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Stories by Crassuswild
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crassuswild
Magistrate
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crassuswild
Magistrate
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crassuswild
Magistrate
UNCLE'S SLAVES
My fathers brother was always good to me, which was odd as he was rarely good to other people, especially his slaves.
My uncle was rich and successful, such a contrast to my well meaning but unlucky father and so we always tried to keep on my uncles good side in the hope of benefiting from his generosity, something that was not wasted on my uncle who naturally resented the false plaudits and was generally unpleasant to everyone he met. We would make regular visits to my uncles estate where my father would swallow his pride and take the sarcasm and insults his brother directed at him. I would leave the company as politely as i could and go and watch the slaves. They fascinated me and if i am honest still do.
i would run to the far edge of my uncles land and simply watch the slaves. Normally a chain gang of about twenty males, they all had iron rings around their ankles and a length of chain between to prevent them running but not enough to stop their tasks. they also had an iron ring around their necks, this could be used to chain them all together when they were herded from their stables to another part of the estate. Sometimes the overseer would leave the long chain in place depending on what task the slaves were undertaking, the constant clank of metal echoed as they worked. These slaves were used for hard labour only, they never washed, never shaved, filthy shaggy creatures, constantly shackled and worked until their strength faltered and they were ruthlessly replaced. The slaves filthy bodies were crossed with livid red welts that the overseer Gershon inflicted on them with his whip something he was more than ready to do, especially when i was watching. Gershon in his dirty armour would shout something in his language and lash out with his leather whip and one of the slaves would get the lash across his shoulders, back or ass and would grunt or yelp in pain, shuddering from shock before returning to its task with renewed vigor. The slaves i should point out worked naked, completely naked with only their chains as covering.
my uncle was a successful man and the local authorities had mocked him when he had bought some land to the far west of the city, the land was vast but very rocky and overgrown and so if nothing else he got it cheap. We are not a noble family or well connected and so the great and the good did not care if my uncle who had become rich through business bought land that was too overgrown for animals and too rocky for crops. He had gone to the slave markets and bought some males, nothing fancy just cheap stock without education, talent or beauty. He then bought a muscular brute called Gershon who he had instructed to oversee his fellow slaves with the threat he would be joining them if they failed in their tasks. The slaves were set to work, cutting down the thorny skin cutting bushes then digging out their roots, the slaves bodies were as torn as much by the savage branches as they were from Gershon's whip, they then removed the rocks from the ground, those that could not be dug out and dragged away where smashed to bits with picks. it was slow work but slowly the land was cleared and became fertile. How many slaves lives were used up in reclaiming the land i will never know.
i would sit watching the slaves toiling, their naked bodies labouring under the hot sun or the grey rain, their faces bearded , hair shaggy unless naturally balding and then i would see their eyes, pained and resentful, my watching their humiliating work no doubt adding to their suffering. I liked the rock breaking best as it would be hard to see when they were bush clearing. they would often remain chained together at the neck to do this task as they simply chipped at the rocky outcrops, breaking down the hard stone until they could be hauled away or buried under top soil to a depth that would not effect the ploughs, I would watch the slaves stretch their torso as they raised their picks, hear them grunt as they brought them down, see their cocks bob as the pick made its impact onto the stone. They would have to this again and again, any sign of fatigue and Gerson would unleash his whip and soon they were yelling in pain and desperate rage. As i said my uncle bought cheap so these were not sculpted beauties or bronzed Adonis but older males sold on by their masters or the newly enslaved who had not been broken to the servile life still plump from their old life with faces full of shame. Even then i liked men and i would study their bodies, judge their cocks and shoulders, wondering from what part of the empire they had originated from the colour of their dirty skin. Some were house slaves who had earned my uncles anger and been doomed to the chain-gang. The newly enslaved fascinated me the most, those condemned to servitude by the courts or had been sold by their families to save the rest of their clan from poverty. They stood out, their newly stripped bodies were cleaner than the veterans, their hair shorter their beards ungrown. Older slaves were unreadable as there faces were hidden by hair and encrusted dirt, new slaves still showed their emotions, their faces lined with fear and humiliation, still unused to being naked , still unused to the whips on their virgin backs, still shamed when they got an erection despite the total lack of comfort in their lives, still horrified that they had to piss as they worked like a cart pulling donkey in the street, still having false hope that this life wont be forever. They were basically worked to death, they laboured from sun up to sun down in all weathers, fed at the start and end of the day, constant labour under the lash, some would collapse and if they did not respond to the whip they would be disposed of and replaced with another poor wretch. Those that Gershon and my uncle had decided had worked hard before sickening were given a quick death smothered, stabbed or strangled, quick and clean and buried by his fellow slaves. Those that had been lazy or troublemakers were crucified, their crosses set up near to where the slaves were labouring, nailed and sobbing they were an incentive to the others to work hard and behave, once dead the slaves were left to rot on the cross. That was the best reward my uncles slaves could expect, a quick death and a burial.
i would get as close as i could to the slaves without getting i the way of the work, usually they would avoid eye contact with me , maybe to scared of the whip or too ashamed to look into the eyes of a clothed youth who was drinking in their suffering. Only one ever spoke to me a sinewy slave from north Hibernia he was circumcised which was unusual for their race and i was fascinated by his cock which swung as he laboured. "like it?" he had snarled, i was so shaken by the perfect latin i had hurried away almost ashamed by the challenge. He was trouble apparently and had soon found himself crucified despite his evident strength. Some i would recognise between visits, i would note how they had lost weight, how thorny and ragged their hair and beards had become, how mutilated by the whip their dirty skin now was. I remember a house slave Alexander, an older man, plump and proud, he was my uncles scribe, he had earned my uncles anger i never knew why and had been condemned to the chain gang, i can still remember the utter humiliation on his face when he recognised me, watching his hairy belly wobble as he feebly hit the rocks, watching the sweat drip off him as the sun burned , staring at his shrunken cock, shriveled as if hiding from me in shame. He had given me a look of pure desperation as if pleading with me to talk to my uncle on his behalf. He had quickly died from exhaustion so he had a quick release from his chains. The last i regularly think about was a youth who must have been a similar age to me then, lean and lanky he was newly enslaved, still pale and clean i watched as his forming muscles worked in this thin arms, his ribs moving under his skin, his sandy hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his thin pale cock probably untouched by a woman and now never would be, he had noticed me and had actually given me a smile, it was a shy smile of such heartbreaking sadness i still remember it to this day, i had a fantasy of buying the slave from my uncle or begging him to move him to the house, i didn't of course and on my next visit i had looked for him, his hair was longer, his beard growing, his eyes sullen and dark ringed, his pale skin dark with sun and dirt and crossed by the whip, he lost more of his humanity on each visit until i could no longer recognise him from the rest of his comrades.
One day i found my uncle stood behind me as i watched. "this is where you come, i did wonder" he said not unkindly, i nodded and wondered if i was in trouble. "its good to look" he said "its important to know that the world is cruel and unforgiving and that if you are not clever and lucky that this could be your fate". As he spoke a newly purchased exhausted youth wailed as he dropped his pick and was feeling the full force or Gershon's lash on his pale skin lined with obvious ribs. "why do you keep them chained and naked?" asking what i had always wondered, my uncle smiled again, it was not natural on his face, "the slaves work naked because they are sold naked at the market, they are out of the sight of the public and cloth costs money, i would not buy clothes for the oxen i purchase and slaves are less expensive than them" i nodded following the logic "also if they escape being naked makes them rather obvious, they have to piss and shit as they work and clothes would be worse for them, clothes would also protect them from Gershon's whip" The youth had regained his pick and had started hacking at the stones again, his body shook from shock and cold and hot tears ran down his dirty face. "i keep them chained to stop them running and remind them of their servile status" my uncle sat next to me and we watched the slave toil, "that's what i say anyway, in truth... i rather like it" and he gives me a wink.
My fathers brother was always good to me, which was odd as he was rarely good to other people, especially his slaves.
My uncle was rich and successful, such a contrast to my well meaning but unlucky father and so we always tried to keep on my uncles good side in the hope of benefiting from his generosity, something that was not wasted on my uncle who naturally resented the false plaudits and was generally unpleasant to everyone he met. We would make regular visits to my uncles estate where my father would swallow his pride and take the sarcasm and insults his brother directed at him. I would leave the company as politely as i could and go and watch the slaves. They fascinated me and if i am honest still do.
i would run to the far edge of my uncles land and simply watch the slaves. Normally a chain gang of about twenty males, they all had iron rings around their ankles and a length of chain between to prevent them running but not enough to stop their tasks. they also had an iron ring around their necks, this could be used to chain them all together when they were herded from their stables to another part of the estate. Sometimes the overseer would leave the long chain in place depending on what task the slaves were undertaking, the constant clank of metal echoed as they worked. These slaves were used for hard labour only, they never washed, never shaved, filthy shaggy creatures, constantly shackled and worked until their strength faltered and they were ruthlessly replaced. The slaves filthy bodies were crossed with livid red welts that the overseer Gershon inflicted on them with his whip something he was more than ready to do, especially when i was watching. Gershon in his dirty armour would shout something in his language and lash out with his leather whip and one of the slaves would get the lash across his shoulders, back or ass and would grunt or yelp in pain, shuddering from shock before returning to its task with renewed vigor. The slaves i should point out worked naked, completely naked with only their chains as covering.
my uncle was a successful man and the local authorities had mocked him when he had bought some land to the far west of the city, the land was vast but very rocky and overgrown and so if nothing else he got it cheap. We are not a noble family or well connected and so the great and the good did not care if my uncle who had become rich through business bought land that was too overgrown for animals and too rocky for crops. He had gone to the slave markets and bought some males, nothing fancy just cheap stock without education, talent or beauty. He then bought a muscular brute called Gershon who he had instructed to oversee his fellow slaves with the threat he would be joining them if they failed in their tasks. The slaves were set to work, cutting down the thorny skin cutting bushes then digging out their roots, the slaves bodies were as torn as much by the savage branches as they were from Gershon's whip, they then removed the rocks from the ground, those that could not be dug out and dragged away where smashed to bits with picks. it was slow work but slowly the land was cleared and became fertile. How many slaves lives were used up in reclaiming the land i will never know.
i would sit watching the slaves toiling, their naked bodies labouring under the hot sun or the grey rain, their faces bearded , hair shaggy unless naturally balding and then i would see their eyes, pained and resentful, my watching their humiliating work no doubt adding to their suffering. I liked the rock breaking best as it would be hard to see when they were bush clearing. they would often remain chained together at the neck to do this task as they simply chipped at the rocky outcrops, breaking down the hard stone until they could be hauled away or buried under top soil to a depth that would not effect the ploughs, I would watch the slaves stretch their torso as they raised their picks, hear them grunt as they brought them down, see their cocks bob as the pick made its impact onto the stone. They would have to this again and again, any sign of fatigue and Gerson would unleash his whip and soon they were yelling in pain and desperate rage. As i said my uncle bought cheap so these were not sculpted beauties or bronzed Adonis but older males sold on by their masters or the newly enslaved who had not been broken to the servile life still plump from their old life with faces full of shame. Even then i liked men and i would study their bodies, judge their cocks and shoulders, wondering from what part of the empire they had originated from the colour of their dirty skin. Some were house slaves who had earned my uncles anger and been doomed to the chain-gang. The newly enslaved fascinated me the most, those condemned to servitude by the courts or had been sold by their families to save the rest of their clan from poverty. They stood out, their newly stripped bodies were cleaner than the veterans, their hair shorter their beards ungrown. Older slaves were unreadable as there faces were hidden by hair and encrusted dirt, new slaves still showed their emotions, their faces lined with fear and humiliation, still unused to being naked , still unused to the whips on their virgin backs, still shamed when they got an erection despite the total lack of comfort in their lives, still horrified that they had to piss as they worked like a cart pulling donkey in the street, still having false hope that this life wont be forever. They were basically worked to death, they laboured from sun up to sun down in all weathers, fed at the start and end of the day, constant labour under the lash, some would collapse and if they did not respond to the whip they would be disposed of and replaced with another poor wretch. Those that Gershon and my uncle had decided had worked hard before sickening were given a quick death smothered, stabbed or strangled, quick and clean and buried by his fellow slaves. Those that had been lazy or troublemakers were crucified, their crosses set up near to where the slaves were labouring, nailed and sobbing they were an incentive to the others to work hard and behave, once dead the slaves were left to rot on the cross. That was the best reward my uncles slaves could expect, a quick death and a burial.
