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Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
I always wonder how the executioner’s hold the crown without poking themselves. Also, mmmmmm, what an expression.

Well, it is difficult to scream with one’s mouth closed ;)
 

malins

Stumbling Seeker
The hoisting
=========
The soldiers pull on the ropes that are tied to either end of @malins 's patibulum and are attached to a pulley on top of the stipes.
The wooden beam starts to rise along the upright.
She shrieks in pain as her naked, tortured body pulls on her nailed wrists.
A soldier comes behind her to support her hanging body, ostensibly to alleviate her pain.
However, he grabs and fondles her breasts, twisting the erect nipples.
Another grabs her trembling legs and slides his hand between her legs.
He laughs, exclaiming to his fellow soldiers "The whore is wet - unbelievable, as she is being raised, she is still insatiable!"
@malins 's face is a mask of agony. Despite all this she has not lost consciousness.

malin_raising2_scorpio.jpg

I hear creaking and the ropes tense and the crossbar pulls higher ...
the nails tearing at tendons and pressing into shattered bone ...

I cry out desperately and try to get my feet under me, but it's no good...
there are brutes all around, half lifting me off the ground and groping me ...

the rascal behind me, chuckling and making derogatory comments as he kneads my breasts and twists my nipples
... makes me remember my thorn-crown as the last thing that could be a bit of a weapon,
I try to rear up and butt my head against his but to no avail,
the thorns only scrape against his armor plate and scratch him a bit on the chin ...

my twisting and squirming only makes it easier for the next rogue to get his hands between my legs ...
violating me one last time with his dirty coarse fingers ...

all the while I'm pulled up higher, my body twisting underneath their hands, my body slick with sweat, blood, and the semen of rapists ...
 

jimsac

Tribune
Her body displayed to the crowd
======================

Bit by bit, the patibulum is raised, with @malins hanging from it by her nailed wrists like a piece of bloodied meat.
With each jolt, she gasps for air and yells in agony as her back and buttocks, already raw and bleeding from the flagellation, rub against the splintered wood of the stipes.
 

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jimsac

Tribune
The coronation of Kathy
================

The high priestess, @Kathy , accused of being a witch, is cut down from the whipping post.
After she has regained her senses (somewhat), she is paraded in front of the soldiers, her naked body throbbing with pain. She tries to cover herself as best as she can.

Then the crown is presented to her.
Her horrified eyes track the thorny bundle as it is shown to her and then put on her head. The thorns have dried blood, so she must not be the first unfortunate wearer of this crown of mockery.
The soldier is wearing a pair of thick gloves. They play this game a lot with the condemned and he is tired of ending up with bleeding fingers every time.
He presses the crown on her head - twigs snap and thorns get entangled in @Kathy 's copious black curly hair.
The woman gasps in shock as she feels the crown pulling her hair, and abrading and wounding her scalp.
 

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Kathy

Terra Nova Tramp
The coronation of Kathy
================

The high priestess, @Kathy , accused of being a witch, is cut down from the whipping post.
After she has regained her senses (somewhat), she is paraded in front of the soldiers, her naked body throbbing with pain. She tries to cover herself as best as she can.

Then the crown is presented to her.
Her horrified eyes track the thorny bundle as it is shown to her and then put on her head. The thorns have dried blood, so she must not be the first unfortunate wearer of this crown of mockery.
The soldier is wearing a pair of thick gloves. They play this game a lot with the condemned and he is tired of ending up with bleeding fingers every time.
He presses the crown on her head - twigs snap and thorns get entangled in @Kathy 's copious black curly hair.
The woman gasps in shock as she feels the crown pulling her hair, and abrading and wounding her scalp.
Will this ever end? They kept finding new ways to cause me pain
 

malins

Stumbling Seeker
Her body displayed to the crowd
======================

Bit by bit, the patibulum is raised, with @malins hanging from it by her nailed wrists like a piece of bloodied meat.
The brutes let go of me and the other soldiers start hauling me up.
It's not a continuous raising ...
the ropes slacken a bit each time they take a new grip, and then they yank me another bit higher ...
heave ho ... up with her ... all the force going through my nailed wrists ...


(I should be thankful for the thick ropes with which I'm still bound to the crossbar,
they hold part of the weight ... I'll cling to the hope that maybe they'll forget to cut them away when I'm up...)


I've got my feet under me now, supporting myself as the crossbar is pulled up ...
but the rough wood of the beam tears at my lacerated backside...
further they pull...

... then comes the moment where my legs are almost all stretched out ...

... then I'm on my tiptoes ...

...gleeful cruel laughter from the soldiers and another hard pull on the ropes ...
... and that inevitable moment of dread is there ...

my feet leave the earth, I'm hanging just by my pierced wrists ...
my toes search for the ground, then I start thrashing about in panic,
I find the upright beam, try to gain traction on it, all I get for that is some splinters in my soles ...
... try to wrap my legs around it ... try to raise my legs and press my feet against it from the side ...
... all this winning me further lewd comments from the soldiers ...
it's all useless and hopeless, I'm too weak, I can't find purchase,
my feet slip away, legs hang straight down,

too weak to cry out, mouth open in silent agony, I dangle from the crossbar ...
 

jimsac

Tribune
The brutes let go of me and the other soldiers start hauling me up.
It's not a continuous raising ...
the ropes slacken a bit each time they take a new grip, and then they yank me another bit higher ...
heave ho ... up with her ... all the force going through my nailed wrists ...


(I should be thankful for the thick ropes with which I'm still bound to the crossbar,
they hold part of the weight ... I'll cling to the hope that maybe they'll forget to cut them away when I'm up...)


