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Praefectus Praetorio said:
Mounting
The Centurion took charge and ordered four men, two on a side, to grab the patibulum and drag the girl to the cross. Doing so, they wrenched another pitiful cry from Flavia as she felt the spikes tearing at her arms.
They chose the shortest stipes at under seven feet, making the mounting easier. Two boxes were set down to the sides. One man stood on each. Another two on the ground held the ends of the beam.
The Centurion waited until they had Flavia standing in front. Then he commanded, "Attelle!" and the four men together heaved the patibulum up in the air, accompanied by another screech from Flavia.
The two men standing on the boxes guided the cross beam over the stipes to set it in the hollowed out groove on top, securing it in place. They climbed down as Flavia writhed in pain, with her full weight suspended by the two nails in her wrists.

The chief guard went to get the hammer and more nails but was interrupted by Lycus.
“Non clavi. Liga pedes eius.” The guard handed the tools back to his comrade and grabbed a length of rawhide. He tied it around the stipes, binding her feet in place.
“Appone ani figuratur cornu. Acerrimum et longissimum”
The guard smiled and rummaged through a bag of horns.- he chose one over seven inches long and sharpened to a fine point. He nailed it, point up, to the stipes at the height of Flavia's hips.

Attelle – raise up, heave! (imp.); Non clavi. Liga pedes eius – no nails; tie her feet; Appone ani figuratur cornu – add an anal horn; acerrimum – very sharp; longissimum – very long.
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Hot Damn, yes ... a long, sharp, roughly hewn nail to dig between her pussy lips ... the very thought!
 
A Seat from Hell
The chief guard and another lifted Flavia's hips and aligned her butt crack with the cornu. She gave a short sigh of relief as the weight was lifted from her arms. They pried the cheeks apart and moved her so that the point touched the center of her anus. Then they lowered her.
The onlookers saw Flavia's eyes open wide, her mouth gaping in disbelief, her whole body tensing as she felt the sharp tip of the horn invade her rectum. "Nooooooo......." came the keening cry as the invader tore at her inner passage. When the two men released her hips and left her seated cum septem unciis in her rear, the woman babbled incoherently.
The guards enjoyed her thrashing. The man who nailed the cornu knew his job. It was just high enough that, if she sat fully on it, her arms would just be relaxed. However, the pain and damage in her rectum would slowly become unbearable, thus forcing Flavia to lift herself by pulling on those hellish nails in her wrists. He had also fixed the cornu angle to force her to tilt her hips out, as if presenting her cunt for display.

Marcus Lycus looked to the East and saw the sun was just over half-way to the peak. So, at a little past Tertia, on sedecim kalendas Decembris, DCCLXXXVIII A.U.C. Flavia Aemilia was on her cross to die a slave’s death.

cum septem unciis – with seven inches, uncia – one-twelfth (of a foot), 24.6 mm; a little past tertia, on sedecim kalendas Decembris, DCCLXXXVIII A.U.C. - Nine-thirty AM on November 14, 35 CE.
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
The onlookers saw Flavia's eyes open wide, her mouth gaping in disbelief, her whole body tensing as she felt the sharp tip of the horn invade her rectum. "Nooooooo......." came the keening cry as the invader tore at her inner passage. When the two men released her hips and left her seated cum septem unciis in her rear, the woman babbled incoherently.
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PrPr’s thick description skills at their most evocative best! Whew!
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
A Seat from Hell
The chief guard and another lifted Flavia's hips and aligned her butt crack with the cornu. She gave a short sigh of relief as the weight was lifted from her arms. They pried the cheeks apart and moved her so that the point touched the center of her anus. Then they lowered her.
The onlookers saw Flavia's eyes open wide, her mouth gaping in disbelief, her whole body tensing as she felt the sharp tip of the horn invade her rectum. "Nooooooo......." came the keening cry as the invader tore at her inner passage. When the two men released her hips and left her seated cum septem unciis in her rear, the woman babbled incoherently.
The guards enjoyed her thrashing. The man who nailed the cornu knew his job. It was just high enough that, if she sat fully on it, her arms would just be relaxed. However, the pain and damage in her rectum would slowly become unbearable, thus forcing Flavia to lift herself by pulling on those hellish nails in her wrists. He had also fixed the cornu angle to force her to tilt her hips out, as if presenting her cunt for display.

Marcus Lycus looked to the East and saw the sun was just over half-way to the peak. So, at a little past Tertia, on sedecim kalendas Decembris, DCCLXXXVIII A.U.C. Flavia Aemilia was on her cross to die a slave’s death.

cum septem unciis – with seven inches, uncia – one-twelfth (of a foot), 24.6 mm; a little past tertia, on sedecim kalendas Decembris, DCCLXXXVIII A.U.C. - Nine-thirty AM on November 14, 35 CE.
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Holy crap ... my question was answered and then some ... poor, poor Flavia ...
 
A Final Insult

Lycus turned to the Centurion and handed him a piece of wood with two short rawhides attached.
“Suspende hunc titulum.” The man looked puzzled. “Quomodo?” There was no upright above Flavia to tie the sign.
Marcus held out two crude and thick needles. “Interfode papillas.” The Centurion grinned and turned toward the cross. He laughed out loud when he read the writing. At the cross, he took a moment to survey the petite blonde hanging there. She was just in the act of trying to pull her hips up off the curnu; trying to ease the horrible pressure in her rectum in exchange for unbearable pain in her wrists and arms. As she did so, she thrust her full breasts outward and upward and hollowed out her already thin tummy. He was pleased that she would provide a lengthly and erotic display during her time on the cross.

The Centurion stepped up close and savored the dark nipples, right at his eye level. He grabbed one tightly with thumb and forefinger and pulled it roughly out, drawing a small cry for the already tortured woman. Taking the large needle in his other hand, he positioned the point at the base of the nipple and began pushing.
As she felt the needle assault her breast, Flavia gasped and held herself rigid. Then it penetrated, and she screamed, pulling herself upward in an involuntary reaction to the rough metal tearing at her nipple. As the Centurion took his time piercing and gouging the sensitive flesh, her screams continued. At last, the point emerged from the other side, blood flowing freely down her tit.
Flavia panted with pain, making her already large breasts even more enticing. The Centurion went to her other breast and again pinched and pulled hard on the nipple. "Please," she begged softly. "Please don't. I hurt so much already."

The Centurion laughed and began working the needle slowly and cruelly through the base of the second nipple. When he finished, there were trails of blood flowing down each breast and on down her middle. He tied the rawhide to each needle and then, in a final act of cruelty, dropped the sign to deliver a painful fug on the pierced flesh.
“Sorry you can’t read it, cunne. So all who pass by will know what you are, ‘Scelerata Serva.’ Die slowly, meretrix!”


suspende hunc titulum - hang this title; quomodo – how do I?; interfode papillas – pierce (her) nipples; scelerata serva – poisonous or traitorous slave woman;
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
A Final Insult

Lycus turned to the Centurion and handed him a piece of wood with two short rawhides attached.
“Suspende hunc titulum.” The man looked puzzled. “Quomodo?” There was no upright above Flavia to tie the sign.
Marcus held out two crude and thick needles. “Interfode papillas.” The Centurion grinned and turned toward the cross. He laughed out loud when he read the writing. At the cross, he took a moment to survey the petite blonde hanging there. She was just in the act of trying to pull her hips up off the curnu; trying to ease the horrible pressure in her rectum in exchange for unbearable pain in her wrists and arms. As she did so, she thrust her full breasts outward and upward and hollowed out her already thin tummy. He was pleased that she would provide a lengthly and erotic display during her time on the cross.

The Centurion stepped up close and savored the dark nipples, right at his eye level. He grabbed one tightly with thumb and forefinger and pulled it roughly out, drawing a small cry for the already tortured woman. Taking the large needle in his other hand, he positioned the point at the base of the nipple and began pushing.
As she felt the needle assault her breast, Flavia gasped and held herself rigid. Then it penetrated, and she screamed, pulling herself upward in an involuntary reaction to the rough metal tearing at her nipple. As the Centurion took his time piercing and gouging the sensitive flesh, her screams continued. At last, the point emerged from the other side, blood flowing freely down her tit.
Flavia panted with pain, making her already large breasts even more enticing. The Centurion went to her other breast and again pinched and pulled hard on the nipple. "Please," she begged softly. "Please don't. I hurt so much already."

