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

God's Edict Part I - The Crucifixion of Illara

Go to CruxDreams.com

Illara

Executioner
The Crucifixion of Illara
By Anonymous

Note: This is a fantasy story. Nothing more.

Chapter 1 - Arrest
Illara was a Prefect’s daughter, and for the preceding months she had been pouring over texts and tomes about diplomacy and economic theory and philosophy. She wanted to submit herself into the King’s service as an advisor now that she had come into adulthood. The Kingdom was sprawling and massive, and it would please her, and her family, and the Gods if she were to attain such a noble station.
Illara pulled her dark black hair back into a ponytail and adjusted her comfortable tunic. She wrinkled her little nose and bit her lip as she opened a thick manuscript about the history of the Kingdom’s notable advisors and heroic peoples. She loved the smell of old books.
A slave girl stood silently and obediently nearby, a tray with snacks and fruits and a cup of water and glass of wine in her hands. She wore a standard slave girl’s outfit; a grey tattered waistcloth that was far from reaching her knees and a leather belt across her chest, to reign in her breasts and cover her nipples. It was as close to naked as a person could be without actually being naked, showing off as much of the slave’s pale skin as possible.
The slave girl must be right around her own age, or maybe a little bit older. Illara wondered which village or conquered kingdom she had come from, but the question was fleeting, her book beckoned, and with it came knowledge and engaging ideas and fascinating stories.
But then there was a knock at the study door. It was rather loud and impolite, Illara thought.
“Go and answer it.” Illara said dismissively to the slave girl.
The slave nodded submissively and set down the tray carefully and walked to the door. She opened it and standing in the hallway were a half a dozen soldiers of the Kingdom. They had glistening panels of steel armor over maroon tunics and sheathed to their belts were swords. They did not wear helmets, as if going into battle, but Illara was still immediately alarmed. Why are soldiers here in my study she thought?
The leader of the formation stepped forward, his stern eyes locked onto her. As he spoke, the other soldiers moved with purpose into the spacious study.
“Illara Avenicii, you are under arrest for treason.” He declared.
Before she could even react in question or absolute shock, strong hands gripped her upper arms from either side and she was lifted from her comfortable chair. Flanked by soldiers, her hands were pulled behind her back, not roughly but firmly and unstoppably, and metal shackles were clasped onto her wrists.
“What is happening?” She blurted out breathlessly.
The lead soldier gave her a stern look, as if to reiterate his last statement.
Treason!? What in the Gods’ names were they talking about!? She had done no such thing, and had always been a loyal citizen of the Kingdom.
They marched her past her wide-eyed slave and out into the hallway. They led her promptly through her expansive family home and out of the main doors to the city street. There were another dozen soldiers standing there, and some of her neighbors had come out to see what was going on.
She blushed with embarrassment as she stood before them in shackles, soldiers on either side of her clamping tightly onto her upper arms. The leader of the soldiers waved at the gathering crowd dismissively.
“Go back to your business. This is an arrest under the King’s charge.” He announced. The crowd did not dissipate.
Illara was led through the streets of the Kingdom, towards the Citadel in the center of the city, where the Sacred Throne was. Will I be brought before the King she thought? Her mind was racing. She had always wanted to meet the King. But not like this. Not accused of something she would never ever fathom.
The walk to the Citadel passed like a blur. Marching up the marble steps to the large, ornate building, when they entered the expansive entrance hall, she was led to the left. She had heard where left in the entrance hall led to, the dungeons.
She was marched through the dark, torchlit halls and brought to an empty cell with nothing but a cot in it. She was walked inside, her shackles were removed, and the soldiers began to leave.
“Wait! Please! I’m innocent! Don’t leave me here!”
They ignored her and shut the iron-barred door and locked it. Then they left and she was all alone.

Chapter 2 - Preparation
She had paced nervously in her cell at first. Eventually she calmed herself. This has to be some big mistake she thought. It will all get sorted out. I’m not a traitor. Traitors suffer to appease the Gods and then they are crucified. I have done nothing wrong.
With her mind placated, she laid down on the simple cot. It was actually not too uncomfortable. She had never been to a crucifixion before. Her parents had always wanted her not to see such things. She had heard that the condemned were made to suffer and be humiliated before being placed on the cross to die. What a horrifying thing she thought.
She slept, but her dreams were troubling and anxiety-inducing. She wanted clarity and an explanation for what was happening.

