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Some Sketches

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Andyman

Tribune
Crying and weeping, crazy with pain, Laura squirms and writhes in terrible torment, unable to control her movements nor keep her crotch covered as she wished to, surrounded with the hatred, the cruel smiles, laughs and mockery of the crowd of amused onlookers, happy with the utmost suffering and humiliation of the young, fragile, defenceless woman. Did she really deserved such a horribly painful agony? No one knows and no one cares. Innocent or not, once nailed, she must die hanging here being mentally torn to the shreds by pain and shame, to the very last breath.

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Andyman

Tribune
When she saw me, dangling around her cross with a piece of charcoal and few sheets of paper, she said with a painful effort "I know you... Am I this interesting for you and for your readers...? You witnessed hundreds of executions and you made hundreds of sketches showing many big-breasted and big-booted beauties, far prettier, sexier and more shameless than me... And I am... am I really worthy your time and effort...? If so, please, when you will be presenting your drawing to the people, told them that I was stupid, ugly and stinking, but I was a decent girl and I was innocent... Please, would you?"
"Nobody will believe you", I replied, shrugging and smiling. "Do you think they will respect the words of some crucified slut?"
"You are right", whispered the tormented girl with a sob and closed her eyes, full of tears. "It will be in vain."
"I think so," I agreed, "so, please try - for half a minute or so - to stay motionless and I will make a sketch of your dirty ass and a worthless body. And feel awarded and proud to be perpetuated on my sketch."
"Thank you, master... But-"
"Do not thank me, I haven't done it for you but for my readers! And I have no more time to talk to a nameless whore!"
"I am not... a... whore...!", she groaned softly.
"Yes you are, and even less than whore. A whore is a human being at least but the crucified one is not!"
"But... I am... not nameless...", she continued. "My name... is-"
"But I am not curious your damned name, so shut your stupid mouth up and lift your ass up as I told you! And do look at me all the time but speak no more! Understood?"
"Yes... I will try...", moaned the crucified, and lifted her hips pushing her buttocks to the front allowing me to speedsketch outline of her strained nude body.
Within a minute I finished my job and I returned to my workshop, paying no more attention to the dying cunt, now shrieking in pain.
And that is how I finally sketched her, hanging helplessly on the tree of shame, as seen from the rear, because I found her wide round ass far more interesting than her hair-covered pussy. But I hesitate, is my sketch worthy looking at: she was really a commoner, with an uninteresting face and not especially exciting as a sexual object, so in my opinion her master was right when he decided to get rid of her, even if she was really innocent.

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Andyman

Tribune
This is when I saw my wife for the last time.

I returned to my town from the long trip abroad only to find out that my villa had been burnt to the ground together with few neighboring stores, the investigations proved that the fire had been ignited in my house and soon spreaded out of my villa. The procurator (who lost a significant quantity of imported goods in the burnt stores) made a verdict: an arson, and my Agnes was accused of lighting the fire intentionally, and in a no time she was sentenced and two days ago crucified.

I returned only to see her still alive, but unable to move nor speak, nor react to my voice, and within a half an hour she closed her eyes and stopped breathing.

The only advantage for her was that her dead body didn't rot on the tree. I have buried her in spite of the rules. I didn't care. I lost my wife, my home and my property.

The next morning I departed my town, with not a single word to my friends nor neighbors, to return here never more.

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Andyman

Tribune
As a prisoners of war, me and my few countrymen were brought to the Roman province Gallia Cisalpina. As we expected, in the first bigger town, Tridentium, the females including me were sold to some local slave trader, a big guy called Baldhead, who took us the day after to the market. I was never considered a beauty so I wasn't surprised that all of us save me found their new masters soon and after the very first day on the slave market I was a single remaining piece of his commodity. Baldhead was very angry, because he planned to leave the town tomorrow and he couldn't drag me with him as well as he has no companions to leave me here with them. Finally, he sold me for half a price to the strange pair of customers: a medician and a centurion, both hiding their faces under the hoods. I couldn't realize why did they seek a bad stuff and what am I needed for... till the next morning. But let's not preempt the facts.

This evening I was brought to the legion prison and I expected some kind of interrogation or at least abusing but the medician examined me instead and then I was simply ordered to stand in the corner and wait.

"So, Primus, she will be good experimental rabbit. Let's start testing of our secret potion immediately."
"Yes, maybe I am extraordinarily impatient as for the officer, but I am looking forward to the results with the utmost curiosity. My plans to infiltrate the enemy camp by my choosen agents depend on their ability of pretending they are dead. If this mixture really can put them to sleep, made them looking unconsciouss and being absolutely insensitive to pain, but they will wake up after few hours with no sign of being tired or semiconscious, I will be really happy and I will shower you with gold when the Gauls will be defeated!"

And, turning his face to me, he ordered me to drink some two pints of some unpleasant smelling drink from a pot, brought by the medician. I did, and I remembered no more.

And this is the view I saw when I woke up and opened my eyes wide, and I gave a loud desperate cry, pierced with the horrible pain. Yes, their potion worked! I passed the test: I have been stripped naked and nailed to the wood and hung while fast asleep, hardly breathing and not reacting at all. Now I saw and heard them, looking at me and congratulating to one another, before they turned and walked away, leaving me behind, now unnecessary rubbish, screaming on my cross.

