• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

Aleko and Me

Go to CruxDreams.com
J

Juan1234

Guest
Aleko was a big, strong, handsome man. Not like some preening Adonis - he was a field slave with humble brown eyes. I don't think he ever even noticed me looking at him.

Not that it mattered much. He was probably twice my age, well on his way to forty, and we were slaves of different masters. Besides, he wasn't Jewish. But I did like him.

Of course all of that was driven far from my mind when I was caught. My little side hustle, with which I had hoped one day to buy my freedom, wasn't strictly legal, and they caught me red-handed. I knew what that meant, but it was still hard to believe it when they told me my punishment was death. The slave's death - I had to die hanging on a cross.

They marched me to a cell while I tried to imagine what it meant that my life was already over, or what it would feel like to be nailed to my cross. For them it was a small item on the list of the day's chores.

My cell was more of a cage, with a make-shift feel to it. I suppose they weren't worried about a small girl like me escaping, because it was above ground and along the passage that led out of the praetorium to the plaza, just a few paces from the gateway. Or maybe they weren't planning on holding me long. They didn't tell me when I would be crucified, so I just had to wait.

There was a similar cell opposite mine, across the passage, and during the course of three days, as I waited, various prisoners were brought there, usually for less than an hour, and then removed. (Usually shortly after I heard their cries from the plaza as they were flogged.) I seemed to be the most long-term prisoner here.

Then, on the evening of the second day, who should come striding down the passage to occupy the empty cage, bronzed chest bare, a full head above the soldiers on either side, but Aleko?
 
Juan1234 said:
Aleko was a big, strong, handsome man. Not like some preening Adonis - he was a field slave with humble brown eyes. I don't think he ever even noticed me looking at him.

Not that it mattered much. He was probably twice my age, well on his way to forty, and we were slaves of different masters. Besides, he wasn't Jewish. But I did like him.

Of course all of that was driven far from my mind when I was caught. My little side hustle, with which I had hoped one day to buy my freedom, wasn't strictly legal, and they caught me red-handed. I knew what that meant, but it was still hard to believe it when they told me my punishment was death. The slave's death - I had to die hanging on a cross.

They marched me to a cell while I tried to imagine what it meant that my life was already over, or what it would feel like to be nailed to my cross. For them it was a small item on the list of the day's chores.

My cell was more of a cage, with a make-shift feel to it. I suppose they weren't worried about a small girl like me escaping, because it was above ground and along the passage that led out of the praetorium to the plaza, just a few paces from the gateway. Or maybe they weren't planning on holding me long. They didn't tell me when I would be crucified, so I just had to wait.

There was a similar cell opposite mine, across the passage, and during the course of three days, as I waited, various prisoners were brought there, usually for less than an hour, and then removed. (Usually shortly after I heard their cries from the plaza as they were flogged.) I seemed to be the most long-term prisoner here.

Then, on the evening of the second day, who should come striding down the passage to occupy the empty cage, bronzed chest bare, a full head above the soldiers on either side, but Aleko?
Click to expand...
I think this is going to be an excellent tale, Juan!

:popcorn:
 
Juan1234 said:
Aleko was a big, strong, handsome man. Not like some preening Adonis - he was a field slave with humble brown eyes. I don't think he ever even noticed me looking at him.

Not that it mattered much. He was probably twice my age, well on his way to forty, and we were slaves of different masters. Besides, he wasn't Jewish. But I did like him.

Of course all of that was driven far from my mind when I was caught. My little side hustle, with which I had hoped one day to buy my freedom, wasn't strictly legal, and they caught me red-handed. I knew what that meant, but it was still hard to believe it when they told me my punishment was death. The slave's death - I had to die hanging on a cross.

They marched me to a cell while I tried to imagine what it meant that my life was already over, or what it would feel like to be nailed to my cross. For them it was a small item on the list of the day's chores.