i would get as close as i could to the slaves without getting i the way of the work, usually they would avoid eye contact with me , maybe to scared of the whip or too ashamed to look into the eyes of a clothed youth who was drinking in their suffering. Only one ever spoke to me a sinewy slave from north Hibernia he was circumcised which was unusual for their race and i was fascinated by his cock which swung as he laboured. "like it?" he had snarled, i was so shaken by the perfect latin i had hurried away almost ashamed by the challenge. He was trouble apparently and had soon found himself crucified despite his evident strength. Some i would recognise between visits, i would note how they had lost weight, how thorny and ragged their hair and beards had become, how mutilated by the whip their dirty skin now was. I remember a house slave Alexander, an older man, plump and proud, he was my uncles scribe, he had earned my uncles anger i never knew why and had been condemned to the chain gang, i can still remember the utter humiliation on his face when he recognised me, watching his hairy belly wobble as he feebly hit the rocks, watching the sweat drip off him as the sun burned , staring at his shrunken cock, shriveled as if hiding from me in shame. He had given me a look of pure desperation as if pleading with me to talk to my uncle on his behalf. He had quickly died from exhaustion so he had a quick release from his chains. The last i regularly think about was a youth who must have been a similar age to me then, lean and lanky he was newly enslaved, still pale and clean i watched as his forming muscles worked in this thin arms, his ribs moving under his skin, his sandy hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his thin pale cock probably untouched by a woman and now never would be, he had noticed me and had actually given me a smile, it was a shy smile of such heartbreaking sadness i still remember it to this day, i had a fantasy of buying the slave from my uncle or begging him to move him to the house, i didn't of course and on my next visit i had looked for him, his hair was longer, his beard growing, his eyes sullen and dark ringed, his pale skin dark with sun and dirt and crossed by the whip, he lost more of his humanity on each visit until i could no longer recognise him from the rest of his comrades.
One day i found my uncle stood behind me as i watched. "this is where you come, i did wonder" he said not unkindly, i nodded and wondered if i was in trouble. "its good to look" he said "its important to know that the world is cruel and unforgiving and that if you are not clever and lucky that this could be your fate". As he spoke a newly purchased exhausted youth wailed as he dropped his pick and was feeling the full force or Gershon's lash on his pale skin lined with obvious ribs. "why do you keep them chained and naked?" asking what i had always wondered, my uncle smiled again, it was not natural on his face, "the slaves work naked because they are sold naked at the market, they are out of the sight of the public and cloth costs money, i would not buy clothes for the oxen i purchase and slaves are less expensive than them" i nodded following the logic "also if they escape being naked makes them rather obvious, they have to piss and shit as they work and clothes would be worse for them, clothes would also protect them from Gershon's whip" The youth had regained his pick and had started hacking at the stones again, his body shook from shock and cold and hot tears ran down his dirty face. "i keep them chained to stop them running and remind them of their servile status" my uncle sat next to me and we watched the slave toil, "that's what i say anyway, in truth... i rather like it" and he gives me a wink.
Vindex
Tribune
Congratulations on the writing of this Roman crucifixion beautifully described in every detail. It matches my wildest fantasy (among others); that of my crucifixion. I identify myself totally with the tortured character. A very exciting story.
crassuswild
Magistrate
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crassuswild
Magistrate
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV part 1
Don’t forget to set your reminders for tonight’s incentive to public morality on DTTV. Justice broadcast daily on channel 997, Internet streamed and on hyper experiential.
I got home at last, the lift was not working but I did not care, the thumping rhythm of next doors music thudded just on my conscious level but I did not care. My heart pounded in my chest. It was mine. The Hyper Experiential Network Link. The addition to my computer, no more Hyper Café’s for me. I had my own. I flicked on the computer and tore the packaging open on my new toy. My heart pounding, my fingers damp with perspiration I tear open the packaging and give scant regard to the instructions, written as they are in a bewildering array of languages. I load in the software and shiver as I watch the upload line, I click the agreements. It readies itself. I pull the sunglasses like visualisers and the earplug like sound immersers from their plastic bags and smell the newness. I remove the cluster and admire the cold metal disk.
It is mine. Yay!
And now I can experience what I want free from the prudish overseers of the hyper café or sniffy Liberians.
I know what I shall experience first.
The crucifixions are on tonight, as they are on every night.
I watch the TV channel 997. It’s showing a courtroom, boring. The trouble with justice television is that it does insist on showing all the dull stuff, verdicts, pleas, and confessions.
Today on DTTV
1400-1500 court reports
1500-1600 State Justice News
1600-1800 confessions
1800-0600 justice
The experiential network was originally intended as an education device so surgeons or engineers could literally experience the undertaking of an operation or complex procedure. Human nature being what it is of course it was soon used for pornography and cheep thrills. You could experience sex, rock climbing, terror, and love, even death without even leaving your armchair. Tonight I will not only just watch the executions, this night I will experience them.
Feel them.
Tonight I will understand.
My cock hard in my jeans in anticipation of the thrills to come.
The horrors.
I watch the screens for the evening previews and death notices, the lists of those to be shot and hanged. Those to be flogged and the list of misdemeanours that led them to that rightful fate. Then the lists for today’s most ignoble executions, those condemned to crucifixion. I love the crucifixions. The sight of men, totally powerless, reduced to objects for scrutiny. I have always loved the male form. Fascinated by them. I love to see bare chested roughs walking in the sun, love to see men showering in the gym their cocks bobbing as they act as if chatting naked was the most natural thing in the world. To see a workman toiling at the road works or building-site. Beautiful. But its always awkward, always a risk of drawing attention to oneself if one is spotted, watching. The cross however invites you to watch. Invites you to gaze upon the mans naked humiliation.
I like to see men suffer.
Always have.
Can’t help myself.
Turns me on.
The cross is ideal for this as well. I drink them in, watching men’s long, drawn out suffering as they die agonized upon their cross.
Today I shall discover how it feels. How it feels to hang from the cross. How it feels to be displayed for public information. To be so degraded. To suffer what they suffer. Feeling helpless before the great viewing public anticipating further horror to come. How does it feel waiting to be stripped? Knowing that you will be so humiliated before everyone? How does it feel waiting for the nails? How does it feel to be spiked? How does it feel to have the footrests pulled away? How does it feel to have the cock rest forced into the ass and to hang from this most shameful of seats? Today I shall know. Today I will experience the cross. Their crucifixions. Will I cope? Shall I pick one criminal and follow them all the way or flit between the victims, drinking in their various reactions? My cock throbs with anticipation and I am aware that my clothes stick to me slightly from perspiration.
The stars of today’s show are displayed on the television, next doors have gone silent, they are watching too. Everyone tunes in, if only briefly, morbid curiosity infects all.
LEE BOWLER- AGED 31- unemployed, CONVICTED OF CRIMES AGAINST STATE LAW.
Multiple convictions for drug dealing, theft, robbery, burglary, ABH and association with prescribed individuals. As a result of constant and flagrant breaking of State law is judged unworthy of continued existence and is condemned to die by the shameful and ignoble death of crucifixion, as a warning to others who would copy his degenerate lifestyle.
The man on the screen looks surly and resentful yet gives a sly grin when he realises the cameras are on him. He is not unhandsome but ravaged. His face is pale and skull thin; his head shaved a single earring on his left ear. His eyes are blue but bloodshot a teardrop is tattooed under one eye. He stands against a plain white background so nothing can distract attention away from the condemned. The camera pulls back to reveal his cheep t-shirted shoulders are broad but bony and thin, his arms emerge from the sleeves are covered in tattoos; a vulgar gold chain adorns his neck. The T-shirt reads, “You gotta larf”. He looks confused rather than frightened, licking his lips constantly. I like him; he has a roguish humour about his eyes despite his obvious fears. I bet he was a laugh if somewhat dangerous company. I smile at the faded love bites that smother his neck. The television breaks from the image to show highlights of his trial and interviews with various victims, burgled old ladies and the vengeful mugged. I thrill when I see him. I like a bit of rough! I marvel briefly at a man being executed for what were once considered lesser offences but the laws change and I don’t really care. I doubt anyone does unless the law turns against him or her. Shall I follow this drug-addled wreck of a man? His once handsome face looks at me through the screens almost as if he knows what I am thinking.
The screen fills with a powerful looking man, black skinned and mean looking. His hair is close cropped and his dark eyes glare through the screen, he is intimidating despite his humiliated circumstances, a well-practiced look of menace. Sneering at the world. His features distorted by a swollen black eye. The camera pulls back to reveal a broad pair of muscular shoulders over which a very expensive designer sports top is stretched. His arms are thick with muscle, gym sculpted. The fabric of his stop stretches over powerful pex. He exudes strength and menace and I thrill at the thought of seeing such a man humiliated by The State. The thought of becoming him is intoxicating, so many new experiences could be gained, how it feels to have black skin, how it feels to have such a strong muscular body such a contrast to my own weedy frame. He looks so arrogant and I cannot wait to see him broken by the cross, to see how long that defiance will last as he suffers the pains of hell. The image on the screen is replaced by the mean streets of London and interviews with those who suffer the terror of the gangs. Dull stuff.
The man on the screen looks terrified. He looks young for 27, his sandy hair well cut, his brown eyes wide with terror. He looks pale and thin lipped. He is tall and the camera has to pull back a little to frame him. The camera settles to reveal he is wearing an expensive looking shirt, red braces and a scarlet tie, his tie shines like silk. His tiepin glitters, a diamond in the light. He has money you can tell. He shakes in fear. Wet patches stain the underarms of his expensive shirt. His face is thin, one of those people who is almost handsome but does not quite work. Narrow shouldered and thin. Financial treason? Some dodgy deal that has cost The State, some clever trading that has gone wrong, some scheme that has backfired. Some deal with undesirables that The State dose not approve of and it is going to make an example of this man of money. To shame him before his peers. To remind The City that The State is the true power. This fearful plain man is a pawn in some financial skulduggery and he is to be punished for it now. Big style. I wonder what it will feel like to be him. To come from the elite and yet to be executed like the most lowly scum. To die with the poor and the unemployed. To have fallen so far. A tearful elderly woman, his grandmother weeps and wails and tells the world about the shame he has brought to the family. Will I join him on his cross; will I feel his utter humiliation? To know how it feels to come from so much and yet to be so degraded.
