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Golgotha

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GabriellaSivilla said:
Dear all,

here is my latest story. Before I start, I just wanted to say a few words about it, in particular about how I conceived it.

First of all, the story is written from the point of view of the protagonist, the victim. It goes without saying that she's me, and that I tried as much as possible to identify myself with the character. The descriptions are based on the sensations of the protagonist, on what she sees and hears. A partial vision but, in my opinion, very effective and involving, too.

Also for this, the background story is kept to a minimum. Everything takes place in the "here and now" of the protagonist, and there is only a brief mention of what previously happened, just to make it clear the background to the reader. I trust that the average reader will be more interested in what is happening on the scene then in the background story.

The story is violent. Very. Strong. Very. But in my mind an execution on the cross, in which a young girl is tortured to death, cannot be otherwise. Being then a public torture, all the most spectacular aspects are exalted. And they have to be terrifying, and obscene, to serve as a warning to onlookers. Then, everything takes place in the immediate aftermath of a conquest, which adds drama and violence to the scene.

That said, I hope you enjoy the story, and please post your comments, of any kind. They are of great help to the writers. By the way, I would LOVE if somebody wants to illustrate it.

Kisses !
Gabriella

_____________________________________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA

by Gabriella Sivilla



It's there, in front of me. It's scary.

It's a low hill, no trees, almost no grass. Clay. And stakes driven into the ground. Dirty. And white stuff around. Bones. Broken bones.

"AAAAAHHHHH"

One of the soldiers has hit me with the whip. It's one of those long ones, made of hardened leather, with a metal tip. Terrible. The tip enters my tender flesh, tearing it apart and drawing blood. I stagger, bend one leg and hit the ground, painfully, with one knee.

"WHORE!!! STAND-UP!!! STAND-UP AND MOVE, OR I SWEAR I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE WITH MY WHIP AND THEN I'LL MAKE YOU ASS BUGGERED BY A HORSE! STAND-UP!!!"

Whore. That's what they call me. And all possible insults, all obscenities. Slut. Bitch. I'll fuck you. I'll break your pussy. Shouting, screaming in my ears with full force. They didn't done anything else since they took me.

But I'm not, and I haven't been, a whore. I am the daughter of the king of this little kingdom. Indeed, I was. And when the Romans arrived, and the generals went out with the soldiers to face them, I stayed in the palace. And when the generals betrayed, and the Romans entered the city, I was the first they came for, guided by their directions.

I'm dressed. They don't let me march naked. They took a long cloth and wrapped it around my body, tying it around my waist, making sure to leave one of my long legs clearly visible. And another knot on one shoulder, leaving one of my breasts exposed. Tender breasts.

When they took me to the courtyard, they stripped me of my clothes. Always yelling, always shouting obscenities. Punching me in the stomach while someone held their arms firmly inside my back. Slapping me. Spitting on my face. Squeezing my boobs until I screamed in pain. Twisting my nipples. Surrounded by stinking, callous soldiers, guarded by two men on horseback, in armor, their eyes hard.

When they brought the patibulum and dropped it on the ground, I heard a dull thud, amid the cries of the soldiers. The insults: "Bitch, is there where you get fucked on, every night?" "How many buggered you tonight? Did you scream? Never how much you'll scream today, while we're butchering you."

Then someone brought a long cloth. And the ropes. And another brought my makeup and took out a brush. He painted my boobs in red, laughing like crazy, while the others held me down. And then the cheeks. And then a red circle around the pussy. And another one on the butt. And everyone was laughing and snickering like crazy.

Then they dressed me in the dirty cloth; it's a rag, full of holes, there are lice on it. But they have taken care to leave my back naked. And they tied the patibulum on my shoulders. It's heavy, so heavy. And they pushed me forward.

In arriving here, barefoot, I stopped several times, exhausted, overwhelmed by the cacophony of soldiers' insults and shouts from the crowd. Deafening cacophony. And each time they whipped me, over and over again, driving the metal tip of the whip deep into my flesh. Causing my hot blood to smear the fabric on my butt in bright red.

And now here I am, contemplating the hill on which I will die in excruciating torment. At eighteen. Among people who will bask in my screams of pain, who will cum to see me writhing from pain on the cross.

"MOVE IT BITCHAAAA!!!!" "DAMN I TOLD YOU I'LL FUCK YOUR ASS AND I WILL, BITCH!!!" I scream from fear, while he reaches down and grabs with one hand my hair and yells in my ear, and with the other lowers the cloth around my butt. I feel him shoving something hard between my ass cheeks, probing for my little hole. The handle of the whip. I panic: "No no... please... noooooo !" I cry. "Please, no, no, I move, I move.. ! nooo ..."