I've got my feet under me now, supporting myself as the crossbar is pulled up ...
but the rough wood of the beam tears at my lacerated backside...
further they pull...

... then comes the moment where my legs are almost all stretched out ...

... then I'm on my tiptoes ...

...gleeful cruel laughter from the soldiers and another hard pull on the ropes ...
... and that inevitable moment of dread is there ...

my feet leave the earth, I'm hanging just by my pierced wrists ...
my toes search for the ground, then I start thrashing about in panic,
I find the upright beam, try to gain traction on it, all I get for that is some splinters in my soles ...
... try to wrap my legs around it ... try to raise my legs and press my feet against it from the side ...
... all this winning me further lewd comments from the soldiers ...
it's all useless and hopeless, I'm too weak, I can't find purchase,
my feet slip away, legs hang straight down,

too weak to cry out, mouth open in silent agony, I dangle from the crossbar ...
Thank you, that is a lovely account. The reader is with you all the way from when your feet leave the ground and you dangle helplessly from your nailed wrists...
 

malins

Stumbling Seeker
Thank you, that is a lovely account. The reader is with you all the way from when your feet leave the ground and you dangle helplessly from your nailed wrists...
and you are all going to watch as I struggle helplessly ...
until one of the soldiers starts to tease me with a nail ...
"you want something to stand on? Here's something but you'll have to ask for it ..."
 

malins

Stumbling Seeker
they have slaves to do that job, and all the other painful and dirty work.
and who is going to do the work of gathering thorny branches, and weaving pain-crowns from them in the first place?

though maybe some executioners either have leather gloves, or have the crowns made in such a way that there are places were they can be easily grasped ... at a few points the crown-weaver slaves will break away the thorns ...

a big scandal was of course that one time when a crown-weaving slave made one that had all the thorns on the inside broken off ;)
 

Eulalia

Poet Laureate
Staff member
Oh yes, thorn-harvesting and thorn-weaving would have been familiar jobs for slave-women. Mind, those Roman squaddies were tough and thick-skinned, the speed with which they produced that crown of thorns for Jesus suggests it wasn't a new fatigue for them, probably part of their basic training.
 

Heineudo

Magistrate
and who is going to do the work of gathering thorny branches, and weaving pain-crowns from them in the first place?

though maybe some executioners either have leather gloves, or have the crowns made in such a way that there are places were they can be easily grasped ... at a few points the crown-weaver slaves will break away the thorns ...

a big scandal was of course that one time when a crown-weaving slave made one that had all the thorns on the inside broken off ;)
And that was then, purely by chance, the one that was placed on the head of a certain Jesus.
 

jimsac

Tribune
The crown bites deep
===============

One of the soldiers decides that @Kathy does not seem to be suffering enough. He gets a hold of the gloves and presses hard, much harder, on the crown.
Rivulets of blood pour down the stricken woman's flesh, and her face contorts in agony.
The thorns get entangled in her curly hair. She wants to tear the crown out but is too weak form her previous flogging to do much about it.
The soldiers laugh and jeer at this previously untouchable priestess.
"Hail to the Harlot!" "Hail to the filthy Witch!"
"Let her suffer for her traitorous sins!"
 

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jimsac

Tribune
What to do with her feet?
==================

The patibulum, together with the traitor @malins , affixed to it, is fitted to the stipes via a mortise tenon joint.
The soldiers look coldly at the woman hanging only by her nailed wrists. No one attempts to help her.
She struggles and twists until she manages to lay the soles of both feet flat against the upright.
Her body glistens with sweat and blood, and she gasps for air.
in this moment of intense suffering, she barely notices a soldier climbing up to her by means of a ladder and hanging the title of her crime from her neck. The sign reads
"MALIN
TRADITORA"

They do not wish for her to slip from the cross, the wood of which is being moistened by her own blood. However, that would mean death would come quickly to the woman.
Therefore they proceed to tie a rope around her feet, fixing her to the stipes.
@malins now sits on the cross, her weight now balanced between her hands and her feet. The hemp rope burns her feet, one of the last parts of her body not yet touched by the torturers. Her thighs are open, lewdly displaying her female parts to the soldiers and the crowd that is witnessing her crucifixion.
One of the soldiers, holding two long spikes in his right hand asks the woman

"You want something sturdier for your feet? A little more support? How about these?", and he shows her the nails.
"But you have to ask us nicely for them.."
 

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malins

Stumbling Seeker
After pulling up the crossbar, they guide the hole in it over the tenon and let it sink down ... the wood creaks and crunches as it settles.
I am raised and hanging from my cross. Where I'll be for what remains of my life...

But my feet still struggle free, my arms wide apart,
hanging with all my weight,
pain tearing not only in my pierced wrists but also in my shoulders, almost torn from the sockets.

Desperately I try to get any hold with my feet,
finally as I pull them very far up, press them against the post and push outward a bit
I get just enough friction from the soft wood to have a little bit of support.

The strain of all the muscles in my body is such that I know I can only last a few moments,
but someone steps up and secures my feet with coils of rope.
For a moment an enormous relief ...
but it just makes me rediscover all the other pains I'd forgotten about in my greatest agony!

One of the thugs mocks me with the spikes I know they'll nail through my feet,
"You want something sturdier for your feet? A little more support? How about these?", and he shows her the nails.
"But you have to ask us nicely for them.."

To my surprise, I have a little bit of breath, and a little bit of spirit left...

"Ask nicely? Can't you see I'm ... just perfectly fine ... with what you gave me already?"

I try to gather up enough spittle to launch a nasty gob at him but my mouth is too dry and parched.
I take up my groaning and moaning again, close my eyes and turn my head, lose myself in the agony of my crucifixion,
knowing they'll soon add more to it ...
 
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