My cell was more of a cage, with a make-shift feel to it. I suppose they weren't worried about a small girl like me escaping, because it was above ground and along the passage that led out of the praetorium to the plaza, just a few paces from the gateway. Or maybe they weren't planning on holding me long. They didn't tell me when I would be crucified, so I just had to wait.

There was a similar cell opposite mine, across the passage, and during the course of three days, as I waited, various prisoners were brought there, usually for less than an hour, and then removed. (Usually shortly after I heard their cries from the plaza as they were flogged.) I seemed to be the most long-term prisoner here.

Then, on the evening of the second day, who should come striding down the passage to occupy the empty cage, bronzed chest bare, a full head above the soldiers on either side, but Aleko?
Click to expand...

Oooh, lovely, a love story of the condemned/
- you certainly have my attention, great opening!

Suggestion:- Put a TBC (or Fin on the last installment) on the end of each chapter in case @Madiosi decides to add it to the digest
 
Very good start.
For some reason I skipped the part where the protagonist says to be a girl, so I imagined it was a "he".
It worked well anyway.
 
My first reaction was to come to the bars with a kind of irrational pubescent excitement. I supposed I hoped he would see me and recognize me, though I don't know why. (What did I want to do? Chat about how I was about to be crucified?) He didn't, of course. He never had. His big brown eyes minded their own business as always.

Feeling silly at the bars, I backed away slowly and sat against the one stone wall of my cell to observe him from the shadows.

Only then did I wonder what he was doing there. Of course I wasn't in the household, but from everything I had ever seen or heard about Aleko I thought he must be one of the best slaves Lucius Quartus owned. I can't say it for a fact, but I don't believe he had ever been whipped before. I had seen his bare back many times while he worked, and he didn't have scars like some of the others. I knew for sure he would never steal or fight. He was the gentlest, hardest-working man I had ever known.

At least that's what I thought. The truth is, I didn't really know him. He had said a polite hello as he passed by a few times, but other than that I had never spoken to him, nor him to me. I had never even spoken about him. Most of the other girls did, but I liked him too much to join in.

They didn't whip Aleko that evening, and he spent the night in the cell - the first prisoner to do so since I had been there. The passage between us was broad, and there were guards posted, but I still took some comfort in lying down on the same hard-packed ground as Aleko, and some hint of my fantasies brought me pleasure as I watched how he slept.

He didn't seem to sleep much. There were no mats or blankets in these cages. There was a little straw - thank goodness, because there was no latrine. After two days, all my straw was piled in a back corner for that purpose, so I slept on the bare ground. Aleko made himself a little straw bed, but still seemed awake most of the night.

When the sunrise filled the passage with warm light, Aleko sat up, some straw still in his chaotic dark hair, and looked at me. My heart skipped a beat. I was the first thing he looked at when he woke. Suddenly I didn't know what to do, and wished he would look away. His eyes were tired, and at first he seemed a little confused. I wondered if he remembered me at all. Then a sudden sadness came over his face, like he had remembered something. (Remembered me?)

My face was hot flushed, and I wanted to cry. To end the terrible moment, I lifted my had partway, but didn't have the courage to actually wave. He nodded. After another moment of looking right into my eyes, he finally looked away. Over the course of the next hour or so he looked over at me several times, I suppose simply to acknowledge my presence. He wasn't ogling me like some of the guards had done. It would have been too awkward to shout across the passageway, so I sat in my cage and glanced between Aleko and the dirt, Aleko and the bars, Aleko and my stinking pile of straw in the corner.

Then they came for him and took him out into the plaza. I stood at the bars. I wanted to say goodbye. He didn't even know that I was going to be crucified. He didn't know that I loved him. (Did I love him?) I wanted to tell him before he was gone. But I didn't. My lips moved a little, and my heart pounded, especially when he looked at me one last time, but I didn't say anything. Then he was gone, and I could only listen for his cries.