The Centurion laughed and began working the needle slowly and cruelly through the base of the second nipple. When he finished, there were trails of blood flowing down each breast and on down her middle. He tied the rawhide to each needle and then, in a final act of cruelty, dropped the sign to deliver a painful fug on the pierced flesh.
“Sorry you can’t read it, cunne. So all who pass by will know what you are, ‘Scelerata Serva.’ Die slowly, meretrix!”


suspende hunc titulum - hang this title; quomodo – how do I?; interfode papillas – pierce (her) nipples; scelerata serva – poisonous or traitorous slave woman;
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Horrifically ingenious ... hideously sexual ... loved it!
 
Afternoon
Striding into the Castra's central courtyard, Marcus Lycus consulted the horologium – it was about nona (3 PM). Time to observe Flavia's death agony. He invited the Centurion to join him, and they rode out together.

A guard of six Praetorians had been left to Flavia. One stood on either side of her cross, at guard with their pila ready to deter any troublemakers. These were defined as those looking to hasten the victim's death or free her. Generally, nasty strangers who might throw a stray rock or dung were ignored. (unless they hit a guard – that would not be overlooked!). The other four sat under a nearby tree and relaxed or napped before spelling those on guard.
Because of Flavia's unusual beauty and sexuality, the guards were more attentive than usual. Several would watch her for an hour without a break, savoring her writhings of pain. Her sweat-glistened skin and her toned muscles struggling to endure the stretched tension and pain were endlessly fascinating to some. As they had been ordered, they regularly gave her water to maintain her strength and prolong her suffering.

One Praetorian caught sight of the mounted officers approaching while still some distance away. They all stood to attention.
Lycus brought his horse to just in front of Flavia's cross. The sight of the exhausted, tortured woman was powerfully erotic to him.
"How do you like your cross, Flavia?" he asked mockingly. She made no response as her head hung forward, her face concealed by her golden hair. Marcus saw her chest rise and fall with shallow breaths, proving that she was still alive. "FLAVIA!" he shouted. Still no response.
“Faex,” he swore as he dismounted. This scortillium would not ignore a Praetorian Tribune without consequences. Grabbing the pilum from one of the guards, Marcus placed the point under her left breast. "Respice ad me, lupa!”
Receiving no response, he jabbed the sharpened head into her tit.
Flavia lifted her head and screamed at the sudden pain. Delirious with exhaustion and suffering, the woman thrashed for a minute, pulling herself up off the cornu and whining in agony. As she settled down, she looked through bleary eyes at her tormentor. With her cracked lips, she softly pleaded, "Quare?”
“Es scortum obscenus vilis. Fruor dolore te!” Marcus sneered as he twisted the pilum to draw another scream from the helpless woman.


Horologium – sundial (lit. Hour-knower); nona -ninth hour (3 PM); pila - the pilum was a javelin or throwing spear. It was about two meters long and weighed from 1 to 3 kg. The heavier version was meant for throwing to penetrate the enemy's shields and armor. The Praetorians carried the lighter version with a finely sharpened tip to use as a stabbing weapon in crowd control; faex – scum or shit; scortillum – little whore; respice ad me, lupa – look respectfully at me, slut; quare – why? for what reason?; Es scortum obscenus vilis. Fruor dolore te – You are a vile, perverted whore, and I enjoy your suffering.

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Praefectus Praetorio said:
Horologium – sundial (lit. Hour-knower); nona -ninth hour (3 PM); pila - the pilum was a javelin or throwing spear. It was about two meters long and weighed from 1 to 3 kg. The heavier version was meant for throwing to penetrate the enemy's shields and armor. The Praetorians carried the lighter version with a finely sharpened tip to use as a stabbing weapon in crowd control;
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I once read about the combat use of Pilum. The Pilum that hit the shield served a specific purpose - it actually deprived the enemy of protection, significantly weighing down his shield, not allowing them to maneuver quickly. In notes about Gallic wars, Caesar vividly described the effect produced by a volley of pilums on the enemy: "As the soldiers launched their heavy spears from above, they easily broke through the enemy's line... ... a Great hindrance to the Gauls was that the Roman spears sometimes pierced several shields at once with one blow and thus nailed them to each other, and when the point bent, it could not be pulled out and the fighters could not fight comfortably, since the movement of the left hand was difficult; in the end, many, shaking their hand for a long time, preferred to throw the shield and fight with the whole body open."
 
The End
Marcus and the Centurion sat on the road bank opposite Flavia and partook of the refreshments sent with them by the Castra's cook. These consisted of steamed mussels coated in oenogarum, a thick, savory mixture of garum and aged Falernian wine, accompanied by wineskins of a sweet Falernian.

As they enjoyed their snack, the Centurion, who had supervised over one hundred crucifixions, pointed out to Lycus the sign of Flavia's approaching death.
"Senti auruginem," he said. "This is always a good sign that the end is near. But the best sign is the muscles. The condemned must support themselves on the cross, move up and down to relieve strain on the shoulders and hips, no matter how painful the effort is. When they cannot do that, they will soon die. You look for tremente in femur musculis et brachium musculis."
Lycus nodded and swallowed another succulent mussel.

"Aspice!" cried the Centurion. "Coepiebat." he pointed to the twitching and trembling of Flavia's muscles as she tried to raise herself again from the terrible cornu.
Marcus Lycus drained his wineglass, rose, and walked across the way to the dying girl. He grabbed her golden hair and raised her head to face him. Her barely conscious face still reflected intense pain. Marcus slapped her hard across the face to get her attention. Flavia opened her eyes and looked pitifully at her tormenter.
"I see you are dying now, meretrix. Remember with your last breath, that I, Marcus Lycus, ill-bred Plebian, brought you this low and tortured your Patrician body to death."
The look of pain and sadness on her face pleased Marcus no end. He saw her breasts jiggle with the trembling rise of her chest. Then that stopped as a death rattle rose from her throat. Once he was sure she was dead, he crossed back over to the Centurion to finish the last of the mussels.

"Leave her there, duo dies. I want the Senators to understand the power that we Praetorians have over them now. Take her down for Natali Imperatoris . Tiberius hides in Villa Jovis on Capri, terrified of treason and plots. The senex turns septuaginta sex in two days. When he dies in a couple of years, we shall choose the next Emperor and the next. Power has devolved to the police, amice." He slapped the Centurion on the shoulder, and the man laughed heartily along with him.


senti auruginem – notice (her) jundiced look; tremente – a trembling; femur musculis et brachium musculis – thigh and arm muscles; Aspice – Look!; Coepiebat – it is beginning; duo dies – for two days; Natali Imperatoris – the Emperor's Birthday; senex – old man; septuaginta sex – seventy six; amice – friend

Afterword
One year and five months later the Emperor Tiberius died. The historian Tacitus reports in his Annals that, when the old man almost died and then recovered, "Macro intrepidus opprimi senem iniectu multae vestis iubet discedique ab limine. sic Tiberius finivit octavo et septuagesimo aetatis anno" (Macro, nothing daunted, ordered the old Emperor to be smothered under a huge heap of clothes, and all to quit the entrance-hall. And so died Tiberius, in the eighth and seventieth year of his age). The more rumor-mongering Cassius Dio and Suetonius both reported that the Praetorian Prefect was aided in the assassination by an unnamed Praetorian Tribune.

Finis​
 
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Praefectus Praetorio said:
The End
Marcus and the Centurion sat on the road bank opposite Flavia and partook of the refreshments sent with them by the Castra's cook. These consisted of steamed mussels coated in oenogarum, a thick, savory mixture of garum and aged Falernian wine, accompanied by wineskins of a sweet Falernian.

As they enjoyed their snack, the Centurion, who had supervised over one hundred crucifixions, pointed out to Lycus the sign of Flavia's approaching death.
"Senti auruginem," he said. "This is always a good sign that the end is near. But the best sign is the muscles. The condemned must support themselves on the cross, move up and down to relieve strain on the shoulders and hips, no matter how painful the effort is. When they cannot do that, they will soon die. You look for tremente in femur musculis et brachium musculis."
Lycus nodded and swallowed another succulent mussel.

"Aspice!" cried the Centurion. "Coepiebat." he pointed to the twitching and trembling of Flavia's muscles as she tried to raise herself again from the terrible cornu.
Marcus Lycus drained his wineglass, rose, and walked across the way to the dying girl. He grabbed her golden hair and raised her head to face him. Her barely conscious face still reflected intense pain. Marcus slapped her hard across the face to get her attention. Flavia opened her eyes and looked pitifully at her tormenter.
"I see you are dying now, meretrix. Remember with your last breath, that I, Marcus Lycus, ill-bred Plebian, brought you this low and tortured your Patrician body to death."
The look of pain and sadness on her face pleased Marcus no end. He saw her breasts jiggle with the trembling rise of her chest. Then that stopped as a death rattle rose from her throat. Once he was sure she was dead, he crossed back over to the Centurion to finish the last of the mussels.

"Leave her there, duo dies. I want the Senators to understand the power that we Praetorians have over them now. Take her down for Natali Imperatoris . Tiberius hides in Villa Jovis on Capri, terrified of treason and plots. The senex turns septuaginta sex in two days. When he dies in a couple of years, we shall choose the next Emperor and the next. Power has devolved to the police, amice." He slapped the Centurion on the shoulder, and the man laughed heartily along with him.


senti auruginem – notice (her) jundiced look; tremente – a trembling; femur musculis et brachium musculis – thigh and arm muscles; Aspice – Look!; Coepiebat – it is beginning; duo dies – for two days; Natali Imperatoris – the Emperor's Birthday; senex – old man; septuaginta sex – seventy six; amice – friend

Afterword
One year and five months later the Emperor Tiberius died. The historian Tacitus reports in his Annals that, when the old man almost died and then recovered, "Macro intrepidus opprimi senem iniectu multae vestis iubet discedique ab limine. sic Tiberius finivit octavo et septuagesimo aetatis anno" (Macro, nothing daunted, ordered the old Emperor to be smothered under a huge heap of clothes, and all to quit the entrance-hall. And so died Tiberius, in the eighth and seventieth year of his age). The more rumor-mongering Cassius Dio and Suetonius both reported that the Praetorian Prefect was aided in the assassination by an unnamed Praetorian Tribune.

Finis​
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At first I wondered how eating a plate of mussels could signify the death throes of a crucified woman ... then I realised you had written muscles! Ooops!

Seriously though, another excellent story that delivered eroticism and education in equal measure. Thank you PrPr
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
My Date with Barb (Part II)

Duccio quietly appeared carrying a large plate of Antipasto. Placing it in the middle of the table between us, he announced, “the Antipasto Misto.” He gave us red-fired plates and cold silver to serve ourselves.

The main plate was a cornucopia of appetizing treats - imported Cheeses, Prosciutto di Parma, - Salame Rustico - Sweet Coppa - Mortadella con Pistachio - Olives – Giardiniera. We eagerly dug in.
View attachment 910308
"How do I chose," asked Barb, surveying the marvelous variety of savory food before her.

"That's the beauty of an antipasto. You don't. Just take a little of everything, until you hit your favorites and then seconds and thirds of those. Don't worry. I won't watch," I said with a wink.

Taking my advice, she loaded her plate with a little of each and began sampling. The oos and ahhs she emitted showed that most items met with her approval.

After having tasted most, Barb looked at me with a shy smile. "What if they all are my favorite?"

"Then," I said, raising my glass, merely send your compliments to the chef!" We both laughed and drained our glasses. I moved debonairly to refill both.

Then Duccio appeared, as if out of nowhere, with two servers in tow. They carried large Maiolicas, high-fired, dipped in white glaze, hand-painted Italian pottery plates. The servers set these before us with seafood and rice molded in the center into a mini-mountain.

“Is all satisfactory, Signore?”

“Bene, Duccio. Bene.”

Barb raised her fork but hesitated. She wanted to allow me to continue my lead. “And what is this you have commanded for us now?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

“It is Risotto Maré e Monti. That means rice from the mountains and the sea. Wild picked mushrooms represent the mountains in the risotto, and the sea by the red Argentinean Shrimp and Mediterranean Calamari. It is a dish from Friuli-Venezia Giulia, the Northern Italian region that includes Trieste on the Adriatic and the sharp-peaked Dolomite Mountains on the border with Austria. Thus the mountains and the sea dominate the region.”
Barb stared at me for a moment. In a dumb blonde accent, she said, “Oww, PrPrrey! You have such a head for knowing!”
My smile faded in a moment. I had tried too hard to show off.
Barbara saw my distress and quickly flashed her sweet smile. “Don’t worry, PrPr. I’m only kidding. Seriously you do know an incredible amount of things.”
“Well, I can’t spend all my time online watching porn. I need to take some breaks.” We both laughed at that. Barb took another sip of the Riesling and plunged her fork into the seafood mountain.
View attachment 910315
I took the first taste of mine and wasn’t disappointed. The rich, creamy risotto had flowery spices complimented by the tangy taste of the wild mountain mushrooms. The Argentinean shrimp were tender and succulent, and the calamari cooked just right. The deep groan of appreciation from Barb told me she had the same level of enjoyment.
We took our time, not rushing the marvelous meal. At about this time, Barb began to run her foot (apparently she’d slipped her shoe off) occasionally up and down my leg. The sensual stimulation added to the already delicious tastes and smells!
The moderare portion just enough to satisfy without triggering so much satiation as to dull the enjoyment of what was to come. Again we found time to chat between bites and to use the wine to cleanse our palates. The conversation was fascinating. Barb’s knowledge of Medieval European History pricked my interests and left many openings for historical double entendres.

Sadly, the time came when both lovely dinner plates were empty. Duccio appeared and cleared the places while asking, “Was it satisfactory, Signore e signorina?”
Barbara jumped in with a response before I could. “Duccio. That was the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. Please express i miei ringraziamenti to il cuoco.”
“Barb, You speak Italian? Now I’m embarrassed.”
“Un po. You have to pick up some to study European History.”
“You are a marvel.”

“So what is next on your plan, Sir?” asked Barb with a light sarcastic tone to the last word.
“Dessert!” I answered triumphantly as the two servers arrived with our last course. “Traditional Vanilla Bean Crèam Brûlée.”
We both looked with lust at the hardened caramelized sugar topping a decadent, creamy custard dessert. Garnishing the top of each was a single vanilla bean and a tiny mint leaf.
Before we could crack the crusts, Duccio came forward with two steaming cups of coffee.
“Our Black Gold,” he announced. “The finest coffee with Frangelico, Bailey's Irish Cream, Whipped Cream & Shaved Chocolate.
After finishing the Crèam Brûlée (we each managed to resist the temptation to lick the bowls clean!), we lingered over the heavily liquored coffee. I had reached out and taken her hand gently in mine and was rubbing my thumb tenderly against the soft, sensitive back. We said only a little. The moment seemed more for quiet reflection of the delightful tastes and smells of the fabulous dinner. I knew that my credit card would have a fit in the morning, but I didn’t care.
At least, I spoke, “Well. I suppose its time to move on.” I gestured to Duccio, and he was tableside in a moment. “Angelo knows how to handle the bill. I wish to express my deep gratitude for the outstanding and thoughtful service that you and your team have rendered.”
“As would I,” added Barb. “It has been the best restaurant experience of my life!”
“Signore e Signorina, you are too kind. It has been our pleasure to serve such a lovely and knowledgeable sposi, a couple! May I tell the valet to bring your car?”
“Thank you. Yes.” I stood and hastened to help Barb from her chair. Holding hands, we walked to the door.

The End?

Is there really any experience better than sipping an aromatic wine, savoring the smells, tastes, and textures of outstanding food, all while gazing, across the table, at a beautiful, charming, and intelligent woman?

Thank you, Barbara, for an evening that I will always treasure!
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Breaking now! It appears possible that there will be a sequal! :very_hot::very_hot::very_hot:
 
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