She awoke when she heard the scraping of metal. Her cell door was being unlocked. A trio of soldiers walked inside.
“Stand.” One of them ordered emotionlessly.
She looked at him with her big, blue eyes. Why are they not sympathizing with me or telling me what is going on?
Nevertheless, she complied, and rose from her rough bed. Much like before, the other two soldiers took her arms, but this time they took out rough, strong rope and ties her hands at the wrist, in front of her instead of behind her back. Why is it different this time she wondered? The guards took her by her lean biceps and walked her out into the hallway.
The walked back the way she had come in. Am I being brought before the King? But they walked past the door that she had come through from the main entrance hall.
“Where are we going?” She asked nervously.
The lead soldier turned and looked at her for a moment, then continued without stopping. She could not read his expression.
After a few minutes, they came to a wood and metal set of double doors. The lead solider went forward and pushed the doors open. The room before them was quite large, also dark and torchlit like the rest of the dungeons.
In the center of the room was a wooden platform on wooden wheels. The platform sat on these large wheels about six feet off the ground. At the front of the platform were steps leading up to it. In the center of the platform was a single pole, also about six feet tall, with a rope and pulley mechanism at the top of it. In front of this wheeled platform, hanging from the ceiling parallel to the ground were three large wooden beams. On the sides of the beams facing the platform, chains were affixed that connected it to the front of the wheeled platform.
Her analytical mind was confused. What is this thing for? Was the platform meant to be pulled by people holding onto the three wooden beams?
There were about a dozen other soldiers in the room, some holding torches. Along the far wall was a line of slave girls, all with their hands bound behind their backs and metal collars around their necks, all connected by a long chain. They all had their eyes down respectfully, their barely covered breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath.
The soldiers guiding Illara gave her no pause to evaluate the room and its contents. They marched her straight towards the stairs to the top of the wooden platform. She that at the top of the pole on the platform, attached to the rope/pulley system, was a small metal hook.
She looked down at her bound hands, saw the gap of rope in between her wrists and suddenly it clicked. I am going to be affixed to that! Why?
She was right. They marched her straight to the pole in the center of the platform, moved her to where her back was to it, and held her there. The lead soldier reached up and grabbed the hook and brought it down before, securing it to her rope bindings. He nodded and the soldier on her right let go of her arm and began working a winch on the back of the pole, reigning in the rope. Her bound hands were pulled up over her head. Her shoulders ached slightly as the hook was pulled higher and higher.
He kept going, until her arms were fully extended, and she was standing on her tiptoes, pulled taught to where she could not move at all.
“What is happening?” She asked, her voice defaulting in these circumstances to a reverent, breathless whisper.
The lead solder grimaced. He looked pitying for a moment. But then he nodded. “Strip her.” He ordered.
Her mind reeled. What!? The two soldiers who had marched her here from her cell began to pull at her tunic. They were stripping it off her! Hands tied far above her head, she could only squirm, barely, as they pulled down the soft cloth and exposed her supple, ample breasts. She was a short girl, only five feet and one inch tall, but she had large, perky 32DD breasts with perfectly round, pink nipples.
She blushed intensely as her clothes were removed. She had never been naked in front of a man before. And now there were a bunch of soldiers, and a half a dozen slave girls, seeing her uncovered breasts! What is happening!?
They removed the tunic completely, the air flowing against her bare clitoris and she tried to raise her legs up to cover her womanhood. Her abdomen flexed and her skinny figure tightened as she tried to bring her legs up but taking her weight off of the floor caused her shoulders to scream out in pain and exertion. She had to leave her toes on the platform, meaning her nakedness was fully exposed.
She felt embarrassment and shame like never before. Standing stark and stretched, her breasts moving with every shaking breath, she felt truly humiliated. She could not move at all. Squirming would only make her breasts bounce more. She noticed a weird bulge in one of the soldier’s groin covering.
By the Gods! He has an erection! Because of me! Her lip quivered and her little nose wrinkled. She felt objectified and ashamed of her quivering, soft body.
Powerless to do anything, she watched with anxious curiosity as the soldiers walked down the steps and off of the platform. Are they going to just leave me hanging here? Then she saw the soldiers approach the line of slave girls. They looked them over dispassionately for a few moments, then the lead soldier nodded at one girl, a petite blond with green eyes and large breasts that were pressed against her chest by her slaves’ belt.
The soldiers unlocked her collar and marched her towards the wooden beams hanging from the ceiling. The submissive slave did not resist in the slightest. One of the soldiers removed her loincloth and then undid the belt around her chest. They tossed these to the side. The now naked slave’s shackles were removed and soldiers on either side of her took rope cords and wrapped them around each of her wrists. She was short, and the beam hung parallel to the floor at a level almost above her head. One of the soldiers said something and another one by the wall worked another winch and the beam was lowered slowly until it rested just above the height of her shoulder blades.
The naked slave’s arms were raised and she was pressed back against the beam (the soldier doing the pressing resting his hands on her ample breasts), and the ropes on each side of her were wrapped around the beam of wood.
Illara now noticed that the beams of wood each had horizontal notches along the edges, and a small ring on the back, so that the ropes could be tightened and affixed, stretching the naked slave’s arms taught as she was pulled against the beam and her feet arched to support her weight.
Illara’s mind wrapped around what was happening. These were crucifixion beams. A part of the cross that traitors were crucified upon. She realized why they were chained to the platform. These slaves were going to be bound to the wooden beams, and then they would pull the platform. She presumed to know where they would pull her to.
In the biggest city square there was a large wooden platform that had three tall beams of wood that could lie on the ground, or be raised up perpendicular to the ground through a series of pegs and gears. And crossbeams such as the three before her could be attached to those tall beams for crucifixion.
Am I going to be crucified!? Her head swam and her eyes blurred as her heart pounded at the thought. Her breasts were bouncing now as she nearly hyperventilated.
Once the naked, blonde slave girl was pulled tightly to the crossbeam and lowered her head, clearly already in an uncomfortable position, the process of stripping and binding was done on two more slaves. There was a curvaceous, black haired slave girl with large breasts and oval nipples who was bound to the center crossbeam. And then another petite, auburn haired girl who was very skinny and had small, perky breasts.
With three naked slaves attached to the crossbeam, their chests already beginning to rise and fall in anticipation of the coming march, the stark naked Illara could now be moved.
“Let us proceed.” The lead soldier said to the room, and the far wall of the room opened. It was a massive wooden door that she had thought to be a wall! They were going to march her out through the city to the execution square! This cannot be happening she thought!
 

Illara

Executioner
The Crucifixion of Illara
By Anonymous

Note: This is a fantasy story. Nothing more.

Chapter 1 - Arrest
Illara was a Prefect’s daughter, and for the preceding months she had been pouring over texts and tomes about diplomacy and economic theory and philosophy. She wanted to submit herself into the King’s service as an advisor now that she had come into adulthood. The Kingdom was sprawling and massive, and it would please her, and her family, and the Gods if she were to attain such a noble station.
Illara pulled her dark black hair back into a ponytail and adjusted her comfortable tunic. She wrinkled her little nose and bit her lip as she opened a thick manuscript about the history of the Kingdom’s notable advisors and heroic peoples. She loved the smell of old books.
A slave girl stood silently and obediently nearby, a tray with snacks and fruits and a cup of water and glass of wine in her hands. She wore a standard slave girl’s outfit; a grey tattered waistcloth that was far from reaching her knees and a leather belt across her chest, to reign in her breasts and cover her nipples. It was as close to naked as a person could be without actually being naked, showing off as much of the slave’s pale skin as possible.
The slave girl must be right around her own age, or maybe a little bit older. Illara wondered which village or conquered kingdom she had come from, but the question was fleeting, her book beckoned, and with it came knowledge and engaging ideas and fascinating stories.
But then there was a knock at the study door. It was rather loud and impolite, Illara thought.
“Go and answer it.” Illara said dismissively to the slave girl.
The slave nodded submissively and set down the tray carefully and walked to the door. She opened it and standing in the hallway were a half a dozen soldiers of the Kingdom. They had glistening panels of steel armor over maroon tunics and sheathed to their belts were swords. They did not wear helmets, as if going into battle, but Illara was still immediately alarmed. Why are soldiers here in my study she thought?
The leader of the formation stepped forward, his stern eyes locked onto her. As he spoke, the other soldiers moved with purpose into the spacious study.
“Illara Avenicii, you are under arrest for treason.” He declared.
Before she could even react in question or absolute shock, strong hands gripped her upper arms from either side and she was lifted from her comfortable chair. Flanked by soldiers, her hands were pulled behind her back, not roughly but firmly and unstoppably, and metal shackles were clasped onto her wrists.
“What is happening?” She blurted out breathlessly.
The lead soldier gave her a stern look, as if to reiterate his last statement.
Treason!? What in the Gods’ names were they talking about!? She had done no such thing, and had always been a loyal citizen of the Kingdom.
They marched her past her wide-eyed slave and out into the hallway. They led her promptly through her expansive family home and out of the main doors to the city street. There were another dozen soldiers standing there, and some of her neighbors had come out to see what was going on.
She blushed with embarrassment as she stood before them in shackles, soldiers on either side of her clamping tightly onto her upper arms. The leader of the soldiers waved at the gathering crowd dismissively.
“Go back to your business. This is an arrest under the King’s charge.” He announced. The crowd did not dissipate.
Illara was led through the streets of the Kingdom, towards the Citadel in the center of the city, where the Sacred Throne was. Will I be brought before the King she thought? Her mind was racing. She had always wanted to meet the King. But not like this. Not accused of something she would never ever fathom.
The walk to the Citadel passed like a blur. Marching up the marble steps to the large, ornate building, when they entered the expansive entrance hall, she was led to the left. She had heard where left in the entrance hall led to, the dungeons.
She was marched through the dark, torchlit halls and brought to an empty cell with nothing but a cot in it. She was walked inside, her shackles were removed, and the soldiers began to leave.
“Wait! Please! I’m innocent! Don’t leave me here!”
They ignored her and shut the iron-barred door and locked it. Then they left and she was all alone.