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Andyman

Tribune
Officially the Japanese crucified their criminals in their own way, without nailing nor forcing them to strip naked and moreover killing them quickly, however during the campaigns against the Ainu people on the North or wars versus Korean kingdom, the enemies (and in case of these campaigns every civilian, including women and children, was counted as an enemy), caught in the deep shadows of the thick bamboo forest could suffer far worse fate. War atrocities are common, and the samurai warriors and bakufu representatives weren't subtle and soft for the prisoners of war much more than their far descendants in China and Manchukuo during WW2, so who knows?

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Gillian

Magistrate
These cartoons are so evocative and so emotional. And they depict real women with all our lumps and bumps and imperfections. And a subtle hint in the pictures that during the days between sentence and execution the guards and soldiers will have had their pleasure with us.

And always reminding us of the scourging to come, then the nailing. Maybe a little more fun after nailing to show the crowds our womanly breasts and cunts. Then the raising. And the expectation that we will put on a good show - dancing in agony on the cross. Humiliation and display. Until the Cornu is fitted - one last rape and a cruel extension to life. It is placed at an angle where it could penetrate either my vagina or my anus. Weakening legs mean it teases both until its girth lodges in my cunt. And eases the strain on my shoulders and lungs but at a terrible cost...
 

Loxuru

Graf von Kreuzigung
This is when I saw my wife for the last time.

I returned to my town from the long trip abroad only to find out that my villa had been burnt to the ground together with few neighboring stores, the investigations proved that the fire had been ignited in my house and soon spreaded out of my villa. The procurator (who lost a significant quantity of imported goods in the burnt stores) made a verdict: an arson, and my Agnes was accused of lighting the fire intentionally, and in a no time she was sentenced and two days ago crucified.

I returned only to see her still alive, but unable to move nor speak, nor react to my voice, and within a half an hour she closed her eyes and stopped breathing.

The only advantage for her was that her dead body didn't rot on the tree. I have buried her in spite of the rules. I didn't care. I lost my wife, my home and my property.

The next morning I departed my town, with not a single word to my friends nor neighbors, to return here never more.

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The narrator was lucky, he was not held responsible ex officio, as a husband, for the acts commited by his wife, or he would have shared her fate.
 

Andyman

Tribune
The narrator was lucky, he was not held responsible ex officio, as a husband, for the acts commited by his wife, or he would have shared her fate.
Yep, perhaps he would have been held responsible, but no one of the officials noticed that he returned. He arrived in the afternoon. Realizing that his home no longer existed he asked the first plebeian he met about the fire. When he was informed that his wife was crucified he quickly left the town and hurried to the gallows hill, letting his people to stay at a distance. Then he witnessed Agness' death and he was a sole witness, because the sun was about to set down soon and no onlooker wanted to spend a night out of the closed city gates and the soldiers hadn't been detached to guard a criminal who was now obviously one step from death. In the thickening darkness the husband - now the widower - took her wife's corpse together with his two servants and put it into his family grave in the nearby valley, after kissing her mouth, forehead, and all her wounds and wrapping her body in a cloak, and that was how the short burial ceremony ended. When they closed the grave with a stone again and join the rest of his people, for some time he standed still and looked at the town in silence. Maybe he hesitated if he should try to enter the town again and take a revenge? But whatever his reasons were, soon he turned to the north and ordered his staff to follow him and they went away in a pitch dark not lighting torches - they knew every stone and bush here - until they are far enough not to be recognized nor pursued, however the procurator probably was warned till now that he had been seen in the area. Anyway, he never returned here again.
 
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Andyman

Tribune
"Hail, Marcus!"
"Hail, publio!"
"Are the stipes ready?"
"Aye, we have just finished."
"Okay. So, take the prisoners and crucify them."
"Aye, sir. Could I take a look at their titula?"
"Yes, of course, but I can tell you the story in a whole. They were caught in act when they tried to rape the praefectus urbi niece! It's a pity that tomorrow is a festival of calendas iuliis and we have no time to let them die longer. We must be in hurry to give them at least few hours before crurifragium... We had even no time to scourge them!"
"Splendid! Soldiers, undress them quickly! Well, and now... er... Sir?"
"Yes, Marcus?"
"This youngest one... he... or she... er... Well, he is a girl!"
"Shit! It's no good. But we have no time to clarify this matter... Marcus?"
"Aye, sir?"
"Do crucify her as well and keep your mouth shut."
"Aye, sir! Soldiers, nail them all! And don't use the footrests, just hammer the nails to the sides of a stipes. They must die as soon as possible."
"Okay. So now I will return to the court with the militants. Keep watch and head straight to the quarters when you've finished."
"Aye, publio!"

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Andyman

Tribune
First minute on the cross.
Wendy still cannot decide what is the worst: the horrific pain in her wrists or similar pain in her feet or the crowd of her relatives, friends, neighbors, strangers and officials, including priests and priestesses, looking at her nudity or the certainess that her body will rot on the cross and her soul will never reach the afterlife.

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