(to be continued)
 
Last edited by a moderator:
I hurried to my straw in the corner to relieve my bladder. I hadn't wanted to do it while Aleko was there.

It didn't take long before I heard the lashes begin. At first it was only the crack of the whips; Aleko took them in silence. Then, after five or six, I started hearing quiet guttural noises between each stroke, like he was releasing the pain, not reacting to it. But then he began to cry out with each crack, soft and breathy at first, though trembling. Then louder, more desperate.

It sounded like many of the other beatings I had heard in my three days there. But it was Aleko. I cried a tear of my own.

Then they came for me.

"Come out. Time to die." I don't know why it surprised me. I had been there for three days - it was a good bet today was the day. But somehow I wasn't ready for it. Of course, who could ever really be ready? But beyond that, somehow I thought that if they were whipping Aleko, they wouldn't come for me for a while.

Maybe above all my shock came from the thought that Aleko might see me being beaten. I knew it was ridiculous still wanting to impress him, but I still felt it would be humiliating beyond words if he saw me being punished. Naked.

I'm a Jewish girl, and I was free most of my life, until my father died in debt. No man had ever seen my body. Even after I was sold into slavery, my master was mostly good to me and never raped me or undressed me. Maybe he just wasn't that sort. Maybe he had prettier slaves than me. Now my carefully guarded modesty was about to be taken from me. I may have fantasized about giving myself to Aleko before, but I didn't want it to be like this.

It didn't matter. One of them had each of my arms, and we were moving through the passageway faster than was comfortable.

I arrived in the plaza just as Aleko's arms came down from the high post. His back and buttocks were a bloody criss-cross of weals and slices. He must have done something really awful! It looked liked they'd used the flagrum on him. I was a little self-conscious looking at his buttocks, but given I was looking primarily at his wounds, I decided it was alright. Knowing what was about to happen to me also made me feel suddenly more mature. Maybe for a girl about to be stripped naked and punished like the adult I was, it was ok to look at a naked man.

Then he turned around, and I saw his long, thick member. I jerked my eyes away instinctively (I had never seen a grown man's penis), but then I couldn't help looking again. Suddenly all my old fantasies crashed hard into reality, and as good a man as I still thought Aleko was, my unease in his presence doubled.

They gave Aleko his loincloth and he tied it about him as others put a waist-high hurdle in place a little way in front of the whipping post.

"Get undressed."

(to be continued)
 
I didn't know what to do. It was obvious, of course, but for a girl of my upbringing, it felt impossible. Impossible to believe, even. And there was Aleko, standing there and watching me. His loincloth was back on, but I knew what was underneath, and it was disturbing to me. I was realizing things I had never truly contemplated.

They didn't tell me again. Before I quite knew what was happening, their rough hands were tugging at the ties of my simlah, then hauling it over my head, leaving me in just my thin tunic. I shuddered, already feeling strangely exposed. It was tight around my hips and barely reached to my knees, and I could see my nipples poking out under the fabric. I looked at Aleko with a downcast eye. I wanted to beg him to leave. I was in the public plaza, and there were other men all around watching; it was bad enough, but Aleko was so much worse. Why, of all the people who would be here the day I was executed, did he have to come?

One of them gripped the hem of my tunic under my chin and tore it down past my navel, then the one behind me slid it off my shoulders. My eyes moistened and my bottom lip trembled, and I tried to fold my arms in front of me to keep my torn garment about me, but they pinned my arms down and stripped me naked.

My face burned and my eyes blurred with tears. With my arms still pinned, I instinctively bent over a little and put one bare thigh over the other to hide the dark little patch of hair that advertised the femininity hidden down in that most secret place between my legs. Of course this only drew attention to my bottom (my bottom! In public!), and there was nothing I could do for my breasts but to shudder as I felt the cool breeze across my nipples. Tears of shame flowed silently. I couldn't look at him, but I knew Aleko was watching.