The man on the screen is a bull of a man. His hair is unkempt, once black but greying slightly. His face is broad with strong cheekbones and deep-set eyes. His skin is deep tanned and weather-beaten. He looks care worn and tired. He is bearded, a spiky black beard that opens to reveal perfect white teeth. The beard runs down a strong neck and as the camera pulls back you see the hair run down to the neck line of his prison issue grey vest. His shoulders and arms are tanned and meaty. Muscular from hard work rather than the vanity of the gym. A layer of fat over the muscle increasing his bulk. He glares out of the screen defiant. He excites me. He is such an image of masculinity, naturally strong, naturally big. I can’t wait to see him stripped, see what he has got. See how he will react to the agony of the cross, how will this brave looking man face death. How will it feel to be him? Does it feel different to be living in such a vast frame? Will I think in his language? How will he feel to be so strong and yet reduced to utter helplessness? Poor bastard. But the law is the law, anyone entering The State without the correct papers or permissions faces instant crucifixion be they refugee or spy, the punishment is the same. I note the quotation marks about his details, they are not really sure of who is just what he is. The screen fills with the worthy unemployed moaning about illegal labour stealing away their jobs. The fact that most would flee in terror at the threat of hard work is not mentioned.
The condemned on the screen is a younger more refined version of the previous man. His younger brother? His son? He is strong featured as the previous man but with softer, wider brown eyes. His black hair is very long and tied back into a pony tail except for one thick stand that has come adrift and trails down his worried looking face. He has a goatee beard, patchy in places and has the effect of making him look younger rather than more mature. He has intelligent eyes that are wide with terror. I wonder if he really understands what is to happen to him? He gnaws his lower lip. He is pale and vulnerable looking, a young Christ on a Russian icon. The camera pulls back to reveal he to wears a prison issue vest from which pale arms and shoulders emerge. He has the same frame as the other man but without the build, without the muscle. He is graceful but strong. The voice over states that he is the son of the other man and glories in the States victory over this criminal lineage. A father and a son? My mind reels at the possibilities. I try to imagine how that feels. How it feels to be naked and ashamed next to a father, to see your father in agony next to you and being unable to help? To see his naked balls bouncing as he writhes and to know you spawned from them. How it feels for a father to watch his son being tortured to death. I wont have to imagine how a father feels to be crucified next to a son. Soon I will know!
Five for the cross, a good number. I check the hyper links on the experiential net yet again as the clock slowly clicks round to 1800, I plod to the fridge and grab a bottle of wine and unscrew the cap before pulling a glass from the sink. It was not too dirty and glug the wine into the glass. I glance at the clock. Too slow! It is not a warm day and yet I am hot and sticky. I unbutton my shirt and strip it off stuffing it into my ancient and rusty washing machine, I remove my boots and socks and then pull down my jeans and after removing my coins from it pockets I stuff them into the machine. I leave my trunks on, far to tempting to jerk off if I get my cock out and blunt the excitement of the experiences to come. My hard cock tent poles the fabric. I see myself in the mirror, my narrow frame, a bit thin, I wonder not for the first time how I would cope on the cross. I sip the wine and grimace, cheep stuff. I check my inbox. Nothing interesting.
BING!
The computer chimes and my heart thrills. The DTTV hyperlink has come on line. My cock throbs with the excitement. It is time. I glance at the screen clock 1715. Soon. The condemned will start their punishments soon and now I can share in their anticipation. I insert the earplugs. I put on the glasses; I place the metal disk on the back of my neck. It is cold against my skin, and then I feel it warm as it searches out my nervous system, seeks my consciousness. I love this feeling. The feeling of surrendering your will to another, of merging into a system, into a machine. Beautiful.
More real than life.
Five faces appear on the computer screen. Confused Lee, Glaring Reggie, Horrified Steve, Defiant Mariuz or Beautiful Adamsi. Who to choose first? The first taste. I move the arrow about the images rife with ecstatic indecision. I have an OCD streak and I like order (sometimes my flat would indicate otherwise!) so I will go in order.
++WARNING THIS FEATURES EXTREME CONTENT AND SENSATIONS++ CANCEL? PROCEED? ++ I look at the picture of the thuggish Lee and wait for the arrow to follow my eyes. I press proceed. Him I will try him...
DTTV
TRANSMISSION 9-9-23
BROADCAST JUSTICE 1800-0600 CRUCIFIXION
LEE BOWLER
7/23-#CC1167 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
REGGIE ELTON
7/23#CC1168 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
STEPHEN HENRY CLUNES
2/23#CC1169 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
“MARIUZ VENSHU”
7/23#CC1170 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
“ADAMSI VENSHU”
7/23#CC1171 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
TRANSMISSION 9-9-23
BROADCAST JUSTICE 1800-0600 CRUCIFIXION
LEE BOWLER
7/23-#CC1167 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
REGGIE ELTON
7/23#CC1168 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
STEPHEN HENRY CLUNES
2/23#CC1169 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
“MARIUZ VENSHU”
7/23#CC1170 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
“ADAMSI VENSHU”
7/23#CC1171 Death Sentence CONFIRMED
Don’t forget to set your reminders for tonight’s incentive to public morality on DTTV. Justice broadcast daily on channel 997, Internet streamed and on hyper experiential.
This night and every night.
The State- keeping its citizens safe.
The State- keeping its citizens safe.
I got home at last, the lift was not working but I did not care, the thumping rhythm of next doors music thudded just on my conscious level but I did not care. My heart pounded in my chest. It was mine. The Hyper Experiential Network Link. The addition to my computer, no more Hyper Café’s for me. I had my own. I flicked on the computer and tore the packaging open on my new toy. My heart pounding, my fingers damp with perspiration I tear open the packaging and give scant regard to the instructions, written as they are in a bewildering array of languages. I load in the software and shiver as I watch the upload line, I click the agreements. It readies itself. I pull the sunglasses like visualisers and the earplug like sound immersers from their plastic bags and smell the newness. I remove the cluster and admire the cold metal disk.
It is mine. Yay!
And now I can experience what I want free from the prudish overseers of the hyper café or sniffy Liberians.
I know what I shall experience first.
The crucifixions are on tonight, as they are on every night.
I watch the TV channel 997. It’s showing a courtroom, boring. The trouble with justice television is that it does insist on showing all the dull stuff, verdicts, pleas, and confessions.
Today on DTTV
1400-1500 court reports
1500-1600 State Justice News
1600-1800 confessions
1800-0600 justice
The experiential network was originally intended as an education device so surgeons or engineers could literally experience the undertaking of an operation or complex procedure. Human nature being what it is of course it was soon used for pornography and cheep thrills. You could experience sex, rock climbing, terror, and love, even death without even leaving your armchair. Tonight I will not only just watch the executions, this night I will experience them.
Feel them.
Tonight I will understand.
My cock hard in my jeans in anticipation of the thrills to come.
The horrors.
I watch the screens for the evening previews and death notices, the lists of those to be shot and hanged. Those to be flogged and the list of misdemeanours that led them to that rightful fate. Then the lists for today’s most ignoble executions, those condemned to crucifixion. I love the crucifixions. The sight of men, totally powerless, reduced to objects for scrutiny. I have always loved the male form. Fascinated by them. I love to see bare chested roughs walking in the sun, love to see men showering in the gym their cocks bobbing as they act as if chatting naked was the most natural thing in the world. To see a workman toiling at the road works or building-site. Beautiful. But its always awkward, always a risk of drawing attention to oneself if one is spotted, watching. The cross however invites you to watch. Invites you to gaze upon the mans naked humiliation.
I like to see men suffer.
Always have.
Can’t help myself.
Turns me on.
The cross is ideal for this as well. I drink them in, watching men’s long, drawn out suffering as they die agonized upon their cross.
Today I shall discover how it feels. How it feels to hang from the cross. How it feels to be displayed for public information. To be so degraded. To suffer what they suffer. Feeling helpless before the great viewing public anticipating further horror to come. How does it feel waiting to be stripped? Knowing that you will be so humiliated before everyone? How does it feel waiting for the nails? How does it feel to be spiked? How does it feel to have the footrests pulled away? How does it feel to have the cock rest forced into the ass and to hang from this most shameful of seats? Today I shall know. Today I will experience the cross. Their crucifixions. Will I cope? Shall I pick one criminal and follow them all the way or flit between the victims, drinking in their various reactions? My cock throbs with anticipation and I am aware that my clothes stick to me slightly from perspiration.
The stars of today’s show are displayed on the television, next doors have gone silent, they are watching too. Everyone tunes in, if only briefly, morbid curiosity infects all.
LEE BOWLER- AGED 31- unemployed, CONVICTED OF CRIMES AGAINST STATE LAW.
Multiple convictions for drug dealing, theft, robbery, burglary, ABH and association with prescribed individuals. As a result of constant and flagrant breaking of State law is judged unworthy of continued existence and is condemned to die by the shameful and ignoble death of crucifixion, as a warning to others who would copy his degenerate lifestyle.
The man on the screen looks surly and resentful yet gives a sly grin when he realises the cameras are on him. He is not unhandsome but ravaged. His face is pale and skull thin; his head shaved a single earring on his left ear. His eyes are blue but bloodshot a teardrop is tattooed under one eye. He stands against a plain white background so nothing can distract attention away from the condemned. The camera pulls back to reveal his cheep t-shirted shoulders are broad but bony and thin, his arms emerge from the sleeves are covered in tattoos; a vulgar gold chain adorns his neck. The T-shirt reads, “You gotta larf”. He looks confused rather than frightened, licking his lips constantly. I like him; he has a roguish humour about his eyes despite his obvious fears. I bet he was a laugh if somewhat dangerous company. I smile at the faded love bites that smother his neck. The television breaks from the image to show highlights of his trial and interviews with various victims, burgled old ladies and the vengeful mugged. I thrill when I see him. I like a bit of rough! I marvel briefly at a man being executed for what were once considered lesser offences but the laws change and I don’t really care. I doubt anyone does unless the law turns against him or her. Shall I follow this drug-addled wreck of a man? His once handsome face looks at me through the screens almost as if he knows what I am thinking.
REGGIE ELTON- AGED 23- unemployed- CONVICTED OF CRIMES AGAINST STATE LAW
Convicted of being a member of an illegal organisation, the so call Hackney gang, for taking part in or the tacit approval of multiple incidence of murder, violence, fighting in a public place, taking monies with menace, ABH, GBH, is condemned to death by crucifixion as a warning to those who would join such criminal gangs.
Convicted of being a member of an illegal organisation, the so call Hackney gang, for taking part in or the tacit approval of multiple incidence of murder, violence, fighting in a public place, taking monies with menace, ABH, GBH, is condemned to death by crucifixion as a warning to those who would join such criminal gangs.
The screen fills with a powerful looking man, black skinned and mean looking. His hair is close cropped and his dark eyes glare through the screen, he is intimidating despite his humiliated circumstances, a well-practiced look of menace. Sneering at the world. His features distorted by a swollen black eye. The camera pulls back to reveal a broad pair of muscular shoulders over which a very expensive designer sports top is stretched. His arms are thick with muscle, gym sculpted. The fabric of his stop stretches over powerful pex. He exudes strength and menace and I thrill at the thought of seeing such a man humiliated by The State. The thought of becoming him is intoxicating, so many new experiences could be gained, how it feels to have black skin, how it feels to have such a strong muscular body such a contrast to my own weedy frame. He looks so arrogant and I cannot wait to see him broken by the cross, to see how long that defiance will last as he suffers the pains of hell. The image on the screen is replaced by the mean streets of London and interviews with those who suffer the terror of the gangs. Dull stuff.