He stops, I get up with difficulty and take a step forward. Then another, staggering under the wooden pole, blood running down my bare back, that they left me naked, so they could whip me bloody. He looks at me, his gaze fixed on my bloody back, on my long legs. Someone from the crowd shouts: "Look at the beautiful ass of the whore!" Because he left my butt exposed. A tear rolls down my cheek and streaks the red on my cheeks.

We continue slowly, climbing the hill. I can get a closer look at the human remains. The stench fills my nostrils. The ground becomes more compact. The screams that, if possible, get even louder.

The soldiers lead me to one of the posts, making way through the crowd.


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RepoM..
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GabriellaSivilla said:
Dear all,

here is my latest story. Before I start, I just wanted to say a few words about it, in particular about how I conceived it.

First of all, the story is written from the point of view of the protagonist, the victim. It goes without saying that she's me, and that I tried as much as possible to identify myself with the character. The descriptions are based on the sensations of the protagonist, on what she sees and hears. A partial vision but, in my opinion, very effective and involving, too.

Also for this, the background story is kept to a minimum. Everything takes place in the "here and now" of the protagonist, and there is only a brief mention of what previously happened, just to make it clear the background to the reader. I trust that the average reader will be more interested in what is happening on the scene then in the background story.

The story is violent. Very. Strong. Very. But in my mind an execution on the cross, in which a young girl is tortured to death, cannot be otherwise. Being then a public torture, all the most spectacular aspects are exalted. And they have to be terrifying, and obscene, to serve as a warning to onlookers. Then, everything takes place in the immediate aftermath of a conquest, which adds drama and violence to the scene.

That said, I hope you enjoy the story, and please post your comments, of any kind. They are of great help to the writers. By the way, I would LOVE if somebody wants to illustrate it.

Kisses !
Gabriella

_____________________________________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA

by Gabriella Sivilla



It's there, in front of me. It's scary.

It's a low hill, no trees, almost no grass. Clay. And stakes driven into the ground. Dirty. And white stuff around. Bones. Broken bones.

"AAAAAHHHHH"

One of the soldiers has hit me with the whip. It's one of those long ones, made of hardened leather, with a metal tip. Terrible. The tip enters my tender flesh, tearing it apart and drawing blood. I stagger, bend one leg and hit the ground, painfully, with one knee.

"WHORE!!! STAND-UP!!! STAND-UP AND MOVE, OR I SWEAR I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE WITH MY WHIP AND THEN I'LL MAKE YOU ASS BUGGERED BY A HORSE! STAND-UP!!!"

Whore. That's what they call me. And all possible insults, all obscenities. Slut. Bitch. I'll fuck you. I'll break your pussy. Shouting, screaming in my ears with full force. They didn't done anything else since they took me.

But I'm not, and I haven't been, a whore. I am the daughter of the king of this little kingdom. Indeed, I was. And when the Romans arrived, and the generals went out with the soldiers to face them, I stayed in the palace. And when the generals betrayed, and the Romans entered the city, I was the first they came for, guided by their directions.

I'm dressed. They don't let me march naked. They took a long cloth and wrapped it around my body, tying it around my waist, making sure to leave one of my long legs clearly visible. And another knot on one shoulder, leaving one of my breasts exposed. Tender breasts.

When they took me to the courtyard, they stripped me of my clothes. Always yelling, always shouting obscenities. Punching me in the stomach while someone held their arms firmly inside my back. Slapping me. Spitting on my face. Squeezing my boobs until I screamed in pain. Twisting my nipples. Surrounded by stinking, callous soldiers, guarded by two men on horseback, in armor, their eyes hard.

When they brought the patibulum and dropped it on the ground, I heard a dull thud, amid the cries of the soldiers. The insults: "Bitch, is there where you get fucked on, every night?" "How many buggered you tonight? Did you scream? Never how much you'll scream today, while we're butchering you."

Then someone brought a long cloth. And the ropes. And another brought my makeup and took out a brush. He painted my boobs in red, laughing like crazy, while the others held me down. And then the cheeks. And then a red circle around the pussy. And another one on the butt. And everyone was laughing and snickering like crazy.

Then they dressed me in the dirty cloth; it's a rag, full of holes, there are lice on it. But they have taken care to leave my back naked. And they tied the patibulum on my shoulders. It's heavy, so heavy. And they pushed me forward.

In arriving here, barefoot, I stopped several times, exhausted, overwhelmed by the cacophony of soldiers' insults and shouts from the crowd. Deafening cacophony. And each time they whipped me, over and over again, driving the metal tip of the whip deep into my flesh. Causing my hot blood to smear the fabric on my butt in bright red.

And now here I am, contemplating the hill on which I will die in excruciating torment. At eighteen. Among people who will bask in my screams of pain, who will cum to see me writhing from pain on the cross.