They tied my wrists together in front of me, hands facing each other, then bent me over the hurdle in front of the post and stretched me until my arms and belly were taut, stretched between the post and the hurdle at my hips. They bound my ankles together and tied them to a ground-level support of the hurdle. Then one of them yanked my head up and back by my hair, forcing my to arch my back and raise my bum. He held me there and I waited, wet eyes darting. I could only wonder whether Aleko could see my vulva peeking out under my bottom, or if my thighs were thick enough to at least cover that much.

"Begin."

(to be continued)
 
Juan1234 said:
Was anybody enjoying this story more than the little artworks I've been doing recently instead? Or should I stick to the art for now?
Click to expand...
We need to express ourselves in words and pictures, Juan. From experience, images get more likes and, often, more response than words. But the value of the work is really not to be measured by likes and comments.

I enjoy your drawings, you know I do, but I also enjoy your style of writing. This, for instance

Juan1234 said:
One of them gripped the hem of my tunic under my chin and tore it down past my navel, then the one behind me slid it off my shoulders. My eyes moistened and my bottom lip trembled, and I tried to fold my arms in front of me to keep my torn garment about me, but they pinned my arms down and stripped me naked.
Click to expand...

is as fine an account of a stripping as you'll find! :)

You just keep right on writing! :nono:;)
 
Last edited:
Juan1234 said:
Was anybody enjoying this story more than the little artworks I've been doing recently instead? Or should I stick to the art for now?
Click to expand...
I’m loving the descriptions of her emotions and find it very engaging, so I vote continue with the story (as well as the pictures) if you’re so inclined. @Wragg sums up my thoughts far more eloquently
 
I inhaled sharply and held it, waiting for the first stroke. I clenched my bum-cheeks for a brief moment, but the shame of knowing everyone saw me do it burned hot and I stopped quickly. I was left to upbraid myself for doing that in front of Aleko and so many men, feeling the hot blood pounding in my temples, wondering when they would strike me.

I could hear their footsteps and the whipping noise of rods swishing through the air, striking nothing. I winced the first couple of times, my heart pounding at the base of my throat, then felt like crying again from the cruelty of the suspense. I tried to see what they were doing behind me, but it was hard to see well through my tears, and the man gripping my hair didn't allow my head to move much.

My mind had just settled into a thought about how far I would have to walk to the place of execution and whether they would let me wear anything on the way when the first stroke caught me unprepared. I yelped, as much in surprise as in pain. (I had decided not to make a sound until the number of strokes had justified it.) I took the next one with a mostly silent grunt.

They were beating me with rods like a wayward child. I should have been grateful I didn't get the flagrum like Aleko, but there was something demeaning about it. Would I really prefer to have my back torn open with whips if I could choose a few purple welts across my fleshy buttocks instead? No, of course not. But I'd prefer to stand at the post like an adult, even if I was still naked, instead of bending over this hurdle like a child, with all eyes on my bottom.

The worst part was that it still hurt! By the fifth of sixth stroke I could no longer suppress a cry each time, and before the tenth I was weeping silently between. Maybe if I could have rolled my eyes and smirked about it I would have felt less ashamed in front of Aleko. But here I was, naked, being spanked like a child, and before the twentieth stroke I was sobbing like one, too. The humiliation was beyond what I ever could have imagined.

By thirty, my thighs and buttocks were quaking uncontrollably, and I knew everyone could see. I curled my toes and tried to tense my legs to master them, but it felt like it only drew more attention. Though still unable to turn my head far, I strained my eyes left to steal a glance at Aleko, hoping maybe he would have his eyes cast down for my sake. I couldn't tell for sure from my brief, teary glance, but my impression was that he was staring impassively at my burning bottom, thinking of something else. Why wouldn't he just go home? Were they forcing him to watch my crucifixion just to humiliate me further? How could they even know I would care?

After more than fifty strokes, it finally ended, and they began unbinding me.

(to be continued...)
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom