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Stories by Crassuswild

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crassuswild

Assistant executioner
The Crucified Gaul

"Citizens, we gather today to see justice done, the criminal standing before your now Arnoldus of Gaul was captured after the bandits cowardly attack on this town so bravely defeated by the noble soldiers of Rome!" i wait for the crowd to cheer and the soldiers to salute them "The prisoner standing stripped and bound before the might of Rome has been tried and found guilty, of crimes against the state, for treason, for being a murderous bandit and for theft" the crowd jeers" and so for terrible crimes must come a terrible punishment, let it be known that on this day Arnoldus of Gaul will be executed" the crowd jeers again " his villainy was so great, his cause so ignoble, his birth so low, that the only fitting death for this criminal is that of public crucifixion." a whisper of horror goes through the crowd "i see you look down sadly at the mention of crucifixion before taking a deep breath and bravely facing the crowd again, "Let it be known how Arnoldus of Gaul died, let it be known that he died a low born slave, spread the word of his failure of how he tried to raise his hand against Rome but instead that hand was nailed to a Roman Cross, let it be known how he had tried to fight Rome but Rome had beaten him and displayed him for all to see on a Roman cross, utterly defeated and helpless" i see your face going red from the shame and humiliation, red from the utter degradation of your situation, i go one "tell your children how he died in torment and was left for the crows and rats to feed on, tell them how he was not buried and was left to rot on his cross as damned in the next life as he is in this one" i see you flinch at this, at the knowledge you will not be buried but left to rot on your cross "tell everyone of the justly savage death of this criminal and so they will learn from his example and not follow down his criminal path, soldiers of Rome you have a duty, execute this criminal in the name of Rome!"

At my command the soldiers step forward and a see a moment of panic in your eyes, the savage execution is really going to start now, they grab your bound arms and force you towards the wooden structure in the middle of the cart, the crowd starts to jeer and whistle, i can see the blood lust in there eyes, there is something fascinating and primal watching a healthy man tortured and killed before your eyes.
i see the look on your face, pained and gaunt, trying to swallow your fear, trying to look brave. they drag you towards the wood, you struggle slightly now but your face remains calm, they force your arms up towards the crosspiece of the H structure , exposing the hairy pits under your arms. they force your arms up and thread a rope between your bounds wrists, they from the rope over the beam and pull, your arms are pulled up and your stretched up, your ribs become obvious under your lean chest as your arms are pulled over your head, the rope is wound around the beam and then tied off, your struggle and twist, pulling at the rope but you realise it is well secured and so you just stop, looking out at the crowd breathing hard. your arms bent and your wrists resting on the top of your head, i admire you standing, bound before the crowd, stoic despite what is going to happen to you. You take in deep breaths as you try to control your nerves.
Marco with a swagger spits in your face, then deliberately look down you follow his gaze and he looks at your loincloth, "Time to show the citizens what you got" he grins mirthlessly, with a look of distaste he grabs the fabric of your loincloth in his fist, then he turns to the crowd "all traitors die naked before the might of Rome, humiliated and as slaves" with that he starts to tug at your loincloth, you have tied it well with with the third tug the knot snaps and the fabric rips, he pulls the filthy fabric wetly from your ass and thighs and he allows it it fall to the platform,
your finally totally demeaned before the mob. The sun is hot and the sky is blue and a warm breeze blows across the market, the crowd shouts and points, laughing and whistling, they cheer and mock as your cock falls against your thigh, exposed for all to see, your balls slowly descending down they are free from the confines of the fabric, i thrill at seeing you, your uncut cock hangs big and heavy, at least you have nothing to be ashamed of i smile.
Your face is red from the shame, for a freedom fighter to be captured and naked before the power of Rome must be the ultimate humiliation. Your naked before your people, naked before men, women and children, friends and enemies.
The shouting and jeering from the crowd slowly subsides and the Lictor climbs onto the back of the cart, the savage flagram whip in his hands, The Lictor is a handsome, muscular man, proud of his powerful body, he is shirtless and he flexes his muscles and enjoys the cheers from the girls in the crowd, you can smell his musky sweat and the wine on his breath as he approaches you, grinning he lets the whip dangle down your chest, you feel the leather cats and the iron studs gently caress your torso, he allows the whip to dangle lower, to tickle your exposed cock, then the game is over, he takes his position behind you and vanishes from your view.
The Lictor waits for my command, i give it "Flog him" i order

i watch you bound and naked, your chest nervously panting in anticipation as the Lictor stands behind you.
You try to look around you, then look down at the platform floor then look into the crowd, still panting nervously, waiting for the pain to start, naked and degraded before the mocking gaze of the crowd and helpless before the flagrum.
The Lictor snaps the whip against the wood of the platform with a shocking crack, i am amused to see you just jump from the sound, you look angry for a moment at being fooled by such a simple trick.
Then he raises the whip, he studies your back and your ass with a professional eye, he draws back his arm then with sudden violence slices his arm through the air, the whip whooshes through the air and cuts into your back, the effect on you is instantaneous, your back arches and your cock slaps your thigh as you twist in pain ,your face grimaces and you stifle a cry of pain as the whip curls around your chest and welts your glistening skin, you stamp the platform in pain and frustration. The crowd cheers at the first lash and at your pain.
The Lictor lashed out again and the whip welts your naked ass leaving a blood dappled welt across the hairy cheeks, your jerk forward , your cock slapping your belly causing another laugh from the mob, your face twists from the pain.
The lash snaps across your lower back and this at last drags a cry of pain from you, you twist in your bonds.
The crowd cheers as the lictor continues to whip you, your twist and writhe against the ropes that hold you, you grunt and yell in pain as the savage cats cut and welt your helpless skin, your twisting in the desperate attempt to escape the pain of the whip merely means that the whip cuts at other parts of your body, legs, ass, back and shoulder are striped under the cruel bite of the whip. soon your back and ass are raw and your cocooned in pain...

i watch in excited fascination as you are scourged. your pain must be mounting now was whip lashes start to land on skin that i already raw and welted. your twisting in your bonds now, your leg muscles tense and moving as you turn in a futile attempt to avoid the agony of the whip. Sweat rolls down your body, your glistening skin emphasising the crude whip stripe that line your body, your gaunt face creases with pain now but you still manage to suppress your crying out although you are regularly giving a deep guttural grunt of pain as the whip curls around you. the crowd cheers and laughs at your suffering, mocking your cock so rudely exposed as it slaps your thighs as you twist and jerk.
i have lost count of the whip strokes now, the lictor, now sweating from the effort knows that i want to make an example of you, knows that i want you to be tortured by the cross for many days so he is not causing to much bloodloss, your pain is intense but little muscle damage has been caused, he can flog a man so that the criminals back is torn off and his ribs bloodily exposed , he is not doing this to you although your are scarlet with welts, some of which are beaded with livid blood.
i see your head shake from side to side as you toss the sweat from your eyes and maybe the tears that have been dragged from you by the painful torture on your body, the sweat rolls down your chest, your chest hair matted dark with moisture, rolls down your flat stomach and into your dark pubic hair, some drips from your cock as you squirm.
The whip cuts across the back of your legs and the mob cheers and laughs as you do an involuntary dance of pain your legs shaking and stamping on the wet wood.
Finally it is over, the muscular lictor, his own chest dripping with sweat take a pitcher and drinks deeply to refresh himself. your eyes flicker and screw up as you retreat into yourself.
you stand, hanging from your arms, your chest panting, sucking in air, trying to control your pain, your bound hands unable to smooth and sooth your tortured skin. A soldier brings a horse bucket and the crowd laughs as he stands next to you, he gives your face a slap before pouring the cold water from the bucket over you.
the crowd cheers as the chilled water cascades down your naked body, your shake and spasm from the shock of the cold, your balls retreat into yourself and your mouth forms an O shape. the water has done what it was intended to do and brought you back to shocking consciousness .
i look you in the eye, your shaking and jerking in shock, i say loudly so all can hear me.
"release him, it is time this criminal made his final journey to his cross..."

i watch as the soldiers untie the ropes that hold you to the whipping fame, you stagger and sink to your knees when free, you hold your arms around your shaking body, deperate to stroke and sooth your torn skin. you fall forward and rest on your elbow and i get to see how red and striped your back is, a raw mass of pain and welts. rivulets of blood drip from where the skin has torn.
The soldier replaces the chain around your neck and tugs on it, still on your knees your are humiliatingly dragged along the platform, crawling on all fours like a dog, you fall and rool down the steps, will a yell you fall down the steps with a clatter, your naked body painfully bouncing off the crude wooden steps.
you come to rest at the bottom of the steps, groaning from your raw body slamming into the dirty ground, moaning from where you hit your head on the way down, you lay on the ground, shaking from pain and the cold water, cock limp on you thigh, skin dirty from the water making the dirt from the market square stick to you. you rest there for a moment but they pull the chain, with a grunt your forced to crawl onto your knees.
You kneel in pain, breathing deeply, your cock limp between your thighs and laying on the dirty ground, a soldier uses his foot to force your head down towards the ground while two others start to carry your crossbeam back to you, they grab your arms and drop the wood onto your raw back, you moan in pain as the wood presses down on your bloody skin.
they grab your arms and force them up, along the length of the wood and the loop ropes around your elbows and tighten the ropes, they ensure that the ropes are tightly bound. i see they are satisfied that your secured to the crossbeam, they let it go and stand back, you take the full weight of the wood on your lashed back, i hear you whimper with pain although you quickly bit the sound back through clenched teeth
"on your fucking feet traitor!" snarls Marco and whips you hard at the base of your back.
i watch you as you struggle to stand, watch the muscles flexing in your arms and legs as you try to take the weight, watching your push up, lifting the wood, watching your cock wiggle as you force yourself to stand,
you stand at last, your skin welted and raw, the wood balanced across your shoulders.
"MOVE!" orders Marco and i watch as bent under your crossbeam you take your first faltering step towards your crucifixion...

You are struggling now as you are led from the market square towards the town gates, bent under the crossbeam, the burden crushing you down pressing into your torn skin. Your stagger slightly under the wait but the soldiers yank you forward by the chain by the neck. Your knees are slightly bent and bowed from the weight and your cock and balls swing between your legs before the mocking crowd.
I order my slaves to lift my chair and carry me to the gates and to the place of execution, they obey and i soon pass you as you struggle on. You turn your head as my chair is carried passed, i see the pain and resentment in your eyes although you continue to keep your face calm and stoic. Sweat now drips freely from your body as you labour in the heat, it is going to be a hot day.
we pass through the gates and along the road and ahead i can see the small gathering of waiting soldiers preparing the stipes for your cross,
My slaves set down my cross where i will have a good view of the proceedings, the soldiers salute as i near them. They have ropes, a mallet and several thick iron spikes waiting for you.
 