STEPHEN HENRY CLUNES- AGED 27- financial trader- CONVICTED OF CRIMES AGAINST STATE LAW
Convicted of financial treason.
The man on the screen looks terrified. He looks young for 27, his sandy hair well cut, his brown eyes wide with terror. He looks pale and thin lipped. He is tall and the camera has to pull back a little to frame him. The camera settles to reveal he is wearing an expensive looking shirt, red braces and a scarlet tie, his tie shines like silk. His tiepin glitters, a diamond in the light. He has money you can tell. He shakes in fear. Wet patches stain the underarms of his expensive shirt. His face is thin, one of those people who is almost handsome but does not quite work. Narrow shouldered and thin. Financial treason? Some dodgy deal that has cost The State, some clever trading that has gone wrong, some scheme that has backfired. Some deal with undesirables that The State dose not approve of and it is going to make an example of this man of money. To shame him before his peers. To remind The City that The State is the true power. This fearful plain man is a pawn in some financial skulduggery and he is to be punished for it now. Big style. I wonder what it will feel like to be him. To come from the elite and yet to be executed like the most lowly scum. To die with the poor and the unemployed. To have fallen so far. A tearful elderly woman, his grandmother weeps and wails and tells the world about the shame he has brought to the family. Will I join him on his cross; will I feel his utter humiliation? To know how it feels to come from so much and yet to be so degraded.
“MARIUZ VENSHU”- AGED “39” manual labourer
CONVICTED OF CRIMES AGAINST STATE LAW.
Illegal alien,
Illegal alien,
The man on the screen is a bull of a man. His hair is unkempt, once black but greying slightly. His face is broad with strong cheekbones and deep-set eyes. His skin is deep tanned and weather-beaten. He looks care worn and tired. He is bearded, a spiky black beard that opens to reveal perfect white teeth. The beard runs down a strong neck and as the camera pulls back you see the hair run down to the neck line of his prison issue grey vest. His shoulders and arms are tanned and meaty. Muscular from hard work rather than the vanity of the gym. A layer of fat over the muscle increasing his bulk. He glares out of the screen defiant. He excites me. He is such an image of masculinity, naturally strong, naturally big. I can’t wait to see him stripped, see what he has got. See how he will react to the agony of the cross, how will this brave looking man face death. How will it feel to be him? Does it feel different to be living in such a vast frame? Will I think in his language? How will he feel to be so strong and yet reduced to utter helplessness? Poor bastard. But the law is the law, anyone entering The State without the correct papers or permissions faces instant crucifixion be they refugee or spy, the punishment is the same. I note the quotation marks about his details, they are not really sure of who is just what he is. The screen fills with the worthy unemployed moaning about illegal labour stealing away their jobs. The fact that most would flee in terror at the threat of hard work is not mentioned.
“ADAMSI VENSHU”- AGED “18” cleaner
CONVICTED OF CRIMES AGAINST STATE LAW.
Illegal alien.
The condemned on the screen is a younger more refined version of the previous man. His younger brother? His son? He is strong featured as the previous man but with softer, wider brown eyes. His black hair is very long and tied back into a pony tail except for one thick stand that has come adrift and trails down his worried looking face. He has a goatee beard, patchy in places and has the effect of making him look younger rather than more mature. He has intelligent eyes that are wide with terror. I wonder if he really understands what is to happen to him? He gnaws his lower lip. He is pale and vulnerable looking, a young Christ on a Russian icon. The camera pulls back to reveal he to wears a prison issue vest from which pale arms and shoulders emerge. He has the same frame as the other man but without the build, without the muscle. He is graceful but strong. The voice over states that he is the son of the other man and glories in the States victory over this criminal lineage. A father and a son? My mind reels at the possibilities. I try to imagine how that feels. How it feels to be naked and ashamed next to a father, to see your father in agony next to you and being unable to help? To see his naked balls bouncing as he writhes and to know you spawned from them. How it feels for a father to watch his son being tortured to death. I wont have to imagine how a father feels to be crucified next to a son. Soon I will know!
Five for the cross, a good number. I check the hyper links on the experiential net yet again as the clock slowly clicks round to 1800, I plod to the fridge and grab a bottle of wine and unscrew the cap before pulling a glass from the sink. It was not too dirty and glug the wine into the glass. I glance at the clock. Too slow! It is not a warm day and yet I am hot and sticky. I unbutton my shirt and strip it off stuffing it into my ancient and rusty washing machine, I remove my boots and socks and then pull down my jeans and after removing my coins from it pockets I stuff them into the machine. I leave my trunks on, far to tempting to jerk off if I get my cock out and blunt the excitement of the experiences to come. My hard cock tent poles the fabric. I see myself in the mirror, my narrow frame, a bit thin, I wonder not for the first time how I would cope on the cross. I sip the wine and grimace, cheep stuff. I check my inbox. Nothing interesting.
BING!
The computer chimes and my heart thrills. The DTTV hyperlink has come on line. My cock throbs with the excitement. It is time. I glance at the screen clock 1715. Soon. The condemned will start their punishments soon and now I can share in their anticipation. I insert the earplugs. I put on the glasses; I place the metal disk on the back of my neck. It is cold against my skin, and then I feel it warm as it searches out my nervous system, seeks my consciousness. I love this feeling. The feeling of surrendering your will to another, of merging into a system, into a machine. Beautiful.
More real than life.
Five faces appear on the computer screen. Confused Lee, Glaring Reggie, Horrified Steve, Defiant Mariuz or Beautiful Adamsi. Who to choose first? The first taste. I move the arrow about the images rife with ecstatic indecision. I have an OCD streak and I like order (sometimes my flat would indicate otherwise!) so I will go in order.
++WARNING THIS FEATURES EXTREME CONTENT AND SENSATIONS++ CANCEL? PROCEED? ++ I look at the picture of the thuggish Lee and wait for the arrow to follow my eyes. I press proceed. Him I will try him...
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV- 2
I look over the specs at the TV and I see me, I mean Lee. He stands his compact torso exposed to the world, ribs and bones, hawk tattoo across his narrow chest, metal ring in each nipple. Dirty blue jeans. I take a swig of wine enjoying the toxins that poor Lee is deprived of. I see the ramrod bulge of my cock in my pants and smile. I still feel what he feels can still hear what he hears and yet my vision is my own again. I see on the TV that they have started to pop the studs on Lee’s jeans. I feel his humiliation of being stripped. He hates it. He feels so vulnerable as the black-gloved hands pull at his crotch. I slip the specs back down
Black against my eyes as the soldier press close. Hands tugging at my crotch pulling away my jeans. Hate it. So close to my most sensitive parts. Knuckles brush my cock. I feel it stir as the viagra works through my system.
Please don’t hurt me. Stupid. They are paid to hurt me!
I shake. Stop shaking. I am rattling. I need my fix. Please just a little bit.
“Lift your fucking leg” they slide the jeans down my skinny legs and they tug one crumpled denim leg away. I hop about and try not to fall, try no to look like a wanker, more of a wanker.
“ The other one! Fucking move it!” I feel lee hop about as they pull the jeans over his grubby trainers. Hard to balance with my arms, his arms, cuffed behind him. They tug the frayed denim away. I stand thin and sweating in my silly black and yellow striped briefs, socks and trainers. I want to hide my viagra-swelling crotch from their blank gaze but my cuffed hands prevent it. I hear noise; an angry black guy is being dragged in. A guard draws up a syringe. Ready. I shiver and shake. My guts churn.
“Get this one to the van,” a trooper grunts.
I feel a hand shove me in the small of the back and I stumble forward towards a narrow door. Blackness lies beyond. I stumble in; it is the back of a police van. I have seen them before but this is the last I will ever travel in. Lee squats down and I feel the cold metal grilled side on my naked back. My guts cramp, I need my stuff, need my stuff.
The view does not change. Nor do his feelings.
I click off and feel a jolt as I return to reality. My reality. My little flat. Illuminated by a TV and computer screen. My skin glistens from sweat. Slight pain behind the eyes. I drink the dregs of the wine until it subsides. It works. My new toy works. It should do it cost enough. I smile. I have had a taste of Lee’s suffering. A small taste. As much as the technology would allow. As close to the pre-crucifixion rituals that any right-minded man would want to get to. I brush my hand against my groin and enjoy the thrill of real, genuine sensation. I watch the screens. Reggie is being dragged from the cells and into that featureless room. He must see Lee’s discarded clothes in the corner; he must know what is to happen. He struggles. Even with his wrists bound he struggles. You can judge his power from the efforts the guards have to make to contain him.
You can see Stephen watching in horror in the doorway as they wrestle Reggie.
Flash.
A bright light dominates the screen for a moment and you can see Reggie on the hard ground twitching from the electric charge of a queller. The man groans from the pain of the blast and as he twitches trying to get control of his limbs again, they start yanking at his expensive top using a flick knife to cut it away at the wrists. Bare chested they drag the condemned man to his feet. His torso is beautiful, as sculpted at a Greek statue carved in ebony. The camera does not move in on the detail, does not focus in on his pain and I curse these pre-watershed parental advisory pre nine o clock broadcasts. They drop the big man again and start pulling at his tracky bottoms. Stripping his gym- sculpted legs. White boxers against black legs. Beautiful. A white gym support on his right knee, a dodgy knee that is going to hurt! Tee hee! You can see the trooper with the syringe drive the IM needle into the muscle of his left arm. The injection that will allow us, the great viewing public to hyperlink into the prisoner’s consciousness. The ident on the lap top screen lights up as the solution starts to surge through the victim’s body. Hungrily I direct the arrow with my eyes to the picture glaring man.
I get tired of Reggie’s short-sighted blur.
Lee
I blink.
I am looking at my arm. My arms won’t move. Cuffed,
I am looking at my arm, it my tattooed arm. The snake that curls about my arm. The cobra eternally springing from my flesh. I look at where they have injected me.
Not easy.
So many needles gone into my arm.
So many.
I am looking through another mans eyes. Looking at his arm that is now my arm.
I am in the hyperlink. My heart is pounding. Hot yet cold. This is more than terror. This is the start of cold turkey. I know it because he knows it.
This is not reading minds. I cannot read his thoughts.
I get impressions. I am aware.
Despite the track marks on my arms I have been injected.
The wrong drugs. Not the drugs I want, I need.
It must be soon. Christ it must be soon.
He is scared; despite his starting to rattle he is so scared.
He does not want to die. He likes a laugh a drink and he is so horny.
He loves the ladies; I feel his need, even now. He is trying to distract himself. He thinks of Shaz from Deepdale. That last night. Her knees at his naked sides as he shagged her rough and hard. He is good despite his equipment. Just as she likes it. Rough and hard.
Will she watch me? Watch me suffer?
I can hear now as his other senses come online.
Hears voices in the echoing room. Lee looks round. It is a featureless room. No windows. Soldiers in black combats, a death squad.
Fear.
Their faces covered in masks. Featureless monsters.
I hear their rasping breath from the gas masks. Eye goggles blank and black.
Shark eyes.
I look at my other arm the great white that grins from it in inky bubbles, leg in maw.
I feel so vulnerable in this hateful room. These men who jostle and bark. These soldiers whose only purpose is to torture and kill me.
Kill me.
I am going to die.
I feel his nausea at the thought.
Oh no please no! Please. This can’t be happening.
Not to me. Not to old Leebow!
I know he is being good. Trying not to provoke them, these State killers.
I don’t want to be here, not here. Stupid, fucking stupid falling into their hands.
