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Aleko and Me

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Juan1234 said:
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...)
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Still excited for the next part
 
When I was unbound and could stand and look where I pleased, rubbing my chafed wrists, of course I looked at Aleko. I couldn't help it. My heart pounded to see him looking back at me, right into my eyes. I may have given an imperceptible, mortified shrug. I wanted to say something, but what?

Now you know, Aleko. I'm a criminal. I'm not brave, I squeal like a child when I'm spanked. I'm naked, so you can see - you can see... everything. You can see I'm... well, you've seen prettier girls. Of course the welts don't help...

I'm going to be crucified today. Yes, crucified (are you shocked?) - not because I'm strong enough to take it, but because I deserve it. So there it is, now you know all about me, no secrets. If you're satisfied, just go home and despise me. Let me suffer through my punishment without your beautiful eyes on me!

They led me over to a corner, where the centurion had ordered his slave to lend me his loincloth. "This is Jerusalem, you know." The man obediently lifted his tunic, untied his loincloth, and handed it to me, letting his tunic fall again to cover him. I took the long strip of cloth and held it clumsily around my hips. I had never worn a loincloth.

Realizing with an impatient grunt that I didn’t know how to tie the thing, the centurion took it from me, opened it, exposing my most naked bits again, and centered my bum on it before wrapping it around, folding it over, feeding it roughly under, between my legs (the first time a man ever touched me there), pulling it snug (very snug!), and tying it off. It wasn’t really long enough, probably because my hips were too broad, so it felt very tight, and looking down, I could see clearly the shape of my vulva under the thin fabric. I could feel the fabric cinched between my buttocks too. I had never worn anything that felt so silly.

I suppose it would have been worse to march through Jerusalem completely naked, but wearing this small, ill-fitting masculine garment seemed almost to draw more attention to what it veiled, and I felt very… condemned. Foolish. I was wearing the shameful uniform of death. What was Aleko thinking of me?

The next thing I knew, the instrument of my execution was before me: an uneven beam about my height, pocked with nail-holes and stained with old, dark blood at each end. One of the soldiers held it upright on the ground. “Carry it,” he ordered. After blinking for a moment, I bent to set my bare shoulder at about the center, moving as if in a dream, trying to take in what I was doing. The soldier helped me get beneath the beam and balance it. Then I stood there, half naked, surrounded by grown men, my heavy cross on my shoulder, waiting for the next order. This was actually happening!
 
Juan1234 said:
When I was unbound and could stand and look where I pleased, rubbing my chafed wrists, of course I looked at Aleko. I couldn't help it. My heart pounded to see him looking back at me, right into my eyes. I may have given an imperceptible, mortified shrug. I wanted to say something, but what?

Now you know, Aleko. I'm a criminal. I'm not brave, I squeal like a child when I'm spanked. I'm naked, so you can see - you can see... everything. You can see I'm... well, you've seen prettier girls. Of course the welts don't help...

I'm going to be crucified today. Yes, crucified (are you shocked?) - not because I'm strong enough to take it, but because I deserve it. So there it is, now you know all about me, no secrets. If you're satisfied, just go home and despise me. Let me suffer through my punishment without your beautiful eyes on me!

They led me over to a corner, where the centurion had ordered his slave to lend me his loincloth. "This is Jerusalem, you know." The man obediently lifted his tunic, untied his loincloth, and handed it to me, letting his tunic fall again to cover him. I took the long strip of cloth and held it clumsily around my hips. I had never worn a loincloth.

Realizing with an impatient grunt that I didn’t know how to tie the thing, the centurion took it from me, opened it, exposing my most naked bits again, and centered my bum on it before wrapping it around, folding it over, feeding it roughly under, between my legs (the first time a man ever touched me there), pulling it snug (very snug!), and tying it off. It wasn’t really long enough, probably because my hips were too broad, so it felt very tight, and looking down, I could see clearly the shape of my vulva under the thin fabric. I could feel the fabric cinched between my buttocks too. I had never worn anything that felt so silly.

I suppose it would have been worse to march through Jerusalem completely naked, but wearing this small, ill-fitting masculine garment seemed almost to draw more attention to what it veiled, and I felt very… condemned. Foolish. I was wearing the shameful uniform of death. What was Aleko thinking of me?

The next thing I knew, the instrument of my execution was before me: an uneven beam about my height, pocked with nail-holes and stained with old, dark blood at each end. One of the soldiers held it upright on the ground. “Carry it,” he ordered. After blinking for a moment, I bent to set my bare shoulder at about the center, moving as if in a dream, trying to take in what I was doing. The soldier helped me get beneath the beam and balance it. Then I stood there, half naked, surrounded by grown men, my heavy cross on my shoulder, waiting for the next order. This was actually happening!
Click to expand...
Superbly written. Again !
 
Juan1234 said:
When I was unbound and could stand and look where I pleased, rubbing my chafed wrists, of course I looked at Aleko. I couldn't help it. My heart pounded to see him looking back at me, right into my eyes. I may have given an imperceptible, mortified shrug. I wanted to say something, but what?

Now you know, Aleko. I'm a criminal. I'm not brave, I squeal like a child when I'm spanked. I'm naked, so you can see - you can see... everything. You can see I'm... well, you've seen prettier girls. Of course the welts don't help...

I'm going to be crucified today. Yes, crucified (are you shocked?) - not because I'm strong enough to take it, but because I deserve it. So there it is, now you know all about me, no secrets. If you're satisfied, just go home and despise me. Let me suffer through my punishment without your beautiful eyes on me!

They led me over to a corner, where the centurion had ordered his slave to lend me his loincloth. "This is Jerusalem, you know." The man obediently lifted his tunic, untied his loincloth, and handed it to me, letting his tunic fall again to cover him. I took the long strip of cloth and held it clumsily around my hips. I had never worn a loincloth.

Realizing with an impatient grunt that I didn’t know how to tie the thing, the centurion took it from me, opened it, exposing my most naked bits again, and centered my bum on it before wrapping it around, folding it over, feeding it roughly under, between my legs (the first time a man ever touched me there), pulling it snug (very snug!), and tying it off. It wasn’t really long enough, probably because my hips were too broad, so it felt very tight, and looking down, I could see clearly the shape of my vulva under the thin fabric. I could feel the fabric cinched between my buttocks too. I had never worn anything that felt so silly.

I suppose it would have been worse to march through Jerusalem completely naked, but wearing this small, ill-fitting masculine garment seemed almost to draw more attention to what it veiled, and I felt very… condemned. Foolish. I was wearing the shameful uniform of death. What was Aleko thinking of me?

The next thing I knew, the instrument of my execution was before me: an uneven beam about my height, pocked with nail-holes and stained with old, dark blood at each end. One of the soldiers held it upright on the ground. “Carry it,” he ordered. After blinking for a moment, I bent to set my bare shoulder at about the center, moving as if in a dream, trying to take in what I was doing. The soldier helped me get beneath the beam and balance it. Then I stood there, half naked, surrounded by grown men, my heavy cross on my shoulder, waiting for the next order. This was actually happening!
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So glad you have returned to this story
 
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