Chapter 2 - Preparation
She had paced nervously in her cell at first. Eventually she calmed herself. This has to be some big mistake she thought. It will all get sorted out. I’m not a traitor. Traitors suffer to appease the Gods and then they are crucified. I have done nothing wrong.
With her mind placated, she laid down on the simple cot. It was actually not too uncomfortable. She had never been to a crucifixion before. Her parents had always wanted her not to see such things. She had heard that the condemned were made to suffer and be humiliated before being placed on the cross to die. What a horrifying thing she thought.
She slept, but her dreams were troubling and anxiety-inducing. She wanted clarity and an explanation for what was happening.

She awoke when she heard the scraping of metal. Her cell door was being unlocked. A trio of soldiers walked inside.
“Stand.” One of them ordered emotionlessly.
She looked at him with her big, blue eyes. Why are they not sympathizing with me or telling me what is going on?
Nevertheless, she complied, and rose from her rough bed. Much like before, the other two soldiers took her arms, but this time they took out rough, strong rope and ties her hands at the wrist, in front of her instead of behind her back. Why is it different this time she wondered? The guards took her by her lean biceps and walked her out into the hallway.
The walked back the way she had come in. Am I being brought before the King? But they walked past the door that she had come through from the main entrance hall.
“Where are we going?” She asked nervously.
The lead soldier turned and looked at her for a moment, then continued without stopping. She could not read his expression.
After a few minutes, they came to a wood and metal set of double doors. The lead solider went forward and pushed the doors open. The room before them was quite large, also dark and torchlit like the rest of the dungeons.
In the center of the room was a wooden platform on wooden wheels. The platform sat on these large wheels about six feet off the ground. At the front of the platform were steps leading up to it. In the center of the platform was a single pole, also about six feet tall, with a rope and pulley mechanism at the top of it. In front of this wheeled platform, hanging from the ceiling parallel to the ground were three large wooden beams. On the sides of the beams facing the platform, chains were affixed that connected it to the front of the wheeled platform.
Her analytical mind was confused. What is this thing for? Was the platform meant to be pulled by people holding onto the three wooden beams?
There were about a dozen other soldiers in the room, some holding torches. Along the far wall was a line of slave girls, all with their hands bound behind their backs and metal collars around their necks, all connected by a long chain. They all had their eyes down respectfully, their barely covered breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath.
The soldiers guiding Illara gave her no pause to evaluate the room and its contents. They marched her straight towards the stairs to the top of the wooden platform. She that at the top of the pole on the platform, attached to the rope/pulley system, was a small metal hook.
She looked down at her bound hands, saw the gap of rope in between her wrists and suddenly it clicked. I am going to be affixed to that! Why?
She was right. They marched her straight to the pole in the center of the platform, moved her to where her back was to it, and held her there. The lead soldier reached up and grabbed the hook and brought it down before, securing it to her rope bindings. He nodded and the soldier on her right let go of her arm and began working a winch on the back of the pole, reigning in the rope. Her bound hands were pulled up over her head. Her shoulders ached slightly as the hook was pulled higher and higher.
He kept going, until her arms were fully extended, and she was standing on her tiptoes, pulled taught to where she could not move at all.
“What is happening?” She asked, her voice defaulting in these circumstances to a reverent, breathless whisper.
The lead solder grimaced. He looked pitying for a moment. But then he nodded. “Strip her.” He ordered.
Her mind reeled. What!? The two soldiers who had marched her here from her cell began to pull at her tunic. They were stripping it off her! Hands tied far above her head, she could only squirm, barely, as they pulled down the soft cloth and exposed her supple, ample breasts. She was a short girl, only five feet and one inch tall, but she had large, perky 32DD breasts with perfectly round, pink nipples.
She blushed intensely as her clothes were removed. She had never been naked in front of a man before. And now there were a bunch of soldiers, and a half a dozen slave girls, seeing her uncovered breasts! What is happening!?
They removed the tunic completely, the air flowing against her bare clitoris and she tried to raise her legs up to cover her womanhood. Her abdomen flexed and her skinny figure tightened as she tried to bring her legs up but taking her weight off of the floor caused her shoulders to scream out in pain and exertion. She had to leave her toes on the platform, meaning her nakedness was fully exposed.
She felt embarrassment and shame like never before. Standing stark and stretched, her breasts moving with every shaking breath, she felt truly humiliated. She could not move at all. Squirming would only make her breasts bounce more. She noticed a weird bulge in one of the soldier’s groin covering.
By the Gods! He has an erection! Because of me! Her lip quivered and her little nose wrinkled. She felt objectified and ashamed of her quivering, soft body.
Powerless to do anything, she watched with anxious curiosity as the soldiers walked down the steps and off of the platform. Are they going to just leave me hanging here? Then she saw the soldiers approach the line of slave girls. They looked them over dispassionately for a few moments, then the lead soldier nodded at one girl, a petite blond with green eyes and large breasts that were pressed against her chest by her slaves’ belt.
The soldiers unlocked her collar and marched her towards the wooden beams hanging from the ceiling. The submissive slave did not resist in the slightest. One of the soldiers removed her loincloth and then undid the belt around her chest. They tossed these to the side. The now naked slave’s shackles were removed and soldiers on either side of her took rope cords and wrapped them around each of her wrists. She was short, and the beam hung parallel to the floor at a level almost above her head. One of the soldiers said something and another one by the wall worked another winch and the beam was lowered slowly until it rested just above the height of her shoulder blades.
The naked slave’s arms were raised and she was pressed back against the beam (the soldier doing the pressing resting his hands on her ample breasts), and the ropes on each side of her were wrapped around the beam of wood.
Illara now noticed that the beams of wood each had horizontal notches along the edges, and a small ring on the back, so that the ropes could be tightened and affixed, stretching the naked slave’s arms taught as she was pulled against the beam and her feet arched to support her weight.
Illara’s mind wrapped around what was happening. These were crucifixion beams. A part of the cross that traitors were crucified upon. She realized why they were chained to the platform. These slaves were going to be bound to the wooden beams, and then they would pull the platform. She presumed to know where they would pull her to.
In the biggest city square there was a large wooden platform that had three tall beams of wood that could lie on the ground, or be raised up perpendicular to the ground through a series of pegs and gears. And crossbeams such as the three before her could be attached to those tall beams for crucifixion.
Am I going to be crucified!? Her head swam and her eyes blurred as her heart pounded at the thought. Her breasts were bouncing now as she nearly hyperventilated.
Once the naked, blonde slave girl was pulled tightly to the crossbeam and lowered her head, clearly already in an uncomfortable position, the process of stripping and binding was done on two more slaves. There was a curvaceous, black haired slave girl with large breasts and oval nipples who was bound to the center crossbeam. And then another petite, auburn haired girl who was very skinny and had small, perky breasts.
With three naked slaves attached to the crossbeam, their chests already beginning to rise and fall in anticipation of the coming march, the stark naked Illara could now be moved.
“Let us proceed.” The lead soldier said to the room, and the far wall of the room opened. It was a massive wooden door that she had thought to be a wall! They were going to march her out through the city to the execution square! This cannot be happening she thought!
How do I post the next 6 chapters? It’s saying that I’m exceeding the character limit?
 

Illara

Executioner
Chapter 3 - Procession
As sunlight from the mid-morning sky crashed into the room, illuminating Illara’s quivering naked body, the soldiers shouted at the slaves bound to the crossbeams. The naked slave girls began to walk forward, laboriously, and slowly, their entire weight thrown into moving the large wooden platform behind them. The ropes holding the crossbeams to the ceiling were undone, and the slaves began to pull Illara out into the sunlight. As the slaves strove with their naked bodies, they pushed hard and leaned forward, their breasts dangling as they pushed and pushed and pushed.
They were in the main street of the city. There were not many people around. Illara allowed herself a moment of relief. She did not want anyone else to see her naked. The platform moved slowly, surrounded by the little army of soldiers, occasionally cracking whips in the air to spur the naked slave girls on with fear of flogging.
The slaves obeyed, letting out occasional groans and moans as they used every muscle in their already frail bodies to pull Illara closer and closer to the square she had avoided her whole life.
As they approached, Illara’s stomach dropped with appalment as she saw a massive crowd filling the execution square. Are they all here to watch me crucified!? Will I be hoisted up naked for all of them to watch me die!?
She shook her head in fear, her cheeks pressing against her supple arms that were drawn so painfully tight above her head. With every bump in the road, the platform jiggled and her breasts did the same. She saw people watching now. Leering or looking on in wonder at the naked woman being paraded before them. She had never felt so much shame and embarrassment.She wished desperately that she could cover herself.
The long march to the center stage felt like it lasted an hour to her. The crowd parted for the sweating, heavy breathing slave girls pulling along the naked Illara. Illara’s face was bright red with humiliation. When the wooden platform was pulled alongside the large stage, the crossbeams were unchained from it. Soldiers grabbed the ends of each crossbeam and marched the slave girls up to the large central stage, where all the surrounding people could see them.
Illara watched as the slaves were each marched, still affixed to their crossbeams, to one of the three massive beams lying on the stage. With the soldier’s strength and guidance, they were laid down on the beams, and the crossbeams were affixed into place with a bolt that moved from a lever on their backs. The slave girls’ breasts rose and fell as they caught their breath from the grueling walk there. Illara realized that they were to be crucified first before her!
She remembered hearing that tradition dictated that slaves be executed as part of any criminal punishment, as a sacrifice unto the Gods. She wondered how many slaves would die this day for her. And why!? Why is this all happening she screamed in her mind?
The slave girls on their crosses were so exhausted from their trek there that they let their legs hang on either side of the thick wooden beams, their vaginas spread out and visible for the crowd of onlookers. They seemed too exhausted to care. They stared up at the sky as they gulped desperately for air. Maybe death is better for them, instead of life as a slave Illara thought. But to be crucified!? That is the worst way for anyone to die!
Soldiers walked up the stairs to the platform, erections bulging through their tunics. They avoided eye contact with her and lowered the winch on the back of her pole, lowering her to the ground. Ah! Her feet could finally be flat on the surface of the platform. Her arms felt relief, but that was short lived as her bindings were untied, her arms pulled behind her back, and tied tightly behind her. The bindings were also tied higher up on her forearm, so that her shoulder blades were pulled back and her ample chest stuck out. This is on purpose to showcase my breasts she thought pitifully as she was marched from one platform to the next.
As she was marched onto the large execution platform, she saw that behind on the ground were a load of people. Not onlookers, but participants. Support for the coming ritual torture and crucifixion. The participants were of three kinds.
First, there were slave girls. On their knees, in traditional slave garb (or lack thereof), hand bound behind their backs, metal collars around their necks, and chains connecting them all. They knelt in organized rows and columns.
Secondly, there were men. Fully naked men standing in a long line, many of them muscular and intimidating. She was drawn immediately to their massive, dangling cocks. She had never seen a penis before, and she felt a mixture of apprehension and bewilderment at the long shafts and mushroom tips and the bulging balls behind them. For a split second, Illara forgot her own nakedness.
Lastly, there were soldiers and guards. Tons of them. All looking grumpy and bored, like this was some big ceremony they were being forced to host and regulate. She found their boredom and apathy to be a rousing and horrible distinction against her naked helplessness and peril.
As Illara was marched towards the center of the stage, a very petite slave girl with short black hair and large, brown eyes was stripped naked and marched up to the stage as well. The slave girl was forced onto her knees back by the stairs on the back of the execution stage, and a thin cord was placed around her neck and tied down to a stake in the wood of the central platform. She knelt there, wide-eyed, looking out at the crowd of onlookers, her ribs visible and her hard, perky nipples moving with every mortified breath.
I wonder what her role is in this Illara wondered? But her question left her mind when she saw a trio of guards hoisting a comfortable looking chair up the stairs and over to the side of the stage, tilted at an angle so that whoever sat in it could look at the naked slave girls on the flat crosses and out at the onlookers as well.
The King! Oh no! She knew it as soon as she saw how ornate the chair was. The King is going to see me naked! Oh no oh no oh no!
She wanted to squirm and resist, but that would only put on more of a show for the onlookers. Her breasts were already jiggling and bouncing with every step. She could not humiliate herself anymore. She could not take it.
She was marched to the center of the platform and made to kneel facing the crowd of onlookers.
A herald in purple livery walked forward to the edge of the platform and blew on small trumpet to quiet the crowd.
“Behold!” He shouted, his voice booming. “Illara Avenicii! Traitor to the Kingdom!”
The crowd erupted. Shouts and cheers, an equal mixture of spiteful and excited. It made Illara blush more than she had ever thought possible.
“Now! Behold! King Titus VI!”
Illara turned to her left to see the King approach the small throne that had been placed there for him. He was tall and muscular, middle aged and healthy, with his dark beard beginning to have spots of grey. His eyes were a blue not unlike hers, and his hair went down to his shoulders, well kept and billowing. He wore a purple and blue kilt. His bare chest and abdomen were framed by a purple cape. His illustrious crown of gold and jewels rested upon his head.
The crowd applauded and began chanting his name. The King looked at Illara. Their eyes met. She almost thought a slight grin was dancing on the edge of his lips. The herald blew the trumpet once more. The crowd went silent.
“This execution,” The herald proclaimed, “shall be conducted in accordance with all of the laws and statutes of old, in the name of the Glory of the Gods!” The crowd nodded in anticipation. “The traitor’s torture shall now begin. First, she shall be given the King’s seed, as his blessing upon this ritual!”
His seed? What does that mean? Illara wondered with apprehension. Her question was answered immediately.
The King shirked off his cape, and then reached down and removed his kilt. Now he was naked except for the crown on his head. His cock was massive. Thick and long, her eyes were immediately drawn to it.
Is he going to put that…she gulped…inside of me? Her face flushed at the thought.
 

Illara

Executioner
Chapter 4 – Ritual
She did not notice the guards approach her from behind. She was too mystified and enraptured by the King’s massive penis. They removed her bindings and pushed her forward so that she was on all fours. Her breasts swayed and dangled, and she looked up at the crowd, and saw eyes eager to watch her be fucked from behind.
She let out a whimper. Was she really about to lose her virginity to the King? And in front what looked to be nearly the entire city!?
The King approached her and his eyes moved down to her dangling breasts. His penis began to engorge and grow erect. It gets even bigger!? She was beside herself now. But what could she do to resist?
The King stepped behind her and placed his strong hands on her hips. She felt his pulsating penis against the soft flesh of her lower abdomen. It reached nearly to her belly button it was so long. The crowd was cheering now, and she looked out at them, pleading with her eyes for them to look away.
The King entered her. Her lips formed an O and she moaned in a way that she had never moaned before. She felt the air escape her lungs like he was fucking it out of her. He went slowly at first and her body tensed at the sensations that she had never had before. Her back arched and her eyed widened.
Then he began to fuck her vigorously. Her breasts swung and clapped together loudly. Her body rocked with every powerful thrust. Her petite body arched as he launched himself powerfully into her, and she moaned and groaned like a wild animal.
Every gasp of air escaped her in sounds of sex that she never imagined she could make. She felt so mortified to be transformed before the people of her city into a carnal fuck toy moaning and gasping as their Gods Proclaimed Ruler thrust himself into her.
The crowd was loving it, and every sound of passion from them stoked the fire of shame and humiliation in her. Her body was powerless, she was dominated completely by the King.
He thrust and fucked and rocked her until she thought she might pass out from the crescendo of it all. But then he slowed,and she felt him finish within her. The King let out a sigh of pleasure. Illara gasped to catch her breath.
Her breasts tingled from being beaten together by the rough intercourse. Her arms ached from holding herself up. Her face was bright red, and sweat was dripping down her brow.
The King raised his hands in a wave to the crowd and they cheered loudly. He walked over to the naked slave girl on her knees with the rope around her neck. He presented his still-erect cock to her and she blinked a couple of times before leaning over and running her lips all up and down his penis.
For a moment, Illara’s mind escaped the horrifying humiliation and detached, clinging to the analytical. So her purpose is to clean the King’s manhood with her mouth, she thought. Makes sense. But if she is tied to a stake and on her knees, are there more men she must suckle?
Realization blossomed over her. It all made sense. They’re going to crucify the slaves that pulled me here, and while they are on the cross, I’ll be fucked over and over again! She gasped. How would she get through it!? It could take a person hours to die on the cross! Sometimes even days, she had heard.
She saw the procession of naked, muscular men from earlier stream onto the platform. She was still on her hands and knees, breasts dangling with trepidation at the next hard fucking. Were they all coming for her she wondered? Some broke off and went to the slaves resting on the flat crosses. They began to fuck them, the slaves’ hands still affixed tightly to the crossbeams. The slave girls’ moaned and yelped and arched their backs, unable to resist, their breasts bouncing wildly on their taught chests.
Is that what will become of me she wondered in fright? Before she could ruminate on it further, a tall, muscular man with a thick cock approached her. She looked her right in the eyes and smiled. Oh no not again she thought.
He grasped her hips tightly and slammed his engorged penis into her roughly. She felt like the wind was knocked out of her. The fucking began in earnest, and her breasts found their familiar rhythm. Bounce against her belly, clap together under her chin, back and forth, back and forth. Clap clap clap clap.
It took all of her strength to keep her head up as he fucked her so vigorously that her back was stuck arching from the bulging penetration. She could hear the slave girls on the crosses getting fucked too. At least the cacophony of loud sexual sounds made her one of four. Better than being the only one fucked.
The large man finished, and before she could catch her breath, another took his place. As he was fucking her roughly, she realized that this was the rest of her life. Torture, shame, and rough fucking. Her body was no longer hers to command or respect. She was a ritual to the Gods, made to suffer for the glory of the Kingdom. Why is this happening!? I’m innocent!?She wanted to scream it but she was being fucked far too hard to utter words.
As she was rocking back and forth, she heard the sounds of the slave girls quiet and cease. Then a n ominous sound of clanging and gears turning. They must be raising up their crosses! She wanted to look back, out of morbid curiosity of what fate lay before her, but she could not turn her head back that far.
Clap clap clap clap. Her breasts were getting sore from the brutal swinging. She heard a whimper and a deep groan from behind and above her. It must have been one of the slave girls on the cross. Oh no! How much agony are they in? How much agony will I be in!?
She felt her arms beginning to shake. She could not hold herself up much longer. Each thrust from the men fucking her was draining her vitality, and she was running out of strength.
Finally, he arms lost all strength, and she fell to the floor, her breasts squishing against the solid wooden stage, her sweaty forehead resting against the unforgiving surface.
The man fucking her stopped as she went down. He grunted and she felt warm liquid spurt out onto her ass and drip down into her vagina. She did not care. She was only relieved that the thrusting and the rocking had stopped. I hope it is over she thought to herself. It was not.
 