I don’t want to die.
Shivering, feel cramp in my guts. Shit. Starting to rattle. Need a fix.
Won’t get one.
Fuck.
Noise hearing shouting from outside. The killers ignore it. One speaking into his communicator, cant hear him his voice muffled by the mask.
Starting are they starting?
The room is cool. The electric light harsh. No smell. Can’t do smell.
My arm feels warm as the injection courses through my system, fucking filthy stuff.
I feel his resentment at the injection. Odd from an addict.
He knows what it is. The invader that effects his nervous system and allows us to tune into him, to spy on his very person, the syringe also contained an amphetamine to keep the victim alert, to keep them aware and fully in tune with their suffering
Obey the state
It’s nasty stuff and will burn up their nervous system given time but they are to die anyway. Who cares?
I care. It also contains viagra, an obscene joke on part of my tormentors, they always do it and I know they have done it to me. Make me hard on the cross. Hard despite my agony so that I have no secrets from the world, even my most private revelation displayed for all to see. I feel Lee’s disgust. They are inside him and outside him. He has no privacy. No dignity and I feel his humiliation. I feel a moment’s guilt, spying into this mans indignity. But I don’t stop. I don’t care.
I feel a stab of pain in my guts.
Cold turkey. My internal torment preoccupies me more than my fear.
“Get him ready” a harsh muffled voice.
Guns click. They advance on me again. Don’t resist Leebow; don’t give them an excuse to hurt you.
I feel sick.
They are covered in black from head to foot so they can’t be recognised and relatives of the victim cannot avenge themselves upon them. They grab the neck of my T-shirt.
I feel them yank. They are stripping me. Oh fuck this is real. The material digs into the back of my neck before the cloth gives and they rip it down. I feel the cool of the room brush my thin chest. The remains gather about my cuffed wrists. The cuffs chaff. My stomach churns. You enjoying this? You dirty fuckers getting off on me?
Yes I think I am.
I am looking at my arm. My arms won’t move. Cuffed,
I am looking at my arm, it my tattooed arm. The snake that curls about my arm. The cobra eternally springing from my flesh. I look at where they have injected me.
Not easy.
So many needles gone into my arm.
So many.
I am looking through another mans eyes. Looking at his arm that is now my arm.
I am in the hyperlink. My heart is pounding. Hot yet cold. This is more than terror. This is the start of cold turkey. I know it because he knows it.
This is not reading minds. I cannot read his thoughts.
I get impressions. I am aware.
Despite the track marks on my arms I have been injected.
The wrong drugs. Not the drugs I want, I need.
It must be soon. Christ it must be soon.
He is scared; despite his starting to rattle he is so scared.
He does not want to die. He likes a laugh a drink and he is so horny.
He loves the ladies; I feel his need, even now. He is trying to distract himself. He thinks of Shaz from Deepdale. That last night. Her knees at his naked sides as he shagged her rough and hard. He is good despite his equipment. Just as she likes it. Rough and hard.
Will she watch me? Watch me suffer?
I can hear now as his other senses come online.
Hears voices in the echoing room. Lee looks round. It is a featureless room. No windows. Soldiers in black combats, a death squad.
Fear.
Their faces covered in masks. Featureless monsters.
I hear their rasping breath from the gas masks. Eye goggles blank and black.
Shark eyes.
I look at my other arm the great white that grins from it in inky bubbles, leg in maw.
I feel so vulnerable in this hateful room. These men who jostle and bark. These soldiers whose only purpose is to torture and kill me.
Kill me.
I am going to die.
I feel his nausea at the thought.
Oh no please no! Please. This can’t be happening.
Not to me. Not to old Leebow!
I know he is being good. Trying not to provoke them, these State killers.
I don’t want to be here, not here. Stupid, fucking stupid falling into their hands.
I don’t want to die.
Shivering, feel cramp in my guts. Shit. Starting to rattle. Need a fix.
Won’t get one.
Fuck.
Noise hearing shouting from outside. The killers ignore it. One speaking into his communicator, cant hear him his voice muffled by the mask.
Starting are they starting?
The room is cool. The electric light harsh. No smell. Can’t do smell.
My arm feels warm as the injection courses through my system, fucking filthy stuff.
I feel his resentment at the injection. Odd from an addict.
He knows what it is. The invader that effects his nervous system and allows us to tune into him, to spy on his very person, the syringe also contained an amphetamine to keep the victim alert, to keep them aware and fully in tune with their suffering
Obey the state
It’s nasty stuff and will burn up their nervous system given time but they are to die anyway. Who cares?
I care. It also contains viagra, an obscene joke on part of my tormentors, they always do it and I know they have done it to me. Make me hard on the cross. Hard despite my agony so that I have no secrets from the world, even my most private revelation displayed for all to see. I feel Lee’s disgust. They are inside him and outside him. He has no privacy. No dignity and I feel his humiliation. I feel a moment’s guilt, spying into this mans indignity. But I don’t stop. I don’t care.
I feel a stab of pain in my guts.
Cold turkey. My internal torment preoccupies me more than my fear.
“Get him ready” a harsh muffled voice.
Guns click. They advance on me again. Don’t resist Leebow; don’t give them an excuse to hurt you.
I feel sick.
They are covered in black from head to foot so they can’t be recognised and relatives of the victim cannot avenge themselves upon them. They grab the neck of my T-shirt.
I feel them yank. They are stripping me. Oh fuck this is real. The material digs into the back of my neck before the cloth gives and they rip it down. I feel the cool of the room brush my thin chest. The remains gather about my cuffed wrists. The cuffs chaff. My stomach churns. You enjoying this? You dirty fuckers getting off on me?
Yes I think I am.
I look over the specs at the TV and I see me, I mean Lee. He stands his compact torso exposed to the world, ribs and bones, hawk tattoo across his narrow chest, metal ring in each nipple. Dirty blue jeans. I take a swig of wine enjoying the toxins that poor Lee is deprived of. I see the ramrod bulge of my cock in my pants and smile. I still feel what he feels can still hear what he hears and yet my vision is my own again. I see on the TV that they have started to pop the studs on Lee’s jeans. I feel his humiliation of being stripped. He hates it. He feels so vulnerable as the black-gloved hands pull at his crotch. I slip the specs back down
Black against my eyes as the soldier press close. Hands tugging at my crotch pulling away my jeans. Hate it. So close to my most sensitive parts. Knuckles brush my cock. I feel it stir as the viagra works through my system.
Please don’t hurt me. Stupid. They are paid to hurt me!
I shake. Stop shaking. I am rattling. I need my fix. Please just a little bit.
“Lift your fucking leg” they slide the jeans down my skinny legs and they tug one crumpled denim leg away. I hop about and try not to fall, try no to look like a wanker, more of a wanker.
“ The other one! Fucking move it!” I feel lee hop about as they pull the jeans over his grubby trainers. Hard to balance with my arms, his arms, cuffed behind him. They tug the frayed denim away. I stand thin and sweating in my silly black and yellow striped briefs, socks and trainers. I want to hide my viagra-swelling crotch from their blank gaze but my cuffed hands prevent it. I hear noise; an angry black guy is being dragged in. A guard draws up a syringe. Ready. I shiver and shake. My guts churn.
“Get this one to the van,” a trooper grunts.
I feel a hand shove me in the small of the back and I stumble forward towards a narrow door. Blackness lies beyond. I stumble in; it is the back of a police van. I have seen them before but this is the last I will ever travel in. Lee squats down and I feel the cold metal grilled side on my naked back. My guts cramp, I need my stuff, need my stuff.
The view does not change. Nor do his feelings.
I click off and feel a jolt as I return to reality. My reality. My little flat. Illuminated by a TV and computer screen. My skin glistens from sweat. Slight pain behind the eyes. I drink the dregs of the wine until it subsides. It works. My new toy works. It should do it cost enough. I smile. I have had a taste of Lee’s suffering. A small taste. As much as the technology would allow. As close to the pre-crucifixion rituals that any right-minded man would want to get to. I brush my hand against my groin and enjoy the thrill of real, genuine sensation. I watch the screens. Reggie is being dragged from the cells and into that featureless room. He must see Lee’s discarded clothes in the corner; he must know what is to happen. He struggles. Even with his wrists bound he struggles. You can judge his power from the efforts the guards have to make to contain him.
You can see Stephen watching in horror in the doorway as they wrestle Reggie.
Flash.
A bright light dominates the screen for a moment and you can see Reggie on the hard ground twitching from the electric charge of a queller. The man groans from the pain of the blast and as he twitches trying to get control of his limbs again, they start yanking at his expensive top using a flick knife to cut it away at the wrists. Bare chested they drag the condemned man to his feet. His torso is beautiful, as sculpted at a Greek statue carved in ebony. The camera does not move in on the detail, does not focus in on his pain and I curse these pre-watershed parental advisory pre nine o clock broadcasts. They drop the big man again and start pulling at his tracky bottoms. Stripping his gym- sculpted legs. White boxers against black legs. Beautiful. A white gym support on his right knee, a dodgy knee that is going to hurt! Tee hee! You can see the trooper with the syringe drive the IM needle into the muscle of his left arm. The injection that will allow us, the great viewing public to hyperlink into the prisoner’s consciousness. The ident on the lap top screen lights up as the solution starts to surge through the victim’s body. Hungrily I direct the arrow with my eyes to the picture glaring man.
Reggie
Trapped. Feeling trapped. Get off me you fuckers. Get the fuck off. Won’t go down easy, just wont. Pain. Pain in my face. Teeth broken. Arms and legs hurt real bad. Fucking quellers. Arms and legs shake. Fight gotta fight. Damn legs wont move, arms so heavy. Feel the stuff flowing through my body. Hate needles. I see myself with black skin and I feel a thrill. See myself with powerful muscles for the first time and love it. See the bulge in my white cotton crotch. The support on my knee, the knee that aches when I work at the gym. The knee that buckled when I tried to escape the filth. Feel the frustration that I cannot touch it, that I am living in another mans oh so wonderful body. Feel the cool on my flesh. Feel the pain from the punch I get to my guts. Reggie hates this. Has always fought the system. Rebel. Rebel against the system. A crook that thinks he is a rebel. Betrayal. Betrayed by his quelled body. Betrayed his comrades? Had they set him up? The State troopers found me/him to quick and what have they done to get me out? Nothing!
Obey the State.
Hauled through the door into the van, try to fight, try to lash out. Muscles still quelled. Bastards. Some junkie already in the van. Comrade in death? Can’t make him out. Reggie is short-sighted, no specs, vain bastard. I look at the other man, my companion, brought together by cruel chance.
My companion in crucifixion.
Do you know your terrible sentence yet, do you know that you are to die, humiliated upon a state cross? Guess you must do. You shaking?
I can see you in the gloom of the van as the soldier shoves me forward the chains about my wrists clanking as I move, the air is cool. Cool on my hard goose fleshed body. The stench is terrible, piss, shit and fear. Reggie senses this I smell nothing. The light minimal, your presence the focus of my attention as the door slams behind me, the bar snapping into place, no escape, no release, when we leave this van we will be facing our deaths.
Crucifixion. Shit man. How come you could not escape this crap?
Our long, slow, agonizing oh so humiliating deaths, the knot of frozen fear that sits in my gut twists at this thought and I shiver. I shuffle from the van door; my wrist chains rubbing. Your eyes upon me, the invader of your misery.
What do I say, how do I introduce myself, should I speak? Yo man how you doin? Stupid I guess. He looks sick.