"MOVE IT BITCHAAAA!!!!" "DAMN I TOLD YOU I'LL FUCK YOUR ASS AND I WILL, BITCH!!!" I scream from fear, while he reaches down and grabs with one hand my hair and yells in my ear, and with the other lowers the cloth around my butt. I feel him shoving something hard between my ass cheeks, probing for my little hole. The handle of the whip. I panic: "No no... please... noooooo !" I cry. "Please, no, no, I move, I move.. ! nooo ..."

He stops, I get up with difficulty and take a step forward. Then another, staggering under the wooden pole, blood running down my bare back, that they left me naked, so they could whip me bloody. He looks at me, his gaze fixed on my bloody back, on my long legs. Someone from the crowd shouts: "Look at the beautiful ass of the whore!" Because he left my butt exposed. A tear rolls down my cheek and streaks the red on my cheeks.

We continue slowly, climbing the hill. I can get a closer look at the human remains. The stench fills my nostrils. The ground becomes more compact. The screams that, if possible, get even louder.

The soldiers lead me to one of the posts, making way through the crowd.


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Very Nice story
 
GabriellaSivilla said:
Fourth part. Enjoy! :)

Kisses!
G.

________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA
Part four

by Gabriella Sivilla


It doesn't pass time.

He moves to the other side, and kneels by my right wrist. When I feel the tip of the nail moving across my skin, I manage to stop my screams. Mine is a piteous whimper.

"pppll...ppplll... aaaaahh AAAHHH pleaseoo noooo .... aaaahh ... it hurts ... too ... aaaahh much! MERCYYYYY !!! "

He doesn't answer. I hear a voice above me. It's the centurion, he's come over to check my nailing me to the patibulum. “Baby girl... it's only just begun,” he says coldly, and nods to the soldier with the crazy look.

He raises the hammer and hits the nail hard.

Hard.

It penetrates halfway into my wrist. The metallic clack of the blow merges with my harrowing cry of agony: "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" which spreads shrilly over the top of the hill. I gasp incredulous. The nail has found a narrow space among the small bones of my wrist, displacing them. The nail has pierced my soft skin and impaled my flesh and nerves. The feeling is so strong and so clear in my mind.

This time my executioner stops, leaving the nail half driven in, and looks at me.

He watches me scream, he watches my face contorted in pain. And he enjoys it. A grin contorts its face.

Someone in the crowd shouts coarsely: "LOOK, THE BITCH LIKES IT!!! The bitch is enjoying it, look at HER!!!"

My executioner chuckles, then hits the nail again: "AAAAAAAAHH AAAAAHHHHHH". In addition to the THUD of the blow, this time I can hear the CRACK of some small bone in my wrist shattering. The pain is hallucinating. "Oh God, will my torture ever stop?" I think in a flash.

He strikes again: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH", and again: "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH", the nail that pierces the skin of the wrist, getting out from the other side, and penetrates the wood.

He keeps hitting, driving the nail deep into the wood, enlarging the wound in my wrist. A gush of hot blood hits his face, and blotches the candid skin of my arm in red. He stops, to clean up his mouth from the blood with the back of his hand, but my scream continues, and it the one of a wounded beast..."AAAAHH AAAAAHHH AAAAAAHHHH".

He gets up and steps aside.

He lets everyone see how I scream, how I writhe in pain on the dirty ground, how blood oozes from the wounds in my tender wrists.

I sweat. My lithe body covers suddenly with a sheath of sweat.

Writhing, I slightly pull at the nail in my left wrist, and this explodes with pain again: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" My vision blurs as I let out another cry of pain.

I'm torturing by myself.

The executioner notices that, rapidly bends down and quickly frees my other arm and hand from the ropes. Bastard!

I toss my head, from side to side, and a cry of despair and pain mixed together gets out from my lips: "UUUUUUAAAAAHHHHH AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHUUUU".

My chest rises and falls rhythmically, my boobs glisten in their sheen of sweat, my blood drips onto the ground from the nails spiking my wrists.

It's like they are constantly grinding my wrists. And the pain radiating from my arms travels directly to my head, explodes in my brain, like thunder and lightning in a thunderstorm, and blinds me. The torture of the rusty nail shaft grinding on my nerves is unbearable.

The crowd watches me in fascination, not missing a moment of my ordeal. They came to see a 18-year-old girl being tortured to death and are getting the show they craved for. Some yell and insult me, but others stay silent, breathing hard. They're probably cumming in their pants, or are close to cum.

I scream some more: "UUUAAAHH AAAAHHH NNNNOOOO...." then I calm down, start sobbing, hot tears running down my cheeks, my blond hair scattered on the ground: "pl ... pl... AAAAHHHHH UUUAAAAHHH please!!! have mercy ... AAAAAHHHHHH! MEEEEEEEERCCYYYYYY!"