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crassuswild

Assistant executioner
licking at the sweat running down your face, its salty but your thirst is starting to build. the beam rubs your wounded back, insults being yelled at you, the soldiers tug you along, cock and balls out, back is on fire, an egg hits you in the face, small kids throw stones your chest heaves as you breath, an old woman spits in your face, a child runs up slaps your face and runs away giggling, you look at them pleadingly but you get no comfort from your countrymen, body bent forward under the weight, you slow and CRACK the whip slices the backs of your legs
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH! you lunge forward
the heat beats down,you reach at last the city gate, soon you will loose the shade of the city walls, ahead the unshaded stipe as you leave the city gate and the full blast of the sun strikes you, sweat pouring down, not a tree in sight, no shade, the ground starts to become rough and stony, the burden seems to get greater you start to slow as your journey ends, a stone catches your foot ARRRRRRRRGH! falling the wood slams down on top of you unable to protect your face you crash down rocks slamming into your face blood pours from your lips
a soldier gives you a kick to your ribs GET THE FUCK UP
UGGGGGGGGGGGGGH! your yelling in pain now, the mounting tortures breaking you and forcing you to react
they pull the chain and you struggle to your feet you stumble on, unsteady now, swaying, the heat gets to you heat waves rise from the ground, sweat pours down you, the ground so uneven as you leave the road you trip and fall to your knees UGGGGGGGGH!
finally reach the end of our walk the stipes looming large before you, your soaked with sweat and exhausted
13
You are staggering the last few paces towards the waiting soldiers, the drum stops sounding, your guards are using the whips more frequently, you are staring at the stipes laying on the ground, waiting for the crossbeam, waiting for its sobbing burden, it has a sedile rather than a footrest, a splintered block of wood with a nail crudely driven into it, the even more painful way to be crucified as ant standing can only be on the spikes through your feet rather than onto any comforting support, it will also crush what makes you a man, adding to your pain and shame, you pause for a second when you see the waiting crossbeam, your gaunt face unreadable before the whip cuts across your naked ass driving you forward,
Marco steps up to you and as the crowd slowly gathers .
A soldier is gathering the iron spikes from the leather bag, they clank in his hands, you hear the metallic sound and you look at the spikes, your eyes wide.
The remove the chain roughly from around your neck, yanking it over your head, as it scrapes past your years and comes away your head jerks back hitting your wooden cross beam. sweat roles down your high forehead, your face appears even more gaunt and haunted.
Marco kicks you hard in the bare balls, all the men in the crowd wince at seeing the blow, my own slaves move there hands over there groins in sympathy,
"UUUUUUUUUUUUGH" you moan and sink to your knees, pain creasing your face.
Once on your knees the soldiers start to untie the ropes slowly from around your arms, the ropes have left burns around the soft skin of your upper arms, as the ropes fall away then the soldiers lift the wood from your raw back, at the same time others grab your arms and force your hands behind your back and the loop of chain that hand been about your neck is tightened around your wrists to stop you from lashing out. Your on your knees, naked and chained before the crowd and the might of Rome, it is hard to imagine a greater humiliation for a rebel.
they carry the wooden beam to the stipe and start to fix the two together with a squeak of wood, making a T shaped cross, the cross onto which you will soon be nailed.
i see you watching them build your cross, your face cold and hard, but your chest pants with nerves and sweat roles down your glistening torso .
i clear my throat and raise my arm, the soldiers pull out their swords and the crowd goes silent,
"This man naked before us now is a traitor against Rome, a bandit, a killer, a thief and a brigand, he has been tried and justly found guilty for his crimes, his sentence is death and his punishment is the slowly degrading death of crucifixion. Watch as he is nailed onto the cross and hung out to die before you, watch his torture and learn from his example, obey Roman law and avoid the naked shame of this criminal before you." i see you staring into the quiet crowd, your face like stone, challenging them with your suffering, are they shamed that you are dying because of your desire for your peoples freedom? or are they glad another trouble maker that blights there lives will soon be disposed of? "soldiers of Rome, you have a duty to perform, you have justice to enact, carry out your duty in the name of the emperor of Rome, crucify him!"
you take a look of the world, the city, the beautiful sky, the mob here to watch, men and women are here they laugh and point, your so naked and exposed, humiliated before them all
i take a last look at you, on your knees before me, you give me a long hard look, your eyes cold and full of hate.
I smile at you "you said you would show your countrymen how a true Gaul dies, bravely and defiant, time to see if you can"
your head snaps around to look at your cross as the sound of hammering, the soldiers are nailing your titulus, the sign naming your crime to the top of your cross, the sound of nailing makes you react, the nails going into the wooden sign makes your eyes widen in horror, very soon similar nails will be going through your limbs.
the soldiers approach
they are ready for you
the guards grab you, they punch your guts and drag you towards the cross the wood cruel and waiting, a soldier standing a hammer in his meaty fists, they roughly drag you to the cross,terror sets in now, you see a bag of nails waiting
"oh gods no" i hear you whisper under your breath before you are pulled away from me and towards your cross. the chain behind your rattles, hanging down between your butt cheeks , you look at your cross and the neat hole before it at the road side.
the road is now full of people, all trying to see. they are all excited with expectation now, each man goes to the cross slightly differently, some brave, some stunned, some pleading.
the soldiers gather around you so you cannot escape. They release your hands from the chains and you stand rubbing yours wrists. you look down at the cross then around you, you smile sadly
you look at the soldier with the hammer and say loudly so all can here "alright, lets fucking do this"
they turn you around quickly, your cock slapping your thigh, they throw you down, your torn back slapping into the wood, you fall back and writhe as your raw back hits the cross, they grab your arms and spread them across the crossbeam the sun is in your eyes chest pushed up stomach is sucked in they stamp you down, your legs bent, knees in the air, your feet flat on either side of the upright, the sedile between your legs, your cock laying on your thigh.
the mob starts to chant "crucify him, crucify him, crucify him, crucify him..."
you feel a nail pressed against your wrist, you lift and turn your head and see the guard with hammer kneel down, he places a square of wood on your wrist, to act as a washer that will stop you pulling the nail through your wrist. He gently taps the thick iron nail into the wood, it breaks through and you feel the cold nail tip gently press against the skin on your wrist. jolt when you feel the nail, i guess you get a thrill of horror at feeling the nail that will soon be driven through your living flesh.
"crucify him, crucify him, crucify him, crucify him..."
he raises the hammer
this is it, no escape
i see you breathing deeply preparing yourself, you close your eyes and your top teeth bite deep into your bottom lip, ready for the pain.
the soldier pauses deliberately to let your terror mount his muscles flexing as he prepares to slam the hammer down onto the nail head
the he strikes
clang clang clang, the nail breaks the skin of your wrist
"gods" you grunt
clang clang clang
your pelvis thrusts into the air, cock flopping
clang clang clang the metal spike cuts through the sinew of your wrists forces apart the bones
"UUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!" you moan and squirm, no longer acting strong
clang clang clang the nails cut through the median nerve of your wrists, your hands closeup looking like claws, a spurt of blood spays the soldiers, the nail is driven into the wood
"oh gods noooooooo" you moan, twisting in pain, you open your eyes wide and pain and look at the nail protruding from your wrist, the nail head flat against the wooden washer.
the nail man steps over your torso and readies himself to nail your other wrist...

i watch you staring at your nailed wrist in agony an expression of disbelief on your face, i wonder if you think it hurts worse than you imagined? your mouth is wide open now, sucking air into your chest, trying to manage your pain.
The bloody soldier taps the spike through the washer and starts to position it on your other wrist, the soldiers holding your arm to the cross.
You turn your head and see they are ready, your eyes fill with panic and you close them, lowering your head and resting your head on the crossbeam.
He raises the hammer.
Then slams it down,
the iron spike start to bite through flesh
driven through living muscle
this time you react with the pain, crying sounds terrible ... full of pain and disbelief
the hammer blows clang clang clang
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! you yell
the spikes start to slit the delicate bones of the wrist
the crowd goes silent, shocked by the brutal nailing of a man
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
some of the youths and men in the crowd start mocking you, they have seen better ones before ...what a despicable man
clang clang clang, you feel the nails start to burst out of the underside of your wrist
clang clang clang the nails are driven hard into the wood!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH you yell, pain overwhelming your wanting to be brave. You cannot stop crying during the nailing
"QUIT HOWLING GAUL!" complains one soldier
"FUCKING BARBARIAN!" insults another
you shake your head from side to side in pain
"NOT SO FUCKING TOUGH NOW GAUL!"
i can see the sinews on my neck, they get up for a moment leaving you nailed to the wood, your back arching in agony, your legs dancing in the dust
"FUCKING BASTARDS PISSED HISELF!"
from your face i can see that the pain is unbearable, nothing else than pain .... terrible pain, iron nails deep through your wrists, wrists that are NAILED to the patibulum
after some moments - for you like after an eternity - you calm down ... stop crying, knowing that your only half crucified.
they slam both your ankles into the sides on the cross, they force your heels against the cross
i see your lips moving and i wonder if your praying
they jab the washered spike into your left ankle, they break the skin
"ARRRRRRRRRRRGH GODS NOOOOOOOOOO" the movement has caused your wrists fresh agony and you feel the nail on your ankle, knowing your torture is going to increase.
they raise the hammer and slam down
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH"
bang bang bang
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH" i see the muscles in your legs tense as they start to hammer the spike into your heel. the spikes breaks your ankle as it cuts through the muscle and tissue
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH GOD PLEASE" your whole body jumps and jerks, cock bobbing, face twisting
bang bang bang , nail into the wood
" ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH" your face a mask of pain, chest rapidly rising as you breath, tears and sweat cover your face
satisfied your ankle is secure to the cross they step over you to the other foot, spikes ready, hardened in fire, sharp as razors, they force it againt your heel, despite yourself you sit up slightly to watch, they produce the heavy hammer ready to drive the spike in.
you lay on the cross, swear rolling off you, shaking your head in pain, a look of desperation on your handsome gaunt face, still trying to be brave but being overwhelmed by the pain. the crowd mocking and cheering, you see me watching your humiliating torture and glare, i smile at you with satisfaction
they pull back the hammer
"GODS SAVE ME, SOWN WITH ROME, RISE UP AND FREE GAUL, GODS SAVE ME, GODS SAVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" they start to drive in the spike,
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
they nail you, you watch as the spike breaks the skin of your heel, the spike break your heel bone
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH MY GODS MY GODs WHY WHY STOP STOP I CAN'T TAKE IT!" your bravery gone now, the pain is to great. The spike starts to sink into the cross
your heart feels like it will explode, it is pounding
The soldiers stand back, your nailed to your cross, a spike through each wrist and each ankle, your writhing on the ground, your lean body undulating like a snake, your cock flopping, your back arching against the cross, your in terrible agony and your bravery humiliatingly gone, your pain is beyond belief but it is only the start of your suffering as the order is given,
"RAISE THE CROSS"

The Soldiers start to thread ropes around the metal rings at the end of your crossbeam. i watch you on your cross as they work, your face constantly moving, blinking tears from your eyes and trying to suppress the groans that are growing in your throat, you teeth sunk into your bottom lip desperate to hold back the wails, desperate to appear brave before the people who will soon watch your cross erected. Your limbs are shaking slightly from the shock of your injuries, blood leaks from around the nails that impale you to the wood.
The ropes are readied and burly troops stand ready to pull while others stand at the top of your cross.
"OK LETS LIFT THE FUCKER" snarls Marco
The soldiers at the top of your cross force there fingers under the crossbeam, the cross moves slightly and i see the pain on your face as you move on the nails. Once they get purchase the lift the head of the cross slightly,
"NOW!" commands Marco and the arm muscles of the soldiers at the head of the cross flex as grunting they start to lift the cross. At the same time the other soldiers start to pull on the ropes.
Your cross shifts and starts to raise, the effect on you is devastating, as it lefts it starts to tilt and you start to hand more and more from the spikes, with each second your agony intensifies , you start to pull down on the wrist nails while at the same time your raw back slides down the wood, the sedile starts to dig into and crush your balls.
The soldiers sweating and cursing continue to lift, your head shaking from side to side, your eyes rolled back as you suffer unimaginable pain, you are pushing back, desperate for all the support the cross can give you, desperate not to hand solely from the spikes.
the crowd cheers as the cross gets higher and they all get a good view of your tortured naked body, exposed for all to see.
The cross is high now and your body shakes and undulates in agony, the soldiers guide the cross towards the neatly dug hole in the ground, then with a sudden and sickening thud the cross drops into the hole.
The cross drops down and you bounce on the nails, you throw back your head.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
while the soldiers drive little wedges into the base of your cross to stop it falling you realise what it is to be crucified. You are hanging from the nails, the sedile crushing your balls, totally agony written over your face. your sweating body twisting and writhing, desperate to escape the raw pain that now tortures you, your handsome gaunt face totally screwed up, limbs jerking, your cock jiggling with each movement
The crowd jeers at the crucified Gaul
 

Bad Boris

Assistant executioner
Great account of the Gaul's execution. Love the sedile description. Imagine the agony as your balls are crushed against the rough wood. No escape from the torture.
 

crumera

Crucifier of Pixels
So Kav will supply or make some great images?

Great story Crassuswild!
Got enough imagination to picture it all:)
 

crassuswild

Assistant executioner
Nuff Said

By Crassuswild


Dan grunted as his body strained on his cross.
He shook the sweat that rolled from his shaved head from his eyes, his dog tags chiming as he did so.
"this is bad man" he snarled,
and it was.

He had strong muscular, tattooed arms, powerful after many hours in the gym, they were on fire with cramp as his naked body hung from the thick straps that spread him across the arms of his T shaped cross. He growled as he forced his legs to straighten, pushing down on the ankle straps, allowing his arms to bend, allowing some relief to his tortured shoulders. his body glistened as he hung against gravity, darkening the stubble around his cock, shaved as is the fashion, his cock ram rod hard and fuelled with Viagra, one of the few cheats in the modern industry.

This hurt, this really hurt, he was getting to old for this shit,

When he first went into the industry things were so much more simple, dress in the costume, walk into the scene, strip and fuck.

He was younger then, video was king, since the rise of the internet he had realised the porn industry was harder, darker.

The old companies had gone west and so he started working for companies like this "Nuff Said" providers of BDSM and slave material. Of course there were rumours of even darker tastes out there. Still the money was good even if earning it was not as joyful as once it had been.




THE CRUCIFIED SOLDIER was the title of this epic, he was playing a soldier captured and crucified by rebels, he did not get it himself but guessed enough guys liked this stuff to make it pay.

Man it hurt bad, cramps ate at his legs, he could see the waddle of his Viagra hard cock as his legs got the jerks,

How fucking long were they going to keep up him here?

He could still see the dudes who ran Nuff Said, still dressed in their cheap terrorist costumes, sweeting and hard behind the camera as they filmed his naked groaning,

they stood before monitors and the blood red NUFF SAID logo.

He could see himself on the screens, seeing what the internet would soon spend good money to pay for and jerk off too.

He looks good man!

He was proud of his body, always had been, sporty as a youth and muscular as a man, he had been blessed with the equipment which had ment he could work in the porn industry, it had been a good life, well paid, for doing what he wanted to do anyway! Still if this was the kind of work he would get now he would have to get a proper job.

That thought hurt more than his physical suffering.

He could see the what his crucifixion had inflicted on him, his face creased from the pain, his gym pexed chest tight, man it was getting hard to breath, his stomach sunken and inverted, he dripped with sweat, his who body glistening, no need for baby oil today!

his muscles looking hard and drawn, crucifix cramp giving the effect of hours in the gym,

the crucifixion work out he mused, cruxersize?

It would be a hard sell!

his arms and legs were on fire, the muscles burning as they supported him against gravity, the groans of pain he had put on for the cameras at first were now quite real!

How long were these fuckers going to leave him up here?

Crucified?

the straps now chaffed his wrists, they were raw and hurt like fuck,

He was well aware of being trapped in two impossible positions, if he just hung his shoulders would burn with agonised cramp and he came to fear his shoulders would dislocate, more of a worry was that it was hard to breath when he hung, the air would sit in his chest until his lungs burned, He was forced into the second position, forcing his legs to straighten, pushing down on the bite of the ankle straps, thinking his knees would pop out, gasping in air as he rose up the cross, offering his cramped arms the blessed relief of bending.

He cursed himself for all those hours in the gym, he was a big guy and his own muscular bulk was now torturing him.



He had never felt so naked and exposed, he was used to being meat, displayed for the entertainment of others, but he had never felt so vulnerable and degraded.

His legs on fire he would have to sink down and hang again from his arms.


This was torture, pure and simple and he wanted out.


"OK guys.... get me down.... AAAAAGH ... funs over..."


The production team just looked at him grinning


of course, safe word, what was it?

oh yes "Green"

still they did not move

"Green guys" he tried to be cool about it but another wave of cramp gnawed at him and he heard a note of anger in his voice.

Still they just stood there watching, recording.

He needed a piss "GREEN FUCKING GREEN! GOT IT!" yelled the crucified man, angry now, offended by their incompetence, the breaking of filming rules, he would bust heads over this!

Still they just watched as he grunted, trying to pull himself from his bonds in fury!

"GET ME DOWN YOU FUCKERS!" he bellowed using air he could ill afford.

he was starting to panic now, pain and fear combined in him, what the fuck was going on?



The camera man smiled, he sauntered to the NUFF SAID logo and to the crucified mans horror started to re-arrange the letters,

AID SNUFF

snuff? SNUFF!

the crucified man really started to panic now, really started to writh and suffer as he struggled on his cross.

The production team were pleased,

they would get some brilliant stuff now the crucified man had realised he was to die in torment on his cross, they felt hard in their cheap costumes.

they would make a fortune from this,

they sat back to enjoy the sight, although they had to adjust the sound, Dan's screams of panic and pain were effecting the volume.

So unprofessional of him....
 

crassuswild

Assistant executioner
THE BOOK OF GESTAS

The Book of Gestas, the bad thief.
The Bad Thief, is that how i am going to be remembered.
Gestas, the bad thief.
I was more than that, i was a man, a man who had lived a life, a life that had ended horribly that day.
I was quite old really, late thirties or early forties, not sure which, i was handsome and plump and well dressed. I was proud of all these facts.
Being a criminal and a rebel to have got to that age, weight and style was quite an achievement. I was aware that I was better dressed, better fed and better housed than many of the so called lawful people of the city, who lived wretched squalid lives of hunger and filth.
I was not a bad thief; I was a very good thief. I had for the last twenty or so years been involved with the zealots, a role I had inherited from my father. I was no leader but Barabbas trusted me and we got the job done. I lacked the zeal of Barabbas, he wanted to smash Rome, to drive out the invader and I wanted to take their money so we got on well enough. My activities would sometimes lead me to venture through the poorer parts of the Jerusalem and when I did i would swagger past the wretches there, lifting the helm of my fine robes to avoid the dirt and poking out the girth of his ample belly as i passed the scrawny starving law abiding men and women who were unlucky enough to have been born honest instead of that of a clever man with the courage to take what they want. Some honest citizens would beg alms from me; this would give me a warm glow of self-satisfaction. Sometimes I would take from them what little they had, teach them a lesson, and make them grow a spine.
Yes life was good and I was content which of course was seen as a challenge by the god who cannot abide happy mortals.
Breaking into the Roman stores, robbing tax collectors, pick pocketing those too stupid to notice was my life and I got fat and happy on it. I left the politics to the others.
The riot had been a disaster, Barabbas had stirred up the mob too well and instead of what he wanted, a coordinated attack on the hated Romans it had been a brawl. I can still remember Barabbas trying to shout above the noise, trying to take control but failing and then I remember fleeing with him. One reason Barabbas, young Dismas and I have survived so long is because we know when to fight and when to run.
And we ran.
Deep down I knew we had gone too far, we had done more than irritate the Romans, we had caused real trouble and they would want blood. The rioters were slaughtered and we hid in the safe house.
It was not a very safe house.
I guess we were betrayed, I suspect one of Barabbas loyal comrades had sold us out for Roman coins, I cannot blame them, I would have done the same.
They came quietly in the night; the man on watch was gone or had been the one who sold us out. The first I knew about what had happened was when I awoke with a Roman sword at my throat.
Barabbas had put up a fight and Dismas had tried to run, it made no difference. I kept my face calm but I was sick with fear as they roughly bound our wrists and loaded us on a cart. Barabbas had started shouting demanding that the sleeping Jews rose up and rescued us, they did not of course, they had more sense or they did not care. I guess the actions of the zealots made the lives of the spineless honest men harder and they would be glad to see us stopped. Glad to see us suffer.
The little people are always pleased to see the great fall, it makes them feel better about their sad, useless little lives, makes them feel justified for spending their lives sucking on Rome’s cock. I have lived my life, taken from those too weak to stop me and now the weak will try to justify their useless little lives by watching my fall.
I was under no illusions what our fate would be, we were freedom fighters and Rome would send us on a one way trip to Golgotha. We had always lived under the shadow of the cross. The idea filled me with terror but I would not show it to the invaders, I snarled and spat at them and took their blows. Fuck um. I will show these bastards how men die I told myself, I will suffer the cross and the nails bravely and show those watching that I am a man and they are worms under Rome’s sandal.
We trundled through the streets, Barabbas shouting, Dismas pleading and me? I worked on my bonds. I tried to escape. I failed.
We went from the dark of the night to the blackness of the cells and our echoing recriminations.
Stinking cells encrusted with the filth and fear of many men, the stench in my nose and throat, trying not to vomit. The straw alive with creeping things and no doubt rats lurked. Barabbas demanding freedom and liberation, Dismas whines and pleads; he is a coward at heart one of those Jews who runs with the zealots for the kudos and the reputation. At least I was in it for the money.

I was glad enough of the fresh air when we were led from the cells, breathing in the vast lungful’s of morning air after the stinking fetid stench of the cells. No fight in us after a sleepless night and no food or water. A shivering line of worried prisoners, even Barabbas’s bravado suddenly sobering when we realized we were facing judgment and punishment.
We stood in a line at the end of which sat the hawk faced magistrate, Pilate, behind a desk in a high chair, scribes around him, so obviously as powerful as we were powerless, our ankles chains clanked as we shuffled forward as each prisoner take his chances at the desk, taking the judgment for our crimes, I became nervous, I could smell my sweat, I rubbed my fingers in my palms, my mind in a whirl of possible approaches, how to deal with this stone faced man who had the power of life and death over us, over me. The man who had ordered the rioters slaughtered without pity or mercy. My thinking I would be noble in the face of crucifixion now seeming stupid and romantic.
I had hope but deep down I knew that there was no way out of this, that there would be no escape.
So we stood together, the bastard deliberately reading slowly ignoring us as he studied and we trembled.
A CLEAR CASE OF TREASON, ROBBERY AND MURDER he mutters to his aid THE EVIDENCE IS SPLATTERED ALL OVER THAT ONE he says about my bloody companions.
We were not even allowed to protest, to plead our case, he had witnesses and a determination that we would pay for or crime. Barabbas growls and shouts, demanding to be heard, demanding always demanding, always wanting to be taken seriously, Dismas on his knees, pleading and weeping
 
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crassuswild

Assistant executioner
It happened so quickly. One moment we were stood before him as he studied his papers he next he was voicing.
FOR CRIMES OF SEDITION, TUMALT, MURDER AND THIEVERY I FIND YOU ALL GUILTY he intoned almost sounding bored SENTENCED TO DEATH BY CRUCIFIXION.
My heart turned to ice, it was my worst fears realized. In a few words my life was over, I was going to die. I was going die in the worst way imaginable. I wanted to shout, I wanted to plead.
But I did nothing.
Shock a guess, I just stared at the man. I was meekly taking this. I am not proud of that. I hope it was seen as courage.
Dismas still on his knees, his face screwed up, begging and chattering in a desperate plea for mercy. Maybe that’s why I said nothing, I wanted to look more dignified than him. Not that it did him any good.
They dragged Dismas to his feet and pushed me to follow and we were forced into a grim line of men condemned to the cross. Companions with nothing in common than our sentence to a terrible punishment. Soldiers all around us, stone faced and violent. I remained shocked, unable to comprehend what was happening to me. It was not real. This could not be real.
But it was.
Pilate strode out; we could hear a noise outside, voices shouting, a crowd?
LISTEN shouts Barabbas sounding vindicated OUR BROTHERS RISE UP, I CAN HEAR THEM OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF THIS ACURSED FORTRESS DEMANDING OUR RELEASE, THEY ARE DEMANDING THE FREEDOM OF THEIR FELLOW PATRIOTS.
I wondered, could it be true? Could some miracle be happening? Could the minor celebrity that Barabbas had accrued actually be enough to spare us from death, to free us from crucifixion?
They ordered us to strip. We were reluctant as you can imagine. Public nudity is forbidden for our people, it the ultimate humiliation, even for those like me who have rejected my faith the words cursed be those who hang from the tree echo through my terrified head. The soldiers roar in their half learned Aramaic. We were under no illusions, we had no rights, no protection, these men were going to hurt us, kill us, we will do what they say or they will beat us, blind us or castrate us. Strip off or they will strip us.
We started to strip.
Pulling my tunic over my head and feeling the cool of the morning on my belly I realized my identity was being stripped away also, I was just going to be one of those many, faceless criminals I had seen so often struggling naked under their crossbeams being whipped towards Golgotha.
We stood shivering in our loincloths, reluctant to remove our last vestiges of dignity, but Barabbas says it’s better to strip ourselves than have them do it. I like that he is still giving orders and we are following, one in the eye for our Roman masters. As we strip I cannot help looking between my comrades legs to see how we measure up. I guess that’s a male preoccupation even in the worst of circumstances.
We stand there naked and shivering surrounded by mocking eyes and sharp swords. The soldiers make lewd remarks about the barbarity of cut cocks and the inadequacy of the Jewish members these petty torments are as pin pricks compared to the terror of the brutal horrors to come. We are deprived the coy strategically placed loincloths that later artists so decorously drape around us when they came to depict these events. No gossamer twists of fabric curl around us in defiance of gravity to protect our modesty. We stand bollock naked as the Romans share out our clothes. I resent this as mine were quite fine but as a snarling Roman tells me, I have no need of clothes now.
Barabbas is all man, broad and muscular, sunbaked and hairy; he is carved from rough but strong meat. Thick curly hair mushrooms up across his chest and a veined dark cock hangs insolently from a black bush. He bears the scars from many a skirmish with the Romans who have finally trapped him and who are to pin that strong body up as the ultimate symbol of his defeat.
Dismas is a younger rat of a man, thin and sinewy, all ribs and tendons, his scrawny dirty body looks nothing like the statues of muscular heathen gods the Romans have polluted out city with. A light covering of light brown body hair is such a contrast to black and springy hairsuit Barabbas. Dismas narrow dirty face is streaked with the tears of his fear and panic and his lean body shakes with terror and cold, his thin but defined arms are cupping this thin pink cock from the sneering gaze of our Roman executioners. He is a thin runt, obviously not a successful thief.
I stand humiliated in my nakedness, but proud of my hairy belly and thin arms, a sign I have not laboured and have lived well, I have been a success, the stubby cock that now juts out for all to see has only been sucked off by clean and expensive whores. The nimble fingers of the hands that they intend to impale have deftly picked the locks and the pockets of only the richest pickings. They can mock all they like, I may have fallen down to this but to fall one must have risen high.
Or so I tell myself.
 

crassuswild

Assistant executioner
The truth is for all of Barabbas orating and bluster about our being freedom fighters and patriots we have been condemned to the lowest form of death these bastard Romans can inflict on another man. Cursed by those that hang from the tree. To be crucified is to suffer the ignoble death of a slave, to be considered untouchable and shamed. It is the death for sub human slaves and barbarians, for those that are deemed so low that they do not deserve any consideration or mercy. The shame of this gnaws at me as it does the others. Barabbas demands that as patriots we should die by the sword or should be tried in a Temple court. Even stoning would at least be quicker than the cross. Dismas wails about bringing dishonor to his daughter, who will marry the off spring of the crucified? She will starve unprotected in the world. My father is dead and my brothers have not spoken in years so at least I do not have the shame of blighting my family name. Yes we all have family, we all have friends. We have all had lives. We are men who have lived a life and not just bit players in somebody else’s drama. He was crucified between two thieves. A simple sentence but when it is you who is to be crucified it becomes enormous and all consuming. Crucifixion was a regular event in Jerusalem. The Romans thought us a troublesome people and they had great faith in the deterrent effect of the cross. It did not work of course as we remained troublesome and we kept committing crimes. I supposed my crimes ended that day. Nor was crucifixion the sedate affair that dramatists would later present. Crucifixion was violent, degrading and demeaning. Crucifixion was painful and drawn out. Crucifixion was dirty and stinking, wet and fetid. Crucifixion was the worst, most disgusting, most agonizing, most public, most degrading, most brutal death that any man could face.
And that is what we faced.
That is what I faced.
The clunk of timber alerted us to the approach of our cross beams. The well-worn wood from which we will hang. Thick planks of wood onto which we will be suspended.
And die.
We are going to die in fear and pain, die on that wood, panic eats me but I cannot move,
Shock freezing me.
The voices outside are getting louder, the crowd angrier, I try to make out the words but the high walls of the fortress muffle them. The Roman soldiers seem more agitated as well they discuss things quietly with earnest faces. I still hope something amazing is going to happen and whatever is happening outside will result in our freedom or at least some delay in our executions. Not knowing the role that history had decided for me I still had hope to escape the cross. I did not want to die crucified in shame and agony so as the noise of the mob got louder, then so those embers of hope were fanned. At least I hoped for a delay, had hope that the Romans would wait not wanting to drive us through that angry crowd. If we were not crucified this Friday then it would be the festival and they could not execute us for days, during that delay who knows what could happen? Yes I had hope. Then as the riotous noise outside get even louder some Roman official strides in.
He looks at us with distaste. My heart is pounding. Is something going to happen?
I try to translate his words, I focus on anything that means a stay in execution or better ITS GETTING NASTY OUT THEIR says the sweating official PILATE WANTS THAT he points at Barabbas.
Not us, not me, they want Barabbas for whatever reason, maybe they just want him for the cross? Even as I think it I realize that is the last hope of a desperate man. They throw Barabbas his under tunic and as he starts to struggle into it I feel an explosion of resentment.
WHAT ABOUT US? WHAT ABOUT ME I suddenly demand, the repressed fury and fear bursting out and making me bold.
Hardly bothering to look at us he shrugs NOTHING HAS CHANGED FOR THESE TWO CONDEMNED AND WHATEVER THE FARCE GOING ON UPSTAIRS THERE WILL BE THREE CRUCIFIXIONS TODAY, CARRY ON CARNIFAX.
So that’s it, I am doomed to crucifixion.
YOU SOLD OUT TO THEM YOU BASTARD i roar at Barabbas and as I step forward the soldiers grab my arms. YOU DONE A DEAL? WHAT ABOUT US? YOU SELL US OUT TO YOUR ROMAN BUM CHUMS?
Dismas is wailing as usual IT’S A MISTAKE, ITS ME THEY WANT, NOT HIM, ITS ME THEY WANT, HE IS THE LEADER, PLEASE CHECK, ITS HIM THAT DESERVES THE CROSS NOT ME… FUCKING CHECK BEFORE ITS TO LATE.
I gulp and change tack BARABBAS GET YOURSELF OUT OF HERE THEN COME FOR US, YOU LISTENING? WE ARE YOUR COMRADES YOU DO RIGHT BY US OK?
I can see the gleam in the eyes of Barabbas, the look of somebody who cannot believe his luck HEY LADS THEY JUST RECOGNISE ME AS A PATRIOT, I SAID THEY WOULD, BUT I WILL DO MY BEST FOR YOU… KEEP THE FAITH COMRADES and with that they lead him from the courtyard.
Beyond the walls the yells of the mob goes on. Have they saved him? Whatever has happened it has not been for the benefit of Dismas or me. Almost as bitter as the sentence to the cross itself is the fact that I am not worth saving from it, I try to tell myself that it is because the romans know I am the bigger danger to them, the worst criminal, the one they really need to make an example of compared with the feckless Barabbas. Deep down I know it is not true. I am notorious enough to deserve an exemplary death but not popular enough to be rescued from it. Or worse, so unimportant that people simply never thought to rescue me. I hoped Barabbas was not being rescued but he was being saved for a worse fate. I spat bitterly.
As the Roman fist slammed into the hairy belly I was so proud of I could hear the crowd beyond the walls chanting and yelling. Whatever their concern was, it was not for Dismas and I as we were beaten.
Despite what people came to think, all prisoners destined for the cross were beaten, its easier to drag a weak and injured man to his death than a fit and fighting one. It was no different for us. I had been roughed up many times before, I had lost fights with the wrong crowd or tried to rob the wrong man and been beaten up. But this was worse, this was just intended to wound me, in a fight an injury is expected but these injuries were just for the desire to hurt me. To break me down. Dismas and I are soon grunting and yelling as fists and knees slam into us and as whips welt out bodies. We are not tied pale and noble to a marble pillar but instead pushed between fists and whipped where we fall. Soon we are both curled up in a ball on the ground desperate to protect our most sensitive parts and to accept that those parts we cannot protect are exposed to the lash. As we yell in pain I am convinced the crowd outside is mocking us by chanting the name of Barabbas.
It is horrible but it ends.
We are dragged to our feet, Dismas weeping for mercy, one eye swollen. Me trying to look brave, my nose bleeding, hot salty drips going into my gasping mouth, we are both welted and bruised, stooping forward from the pain in out punched guts and kicked balls.
As we stand panting the soldiers return to the waiting wooden beams.
The wood was tied to each of our backs and with it the last vestiges of out dignity was lost as we were unable to hide our cocks and bruised balls in our hands as our wrists were bound to the opposing ends of the wood. Dismas let out a mournful NO as the wood was smashed onto his naked back and his arms forced along its length.
I just accepted the wood, I was determined to be the hard man again, now Barabbas was gone I was going to be the focus of attention, the notorious criminal, the freedom fighter against the invader. I watched the concentration on the face of the soldiers as they bound me to it, deep down I thought if I cooperate they will hurt me less, maybe I am just a coward.
It was heavy, but not too heavy, it could be carried.
So we carried it
 

crassuswild

Assistant executioner
Before we advanced boards were hung around our necks. I could read a little and I recognized the word “THIEF”. It was normal for the romans to condemn a man for an unpopular crime. A rebel or pirate earned a kind of respect that a thief would not, so Dismas and I were labeled as thieves.
I gulped as I stepped out of the gate and into the crowd. For a moment we became the center of attention. It was not easy being shoved through the fortress gate, staggering under the patibulum, titulus slapping my sweating chest. Being naked before men and women who believe it is better to die rather than be so dishonoured. I hated it, I did not shout rebellious slogans or plead for help. I just tried to be calm, to look hard and brave and not show how terrified I was. Yet crucifixions were commonplace and the people were more interested in the events behind us. Pilate on a balcony flanked by some ragged man and Barabbas.
I wondered what Barabbas thought when he saw us under our crossbeams knowing he should be with us? Was he sympathetic to the degrading plight of his comrades or was he smug that it was us and not him that were struggling naked under their own gallows?
It was a hellish journey, the streets echoing to the drum that headed the execution parade. Knowing that each humiliating step took us closer to our deaths, to our crucifixions. We were marched through the streets towards the gates, naked and ashamed. Knowing that we had joined the ranks of the untouchables, knowing that all could see that we were to die as slaves. We were nothings. I looked down, trying to ignore the sneers of the faces we passed. Looking down at my filthy feet as I struggle forward, ankle chains clanking, looking at my hairy belly, my cock shriveled in the morning air. I could avert my gaze but not close my ears to the insults, to the sneering hatred of those who take pleasure in the misery of others. Some voices were familiar, those were the worst, knowing that those who hated me were taking satisfaction in my fall. I was totally degraded before my enemies, totally naked and unable to defend myself, my crucifixion comrade shouted back at the tormentors and felt the whip ripping at his naked ass for his trouble, I did not want to give the bastards the chance to see me whipped, also I could not think of anything to say. What can you say? What witty retort can you express? How can you defend yourself against their accusations when you’re a condemned prisoner? How can you deny insults about your manhood when its exposed before you?
The weaving bobbing crossbeams undulating as we march, my comrade’s naked ass striped with fresh welts as they got more enthusiastic with encouraging us onwards. We naturally slowed as fatigue and fear increased with equal measure. I feel the shocking, jolting pain of the whip, the urge to rub the welted skin frustrated by the ropes that hold my wrists to the wood. That above anything shows me that I am doomed. These men are hurting me simply because they can, they can do it at will and without retribution, they are going to kill me.
I'm on my way to the cross ... my crucifixion ... the sentence of the governor in my ear, he's as merciless as people describe him, for these Romans such cruelty is a daily business, it’s nothing to them to crucify a man like me. I guess I always knew the cross was a possibility but I always thought I would escape it. Being totally naked isn't fun, i feel the humiliation ... my own people stare at me ... and hell, they are eager to see me crucified ... don't they realize that i did that all for the freedom of our people? That’s rubbish of course they know I did it for me. The patibulum is damned heavy and the ropes bite into my arms. If I had ever imagined it would be easy to carry this beam to Golgotha then I was wrong.
MURDER ... ROBBERY ... SEDITION shouts out a soldier in between the beats of the drum, crucifixion is such a public humiliation and the Romans are well practiced in exploiting it. A square is busy, full of bustling tourists, but there is a moment’s pause all eyes on me, on my naked form bent under a roman cross, humiliated by the conqueror, defeated by Rome, women’s eyes on my bruised cock and balls, they whisper to each other, young men point and sneer, the old seem to have a sense of satisfaction in seeing a fit and healthy man about to be killed knowing they have outlived me. I feel the pain of the lash marks on my body, a whipped man has the status of the slave and I feel the shame as acutely as the physical pain.
The soldier beats the drum, another with a loud deep voice starts to chant COME SEE THE JUSTICE OF ROME i lift my head and look at these people, blushing with the humiliation.
COME WITNESS THESE BARBARIANS PAY FOR THEIR CRIMES
i try to stand upright ... to show my pride… to go to my original intention of going to the cross bravely, to show these crawling vermin how a real man dies. But how can any man bent and naked under a roman yoke try to be impressive? He can’t.
COME SEE THEIR CUT COCK DANCE AND BOB AS THEY STRUGGLE ON THE CROSS
My nakedness must be an offence for the people, we are such a modest race and the Romans know how this degrades us,
COME SEE HOW ROME PUNISHES THOSE WHO BREAK ITS LAWS The sense of panic spreads through the condemned as the gates of the city loom into view because we know that the stipes of Golgotha lay beyond them and that our executions will begin. We start to slow, they cannot blame us and that’s when the whips are applied with more severity. Shocking jolting, explosions of pain bursting through my skin as the whip welts my naked, body, I gritted my teeth to hold back the yelp. I had sometimes wondered why criminals stagger to their deaths, why did they not just refuse to walk, refuse to cooperate and be dragged to the cross? Now I knew. It was pain. The pain they were inflicting on me and the fear of the pain to come. Even knowing that worse pain lays ahead I stagger forward, living in the moment trying to avoid more suffering now.
COME SEE THE CRIMINALS DIE THE MOST SHAMEFUL OF DEATHS, A DEATH RESERVED ONLY FOR THE LOW BORN, THE SLAVE, THE HAIRY APE. THEY ARE NOTHING BUT VERMIN AND WILL DIE THE SERVILE DEATH, THE LOW AND IGNOBLE DEATH OF CRUCIFIXION. The soldier shrugs THEY ARE NOT INTERESTED, THEY KNOW THE MAIN EVENT IS ELSEWHERE. I feel my heart beat pounding in my chest, I wonder what the main event could be but to be honest my pain was more of a concern.
COME WITNESS THE SLOW AGONY, AS THEY SUFFER NAKED UNDER THE MIGHT OF ROME sweat drips from my body, I shake it from my eyes, a whip cuts across hairy ass, MOVE IT DOG!
I grit my teeth against the pain but I am faltering, the pain is growing in my arms and legs and not for the first time I wonder how much worse it will be on the cross. some children run past me, spitting at me, the green mucus sticks on my chest, they run off laughing, little bastards, once I would have beaten them raw, now all I can do is take it, it’s an affront to my manhood and pride and the fury builds inside me. The soldiers seem to be well trained and experienced, they know what they are doing there is no way back now, no escape.
They shove me forward naked and labouring into the busy mix of people, beggars, tourists, merchants, women, they are close, all eyes on me. i know i can take it and have to take it, that this has been nothing so far, just the preparations the way to Golgotha and to the hell of crucifixion.
 

crassuswild

Assistant executioner
The crowd pushes around, they constantly knock into my cross beam, the soldiers pushing a route through the throng. I see Lanxis in the crowd, an old rival of mine, I had robbed his carriers once, I see the look of delight and satisfaction in his face as I am dragged past him. Lanxis that asshole is watching me I’m sure he feels so good now that old Gestas is on his way to the cross, bastard. A dog runs past its nose sniffing my balls, cold and wet, Lanxis shouts HEY SMALL COCK! GETTING WHAT YOU DESERVE AT LAST HA HA HA, HOPE THEY NAIL YOU SLOW!
I lift my head, our eyes meet. LANXIS, YOU COWARD, BASTARD, SHUT UP ...
OR WHAT HA HA HA BET YOU SCREAM LIKE A GIRL WHEN THEY SPIKE YOU he sneers
SHUT UP, YOU ROMAN LOVING ASSHOLE i try to attack him with my beam all my hatred and fear focused on Lanxis, he's a traitor not me.
The romans find it easy to drag me back and i could not do much to the self-satisfied bastard as I was so weighted down by the wood. Lanxis shouts I AM GOING TO TELL YOUR BROTHER, ITS ONLY RIGHT HE SHOULD KNOW, HE’S GONNA BE SO PROUD HA HA HA
Four roman soldiers are close to me, with the beam on my shoulders it's really easy for them to steer me away from the taunting bastard and to shove me on, the streets are starting to narrow, the people pass close enough to shove me or punch at me, the Romans only seem bothered if they think they might harm me, I have to be alive enough to die on a cross, beyond that they don’t care. I am silent and resentful, brooding i know that asshole Lanxis will be alive to blacken my name after I am dead.
SOLDIER, I'M THIRSTY, SOME WATER Dismas is gasping ahead of me.
NO WATER FOR THE PRISONERS snarls a soldier, I am disappointed but not surprised.
For a moment the soldiers cannot get the crowd to move and as they roar and bully the throng I draw level with my crucifixion companion. I look at him and he looks at me. Only we know what it is to suffer what is being inflicted on us. Dismas was not a friend but he was a comrade and today we are vulnerable together, both degraded and facing our excruciating deaths. His thin lean body was livid with welts and bruises, his left eye swollen shut. Brown hair plastered to his forehead. His thin rat like face sunken and skull-like. His body glistening with a sheen of sweat that rolls down his dripping body.
THIS IS FUCKING TERRIBLE, WHAT CAN WE DO? he gasps in a dry, rasping voice.
DUNNO I pant MAYBE BARABBAS… OR THE ZEALOTS CAN SAVE US? Even as I say it I know my words are hollow, the zealots wont risk themselves to save a couple of bandits like us. We were with them but not part of them.
YEAH… YEAH THEY MIGHT my comrade sighs trying to convince himself that all is not lost, that we still have hope.
It was not rational but I was angry that I was going to die with a creature like Dismas. I was a skilled professional thief, I am a planner, I carried out my heists with talent and until now I always got away with it. I was respected by the zealots and other thieves. I was somebody, I am somebody. Dismas is a nothing. A common thief who hung around the zealots for the scraps from their table. He is a grunt. I am worth ten of him both in status and money. If I am to be executed which I guess is an occupational hazard for somebody in my trade then it should be alone, it should be with fanfare, it should be with the acknowledgment from the Romans that they have caught a notorious criminal. I should not be lumped together with the likes of Dismas. Now that Barabbas has wormed himself out of this, I should be the important one.
My anger explodes WHY WOULD THEY SAVE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU TO THEM!
WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? He snarls back
I feel the anger burning in me, i grin at Dismas, I find myself taunting the scrawny man ... HEY, ARE YOU SCARED OF WHAT IS COMING ? THE NAILS ? TODAY'S YOUR BIG DAY, SAME SENTENCE AS ME AT LEAST YOU WILL BE IN GOOD COMPANY!
OH GOD I CANT BELIEVE THEY WILL DO IT... WHAT DO YOU THINK IT’S LIKE? His voice cracks with fear. He looks about WHERES FUCKING BARABBAS?
WITH HIS NEW FRIENDS THE ROMAN ASSHOLES, HE WON’T DO ANYTHING, WE WILL ADD JUST ANOTHER INJUSTICE WHEN THEY CRUCIFY US.... WONDER WHICH OF US WILL GO FIRST? Then I remember his stupid question WHAT IT WILL BE LIKE? HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN A CRUCIFIXION BEFORE? THEY WILL DRIVE IN THE NAILS WITHOUT MERCY, AND WE WILL SUFFER FOR HOURS AND THE WORST PAIN WILL BE KNOWING I WILL DIE WITH THE LIKES OF YOU I snarl, all my fear and hatred boiling at my companion.
FUCK HOW CAN YOU GO ON LIKE THAT ARE YOU NOT SCARED? He groans
HELL; MY BACK HURTS, THE BEAMS SO HEAVY, SCARED? IT'S CRUCIFIXION! WHAT DO YOU EXPECT? A FEW HOURS OF HORRIBLE PAIN,HELL, YES THAT WON'T BE EASY FOR US ,BUT IT'S ONLY A FEW HOURS WE HAVE TO SUFFER i want to sound brave, I so want to be impressive, I guess I really sound like an ass.
Dismas shudders A FEW HOURS? I HEARD IT CAN.... GO ON FOR DAYS, IT IS SO SHAMEFUL, NAKED LIKE THIS ARE YOU NOT ASHAMED i note he is still moving his thighs like a child desperate to pass water, trying to hide his thin pink cock.
i have seen so many crucifixions and so many men suffering that terrible pain, but i would never admit that fact, i want to look strong, even now IT'S MY FATE I GUESS, DON’T DO THE CRIME IF YOU CANT DO THE TIME. DON'T WORRY, THEY WILL BREAK OUR LEGS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON IT’S THE PASSOVER TOMORROW, WE'LL BE DEAD IN SOME HOURS.... SORRY.
Before he can respond the path is cleared and Dismas is pushed forward. The Death march resumes.

Some women are laughing at my cock, a soldier turns to them IF YOU LIKE IT LADIES I WILL PRESENT IT TO YOU, WE CAN SLICE IT OFF HA HA HA! I feel sick with horror YEAH WE CAN GIVE ITS COCK TO YOU, GIVE YOUR DOG SOMETHING TO CHEW ON HA HA HA!
Such insults are common as our tragic procession passes through the gates, I have a terrible sense of loss as I leave the city for the last time, a city that has been my feeding ground for all these years, I was leaving it for the last time, on my final journey, to my death.
We all knew of Golgotha, the place of the skull. The rocky outcrop that the romans had adopted for their punitive executions. It could be seen from the road and heard from the city. Wooden posts standing tall, always present, a constant reminder that they were waiting for miscreants, waiting to crucify those Rome wanted to slowly punish. Old crosses rotting. It was not the romantic green hill of the later hymns but a rocky piece of scrubland that stank of decay, urine, blood and shit. It was alive with rats and crawled with insects. Carrion birds often circled over Golgotha waiting for easy feasting.
Flies buzz and birds peck at the bone covered path that leads up Golgotha hill
UP THE PATH, YOUR LAST WALK mutters the soldier.
Golgotha ... that terrible place ... Golgotha, the expression itself causes horror ... and now I’m on my way up that small hill ... to be executed! I feel the panic building in me, this is real, it’s going to happen.
I can see through the glare of the sun the old crosses standing starkly on the hill, some with rotting corpses still nailed to them
It will be a very hot day today ... i feel sweat dribbling down my neck, my shoulders and back, down my legs...
Skulls of the damned grin at me from the path and bones clatter as soldiers kick them away
Flies buzz, rats scamper and dogs chew at remains
I take a deep breath
Soon i will add to the unburied and damned bodies that litter the accursed hill
I gasp and start the final walk
the crowd is quiet now, it is hot and the atmosphere of the hill oppressive
I can see the old crosses ... how often have i been here to watch the suffering of the crucified? Only a few hundred cubits left, we have both slowed now and we stagger as the whip cuts into us, I so want to smooth and sooth my welted skin, the ropes that hold me to the crosspiece always ready to prevent even that small comfort. Dismas staggers from side to side, bent over and exhausted as we are guided towards some empty stipes that are laying on the stony ground, it’s not hard to guess that they will be our stipes. The posts from which we will die. Behind us a small crowd of ghouls, ready to feast their eyes on our suffering.
Not a big crowd. I feel insulted. I guess whatever Barabbas got involved in is distracting them but I feel insulted. i have a reputation. I have a notoriety. I am naked and about to be tortured to death and yet only this small gathering is interested? My indignation at the insult almost overwhelms my terror, almost. But the terror is dominant. I can see that the Roman soldiers are busy with ropes and wedges, checking the suitability of the stipes.
Four old black clad ladies approach us they carry crude jars; they nod to the soldiers who wave them forward. The ladies seem impossibly old, their faces lined and crumpled, they have the features of those who have suffered much. Two approach Dismas, two towards me. Despite their wizened age they carry themselves with dignity. I am suddenly so ashamed to be naked before these ladies. I look at my feet; I look past the titulus, my glistening belly, my jutting cock and filthy bleeding feet at the stones, so ashamed and humiliated.
HERE LAD croaks one of the ladies WINE TO HELP YOU WITH THE PAIN.
My thirst is raging and I look up with gratitude. THANK YOU LADY, I say simply, the death march had shown the worst of human nature, this moment of kindness touches me more than I could ever have expected. I raise my head, trying to shield them from my nakedness with my thigh, I feel the crude clay pot on my lips and they gently pour the wine into my mouth. It is crude stuff, almost vinegar, yesterday I would have hurled it at the barkeeper, now it is the most welcome vintage I have ever tasted. I gulp down the merciful draft, trying not to choke as it burns down my dusty throat. The jar is emptied all too quickly.
BE BRAVE LAD whispers the old lady, GOD BE WITH YOU. She wipes the sweat from my eyes with a dirty cloth.
I whisper back, feeling the acid glow in my belly. THANK YOU…. THANK YOU LADY
Then the woman are gone and the mercy is over. I can hear Dismas pleading for more wine and I feel utter contempt for him.
TURN TO FACE THE CROWD CRIMINALS orders a soldier, sword in hand. NOW STAND WITH YOUR LEGS APPART SO THE MOB GETS A GOOD LOOK AT YOUR MEAT HA HA HA!
We are turned, sweating, bent and naked. The titulus swinging under my chin, it is streaked with blood from my bleeding nose.
I look at Dysmas his face a mask of wide eyed terror, he is shifting from cut foot to cut foot, he is muttering under his breath and I realize with contempt that he is praying
A soldier in a flat bored voice starts to shout out to the crowd THESE MAN STANDING NAKED AND ASHAMED BEFORE THE MIGHT OF ROME HAS BEEN CONDEMNED FOR THEIR CRIMES AGAINST ROME, THE EMPIRE IS POWERFUL, THE EMPIRE IS JUST, COMPARE THE SOLDIERS OF ROME, TRUE AND BRAVE COMPARED TO THESE HAIRY BARBARIANS i have to endure this humiliation fully naked and ashamed with no way to hide my nakedness, we don’t even get separate condemnations, we are lumped together, the two thieves LOOK AT THEIR UNCLEAN BODIES, SEE THEIR MUTILATED COCKS, SEE THE HAIRY CORRUPTION AND UNCIVILIZED UNSHAVEN SKIN, HOW COULD ANYONE DOUBT THAT THESE VERMIN ARE FROM THE CRIMINAL CLASSES?
The crowd is eager and curious, the soldier drones on,
THEY ARE DEGENERATE, LESS THAN HUMAN, THEY HAVE COMMITED CRIMES OF MURDER, TREASON AND ARE THIEVES AND SO DESERVE ONLY ONE PUNISHMENT, THE PUNISHMENT OF THE LOW BORN, THE PUNISHMENT OF THE SLAVE AND THE PIRATE, THE PUNISHMENT OF THOSE WHO ARE THE LOWEST OF THE LOW,
I know i have committed these crimes, but I did it for our people, well I said I did
THEY WILL THIS DAY DIE BY CRUCIFIXION ice stabs my heart at the word THE CRUCIFIED WHO ARE BENEATH CONTEMPT, WHO ARE THE SHIT UNDER ALL OUR SHOES, WATCH THEIR NAKED AGONY AS THEY SUFFER THEIR JUST PUNISHMENT i try not to show how nervous I am now, how utterly terrified WATCH AS THEY ENDURE THE PAINS AND AGONY OF HADES JUSTLY DESERVED FOR THEIR SINS my heart races, i breath hard, sweat all over my body LOOK AT THESE NAKED CRIMINALS, EXPOSED BEFORE THE POWER OF ROME, LOOK AT THE UNCLEAN BARBARIANS WHO TRIED TO THREATEN ROME, THEY ARE NOTHING, THEY ARE NOBODY, THEY WERE BORN AS FREE MAN BY MISTAKE AND WILL DIE AS SLAVES
The words hurt my pride and I burn with shame.
GESTAS BAR JOAB YOU STAND NAKED AND ASHAMED BEFORE THE PEOPLE OF JERUSALEM AND BEFORE THE MIGHT OF ROME, YOU ARE CONVICTED OF MURDER AND REBELLION AND SO ARE CONDEMENED TO THE IGNOBLE DEATH OF CRUCIFIXION, LOOK AT THIS WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT BEFORE YOU, SO FAT, HAIRY AND BARBARIC THAT HIS VERY FLESH PROVES ROME IS RIGHT IN CONDEMNING HIM, WATCH HIS AGONY AND SUFFERING, AND LEARN FROM HIS EXAMPLE.
I sigh, at least I got mentioned first
DISMAS BAR ARAM YOU ALSO STAND NAKED AND ASHAMED BEFORE THE PEOPLE OF JERUSALEM AND THE MIGHT OF ROME, YOU'RE A WORTHLESS SCAMMER, A CON MAN AND BANDIT WHO WAS DISHONEST AGAINST YOUR OWN PEOPLE AND AGAINST ROME, YOU DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE, YOU'RE CONDEMNED TO DIE ON THE CROSS, PEOPLE OF JERUSALEM, LOOK AT THIS BAD MAN AND LEARN FROM HIS FATE ... NOW YOU BOTH WILL BE EXECUTED. CRUCIFY THEM!
Dismas wails FUCK MAN THIS IS IT, THIS IS FUCKING IT WHAT WE GONNA DO GESTAS? WHAT CAN WE FUCKING DO?
CRUCIFY THEM!!! The phrase echoes through my head.
This is it. I am going to be crucified. A bag of nails is poured out and as we hear the metallic clank Dismas falls to his knees paying to the god that has let this happen to us. I stand, terrified, waiting. They yank the titulus from over my head, I have started to shake, I wanted to be brave but my body betrays me.
Then with a shove they start to force me towards the waiting stipe. With a small nail they start to tack my titulus to the top of the wood.
MY CROSS i whisper in horror. I want to run, I want to hide, but I have no escape. The wood lays flat on the bone covered ground, its only feature a shaped thick rod of wood that projects from the center of the stipe, the sedile, its sharp edged, an added discomfort for the crucified, the grip of the soldiers is strong, the soldiers feels how i try to resist for a moment when I see the sack of iron spikes has fallen open and they lay in the dust, I am scared now, really scared.
ASSUME THE POSITION laughs a soldier, as I take faltering steps towards the waiting stipe, I am bent under the crosspiece that will soon be attached completing my cross.
THAT SEDILE BETWEEN MY LEGS, RIGHT ? I gulp
OH YEAH, ROMES MERCY grins a soldier
 