What have you done, why are you here? What crime have you committed to lead you to this fate? Are you a man of violence? Will I be attacked and would that be such a bad thing? A swift violent death here in the prison rather than a slow drawn out death at the hands of the State. Don’t want to die, not on the cross, fucking shaming. A fag death, rod up the ass, don’t want to die a fag.
Obey the State.
Hauled through the door into the van, try to fight, try to lash out. Muscles still quelled. Bastards. Some junkie already in the van. Comrade in death? Can’t make him out. Reggie is short-sighted, no specs, vain bastard. I look at the other man, my companion, brought together by cruel chance.
My companion in crucifixion.
Do you know your terrible sentence yet, do you know that you are to die, humiliated upon a state cross? Guess you must do. You shaking?
I can see you in the gloom of the van as the soldier shoves me forward the chains about my wrists clanking as I move, the air is cool. Cool on my hard goose fleshed body. The stench is terrible, piss, shit and fear. Reggie senses this I smell nothing. The light minimal, your presence the focus of my attention as the door slams behind me, the bar snapping into place, no escape, no release, when we leave this van we will be facing our deaths.
Crucifixion. Shit man. How come you could not escape this crap?
Our long, slow, agonizing oh so humiliating deaths, the knot of frozen fear that sits in my gut twists at this thought and I shiver. I shuffle from the van door; my wrist chains rubbing. Your eyes upon me, the invader of your misery.
What do I say, how do I introduce myself, should I speak? Yo man how you doin? Stupid I guess. He looks sick.
What have you done, why are you here? What crime have you committed to lead you to this fate? Are you a man of violence? Will I be attacked and would that be such a bad thing? A swift violent death here in the prison rather than a slow drawn out death at the hands of the State. Don’t want to die, not on the cross, fucking shaming. A fag death, rod up the ass, don’t want to die a fag.
I get tired of Reggie’s short-sighted blur.
Lee
A huge black guy thrown in with me. Fuck he is a big bastard. At least I will not die alone. I feel terrible, the lack of substances in his system more acute than his fear. His viagra hard cock now pushing against the fabric of his stripy briefs. I enjoy the shared sensation.
Stephen
I am trapped and waiting. Black clothed troopers around me. Fuck I am terrified I mean he is terrified. My mind seeks something anything, if I could just speak to them, say something anything, I could explain, they would understand, they could understand my reasons. This must be a mistake, has to be. What the hell is my lawyer doing, fuck all and he has cost me a fortune! Money. Nobody is crucified because of money. It was just a deal. Just a fucking deal. No escape. Have to escape. Have to! This is not right, not fare. I cannot die on a cross, just can’t, there has to be a way out. Have to escape this! People like me just don’t get crucified. I am cold and not just from the damp of the cell, the harsh electric light hell, but also from the fear. I close my eyes, open them again Stephen I can’t see, I will watch the screen unless you open them. They wont vanish if you close your eyes. You wont suddenly be free. While they prepare you. Prepared to be crucified.I feel sick. Even thinking the word crucifixion makes me want to vomit. The fear a stone weight in my guts. My arm tense where they have jabbed my arm. Injected me. I will sue for that. Crucified. A sickening wave of panic washes over me, what am I going to do? Can’t go to the cross. Just can’t. Does not happen, not to people like me, it’s for the plebs and the scum. Jesus spare me I can’t face it! Tortured to death.
To die like that….
To die like that….
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV-3
I lift up the glasses and the view from Stephens eyes vanish to be replaced by my own room. I see Stephen on the screen. He is thin but not scrawny. Slender but his smooth chest has a hint of muscle. His stomach is flat and a trail of hair leads from his navel to the crinkled band of his silk boxers. A nearly good-looking lad but bland. To well groomed. They drive him forward while they shove the huge, squat figure of Mariuz Venshu into the antechamber. You can tell by the nervy body language of the crow like troopers that they are in awe of his powerful looking stocky frame. He seems calm. Does he truly understand what is to happen to him? He reacts when he sees the syringe but even then does not fight, does not panic. He is not exactly handsome but he has a manly power about him. Rugged. His beard hides his features; this muscular legs emerge from grey prison shorts. The syringe is slid into the muscle of his bare left arm. It punctures the skin. His eyes blink but this is the only reaction. Stoic he stands rocklike as the guards strip his torso. His prison vest designed to come away with Velcro fastening for quick and easy removal. They open the vest at his broad shoulders. Obey the State. He stares ahead as his chest is exposed to the cool air. His chest is broad and meaty, fat over muscle. His belly rounded but not flabby. He is tanned and covered in course body hair that covers his belly and chest. Black against the tanned skin. His meaty arms are cuffed behind his back. His crotch bulges even before the viagra is injected into his body. He looks over his shoulder before they shove him forwards towards the prison van. His ident lights up as the injection links his nervous system into the hyperlink.
I continue to drink in the father’s grief while slip off the specs and look at the screens. Adamsi is looking about, is dark eyes wide with confusion and fear. His long hair swishing across his back. Is he looking for his father? Looking for comfort?
He to wears a prison vest and shorts. He is looks like his father but lacks the bulk, the power, a graceful simulacra. The guards enjoy shoving him about and he staggers about with his hands cuffed behind him. They produce the syringe and I see him blanch. His pale face goes white. He obviously has a phobia about injections and he starts to protest in a language I don’t understand. The troopers grab him and he struggles in their iron grip. “NO NEEDLE PLEASE!” he screams suddenly finding the words, his heavy accent exotic and attractive. He struggles but it is hopeless and he screams in terror.
I swap to Reggie as the queller blast drops Mariuz meanwhile I watch on the television as they force the phobic Adamsi against the wall so he cannot escape. Cornered. Trapped like an animal. He is so attractive and watching him struggle is so horny. His fight is for nothing and the trooper drive the needle into his arm while Adamsi wails with horror and screws up his handsome face. The trooper takes twice as long to inject the youth, deliberately I guess. The needle is eventually withdrawn as the solution is injected into his system. I see the youth visibly relax, the tension disappearing from his muscles as the needle is withdrawn. As the solution courses through his system. “Why you do this?” he gasps. His ident on the computer screen flickers into life as the injection starts to mingle with his nervous system and with a thrill of excitement I guide the curser arrow towards his troubled face…
I see the inside of the prison wagon and see the four near naked men squatting against its dark sides. Then relief as his eyes grow accustomed to the dark. His papa sits within. Squatting against the metal bars of the van. Obey the State. Relief that soon evaporates as he realises that his father is stripped like him and his hands are also cuffed behind his back. His father speaks and the words warm him. Adamsi moves to join his father ignoring the other men. He again feels a wave of inadequacy as he sees his father’s powerful frame. He squats down next to his father, arm to arm and he feels the warmth of his fathers flesh. It feels so comforting despite the agony of terror consuming him. His father kisses him. The black guy mutters but Adamsi does not care. He jumps, as the cage door is slammed shut. Guards mutter outside. Sounds of activity. The heavy breathing of my comrades in my ears. Not much room in this barred van and we all sit with our chins resting on our knees. It also helps hide the growing bulge that we are all developing in our shorts. He feels his papa’s musky warmth and strength but is a brief comfort as his papa is in the same humiliated position that he is. If his strong papa cannot overcome this terrible situation what chance does he have? His father smiles at him but it does not reach his eyes.
They pull my braces from my shoulders. Feel my neck jerk as they yank away my tie.
I sob in despair, gulping breaths as tears roll down my stubble cheeks.
Panic. Desperation. Obey the State.
They tug at the collar of my shirt buttons popping off. Black gloved hands pawing at my expensive clothes. Common scum. Filth. Think of something. Anything. This cannot be it. Cannot be going to the cross.
Shamed by being sentenced to the cross, the most disgusting, low, evil, verminous death, they think I am the lowest of the low; the degrading ignominy of this burns my soul. I have always being a proud man, a rich man, the knowledge that people I know will see me, enemies and worse friends will know, will watch my struggles and my agony my crime displayed on the screen. They will watch in the wine bars. Drinking as I squirm on my cross. Raising champagne in mock salute as I suffer. Fuck this cannot be real!
They strip down my shirt to the cuffs that bind my wrists. Cufflinks torn away. The gold stolen by thuggish troopers. My thin chest narrow and pale under the electric light. I will be naked. In public. My poor parents the shame will kill them. I want my mum; I am so scared of the nails.
With no way to hide myself, the State displaying my hard inferiority, wanting to make my death as heinous and dishonourable as possible. Jesus no. The shame is just too great. Cold air on my chest, nipples hard.
I fear the soldiers; they are rough, brutal, and the lowest the military can produce,
They will show no mercy, no respect, No concern for any frailty,
Their duty, their mission is to humiliate, to torture and to kill me,
Black clad devils. Nausea grips me again.
Those men will strip me, bollock naked, spike me to the cross, and stick the rod up my ass. The seat of shame.
Unable to defend my vulnerable, exposed body.
Oh no please no!
They are pulling off my trousers, exposing my beautiful blue silk boxers to the world.
Silk, the luxury seems absurd in such an environment as this.
Shoved forward. Will not resist. Won’t give them an excuse to hurt me more. Help me. Please help me this cannot be it. Cannot be how it ends.
I see the doors of the van open and the gloom inside approaches.
I sob in despair, gulping breaths as tears roll down my stubble cheeks.
Panic. Desperation. Obey the State.
They tug at the collar of my shirt buttons popping off. Black gloved hands pawing at my expensive clothes. Common scum. Filth. Think of something. Anything. This cannot be it. Cannot be going to the cross.
Shamed by being sentenced to the cross, the most disgusting, low, evil, verminous death, they think I am the lowest of the low; the degrading ignominy of this burns my soul. I have always being a proud man, a rich man, the knowledge that people I know will see me, enemies and worse friends will know, will watch my struggles and my agony my crime displayed on the screen. They will watch in the wine bars. Drinking as I squirm on my cross. Raising champagne in mock salute as I suffer. Fuck this cannot be real!
They strip down my shirt to the cuffs that bind my wrists. Cufflinks torn away. The gold stolen by thuggish troopers. My thin chest narrow and pale under the electric light. I will be naked. In public. My poor parents the shame will kill them. I want my mum; I am so scared of the nails.
With no way to hide myself, the State displaying my hard inferiority, wanting to make my death as heinous and dishonourable as possible. Jesus no. The shame is just too great. Cold air on my chest, nipples hard.
I fear the soldiers; they are rough, brutal, and the lowest the military can produce,
They will show no mercy, no respect, No concern for any frailty,
Their duty, their mission is to humiliate, to torture and to kill me,
Black clad devils. Nausea grips me again.
Those men will strip me, bollock naked, spike me to the cross, and stick the rod up my ass. The seat of shame.
Unable to defend my vulnerable, exposed body.
Oh no please no!
They are pulling off my trousers, exposing my beautiful blue silk boxers to the world.
Silk, the luxury seems absurd in such an environment as this.
Shoved forward. Will not resist. Won’t give them an excuse to hurt me more. Help me. Please help me this cannot be it. Cannot be how it ends.
I see the doors of the van open and the gloom inside approaches.
