumming, he took his hand away, forcing her to drop without release. Then he grinned an evil grin and waited for her to push herself back up to exhale. In that moment, he bolted a cornu beneath her so she’d find it as soon as she lost the capacity to hold herself up.
She shifted her weight, and her tailbone hit the cornu hard. Now she had four options on where to position herself – the small of her back, forcing her whole body forward, pulling against the nails, her taint, her asshole, and her pussy. With newfound rage, she screamed, “I don’t want to die slower! Take it away, let me die!”
But the soldier laughed. “You haven’t cum yet, girl. Don’t you want release?”
She did, but there was no pleasure when her whole body was a cacophony of pain. As soon as she accepted the cornu into her cunt, she sobbed at the way it stabbed deep into her gut, prodding at the steadily increasing pain of the cramps. Now shifting her weight meant fucking herself, and resting on her taint meant her death was further delayed. She tried to move slowly, to avoid the arousal that would satisfy the soldier still watching her. But the slower she moved, the harder it was to breathe, and she panted, both sides now aching as if she’d been running for a long time. She let her eyes roll back and squeezed them tight, lifting and breathing, fucking herself, moaning. It seemed like every muscle in her body was already so tightened, there was no way to tighten them more as she built up her orgasm, but it was possible. She gritted her teeth, fueled by spite for her situation more than anything, and fucked herself harder. Then she was grinding, letting the wide cornu enter her more and more deeply, and she came loudly. She was ready to collapse on the cornu with her full weight, but the soldier had a different idea and grabbed her by her handlebar hips, pinching the flayed flesh so she cried out, and forcing her to continue moving up and down on the cornu. There was no fight in her, she simply screamed and came for what felt like hours, and the cornu was drenched in fresh blood from her destroyed cunt. The soldier reached under it and caught a whole handful of blood, and smeared it on her face. In her thirst, she couldn’t help but lap at what was still wet around her lips, even if it was her own blood. She could hardly see, and longed to at least fall into unconsciousness.
Unconsciousness never came, but she dissociated in short moments between adjusting to breathe, and her body didn’t feel human anymore. Sometimes it felt like a fire, her limbs just licking around the wood. Sometimes she felt as big as a mountain, other times as tiny as a pin. It was like being almost asleep and dreaming the worst, most terrifying, and most painful of dreams possible. Other times – and this was the most accurate – she felt like a piece of meat, drying in the sun and being stretched thin. Surely she would be leathery by the time this was over.
It was never going to be over. She wouldn’t live to touch the earth again, to rest again. This was death. Oh, death, please come quickly!
Please.
More sobbing. Her voice was hoarse, and somewhere in her mental capacity she regretted that she was losing so much water through tears. Let it end. How long? It didn’t matter. Once it was over, she would know nothing but oblivion, traumatic torture being carried in her consciousness into the next life.
After the nails
By JudithJesus
The hilarity in her desperate, futile struggle to endure the unendurable made the soldiers laugh. Tugging at the nails brought pain, but it was instinctual to pull the outstretched arms back to cover oneself in the fetal, protective position. So it was that she rolled and shuddered and screamed and tears were dripping all into her ears and matted hair, unable to stop moving and unable to stop reacting, even though some distant part of her situational awareness beyond the unbearable pain knew she was only making it worse. But rather than almost immediately pulling her up to the stipes as expected, it seemed that she was not of interest to the soldiers. She had a moment to blink at the sun and feel sick with horror at the blood pooling under her wrists. Hysteric breathing took the place of the tears when she finally pulled herself out of the fevered floods of pain and held still.
It was impossible to endure the pain, but she gritted her teeth hard, unable to even fathom the hope that perhaps they’d left her alone here to die, instead of crucifying her.
Sounds of returning footsteps made her jump in terror, which in turn made an enraged yell escape her lungs as movement sent shocks of pain through her arms and jolted at her back. She felt her legs being lifted, and then she was roughly dropped, bruising her tailbone on a rock they’d rolled under her. This left her cunt exposed, and her legs spread, and her already-nailed hands could do nothing about it. A young soldier looked at several whips before handing a Cat-o’-nine tails to an older, more cruel-looking soldier. This landed with such force on her pussy that she howled in despair. But, to her astonishment, her ankles were free and she put her legs together to protect her already-tortured pussy. The soldier smiled. “I love it when they try to use some kind of control. You can do nothing about what I want to do to you, girl.”
He began viciously whipping the outside of her closed legs, not neglecting her buttocks, and yelled over the sound of lashes that she’d better open her legs.
The girl had no strength to protest, and took a few more lashes before letting her legs spread open.
“That’s better, slut. Die with respect for those with the power to kill you.”
She closed her eyes, shaking with fear as he ran the whip between her legs slowly, letting her feel the hardened leather softly on her sensitive lips, tickling her shaved mons. She knew he was waiting for her to let her guard down, but there was no chance she could relax her muscles or not be on high alert with the amount of pain she was in. The whip whistled through the air. She screamed and heard laughter – he’d taken advantage of her closed eyes and used the sound to scare her. Before she could register what had just happened, her guard had dropped and the lashes came hard, and she closed her legs again, and he whipped all outside of her legs until she opened them and was too defeated to close them anymore. The last time she weakly lifted her knees in defense, the soldier beckoned to two strong young men who held her ankles in place. He left about a dozen more lashes, and her cunt was bruised and bleeding and covered in white and scarlet welts. Then he dismissed the other soldiers and said, “You won’t fight now, girl.” And he raped her weakened, tortured body until his cum mixed with the sweat and blood covering her body and glistening in the sun.
Finally, the rock was kicked out from under her and she landed hard on the desolate gravel. She hardly had time to gasp when two soldiers lifted the patibulum on either end and lifted it onto the stipes. The dance had started before they’d even finished crucifying her. With relentless pain shooting down her arms and making her stomach and ribs cramp from the stress, she tried to find a foothold, but her bare and tired feet only scraped against the rough wood. She tried wrapping her legs around the stipes briefly, not caring about her exposed sex, but it was no good. She tried to push against the flats of her feet, again to no avail. Air filled her lungs and she could not exhale, and her eyes widened in the terror of suffocating, and she yelled weakly, her whole body now flailing against the cross like a fish out of water. Only a minute or so had passed when she collapsed, letting the full weight fall on her pierced wrists, and it seemed like an eternity of indescribable agony before she felt soldiers surrounding her, lifting her legs for a little sweet relief.
But she had hardly breathed before more pain, unexpected in her delirium, shot through her right foot, and then her left. They’d placed each foot on either end of the stipes, spreading her wide for display. The hands left her knees and ankles, and she was on her own to suffer, hanging by four nail wounds.
The dance has been described many times, and she wailed openly as each movement failed to reduce the pain or give any comfortable position whatsoever. She was hovering above the ground, and it spun beneath her. Her mind kept saying, “sit down, get down, lay down, breathe, relax,” but she had no ability to listen to the needs of her own body. She could only strain up, down, trying to push her ass against the cross for support, shifting her weight ever so slightly between her upper and lower body, but finding no way to, even for a moment, stop the muscles in her entire body from straining to hold her up.
She pushed against the nails in her feet, and tried to use her back for leverage, but cried out when she remembered that this would only scrape what little skin she had left on her back against the rough wood. How long does it take to die like this? The words could hardly form themselves between gasps and cries, and looking down at herself only made her feel dizzy from the sight of her own blood, her own naked body, the faraway and taunting earth beneath her. She longed for an end, and started begging for someone to kill her with sputtering words, yet it had been less than ten minutes since she’d been nailed.
The dance progressed more slowly as she weakened further. As she pulled herself up once again to support herself with her upper body, a new pain spread through her abdomen and expanded almost instantly down through her thighs and knees, up toward her chest. Cramps. It was like her entire bloodflow was tapping out, giving up on her. But she had no choice but to struggle and lift herself up. There was no rest, no stopping for breath, no breaks, not even water. This pain was so intense that it would be difficult to endure if resting on a soft bed, sipping spoonfuls of water. In her confusion, this image made her feel more thirsty, and she lurched up with parched lips and urinated. The warm liquid made her feel all the more wretched and disgusting.
She looked over at her nailed wrists, and it occurred to her that they would never be free again. This would be the position she would die in. This was the rest of her life, this constant pain, this ever-increasing pain.
Nobody deserves to die like this. I don’t deserve to die like this. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, these thoughts were pounding distantly through waves of throbbing in her underhydrated head and resonating in the searing pain of the cramps, never overpowering but only compounding the constant pull of the nail wounds. She hung her head, giving her a disgustingly short moment of rest from holding it up. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Even that level of understanding and compassion in her traumatized heart was not enough to save her from the torment.