crassuswild

Assistant executioner
The crowd starts to chant CRUCIFY THEM, CRUCIFY THEM CRUCIFY THEM....
Then I am there, I lift my left foot and step it over the beam that is lying under me now, my ankle chains scrape across its surface, with a shove from the soldiers i lower my body, stretch my right leg first then my left one, sit on the cross. The rod guts up between my legs. The weight of the patibulum drags me back and I am laying in the cruciform position while the soldiers wedge the crossbeam, securing it to the top of my cross. My cross is complete and it is ready to crucify me. Under the banter of the soldiers I can hear Dismas babble his prayers. I can hear the clank of metal on metal as the executioners start to gather up nails.
They remove the manacles from my ankles, they have rubbed my ankles raw but I guess that’s not important any more.
My heart pounds so hard I think it will explode from my chest, I can feel tears of sheer terror welling in my eyes, I will not panic, I will be stoic, this is the last chance to prove my manhood. I will be brave. I will!
GET THE SPIKES, PREPARE YOURSELF CRIMINAL i take a deep breath, readjust my body on the hard wood YOU COMMITED YOUR CRIMES CRIMINAL, YOU WANTED THIS, HOPE ITS WORTH IT.
I try to realize what's happening now ... which soldier will nail my wrists?
CRUCIFY THEM, CRUCIFY THEM CRUCIFY THEM.... chants the small crowd.
my rib cage rises and falls, I’m desperate for air to quell my terror, the soldiers kneel down, another sits on my chest, crushing me down, many strong hands drab my arms, I am trapped.
I have been trapped by Rome, they have beaten me.
They had. The invader had caught me, humiliated me and now they were going to kill me. People try to say the cross is a symbol of victory. It was not for me. The cross was the ultimate symbol of my failure. Rome had beaten me and now I had to pay a terrible price.
I feel two washers of wood placed on each of my wrists, I try to lift my head and see an iron spike being placed onto each piece of wood OH MY GOD… I let my head sink again, military feet stand on my hands, I am trapped upon my cross, waiting to be nailed. I look up at the blue sky, trying to ready myself, trying to prepare for my torture. Two strong looking men with mallets tap the spikes into the wood until i feel the tip of each spike gently emerge from the wood and kiss the skin of my wrists. I feel a thrill of horror as the metal presses into my flesh.
OK, LETS DO THIS, YOU READY CRIMINAL?
I snap JUST GET ON WITH IT i want this done before my nerve breaks.
OK, HOLD HIM FIRM, LETS NAIL HIM the men with mallets nod to each other.
They raise the mallets, there arm muscles flexing, I want to beg them, to plead for mercy, but I bite my lip, I will be brave. I hope the old woman’s wine will lessen the pain.
Then the mallet men start to roar as they smash the mallets down onto the nail heads.
I feel a sharp, unknown and unbelievable pain, red spots flash before my eyes, my eyes open wide, I have my mouth open then I slam it shut, gritting my teeth. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR they both roar as they hammer with savage fury, both striking the nails with all their strength, the spikes cut into my flesh and sever nerves sending jolts of total agony up my arms, my body tensed, the nails rip between bones, they hammer with rage, sweat flies and blood sprays, I press my teeth together, I will not cry out, I will be brave, I must be brave, oh god it hurts, it hurts worse than anything. The nails impale through me and burst out the backs of my wrists, my whole body is shaking, I can taste blood in my mouth, my teeth grind together, the tips of the nails skid on bloody wood until they take hold, both my wrists, arms and shoulders are on fire, my whole upper body trembles despite the weight of the soldier who crushes me down. I can hear Dismas screaming, howling like a wounded lamb and I am even more determined not to scream, I will prove myself, I am better than him, better than Barabbas, better than anyone!
The nailers roar in effort as they force the nails, blunted by bone into the hard wood, pain, nothing else than pain, at last the nails take hold in the wood the heads of the nails lay flat against the wooden washers, I cannot stop crying but I will not scream I must not scream. I feel that they've stopped I try to handle the pain, i look to my left, my arm is securely fixed by that nail, cruelly they start to push my arms up and down, the splintered bones and nerves grate on the nails as they do so THEY WILL HOLD HIM UP OK, GOOD WORK LADS.
The agony is beyond anything; my face is screwed up against the raw pain that explodes up each arm.
I can hear Dismas wail PULL THEM OUT AAAAAAAAAAGH PULL THEM OUT PLEEEEEEEASE!
The soldiers stand and look down on me OK SLAVES LIFT IT
The pain is unbearable.
The soldiers step back and bare chested slaves step forward, no free man would handle an unclean burden like a crucified man, they look down on me and I’m nailed ... nailed ... have nails in my wrists!
One of the slave, an ugly young man mutters ITS GONNA HURT.... SORRY
I KNOW ... JUST DO IT I grunt through the mist of pain
They start to grab the wood; each tiny movement of the cross sends a fresh explosion of agony through my wrists, it’s impossible to imagine how much worse it will be when I hang from the spikes. They get a grip and cursing they start to heave me up, i feel how they start to raise the cross, there half naked bodies pressing against my flanks, at an angle of about 45 degrees I feel the drag of my own body weight. each movement puts more and more weight on the nails, the sedile starts to dig in
AAAAAHHHHH ..... OOOOOHHHHHH .....AAAAHHH I cannot help it, cries escape from my lips as the pain magnifies, I don’t feel shame at my outburst, I don’t care about anything anymore, just the pain. My feet scrabble desperately on the stipe I am frantic to get them under me, to support my body weight which is starting to pull down on the nails. I'm moaning, higher and higher I go, the crowd cheers, i feel the drag on the wrist nails, the base of my cross closer and closer to the dug hole, I can't stop moaning ... the pain is so intense, my bloody sweaty feet slip off the stipe and the sedile digs in hard crushing into my balls, my weight jolts onto the spikes.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD NOOOOOOOOO
i look down ... my genitals are mercilessly pressed by the sedile, then the slaves with a final shove drop the cross into the hole, it thuds in and i bounce on the nailed wrists OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
While two slaves steady the cross the others quickly fill in the whole with rocks and wood until the cross is wedged and stable.
i try to concentrate
take some deep breaths
the sedile is the only support from the terrible agony of the spikes
try to breath regularly best i can
my god ... the pain in the wrists is terrible
the slaves shake the cross, i judder on the spikes
THAT WILL NOT FALL MASTERS says the slave with a bow to the romans who don’t reply but start to select two more spikes from the sack
blood is running down from my wrists towards my armpits, I can hear Dismas screaming as the slaves start to raise his cross.
HA HA HA HA LIKE THE VIEW JEW? Mocks one of the soldiers THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED SO THIS IS WHAT YOU GOT HA HA HA
i moaned with each breath but stopped crying out loudly
WANT TO COME DOWN AND SAY YOUR SORRY HA HA HA sneers another soldier WAIT UNTIL ITS LEGS SLOW THEN WE WILL SPIKE THE ANKLES.
pain in wrists, arms, shoulders and upper body, pain in my balls, my wrists total agony. i look down my body, my legs are jerking like a frogs, try to do what is natural and support my body weight. The massive men with hammers flex their muscles and joke with the adoring ladies in the crowd. I don’t look around as each movement causes a new wave of pain, i try to calm down and to adjust as the big men saunter up hammer in one hand, iron spike in the other YOU LIKE IT UP THERE JEW? grins one
AAAHHH ..... i look in their faces ..... I .... CAN TAKE ... IT .... DO YOUR ... WORK YOUNAIL ... MY .... ANKLES ..... YOU EVIL BASTARDS
PULL HIS LEGS DOWN, MAKE HIS BALLS ACHE HA HA HA
It’s nearly done ... my god .... they are finishing my crucifixion ... the leg nailing will be worst I can feel it as they force my legs to bend slightly after they have wiped down my sweaty hairy legs with a rag so they can get a grip. My ankles are pressed against the wood. I feel their fingers stroke my ankles trying to find a good spot for the nails, my toes are twisting, they hold my legs firm and place the wood against the ankles and tap the spikes through the wooden washers, I am feeling light headed, like I cannot breath out, maybe I will faint and not feel the nails get smashed into my body.
The nailers nod to each other, carefully i watch their work with morbid fascination, they move my body about and raw agony explodes through my nailed arms, they draw back the hammers, then with a yell they both start to strike the nails, the whole cross shakes as the nails are driven into my living flesh MMMMMMMMPPPFFFFFFFF ..... GGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR .... i clench my teeth ... suppressing the new pain, in total agony as the nails start to be driven into the stipe OOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! To think I thought I could take this without crying out. The whole cross judders, my nerves are grinding against the spikes that pain is the worst, my lower legs start to cramp, my toes are twisted in pain, I’m pushing up, desperate to escape the pain, desperate to breath.
They step back HE IS SECURED, OUR WORK IS DONE, JUST GOTTA WAIT FOR SUNSET HA HA HA HEY JEW, ENJOY YOUR DAY IN THE SUN.
With that I was crucified and dying on a Roman cross.
I guess it was about two hours before I was aware of the commotion below us at the city gates, for that two agonizing hours the air is filled with the whimpers and groans of the dying, the idle chatter of soldiers and the tramping feet of travelers entering Jerusalem for the Passover. One of those grunting, dying men was me. Time on the cross seemed eternal; Dismas and myself were just stretched out in excruciating pain. I would look down seeing the stipe destined for Barabbas laying ignored on the ground between our crosses and through my pain I felt an extraordinary resentment that he had escaped this fate while we had to endure it.
We were humiliated and displayed to all as an example of what happens to those who displease the Roman Empire. It fucking hurts. Dismas whimpers again as he has to move. Sometime my legs spasm and jerk, I guess it’s the same for him. My shoulders are on fire, they feel like they are being torn from their sockets, I look yet again at my nailed wrists, the skin blackening, my hands, a thief’s hands, once so dexterous and nimble are now claws, the fingers turning blue, soon they will be black and the poison will be in my blood.
I look down again, I was once so proud of my hairy wine belly, a symbol of good living, of my success and excess. Now it weighs me down, puts more pressure on my arms, causes me more pain. The pain on my arms grows worse by the second, my chest so stretched it is hard to breath. I hear my crucifixion companion groan, he has stopped that pitiful wailing at least, it was half heart rending, half contemptible but I guess I cannot judge despite my best efforts I screamed and yelled as they lifted my cross. So much for being the big brave man. The humiliation is as bad as the pain. We are the crucified, the lowest of the low. Stripped naked and hung out in full view of the public. Lanxis is there, watching, enjoying every moment of my pain. Every painful spasm, every groan, every moment of desperation, every piss was all in the full view of those who watch our executions. How long has it been? How long since we started to be slowly tortured to death? How long since we left the cells? It feels like hours. It feels like forever. The commotion at the gates was getting louder and through my pain I squinted through the baking glare of the sun to see what the cause of the near riot. Shouting and yelling Jew’s, angry Romans lashing out with whips and threatening with spears, priests circling like black crows. Then I saw the reason, at the heart of the altercation was a figure bent under a patibulum. I feel a wave of satisfaction as I think that Barabbas did not escape the cross, that the stipe at our bleeding feet will be occupied after all.
Fighting through my pain to see the vast crowd, was getting closer and closer, i resented the big crowd he had gathered so I felt a sneering satisfaction as I saw the figure under the cross fall then fall again. So much for the great hero Barabbas i think as I can make out the frustrated Romans making some unfortunate from the crowd help him carry his wood, I would have laughed had I not been whimpering.
As the mob got closer I could see it was not Barabbas, but some other naked criminal being driven to his execution. He was a stocky, hairy man, his skin dark tanned and weather beaten, he had the build of an artisan. His face impossible to describe as it was bruised and swollen and hidden under a mask of blood dripping from the brutal cap of thorns that was embedded in his head. As he got closer it was easy to see why he was so exhausted under his beam, he was turned to face the crowd and have his crimes read out I could see his back had been almost skinned by the whip. His crime was read out, some sort of wild man, a preacher with kingly pretentions, a rebel from Nazareth.
 