I lift up the glasses and the view from Stephens eyes vanish to be replaced by my own room. I see Stephen on the screen. He is thin but not scrawny. Slender but his smooth chest has a hint of muscle. His stomach is flat and a trail of hair leads from his navel to the crinkled band of his silk boxers. A nearly good-looking lad but bland. To well groomed. They drive him forward while they shove the huge, squat figure of Mariuz Venshu into the antechamber. You can tell by the nervy body language of the crow like troopers that they are in awe of his powerful looking stocky frame. He seems calm. Does he truly understand what is to happen to him? He reacts when he sees the syringe but even then does not fight, does not panic. He is not exactly handsome but he has a manly power about him. Rugged. His beard hides his features; this muscular legs emerge from grey prison shorts. The syringe is slid into the muscle of his bare left arm. It punctures the skin. His eyes blink but this is the only reaction. Stoic he stands rocklike as the guards strip his torso. His prison vest designed to come away with Velcro fastening for quick and easy removal. They open the vest at his broad shoulders. Obey the State. He stares ahead as his chest is exposed to the cool air. His chest is broad and meaty, fat over muscle. His belly rounded but not flabby. He is tanned and covered in course body hair that covers his belly and chest. Black against the tanned skin. His meaty arms are cuffed behind his back. His crotch bulges even before the viagra is injected into his body. He looks over his shoulder before they shove him forwards towards the prison van. His ident lights up as the injection links his nervous system into the hyperlink.
Mariuz
This feels different. The language barrier? I sense his frustration. I feel his resigned horror. He is horrified and sickened and… grieving?
That’s the emotion, grief. Not for himself. Another.
He is looking for someone, he looks over his shoulder as he enters the van and see’s Adamsi being forced into the room and emotion explodes through him. My heart misses a beat as the wave of passion is channelled into me. Mariuz heart breaks as love, horror and grief impales the big man like a dagger of ice.
Adamsi is his son. I know this. I just feel it. This man will be crucified with his son and the big man is distraught at the thought. He is being brave for his son, I just know this now. Another emotion.
Guilt.
I feel the horror of responsibility. This is his fault. He has led his son to his doom.
The torment of emotion is so powerful I am overwhelmed.
Stephen.
Another man, some foreigner being forced into this stinking prisons van. Big hairy bastard, so fucking humiliating being associated with these proles…
That’s the emotion, grief. Not for himself. Another.
He is looking for someone, he looks over his shoulder as he enters the van and see’s Adamsi being forced into the room and emotion explodes through him. My heart misses a beat as the wave of passion is channelled into me. Mariuz heart breaks as love, horror and grief impales the big man like a dagger of ice.
Adamsi is his son. I know this. I just feel it. This man will be crucified with his son and the big man is distraught at the thought. He is being brave for his son, I just know this now. Another emotion.
Guilt.
I feel the horror of responsibility. This is his fault. He has led his son to his doom.
The torment of emotion is so powerful I am overwhelmed.
Stephen.
Another man, some foreigner being forced into this stinking prisons van. Big hairy bastard, so fucking humiliating being associated with these proles…
Mariuz
I see into the van, see three men already there; they look at me with haunted eyes. One tattooed and ill, another black and strong a third thin and revolted. He is concentrating on these comrades in suffering, distracting himself from the fact that his son, his flesh, is going to die, to be tortured to death and that there is nothing he can do about it. No way to save his son. I feel the cold metal bars at the wall of the van press against my naked back as he squats down. He nods to his fellow prisoners. They look back with horror filled eyes. The tattooed man tries to smile, he looks ill, the black man nods back, the skinny man just closes his eyes. Grief and guilt.
I continue to drink in the father’s grief while slip off the specs and look at the screens. Adamsi is looking about, is dark eyes wide with confusion and fear. His long hair swishing across his back. Is he looking for his father? Looking for comfort?
He to wears a prison vest and shorts. He is looks like his father but lacks the bulk, the power, a graceful simulacra. The guards enjoy shoving him about and he staggers about with his hands cuffed behind him. They produce the syringe and I see him blanch. His pale face goes white. He obviously has a phobia about injections and he starts to protest in a language I don’t understand. The troopers grab him and he struggles in their iron grip. “NO NEEDLE PLEASE!” he screams suddenly finding the words, his heavy accent exotic and attractive. He struggles but it is hopeless and he screams in terror.
Mariuz
I feel the father’s fury as he hears his boy’s cries. The screams rip like iron claws at his guts; overwhelmed with fury he scrambles over his fellow convicts, desperate to get to his boy, to comfort his son.Pain.
Sudden pain blasts him and a flash dazzles.
The pain flours him and I feel the cold metal hit my arm as I fall. A trooper has quelled him. The pain channels into me.
Too much.
Sudden pain blasts him and a flash dazzles.
The pain flours him and I feel the cold metal hit my arm as I fall. A trooper has quelled him. The pain channels into me.
Too much.
Reggie
Know how that feels. Poor bastard. Big bastard. Who is shouting? Don’t care, the longer they fight the longer it will take for them to crucify us, god I need a smoke…
I swap to Reggie as the queller blast drops Mariuz meanwhile I watch on the television as they force the phobic Adamsi against the wall so he cannot escape. Cornered. Trapped like an animal. He is so attractive and watching him struggle is so horny. His fight is for nothing and the trooper drive the needle into his arm while Adamsi wails with horror and screws up his handsome face. The trooper takes twice as long to inject the youth, deliberately I guess. The needle is eventually withdrawn as the solution is injected into his system. I see the youth visibly relax, the tension disappearing from his muscles as the needle is withdrawn. As the solution courses through his system. “Why you do this?” he gasps. His ident on the computer screen flickers into life as the injection starts to mingle with his nervous system and with a thrill of excitement I guide the curser arrow towards his troubled face…
Adamsi
Foreboding. A great sense of fear and foreboding. Can’t see or hear yet as he has not fully come on line. But I can feel. Feel the lad’s terror and confusion. He thinks something terrible is going to happen, knows it is bad. Why? He has worked hard. Honoured his papa. Not done wrong. His English is better than his father so the clues are better, the impressions are stronger. He is so confused. No real trial but automatic verdict. Resentment. Foreboding and resentment. They used a word, crucifixion? He does not understand but he has a terrible suspicion. This country does terrible things. It has a dislike for the unlike. His vision blurs into life and you can understand Adamsi’s sense of anticipation, the faceless black clad guards loom over him. Like his father he his well built but short. Cold-gloved hands reach for the shoulders of his vest and unfasten the Velcro fastenings. The cool air brushes across his exposed chest as they strip it away. I feel his awkwardness, he looks down his torso, and he feels so inadequate compared to his papa. His shoulders are broad and his body slender and there is a hint of developing muscle under the pale flesh. A ghost mushroom of body hair runs up from his rough grey shorts and across his chest. He is lovely and yet feels so negative about himself; he feels such a weakling compared to the manly bulk that is his father. I feel the long ponytail brush the naked flesh of my back. He dreads being pulled by the hair. He shivers in the cold and the same thrill runs through me. He feels a flush of shame as he feels blood slowly start to creep into his cock, not realising the drug at work in his system. A gnawing wave of humiliation. They push him forward and he is relieved that they are leaving his shorts in place. He plods forward and again I feel the odd sensation of walking in another mans legs. Walking and yet not moving in reality.I see the inside of the prison wagon and see the four near naked men squatting against its dark sides. Then relief as his eyes grow accustomed to the dark. His papa sits within. Squatting against the metal bars of the van. Obey the State. Relief that soon evaporates as he realises that his father is stripped like him and his hands are also cuffed behind his back. His father speaks and the words warm him. Adamsi moves to join his father ignoring the other men. He again feels a wave of inadequacy as he sees his father’s powerful frame. He squats down next to his father, arm to arm and he feels the warmth of his fathers flesh. It feels so comforting despite the agony of terror consuming him. His father kisses him. The black guy mutters but Adamsi does not care. He jumps, as the cage door is slammed shut. Guards mutter outside. Sounds of activity. The heavy breathing of my comrades in my ears. Not much room in this barred van and we all sit with our chins resting on our knees. It also helps hide the growing bulge that we are all developing in our shorts. He feels his papa’s musky warmth and strength but is a brief comfort as his papa is in the same humiliated position that he is. If his strong papa cannot overcome this terrible situation what chance does he have? His father smiles at him but it does not reach his eyes.
crassuswild
Magistrate
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV-4
Mariuz
He is looking at his son. His son becoming a man. His muscles developing, mans hair on his chin and chest. His heart is breaking. His son so full of future about to die before his eyes. His succession, his bloodline ending before him. He had tried to save him, tried to get away when he discovered that the authorities were moving in. found themselves arrested at the airport and strip searched, denied the ambassador the trial was a farce, a fat brigadier behind a desk shouting. What where you even charged with? He knew had realised it had gone badly when instead of release they were dragged, cuffed, into the humid, stinking cells under the courts. Calling through the cell wall to your son. No one spoke your language, alone and terrified unable to believe that this has happened. Finally they come for you, drag you from the cell, guns in your face, and whips in their hands, a truck waits. They force you inside, not easy with your hands cuffed, your shorts sweat-soaked sticking to your body, cock starting to stir, the truck is packed with men, locals, some beaten, all scared looking, crushing together they make room for you. The truck doors are slammed shut.
Horror. Be strong. Be strong for his son.
Noise the van starting.
Reggie
Fuck man this is it. The van starting up. We are moving out. Fuck man this is real. They are gonna fucking crucify me. This can't be fucking happening man!
The TV commentator starts to burble about the nature of justice and the power of The State. I turn the sound down it is to distracting and I have heard it all before. I can hear all I want through the ears of the condemned. The death truck starts to move out. I swap from the short-sighted Reggie.
I bury my face in my knees as if this will create a barrier that will defend me from the horrific realities of the future. Obey the State. The van lurches, I feel seasick. I look over my bony shoulder through the cage. We are moving through the compound. Towards the gates, towards the outside. Towards the cross. Towards death.
Bugger got to pee!