Illara

Executioner
Chapter 5 - Torture
Resting her chest and weary head on the wood of the execution stage, Illara had a moment of hope that her torture and degradation was coming to an end. Those hopes were dashed as she felt strong arms grip her biceps and pull her back up onto her knees.
Her back perpendicular to the ground, her breasts resting from the dangling and the clapping, she looked out at the cheering crowd as her chest heaved and she caught her breath. The hands that had pulled her up moved her trembling hands behind her back and tied them firmly with cords at the wrist.
Then they hoisted her to her feet, and turned her around. She looked up and her jaw dropped. The three slave girls were crucified on the cross. Their hands bound tightly to the crossbeams, their feet stacked atop each other and tied to a small post on the main beam. Their bodies writhing in clear agony,pain, and distress. Their nakedness was on full display, high above anything that could conceal them, for all to see. She saw the humiliation and horror in their eyes.
Her eyes first went to the petite blond slave with the large breasts. The girl’s legs shook with exhaustion as she pushed against the ropes to heave her heavy chest up and draw in air. Illara inhaled in shock. She imagined herself up there, bound to the unforgiving wood, feeling excruciating pain like she had never experienced before.
She moved her gaze to the other two slaves. The curvaceous, black haired slave girl was crucified in the center. A thick, pale liquid had splattered across her chest, and it was dripping down from her plump breasts as she hung from the cross. Illara wondered what the liquid was. She had never seen ejaculate before. Lastly, the petite, auburn haired slave girl had her skinny frame stretched to its limits on the far right cross. She was so taught against the cross that even her small breasts looked shapely and rounded, the perky nipples facing slightly upward at an angle. She had a large smattering of the same pale liquid on her face and running down her neck.
Illara was breathless at the crucified women. What a horrible fate! What an inhumane punishment and shameful degradation! She had frozen up at the sight of the three dying slaves. The guards escorting her pulled her forward and a simple, low wooden bench was brought up and placed where she had been moments ago on her hands and knees.
One of the long line of naked, muscular men stepped forward and laid down on the bench, the top of his head facing the crowd and his fully erect penis standing like a flagpole up from his chiseled groin. The guards escorted Illara over to him and she was placed upon him so her legs were on either side of him and her naked body faced the crowd.
The guards pushed her forward slightly, and the man laying on the bench lifted up his hands and rested them on her ribs, his hands just below her ample breasts. I wish he would cover them with his hands she thought. The guards grabbed her hips and maneuvered her pelvis so that she was just over the man’s erect penis.
They pushed her down his penis entered into her, the new angle of penetration causing her to moan involuntarily. She felt strong hands bend her over, so she was at a 45 degree angle to the supine man, his cock pulsing within her, her breasts dangling back and forth. She felt another set up hands spread apart her ass cheeks.
What are they doing she thought with sudden, desperate fear? She gasped loudly as another penis entered her into anus, sending coursing, throbbing undulation through her body. She groaned as she felt the two massive cocks within her. She felt stuffed and filled up and her whole body tensed.
They began to thrust with their hips, fucking her in synchronized motions, her breasts began to bounce, flying up to her chin level and then swinging back down to smack against the supine man’s hands as he held her in place by her ribs.
She moaned and exclaimed loudly, her eyes were rolling back into her head, she was a slave to their massive cocks and their strong bodies were enthralling and dominating her completely. She could not resist in any way. Her mind only lingered on how embarrassing and humiliating this was. To be made a sexual beast, carnal and naked, in front of everyone she had ever known and could ever know. Her shame and degradation knew no boundaries.
When the two men had finished inside of her, she gasped and tried to catch her breath, but before she could, the two men had gone over to have their dicks sucked off by the short haired slave girl near the stairs, and two new men had immediately taken their place.
This went on for hours. Dozens and dozens of men. Before long, Illara began to crave the cross. Anything had to be better than this overstuffing and bouncing up and down painfully. She felt sweat dripping down her whole body. She wished the slave girls on the crosses would die already. That way it could finally be her turn.
She had lost count of how many men had fucked her. She wondered if she had surpassed a hundred. Finally a pair finished inside of her, and she had time to get a deep breath in. And another. And another. Is it over?
Guards grabbed her biceps and pulled her away from the bench. She looked up at the crosses. The slave girls all hung limply, their heads down and their breasts still. They looked dead. Illara felt the sweat cascading down her body but she felt a shiver of hope at seeing the dead slaves. Please put me up thereshe whimpered to herself.
The King approached her. He was still naked except for the crown, his massive penis dangling wildly. He sauntered over to her and looked her in the eyes. The herald approached her and snapped his fingers rudely to get her attention.
“Condemned! The King has offered you a chance for mercy. If you refuse, you shall continue to be tortured until we crucify a dozen more slaves. But if you comply, you will be placed upon the cross to suffer your final punishment.”
She nodded desperately. “Yes, I will do anything.” She gasped. Her voice sounded high pitched and sexual after the hours of moaning and groaning and exclaiming.
The King’s massive penis began to engorge and rise. It was like watching a serpent rise to strike. The herald gestured to the King’s cock, like he was introducing her to a friend. “Suck the King’s manhood and swallow his seed. If it pleases, the King, he shall grant you mercy.”
She nodded at once. She would do anything to hasten her punishment. She fell to her knees and looked over at the slave girl tied to the stake by the stairs. The big-eyed, petite slave looked sweaty and exhausted from running her mouth over so many cocks. Illara pitied the slave girl. She wondered how awful she herself must look right now. But she did not care.
Without hesitation she began sucking off the King. His cock was so long, that she had to run it all the way back down her throat to get her lips anywhere near his balls. Her eyes teared and she wanted to gag, but she had to take the King’s manhood. She had to please him. She needed his mercy.
She became aware that she was on her knees, thrusting her head forward and back as the King fucked her mouth, her breasts swaying from a new angle for the leering audience to watch. She blushed and felt a new beading of sweat upon her brow, but she continued sucking the King’s cock desperately. She had no idea what his ‘seed’ would be like, but whatever it was, she would swallow it. She would do anything.
After minutes that felt like hours to her, the King’s manhood shuddered, and she felt liquid shoot into her mouth with forceful projection. It was thick and there was so much of it! She swallowed desperately, feeling some exit her mouth and drip onto her lips. She ran her tongue along her lower lip to scoop up the cum. She would not give them any grounds to say that she had not earned her mercy from the King.
She swallowed the massive outpouring of ejaculate with difficulty, but she was successful. The King removed his penis from her mouth and raised his hands in a gesture of victory. The crowd went wild. They chanted the King’s name, but Illara did not care. She had turned her head to her left, to watch the three looming crosses. They had begun to be lowered back down.
She wanted to whine to them “fuck put me on there, make this end” but she kept silent. Once the crosses were lowered, strong naked men untied the dead slave girls and picked up their bodies, and took them away. The crosses were empty again. Massive, deadly, and waiting for adornment.
 

Illara

Executioner
Chapter 6 – The Cross
Nude Illara, her hands still tied tightly behind her back, was marched over to the center cross. A bulky man with a raging erection stopped her near the cross and placed one massive hand around her throat. Not squeezing or choking her, just holding her by the neck. She did not resist in the slightest. While the bulky man held her, guards undid the bindings around her wrists and then each took hold of a hand. They kept her under control, but it was unnecessary. She was far beyond the point of resistance. She had accepted her fate. She had abandoned the question of why this was happening and simply wanted it all to end.
Ropes were wrapped around each of her tender wrists. She was then pulled, hands out past her sides, to the cross where they lowered her onto the cross. The sturdy, unforgiving wood felt like a comfort after so much torture. She had caught her breath now and was glad that she could breathe without making as much of a show of heaving her breasts.
The ropes attached to each of her hands were wrapped around the crossbeams and pulled tight. She moaned as her arms were stretched and she felt her shoulders and upper back pop at the taught stretching. Her breasts had never had such a wide valley of cleavage between them. She was affixed tightly to the cross, her upper body tight pressed against it.
Her legs were still free though. A naked man came and straddled the cross, his massive penis pointed at her like a threat. She raised her head up, which took a lot of strength and effort to do, and looked between her round breasts and hard nipples at him. He placed his hands on her inner thighs, spreading her legs.
“Want this to end?” He nodded down at his cock.
“Yes.” She said breathlessly.
“Then swallow his seed and we will cease.” The man said, nodding at someone behind her.
Illara rested her head back onto the cross and looked up with her eyes. Standing over her was an overweight man with a thick, hairy cock and enormous balls. The tip of his penis was dangling down and looking her in the eyes.
How am I going to do that while I’m tied down to the crossshe wondered desperately?
The man who had spoken to her began to fuck her, and her body rocked back and forth with each thrust. At least her breasts were not crashing together with each hip thrust, but she still felt her exhausted body pulse agonizingly with each movement. She knew they would not help her. She was about to die crucified. I am so close!
She raised her head up painfully and difficultly, accounting for the motion of each fuck thrust, and began sucking the big man’s dick. It tasted sweaty and gross. She kept sucking, suppressing the moans of her fucking and wrapping her lips tightly and fervently around the man’s bulging penis. Give me your seed, you fucking bastard, give me your seed!
She felt her neck shaking from the exertion. Why were they making this so difficult? The man fucking her finished and another immediately took his place. This torture continued, until finally, as the fifth man fucked her, she felt the fat man’s cock shudder just like the King’s had.
Finally she thought! The first mass of ejaculate rocketed into the back of her throat. She swallowed with all of her might. Another squirt, and another. She swallowed them both. But then the strength in her neck and collar gave out and she disengaged her mouth from his cock and rested back against the cross. A final splurge of thick white cum shot onto her right breasts, the warm liquid thickly resting on the curve of her breast, but above her perfectly round nipple.
She felt the thickness of it rest on her skin while some of the liquid ran down and pooled on her upper chest. She was breathing like a winded animal now, her torture finally, finally over. The man who had been fucking her stopped and finished inside of her. He took her legs and crossed her right foot on top of her left one. She felt ropes being wrapped around her ankles.
Finally. It is over. But then she remembered seeing the slave girls writhe on the cross, and a wave of horror washed over her. She was going to be crucified!
 