I slowly turn my head and look at the big nail that comes out of my left wrist. It's obscene. BIG. Spattered with blood. Rusty. Obscene. Penetrating my wrist and inexorably fixing me to the hard wood.

"EEEHHH aaahh MMMMMEEEERCCCCYYY!"

Someone from the crowd yells: "LOOK AT THE FUCKING WHORE: SHE ENJOYS!!!!"

"YES YES... YOU LIKE GETTING BANGED, EH? EH, GABRIELLA, LIKE IT?"

"YOU WOULD GET THOUSANDS COCKS IN THAT TIGHT PUSSY, YOU DIRTY BITCH!!!"

And they keep yelling, insults and obscenities.
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Slut Gabrielle. Perfect agony
 
GabriellaSivilla said:
Next part. Things get more complicated! :)

Kisses kisses kisses
G.

_______________________________________________________________

GOLGOTHA

Part nine
by Gabriella Sivilla


"Good, good girl!"

It's the centurion who speaks, the one with the light blue eyes. His eyes are ice cold while he looks at him, erect on the horse back, but he has cummed in his pants, and his cock is still hard. He came when he saw my lithe body pushing up, the exact moment when I reached the top, and he heard me scream. Like him, many others in the crowd have cum.

As I hang from the cross, I start panting again, my legs bent, the pain in my wrists increasing again. He grins, then turns to his soldiers. His voice is firm, and strong: "Show the baby girl the instruments of torture."

One of the soldiers immediately reply: "Yes sir", and moves to take a sack. He approaches, and takes out a wooden shaft, to which a small hideous rake is attached. A shovel is attached. He grins, and proudly shows it to me, the three rusty sharp points moving a few centimeters from my face contorted by suffering.

It is the centurion, however, who speaks. He doesn't just talk to me. He screams, instead, for everyone to hear, like when he screamed before, when he ordered to bring out the torture devices, "Baby girl, we're going to butcher you, up there."

He says it as a matter of fact, but his cruelty can be clearly heard in the tone of his voice. He gets on: "When you're more tired, and we'll have to cheer you up, first we'll have your great boobs sucked, and bitten, and twisted by some scum here who hasn't got enough of your body." He pauses, smiling, pleased at what he's going to say. "Then... then... then we'll destroy them with this. Ah yeah, we'll tear them apart well" and the soldier shakes the rake in front of me, to be sure that I see the terrible points.

"And if that's not enough, maybe we'll even pierce your WHORE boobs! Or we'll pierce your thighs. You liked to spread wide your thighs, when you got banged, huh? The cross is gonna bang you today. The cross... and and this ONE!" and one of the soldiers shows me a pointed shaft, which he has taken from the sack.

I cannot refrain from looking, and the tip is there, only an inch or two from my eyes, and the anguish and dread at what is in store for me mixes with the fear the soldier is going to bring, immediately, there and then.

A moan comes out of my mouth: "MEEERRCCY... MMMMMEEEEERRRCCCCYYYAAAAHHH!"

He laughs. A long, mocking laugh, as if there is nothing funnier. Then, he continues: "YES yes of course, we WILL have mercy. When you'll get tired of going up and torturing by yourself, and you're about to suffocate because you won't be able to raise yourself up any more ... then... we'll let you sit on your throne. On your throne, like a real WHORE, like you ARE!"

One of the soldiers takes something out of the bag, I can't see it right away. But then he shows it to me: it's my throne, as my sadistic executioner says, thirsty for blood and pain. It's obscene.

It's a thick, thick wooden dick with a metal point at the tip. At the base, large wooden balls and a horizontal piece of wood, to fix it to the cross. The soldier waves it in front of me, and I stare at him, terrified. He's the madman.

"It's to HELP you, baby girl! It will be several hours. Only when you can't take it anymore, we will shove it inside you, so you'll sit on it, and will be comfortable." He looks at me: "We'll break your ass, and you'll die like the WHORE you are! GABRIELLA SIVILLA THE WHORE!" and the crowd echoes him.

I stay there, terrified, agony exploding in my body and anguish eating away at my soul.

They laugh.

And laugh.

The soldiers look around, and make gestures to stir up the crowd. As if their thirst for blood wasn't bad enough. As if they weren't already excited enough to see a girl raped and nailed with rusty nails to a cross. Hoisted up, naked, for all to see as she writhes in pain. For all to see, the wounds tearing apart her slender body. So that they can see the cum from the soldiers, who raped her, sliding down her thighs. And the blood that, drop by drop, descends from the hideous wounds that pierce her beautiful feet.

So that they can see the terror in her eyes as they show terrible tools to her, threatening her with yet more torture.
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Bitch G. Very Nice agony
 
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