crassuswild

Assistant executioner
If he was a king, a priest or a rebel it did not matter. They still nailed him to the wood.
The people of the future represent crucifixion as such a reserved affair. On an unreal hill were people stand around calmly, shouting polite insults, while the clean and quiet crucified stand looking bored in there dignified loincloths and equally dignified expressions, Two thieves neatly roped to crosses, arms over the cross beam and resigned expressions on their faces while sad music plays in the background.
The truth was so very different. Our deaths were filthy and squalid; there was nothing romantic or dignified about them. The crowds that attended executions were always vile. The mobs became monsters fueled by bloodlust, the hatred for the preacher made them even worse. There was no calm calling out of well-constructed politely spoken jibes but a constant barrage of hate filled invective. It never ended, a constant stream of foul mouthed insults fueled from base desire to make the suffering of tortured men even worse. Stones and worse would be thrown and the soldiers would only intervene if they thought we risked being struck and knocked out into blessed insensibility. We crucified were all outsiders to the city in our various ways but we all recognized people looking at our torture, we all had enemies in that crowd, we were all displayed before that crowd, totally naked and totally defenseless. They mocked our shameful nakedness and we were powerless to prevent them from doing so. Nor could we escape their insults, you can close your eyes but you cannot close your ears. We were being humiliated before that mob and the mob fed off that humiliation. Each wail, each groan of pain fed their hatred. It was worse when one of us had to pass urine or fouled ourselves. The screams of abuse would intensify as would the mocking laughter. To a proud man like me the laughter was the worst. For a proud man being forced to do what nature intended in full view of others from a Roman cross was so degrading it was a torture in itself.
It was also total agony without any relief, the pain of the nails was constant and endless barrage of excruciating pain as our body weights pull down onto metal that ground on nerves and bone. It was impossible to be the calm, still and passive victims that art would insist we were. It was impossible to keep still; we jerked and twitched like landed fish on a river bank. The pain made our bodies try to escape the agony, the powerful instinct just to get away was all consuming, our arms constantly jerked as they involuntarily tried to escape the nails that caused us such pain. Our legs held in such a bent and unnatural position always wanted to stand and place our feet on the land so tantalizingly close to us. The desire just to stand like normal men was so strong and our pain confused minds sometimes forgot that we could not just put our feet on the earth and support our tortured bodies. Our muscles cramped causing new agonies, they gnawed at us, deep bites of pain that caused our impaled limbs to contract and pull on the grinding spikes, it was constant and without relief, the desire to rub and sooth cramped muscles remained and the inability to do so because we were pinned to Roman wood was a humiliating frustration. We were also three men crucified that day, men with the sensitivities of all men and the wooden supports between our legs crushed into our manhood’s and so we would shift and squirm despite all the other agonies to try and protect that which made us men. Despite the pain we knew we would cause ourselves we could not overcome the desire to be rid of the flies that buzzed and crawled on us, we would shake our heads from time to time and swarms of insects would rise up only to settle again. There was also the more insidious movement. We crucified soon found it was hard to breathe on the cross. It was easy to breathe in but for some reason hard to breathe out. The air would sit in our chests burning our lungs; we would all hang our heads back, mouths wide open panting hard trying to expel the lodged breaths, shaking uncontrollably as our bodies demanded fresh air. We each in turn learned the terrible secret that only by rising up and pushing forward could we breathe normally. So we would wait until the burning in our chest became unbearable and then we would have to get the courage to stand, to take the pressure from our chests, to breath. The agony was worse than anything anyone can endure as we force our muscles to work, force ourselves to stand on the metal spikes that have been driven into the wood, we stand on bone and nerves while at the same time we bend our arms with terrible effects on the nails that have been rammed through our wrists. We rise up from the sediles giving relief to our crushed gentiles, our whipped backs scrape on the rough wood of the stipe and then we have to thrust our bodies forward to defy the desire to sink right back down. Then we stand in utter agony as our chests rise and fall, sucking in the hot air, our legs starting to shake from effort, pain and cramp. If we have anything to say this is when we say it. The preacher makes his pronouncements, Dismas shouts for his daughter. I try to insult back those who insult me. That does not last long, as the hours grind by we don’t talk much, we just breath. Who would have thought breathing such a natural thing would become such a challenge? At the start of the crucifixion we would try and lower ourselves down when we tired, trying to prevent too much shock to our wrists and manhood’s as he sank down again and we made contact with the sedile and hung once again from our bloody arms. As we become more exhausted we just collapse down in agony until breathlessness forces us to repeat this grim dance. Sometimes I would try not to lift up, not to stand and cause myself more pain, just to die and escape the pain but the primitive desire to breathe becomes so strong that I soon find myself enduring the horrific see sawing yet again in the endless cycle of agony.
What was worse was that I had to endure all of this, I suffered all of this and I was not even the important one, the middle cross was the focus of the attention. The middle cross was what matters and I guess still does. Dismas and me suffered just as much. We hurt so bad but we no longer mattered. All the hatred, all the attention was focused on the middle cross. Even if it had been Barabbas crucified that day I doubt he would have commanded as much attention.
That’s why I did what I did.
I was a wretched, naked, dying, scared and yes jealous little man and that’s why I shouted what I did.
I was trying to breathe again. I knew the agony I would inflict onto myself but I had to do it, had to breathe again, so as I was standing, putting all of my weight on my impaled ankles, raising up off the filthy wood between my legs, rotating my wrists on the nails driven through them and being terrified that the only way I would escape this would be death. Despite my pain I was scared to die. That’s why men fight to live on the cross. They are scared of something worse and I was so very scared of death. As the excruciating agony exploded through me, as I forced myself up by flexing cramped and sunburned legs. As I was heaving in deep breaths of fly filled air. As I stood upon the thin spikes of iron and all of my weight rested on ground nerves and shattered bones and as I suffered all of these tortures I had the burning realization that the interloper next to me was the one the people really cared about I exploded with terror, frustration and resentment.
IF YOU’RE WHO THEY SAY YOU ARE? WHY DON’T YOU SAVE YOURSELF HUH? AND US?
Through the noise of the mocking crowd, through his own pain I did not really even know if he had heard me. Did Dismas rebuke me? I think so, it was hard to tell through my own wail of pain as my legs gave out and I slammed down on the nails.
With those words I became the Bad Thief.
Was it really that bad? I was not an icon, I was not a figure always on the edge of a painting. I was a real man suffering real pain, feeling real emotions and facing a real death.
The Bad Thief was a real man.
 

MARIVS

Spectator
If he was a king, a priest or a rebel it did not matter. They still nailed him to the wood.
The people of the future represent crucifixion as such a reserved affair. On an unreal hill were people stand around calmly, shouting polite insults, while the clean and quiet crucified stand looking bored in there dignified loincloths and equally dignified expressions, Two thieves neatly roped to crosses, arms over the cross beam and resigned expressions on their faces while sad music plays in the background.
The truth was so very different. Our deaths were filthy and squalid; there was nothing romantic or dignified about them. The crowds that attended executions were always vile. The mobs became monsters fueled by bloodlust, the hatred for the preacher made them even worse. There was no calm calling out of well-constructed politely spoken jibes but a constant barrage of hate filled invective. It never ended, a constant stream of foul mouthed insults fueled from base desire to make the suffering of tortured men even worse. Stones and worse would be thrown and the soldiers would only intervene if they thought we risked being struck and knocked out into blessed insensibility. We crucified were all outsiders to the city in our various ways but we all recognized people looking at our torture, we all had enemies in that crowd, we were all displayed before that crowd, totally naked and totally defenseless. They mocked our shameful nakedness and we were powerless to prevent them from doing so. Nor could we escape their insults, you can close your eyes but you cannot close your ears. We were being humiliated before that mob and the mob fed off that humiliation. Each wail, each groan of pain fed their hatred. It was worse when one of us had to pass urine or fouled ourselves. The screams of abuse would intensify as would the mocking laughter. To a proud man like me the laughter was the worst. For a proud man being forced to do what nature intended in full view of others from a Roman cross was so degrading it was a torture in itself.
It was also total agony without any relief, the pain of the nails was constant and endless barrage of excruciating pain as our body weights pull down onto metal that ground on nerves and bone. It was impossible to be the calm, still and passive victims that art would insist we were. It was impossible to keep still; we jerked and twitched like landed fish on a river bank. The pain made our bodies try to escape the agony, the powerful instinct just to get away was all consuming, our arms constantly jerked as they involuntarily tried to escape the nails that caused us such pain. Our legs held in such a bent and unnatural position always wanted to stand and place our feet on the land so tantalizingly close to us. The desire just to stand like normal men was so strong and our pain confused minds sometimes forgot that we could not just put our feet on the earth and support our tortured bodies. Our muscles cramped causing new agonies, they gnawed at us, deep bites of pain that caused our impaled limbs to contract and pull on the grinding spikes, it was constant and without relief, the desire to rub and sooth cramped muscles remained and the inability to do so because we were pinned to Roman wood was a humiliating frustration. We were also three men crucified that day, men with the sensitivities of all men and the wooden supports between our legs crushed into our manhood’s and so we would shift and squirm despite all the other agonies to try and protect that which made us men. Despite the pain we knew we would cause ourselves we could not overcome the desire to be rid of the flies that buzzed and crawled on us, we would shake our heads from time to time and swarms of insects would rise up only to settle again. There was also the more insidious movement. We crucified soon found it was hard to breathe on the cross. It was easy to breathe in but for some reason hard to breathe out. The air would sit in our chests burning our lungs; we would all hang our heads back, mouths wide open panting hard trying to expel the lodged breaths, shaking uncontrollably as our bodies demanded fresh air. We each in turn learned the terrible secret that only by rising up and pushing forward could we breathe normally. So we would wait until the burning in our chest became unbearable and then we would have to get the courage to stand, to take the pressure from our chests, to breath. The agony was worse than anything anyone can endure as we force our muscles to work, force ourselves to stand on the metal spikes that have been driven into the wood, we stand on bone and nerves while at the same time we bend our arms with terrible effects on the nails that have been rammed through our wrists. We rise up from the sediles giving relief to our crushed gentiles, our whipped backs scrape on the rough wood of the stipe and then we have to thrust our bodies forward to defy the desire to sink right back down. Then we stand in utter agony as our chests rise and fall, sucking in the hot air, our legs starting to shake from effort, pain and cramp. If we have anything to say this is when we say it. The preacher makes his pronouncements, Dismas shouts for his daughter. I try to insult back those who insult me. That does not last long, as the hours grind by we don’t talk much, we just breath. Who would have thought breathing such a natural thing would become such a challenge? At the start of the crucifixion we would try and lower ourselves down when we tired, trying to prevent too much shock to our wrists and manhood’s as he sank down again and we made contact with the sedile and hung once again from our bloody arms. As we become more exhausted we just collapse down in agony until breathlessness forces us to repeat this grim dance. Sometimes I would try not to lift up, not to stand and cause myself more pain, just to die and escape the pain but the primitive desire to breathe becomes so strong that I soon find myself enduring the horrific see sawing yet again in the endless cycle of agony.
What was worse was that I had to endure all of this, I suffered all of this and I was not even the important one, the middle cross was the focus of the attention. The middle cross was what matters and I guess still does. Dismas and me suffered just as much. We hurt so bad but we no longer mattered. All the hatred, all the attention was focused on the middle cross. Even if it had been Barabbas crucified that day I doubt he would have commanded as much attention.
That’s why I did what I did.
I was a wretched, naked, dying, scared and yes jealous little man and that’s why I shouted what I did.
I was trying to breathe again. I knew the agony I would inflict onto myself but I had to do it, had to breathe again, so as I was standing, putting all of my weight on my impaled ankles, raising up off the filthy wood between my legs, rotating my wrists on the nails driven through them and being terrified that the only way I would escape this would be death. Despite my pain I was scared to die. That’s why men fight to live on the cross. They are scared of something worse and I was so very scared of death. As the excruciating agony exploded through me, as I forced myself up by flexing cramped and sunburned legs. As I was heaving in deep breaths of fly filled air. As I stood upon the thin spikes of iron and all of my weight rested on ground nerves and shattered bones and as I suffered all of these tortures I had the burning realization that the interloper next to me was the one the people really cared about I exploded with terror, frustration and resentment.
IF YOU’RE WHO THEY SAY YOU ARE? WHY DON’T YOU SAVE YOURSELF HUH? AND US?
Through the noise of the mocking crowd, through his own pain I did not really even know if he had heard me. Did Dismas rebuke me? I think so, it was hard to tell through my own wail of pain as my legs gave out and I slammed down on the nails.
With those words I became the Bad Thief.
Was it really that bad? I was not an icon, I was not a figure always on the edge of a painting. I was a real man suffering real pain, feeling real emotions and facing a real death.
The Bad Thief was a real man.
Powerfully written. Good work.
 
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