Illara

Executioner
Chapter 7 – Crucifixion
Strapped firmly to the cross, her body stretched taut, Illara breathed anxiously. These are my final painless breaths she thought. She felt the thick wood of the cross below her rumble. They were going to raise her up!
The cross began to rotate up slowly, and with each passing moment, she felt the pressure on her ankles and wrists grow and grow and grow. The cum on her right breast shifted, and began to move towards her nipple. She felt the sweat running down her naked body.
Boom! The cross reached its upright position, slotting into the base so it could stand perfectly perpendicular to the ground. Her body weight was entirely on her wrists and ankles. It was pain she could never have imagined.
She gasped loudly, her back arching and her breasts jutting forward as her lungs screamed for air. Her legs instinctively tensed every muscle they had, to take pressure off of her wrists and allow her lungs to open up. She felt looked down and saw the crowd of onlookers cheering. She was up high above them, naked and writhing and moaning in agony, and they were cheering!?
She balked at the horror and humiliation and unfairness of it all. She rested her tired legs, but the moment she did her chest was stretched painfully and her back hurt and her arms sprang to life with pain. She realized in abject horror that she would find no position of respite on the cross. It was all pain, all the time, until she died of asphyxiation as her body became to weak to heave itself up for air.
What a horrible, evil, disgusting way to punish someoneshe thought! She looked down at the King who was looking up at her emotionlessly, his massive cock dangling flaccid even as he looked at her naked, supple, sweaty body.
She looked down at her dangling bosom. The fat man’s cum was dripping over her nipple and dangling like honey from a comb. She began to grow lightheaded. She needed more air. She straightened her legs and tightened her buttocks and raised herself up for a desperate gulp of air. So this is the dance of the crucified she thought to herself as she relaxed her legs and was assailed again with the pain of hanging limply.
As the hour went on, she could not bring her mind away from the fact that she was naked, no longer a virgin, and had been degraded in every way possible in front of the entirety of the city. She alternated between pain and shame, pain and shame, pain and shame.
Finally, with the sun beginning to set, she had been on the cross for many hours. She exerted her legs for the thousandth time to give her air, but they did nothing. Her body had no more strength. She hung there, suffocating, liquid from her own body filling her lungs. She tried again, her mind desperately trying to move somehow to raise itself up, to get precious, precious air.
She was writing and her breasts were swaying. She noticed in an odd moment of disassociation that her nipples were rock hard. Strange. She rested her head against her chest and felt a tightness in her throat and chest.
I am naked! The whole city can see every movement across my naked body! And I never did anything wrong! She passed out from hypoxia and died minutes later.

Chapter 8 – Epilogue
The petite slave girl with the short black hair and big, doe eyes who had been cleaning cocks with her mouth was named Ena. She had sat obediently once they had put the condemned girl up on the cross and did not make a sound. She was so mortified that she was naked in front of everyone and that she had had so many men put their cocks into her mouth. She looked up at the woman writhing and groaning on the cross.
Poor thing Ena thought. She looked down at her small but perky breasts and her round, soft nipples, down her flat belly to her pink womanhood, and then up at the crowd again. At least all of their eyes were on the crucified girl and not on her.
Why am I stripped for this she wondered? Could I not have kept on my slave’s garb for modesty?
It did not matter. She was just grateful to not be up on the cross. She sat for the hours as the day went on and the girl on the cross slowly died. Finally, as the sun was setting, Ena was nearly asleep, but her attention was roused as the guards began moving and lowering the cross.
It’s over she thought. A pair of guards came over one stood by her while the other untied the rope around her neck from the stake in the ground. The guards helped her to her feet, and led her off down the stairs, past the rows of other slave girls. She walked with the guards obediently, blushing at her nakedness.
The walked her through the palace and through many winding corridors until they came to a large room where against the far wall were a half a dozen crosses. Only two of them had women on them, both nude and writhing in agony.
A guard stepped over and removed his tunic, exposing a large, erect penis.
“In accordance with the statues and edicts of the Gods, all slaves who participate in an execution must be crucified.”
“What?” She shuddered.
The grabbed her by her thin arms and marched her towards her cross.
 
The Crucifixion of Illara
By Anonymous

Note: This is a fantasy story. Nothing more.

Chapter 1 - Arrest
Illara was a Prefect’s daughter, and for the preceding months she had been pouring over texts and tomes about diplomacy and economic theory and philosophy. She wanted to submit herself into the King’s service as an advisor now that she had come into adulthood. The Kingdom was sprawling and massive, and it would please her, and her family, and the Gods if she were to attain such a noble station.
Illara pulled her dark black hair back into a ponytail and adjusted her comfortable tunic. She wrinkled her little nose and bit her lip as she opened a thick manuscript about the history of the Kingdom’s notable advisors and heroic peoples. She loved the smell of old books.
A slave girl stood silently and obediently nearby, a tray with snacks and fruits and a cup of water and glass of wine in her hands. She wore a standard slave girl’s outfit; a grey tattered waistcloth that was far from reaching her knees and a leather belt across her chest, to reign in her breasts and cover her nipples. It was as close to naked as a person could be without actually being naked, showing off as much of the slave’s pale skin as possible.
The slave girl must be right around her own age, or maybe a little bit older. Illara wondered which village or conquered kingdom she had come from, but the question was fleeting, her book beckoned, and with it came knowledge and engaging ideas and fascinating stories.
But then there was a knock at the study door. It was rather loud and impolite, Illara thought.
“Go and answer it.” Illara said dismissively to the slave girl.
The slave nodded submissively and set down the tray carefully and walked to the door. She opened it and standing in the hallway were a half a dozen soldiers of the Kingdom. They had glistening panels of steel armor over maroon tunics and sheathed to their belts were swords. They did not wear helmets, as if going into battle, but Illara was still immediately alarmed. Why are soldiers here in my study she thought?
The leader of the formation stepped forward, his stern eyes locked onto her. As he spoke, the other soldiers moved with purpose into the spacious study.
“Illara Avenicii, you are under arrest for treason.” He declared.
Before she could even react in question or absolute shock, strong hands gripped her upper arms from either side and she was lifted from her comfortable chair. Flanked by soldiers, her hands were pulled behind her back, not roughly but firmly and unstoppably, and metal shackles were clasped onto her wrists.
“What is happening?” She blurted out breathlessly.
The lead soldier gave her a stern look, as if to reiterate his last statement.
Treason!? What in the Gods’ names were they talking about!? She had done no such thing, and had always been a loyal citizen of the Kingdom.
They marched her past her wide-eyed slave and out into the hallway. They led her promptly through her expansive family home and out of the main doors to the city street. There were another dozen soldiers standing there, and some of her neighbors had come out to see what was going on.
She blushed with embarrassment as she stood before them in shackles, soldiers on either side of her clamping tightly onto her upper arms. The leader of the soldiers waved at the gathering crowd dismissively.
“Go back to your business. This is an arrest under the King’s charge.” He announced. The crowd did not dissipate.
Illara was led through the streets of the Kingdom, towards the Citadel in the center of the city, where the Sacred Throne was. Will I be brought before the King she thought? Her mind was racing. She had always wanted to meet the King. But not like this. Not accused of something she would never ever fathom.
The walk to the Citadel passed like a blur. Marching up the marble steps to the large, ornate building, when they entered the expansive entrance hall, she was led to the left. She had heard where left in the entrance hall led to, the dungeons.
She was marched through the dark, torchlit halls and brought to an empty cell with nothing but a cot in it. She was walked inside, her shackles were removed, and the soldiers began to leave.
“Wait! Please! I’m innocent! Don’t leave me here!”
They ignored her and shut the iron-barred door and locked it. Then they left and she was all alone.