Squatting made her all the more exposed, but it didn’t matter who saw anymore what her beaten and fucked cunt looked like. It put a terrible strain on her shoulders, and sent incredible pain through her nailed feet, but it allowed for at least a change in position. The sun had dried up her blood, except for the slow trickle down each arm that slowly added fresh blood to the already-dried stream that fell down her torso. Even without the pain, just trying to stay up on a cross would make any trained athlete sweat from the effort. Her young body was drenched, and soon she was panting with exertion and thirst. With this thought wandering through her exhausted mind, she dissociated just enough to forget her thirst for a moment before being called back to the need to exhale, and she pushed against the nails in her feet, yelping and shaking uncontrollably, to pull herself up again.
Perhaps she would have had an appetite if her stomach didn’t feel like it had been filled with rocks to add weight to her ordeal. Several flies had begun feasting on her warm, wet pussy, and when she saw one crawl inside her and felt it climbing, she flew into a fresh frenzy of trying to close her legs, shake it out, steel her abdomen. But the fly continued to crawl inside her throbbing vulva, and she felt its little feet inside her tender, sore vagina. She screamed and beat her head against the cross, but this only brought more pain. Maybe I can kill myself this way, get it over with, she thought deliriously, and whacked even harder, making her head ring. This caught the attention of one of the soldiers, who came over and put his hand between her and the wood, blocking her from this self-destruction.
“You want it to be over?” He asked with a mocking tone. “We’ve hardly gotten started.” And with one hand keeping her from the release of numbing or breaking her skull, he slid the other hand easily down to her exposed sex. A finger began caressing her clit, with slow movements. She flailed and fought, but it was a weak effort. Like an invalid try to get out of bed, with no strength left to hold themselves up, was this poor victim’s attempt at fighting the molestation. The pain didn’t decrease at all as he slowly built her orgasm up, keeping her on the edge and then intensifying the build, making her moan and squirm and shout livid demands that he leave her alone. Just before she felt like she could not build anymore without cumming, he took his hand away, forcing her to drop without release. Then he grinned an evil grin and waited for her to push herself back up to exhale. In that moment, he bolted a cornu beneath her so she’d find it as soon as she lost the capacity to hold herself up.
She shifted her weight, and her tailbone hit the cornu hard. Now she had four options on where to position herself – the small of her back, forcing her whole body forward, pulling against the nails, her taint, her asshole, and her pussy. With newfound rage, she screamed, “I don’t want to die slower! Take it away, let me die!”
But the soldier laughed. “You haven’t cum yet, girl. Don’t you want release?”
She did, but there was no pleasure when her whole body was a cacophony of pain. As soon as she accepted the cornu into her cunt, she sobbed at the way it stabbed deep into her gut, prodding at the steadily increasing pain of the cramps. Now shifting her weight meant fucking herself, and resting on her taint meant her death was further delayed. She tried to move slowly, to avoid the arousal that would satisfy the soldier still watching her. But the slower she moved, the harder it was to breathe, and she panted, both sides now aching as if she’d been running for a long time. She let her eyes roll back and squeezed them tight, lifting and breathing, fucking herself, moaning. It seemed like every muscle in her body was already so tightened, there was no way to tighten them more as she built up her orgasm, but it was possible. She gritted her teeth, fueled by spite for her situation more than anything, and fucked herself harder. Then she was grinding, letting the wide cornu enter her more and more deeply, and she came loudly. She was ready to collapse on the cornu with her full weight, but the soldier had a different idea and grabbed her by her handlebar hips, pinching the flayed flesh so she cried out, and forcing her to continue moving up and down on the cornu. There was no fight in her, she simply screamed and came for what felt like hours, and the cornu was drenched in fresh blood from her destroyed cunt. The soldier reached under it and caught a whole handful of blood, and smeared it on her face. In her thirst, she couldn’t help but lap at what was still wet around her lips, even if it was her own blood. She could hardly see, and longed to at least fall into unconsciousness.
Unconsciousness never came, but she dissociated in short moments between adjusting to breathe, and her body didn’t feel human anymore. Sometimes it felt like a fire, her limbs just licking around the wood. Sometimes she felt as big as a mountain, other times as tiny as a pin. It was like being almost asleep and dreaming the worst, most terrifying, and most painful of dreams possible. Other times – and this was the most accurate – she felt like a piece of meat, drying in the sun and being stretched thin. Surely she would be leathery by the time this was over.
It was never going to be over. She wouldn’t live to touch the earth again, to rest again. This was death. Oh, death, please come quickly!
Please.
More sobbing. Her voice was hoarse, and somewhere in her mental capacity she regretted that she was losing so much water through tears. Let it end. How long? It didn’t matter. Once it was over, she would know nothing but oblivion, traumatic torture being carried in her consciousness into the next life.