Chapter 2 - Preparation
She had paced nervously in her cell at first. Eventually she calmed herself. This has to be some big mistake she thought. It will all get sorted out. I’m not a traitor. Traitors suffer to appease the Gods and then they are crucified. I have done nothing wrong.
With her mind placated, she laid down on the simple cot. It was actually not too uncomfortable. She had never been to a crucifixion before. Her parents had always wanted her not to see such things. She had heard that the condemned were made to suffer and be humiliated before being placed on the cross to die. What a horrifying thing she thought.
She slept, but her dreams were troubling and anxiety-inducing. She wanted clarity and an explanation for what was happening.

She awoke when she heard the scraping of metal. Her cell door was being unlocked. A trio of soldiers walked inside.
“Stand.” One of them ordered emotionlessly.
She looked at him with her big, blue eyes. Why are they not sympathizing with me or telling me what is going on?
Nevertheless, she complied, and rose from her rough bed. Much like before, the other two soldiers took her arms, but this time they took out rough, strong rope and ties her hands at the wrist, in front of her instead of behind her back. Why is it different this time she wondered? The guards took her by her lean biceps and walked her out into the hallway.
The walked back the way she had come in. Am I being brought before the King? But they walked past the door that she had come through from the main entrance hall.
“Where are we going?” She asked nervously.
The lead soldier turned and looked at her for a moment, then continued without stopping. She could not read his expression.
After a few minutes, they came to a wood and metal set of double doors. The lead solider went forward and pushed the doors open. The room before them was quite large, also dark and torchlit like the rest of the dungeons.
In the center of the room was a wooden platform on wooden wheels. The platform sat on these large wheels about six feet off the ground. At the front of the platform were steps leading up to it. In the center of the platform was a single pole, also about six feet tall, with a rope and pulley mechanism at the top of it. In front of this wheeled platform, hanging from the ceiling parallel to the ground were three large wooden beams. On the sides of the beams facing the platform, chains were affixed that connected it to the front of the wheeled platform.
Her analytical mind was confused. What is this thing for? Was the platform meant to be pulled by people holding onto the three wooden beams?
There were about a dozen other soldiers in the room, some holding torches. Along the far wall was a line of slave girls, all with their hands bound behind their backs and metal collars around their necks, all connected by a long chain. They all had their eyes down respectfully, their barely covered breasts rising and falling with each nervous breath.
The soldiers guiding Illara gave her no pause to evaluate the room and its contents. They marched her straight towards the stairs to the top of the wooden platform. She that at the top of the pole on the platform, attached to the rope/pulley system, was a small metal hook.
She looked down at her bound hands, saw the gap of rope in between her wrists and suddenly it clicked. I am going to be affixed to that! Why?
She was right. They marched her straight to the pole in the center of the platform, moved her to where her back was to it, and held her there. The lead soldier reached up and grabbed the hook and brought it down before, securing it to her rope bindings. He nodded and the soldier on her right let go of her arm and began working a winch on the back of the pole, reigning in the rope. Her bound hands were pulled up over her head. Her shoulders ached slightly as the hook was pulled higher and higher.
He kept going, until her arms were fully extended, and she was standing on her tiptoes, pulled taught to where she could not move at all.
“What is happening?” She asked, her voice defaulting in these circumstances to a reverent, breathless whisper.
The lead solder grimaced. He looked pitying for a moment. But then he nodded. “Strip her.” He ordered.
Her mind reeled. What!? The two soldiers who had marched her here from her cell began to pull at her tunic. They were stripping it off her! Hands tied far above her head, she could only squirm, barely, as they pulled down the soft cloth and exposed her supple, ample breasts. She was a short girl, only five feet and one inch tall, but she had large, perky 32DD breasts with perfectly round, pink nipples.
She blushed intensely as her clothes were removed. She had never been naked in front of a man before. And now there were a bunch of soldiers, and a half a dozen slave girls, seeing her uncovered breasts! What is happening!?
They removed the tunic completely, the air flowing against her bare clitoris and she tried to raise her legs up to cover her womanhood. Her abdomen flexed and her skinny figure tightened as she tried to bring her legs up but taking her weight off of the floor caused her shoulders to scream out in pain and exertion. She had to leave her toes on the platform, meaning her nakedness was fully exposed.
She felt embarrassment and shame like never before. Standing stark and stretched, her breasts moving with every shaking breath, she felt truly humiliated. She could not move at all. Squirming would only make her breasts bounce more. She noticed a weird bulge in one of the soldier’s groin covering.
By the Gods! He has an erection! Because of me! Her lip quivered and her little nose wrinkled. She felt objectified and ashamed of her quivering, soft body.
Powerless to do anything, she watched with anxious curiosity as the soldiers walked down the steps and off of the platform. Are they going to just leave me hanging here? Then she saw the soldiers approach the line of slave girls. They looked them over dispassionately for a few moments, then the lead soldier nodded at one girl, a petite blond with green eyes and large breasts that were pressed against her chest by her slaves’ belt.
The soldiers unlocked her collar and marched her towards the wooden beams hanging from the ceiling. The submissive slave did not resist in the slightest. One of the soldiers removed her loincloth and then undid the belt around her chest. They tossed these to the side. The now naked slave’s shackles were removed and soldiers on either side of her took rope cords and wrapped them around each of her wrists. She was short, and the beam hung parallel to the floor at a level almost above her head. One of the soldiers said something and another one by the wall worked another winch and the beam was lowered slowly until it rested just above the height of her shoulder blades.
The naked slave’s arms were raised and she was pressed back against the beam (the soldier doing the pressing resting his hands on her ample breasts), and the ropes on each side of her were wrapped around the beam of wood.
Illara now noticed that the beams of wood each had horizontal notches along the edges, and a small ring on the back, so that the ropes could be tightened and affixed, stretching the naked slave’s arms taught as she was pulled against the beam and her feet arched to support her weight.
Illara’s mind wrapped around what was happening. These were crucifixion beams. A part of the cross that traitors were crucified upon. She realized why they were chained to the platform. These slaves were going to be bound to the wooden beams, and then they would pull the platform. She presumed to know where they would pull her to.
In the biggest city square there was a large wooden platform that had three tall beams of wood that could lie on the ground, or be raised up perpendicular to the ground through a series of pegs and gears. And crossbeams such as the three before her could be attached to those tall beams for crucifixion.
Am I going to be crucified!? Her head swam and her eyes blurred as her heart pounded at the thought. Her breasts were bouncing now as she nearly hyperventilated.
Once the naked, blonde slave girl was pulled tightly to the crossbeam and lowered her head, clearly already in an uncomfortable position, the process of stripping and binding was done on two more slaves. There was a curvaceous, black haired slave girl with large breasts and oval nipples who was bound to the center crossbeam. And then another petite, auburn haired girl who was very skinny and had small, perky breasts.
With three naked slaves attached to the crossbeam, their chests already beginning to rise and fall in anticipation of the coming march, the stark naked Illara could now be moved.
“Let us proceed.” The lead soldier said to the room, and the far wall of the room opened. It was a massive wooden door that she had thought to be a wall! They were going to march her out through the city to the execution square! This cannot be happening she thought!
Crucifixion aside, the depiction of slave girl attire and demeanor is particularly well done. More of this, please!
 

Zephirantes

Assistant executioner
I particularly enjoy this story, even without the nailing.
The shame, the humiliation, and the physical pain are all very well described, in a thrilling way.
I like her "line of thinking" too, her inner monologue that sometimes is missing in similar stories.
As I identify mainly with the victim, I like to know what they do feel.
 

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
Nice story. A word of advice. It helps to slow down and post one chapter a day. Members will have more time then to read and comment,
 
Top Bottom