I remove my specs and my flat snaps back before me, but I keep the disk on my neck keep the plugs in my ears. I feel really nauseous. It’s too much living in a junkie and I click the screen. I pick Stephen at random I think about swapping but my bladder is getting uncomfortably full. And I am so scared of the nails. My stomach lurches with the van as I pad across the room towards the bathroom. They will nail me! Oh Jesus please don’t let them nail me, please no. I look at myself in the mottled bathroom mirror and am almost surprised to see me, my pale thin body standing rather than squatting in a truck. It’s cool but not cold, a dry day in September and I shiver in my shorts, is this really the last time I will be outside? The last time I will see the sun? Feel the breeze on my naked back I turn to the toilet and lift the seat sniffing, needs spot of bleach methinks! Iron spikes driven in breaking flesh, I thumb my cock from my trunks, I am hard. Stabbing, forcing apart muscle, Splintering bone, grinding against nerves, NO God no please, my cock hard the urine sprays out, directionless. Eyes watching me, watching me as we leave the gates. NOISE so much bloody noise. A siren announcing our presence the roar of the ghouls at the gates. Shit the sudden explosion of sound in my ears makes me jump and I spray piss over the bowl and wall. Splats onto the floor. Shit. I feel the bodies of my fellow convicts bouncing against me as we hit potholes as I stand-alone. Oh gods they will ram a fucking rod between my legs, to impale my ass on it, PLEASE don’t let them ram the dildo between my legs, to let me sit, to rape me before my friends and family, oh please not that. Let me die before the impaling, before the nailing please! Voices shouting at me. Calling at us. All the voices abuse mixing together. I rip off some sheets of bog role and dab up the piss. Distracted my Stephens fears. “Lee! Lee be brave don’t shame us!” “Lee I love you!” some slut calling to the junkie. Some peroxide tart, some council houses whore. He looks up, fuck his eyes are red. He smiles and for a moment the wreck looks almost boyish until he shudders. Fuck drive more slowly I don’t want to get their, to the studios. I shake the drips off my cock and work my inches a little. I feel the throb and stop not wanting to cum. I tuck myself away and flush. The water pipes groan and hum. They always do. I return to the living room. See the TV the hunched prisoners squatting in the can as the van trundles through the crowded streets sirens blaring! Kids yelling cheerful abuse. Drunks laughing. Dads pointing out interesting facts to arm held toddlers. Most of the noise mingles in Stephens’s ears, drowned by sirens and the lorry engine. “Ready for the nails?” “Going to hurt man!” “Ready to get them out for the girls” “scum!” “Wankers” “ready to ride the rod!” Shit, fucking bastards what was that? Egg a fucking egg. Little bastards, just leave us alone. I watch children chucking eggs at the huddled condemned. They explode against the metal bars. They do a little victory dance. Armed soldiers order them away. I refill my glass and drink the wine. I am aware that Stephen is thirsty, it makes the wine taste all the better. Oh my god that’s it, that’s the place, the studio, shit no! My lawyer must be doing something, he must be! Back at the computer as the van slows and troopers check the drivers details. I feel Stephens panic level rise. His heart is pounding; a trickle of sweat stings his eyes. His desire to flee is overwhelming. I slip on the specs and
Mariuz
He is looking at his son. His son becoming a man. His muscles developing, mans hair on his chin and chest. His heart is breaking. His son so full of future about to die before his eyes. His succession, his bloodline ending before him. He had tried to save him, tried to get away when he discovered that the authorities were moving in. found themselves arrested at the airport and strip searched, denied the ambassador the trial was a farce, a fat brigadier behind a desk shouting. What where you even charged with? He knew had realised it had gone badly when instead of release they were dragged, cuffed, into the humid, stinking cells under the courts. Calling through the cell wall to your son. No one spoke your language, alone and terrified unable to believe that this has happened. Finally they come for you, drag you from the cell, guns in your face, and whips in their hands, a truck waits. They force you inside, not easy with your hands cuffed, your shorts sweat-soaked sticking to your body, cock starting to stir, the truck is packed with men, locals, some beaten, all scared looking, crushing together they make room for you. The truck doors are slammed shut.
Horror. Be strong. Be strong for his son.
Noise the van starting.
Reggie
Fuck man this is it. The van starting up. We are moving out. Fuck man this is real. They are gonna fucking crucify me. This can't be fucking happening man!
The TV commentator starts to burble about the nature of justice and the power of The State. I turn the sound down it is to distracting and I have heard it all before. I can hear all I want through the ears of the condemned. The death truck starts to move out. I swap from the short-sighted Reggie.
Lee
Sudden light. It hurts my eyes. So bright as the caged van emerges from its cold metal sheath and into the outside. Feel terrible. Need a fix so bad now. Shivering. They will think its fear not rattles. It is fear. Please god don’t let this happen. The prison cage has metal bars and mesh so the public can see us. The prisoner always sits with their backs to the grill, heads buried in their knees. I know why now. It’s so shaming. Got the cramps real bad. In public, seen by all. Who will I see?
Will they just stare or shout abuse, mock my fate or my skinny body? Throw eggs or shit? Cold fear shudders through me worse than the cold turkey.
Will I travel in silence or call to my tormentors, beg for help, plead for water….
Will they just stare or shout abuse, mock my fate or my skinny body? Throw eggs or shit? Cold fear shudders through me worse than the cold turkey.
Will I travel in silence or call to my tormentors, beg for help, plead for water….
I bury my face in my knees as if this will create a barrier that will defend me from the horrific realities of the future. Obey the State. The van lurches, I feel seasick. I look over my bony shoulder through the cage. We are moving through the compound. Towards the gates, towards the outside. Towards the cross. Towards death.
Bugger got to pee!
I remove my specs and my flat snaps back before me, but I keep the disk on my neck keep the plugs in my ears. I feel really nauseous. It’s too much living in a junkie and I click the screen. I pick Stephen at random I think about swapping but my bladder is getting uncomfortably full. And I am so scared of the nails. My stomach lurches with the van as I pad across the room towards the bathroom. They will nail me! Oh Jesus please don’t let them nail me, please no. I look at myself in the mottled bathroom mirror and am almost surprised to see me, my pale thin body standing rather than squatting in a truck. It’s cool but not cold, a dry day in September and I shiver in my shorts, is this really the last time I will be outside? The last time I will see the sun? Feel the breeze on my naked back I turn to the toilet and lift the seat sniffing, needs spot of bleach methinks! Iron spikes driven in breaking flesh, I thumb my cock from my trunks, I am hard. Stabbing, forcing apart muscle, Splintering bone, grinding against nerves, NO God no please, my cock hard the urine sprays out, directionless. Eyes watching me, watching me as we leave the gates. NOISE so much bloody noise. A siren announcing our presence the roar of the ghouls at the gates. Shit the sudden explosion of sound in my ears makes me jump and I spray piss over the bowl and wall. Splats onto the floor. Shit. I feel the bodies of my fellow convicts bouncing against me as we hit potholes as I stand-alone. Oh gods they will ram a fucking rod between my legs, to impale my ass on it, PLEASE don’t let them ram the dildo between my legs, to let me sit, to rape me before my friends and family, oh please not that. Let me die before the impaling, before the nailing please! Voices shouting at me. Calling at us. All the voices abuse mixing together. I rip off some sheets of bog role and dab up the piss. Distracted my Stephens fears. “Lee! Lee be brave don’t shame us!” “Lee I love you!” some slut calling to the junkie. Some peroxide tart, some council houses whore. He looks up, fuck his eyes are red. He smiles and for a moment the wreck looks almost boyish until he shudders. Fuck drive more slowly I don’t want to get their, to the studios. I shake the drips off my cock and work my inches a little. I feel the throb and stop not wanting to cum. I tuck myself away and flush. The water pipes groan and hum. They always do. I return to the living room. See the TV the hunched prisoners squatting in the can as the van trundles through the crowded streets sirens blaring! Kids yelling cheerful abuse. Drunks laughing. Dads pointing out interesting facts to arm held toddlers. Most of the noise mingles in Stephens’s ears, drowned by sirens and the lorry engine. “Ready for the nails?” “Going to hurt man!” “Ready to get them out for the girls” “scum!” “Wankers” “ready to ride the rod!” Shit, fucking bastards what was that? Egg a fucking egg. Little bastards, just leave us alone. I watch children chucking eggs at the huddled condemned. They explode against the metal bars. They do a little victory dance. Armed soldiers order them away. I refill my glass and drink the wine. I am aware that Stephen is thirsty, it makes the wine taste all the better. Oh my god that’s it, that’s the place, the studio, shit no! My lawyer must be doing something, he must be! Back at the computer as the van slows and troopers check the drivers details. I feel Stephens panic level rise. His heart is pounding; a trickle of sweat stings his eyes. His desire to flee is overwhelming. I slip on the specs and
Adamsi
Dread. The van is stopping. A huge building ahead. A door the size of the van clangs open. Guard’s rush around, people with clipboards. An air of people going about urgent business. Adamsi senses the nerves of the others, their naked chests raising and falling with nervous breaths, sweat glistening on their skin. He nudges into the comforting bulk of his father. His father smiles at him. His papa’s wonderful smile. But you can see the tension that runs through his papa, his muscles flexing and tensing, his eyes narrow. The truck slowly starts to role forward. The outside world disappears forever. A sudden heat. A sudden brightness. Studio lights. Cables. Cameras. People talking into headphones filled with self-importance. He hears the man in blue silk shorts groan. The black guy mutters, part oath part curse.
Then he sees them.
Flat on the white tiles studio floor.
Six crosses.
Black and evil.
Hydraulic hinges at their bases.
Metal core up the stipes, intermittent holes run up its length.
Obey the State.
Blood stained. Spike holes along the arms. Footrests at each side. Wrist cuffs secured by bolts.
Crosses.
Waiting.
Sick. Adamsi feels sick.
Now he knows, without any doubt, he is to be crucified.
He and his papa are to be crucified.
“Oh fuck man”
Oh no please no”
They others struggle against their cuffs.
This is bad real bad. I feel a wave of horror and revulsion.
He hates the smell, wonder what it smells of?
Crucifixion.
Going to be crucified.
Going to die.
To young to die!
Please help me, save me, god help me please!
Cuffed hands clasp the bars. Not moving, not doing that to me.
Then he sees them.
Flat on the white tiles studio floor.
Six crosses.
Black and evil.
Hydraulic hinges at their bases.
Metal core up the stipes, intermittent holes run up its length.
Obey the State.
Blood stained. Spike holes along the arms. Footrests at each side. Wrist cuffs secured by bolts.
Crosses.
Waiting.
Sick. Adamsi feels sick.
Now he knows, without any doubt, he is to be crucified.
He and his papa are to be crucified.
“Oh fuck man”
Oh no please no”
They others struggle against their cuffs.
This is bad real bad. I feel a wave of horror and revulsion.
He hates the smell, wonder what it smells of?
Crucifixion.
Going to be crucified.
Going to die.
To young to die!
Please help me, save me, god help me please!
Cuffed hands clasp the bars. Not moving, not doing that to me.
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV -5
Obey the State. Electric on cage to drive out.
Panic and pain. They have electrified the metal of the cage. Painful. Feel the jarring nerve burning wave of pain. Panic. Must escape have to get away. Escape the pain’ have to get out. Maruiz pushes himself up with his powerful legs. He is aware of the other condemned doing the same all crushing for the exit from the van. Has to get away from this electric torture. Anything to get out. Treading over limbs. Sweating bodies rubbing together as all try to escape this sudden jolting burn. Sweating bodies tangle. The cries of men in panic and pain. Using his powerful shoulders to push out. Shoves them aside in panic and leaps from the truck.
Relief. Sudden relief as Mariuz exits the van and I feel a cold thud as he crashes to the dirty white tiles studio floor a shiver as the new cold runs through him.
Guilt.
Horrific guilt as he realises one of those men he shoved aside was his own son.
Rushed out and left his son in that agonizing cage.
Shivering from the cold and the terror.
I remove the specs; all I can see is bright lights in the gantry or tiles on the floor. So I remove the spectacles and Adamsi’s view of his terrible world vanish. I see the stars of the show, bright on the TV screen. Five men shuddering on the studio floor, shivering as they recover from the electric jolt used to drive them from the cage and into the jaws of death. The crucifixion studio. Once used for drama, comedy and currant affairs, now used for punishment, pain and death. The studio is simple. Grey/white tiles on the floor and wall, the only splash of colour the black, azure and crimson State flag studied in mosaic on the cyclorama. Six black crosses on the ground waiting for today’s victims. Five soon to be raised with their struggling victims for our delight and education. I have seen this sight many times. I never miss the crucifixions. Even if I am working I download the highlights. To see that days victims. To see what they look like, to admire or despise their bodies. To see how they react in the face of terrible death. Each crucifixion different and yet the same. The subtle difference that each crucified brings to the cross, the differences that make it so fascinating, subtleties of bravery, strength, and stoicism. Desperation, pleading and agony. Tonight will be different. Tonight I can get into the victims, share the experience. Get as close to the cross as I ever really want to in reality. A black crow like figure appears. Today’s priest. It’s the fat one. I wish he would go on the link. I would love to know how it feels as he theatrically crosses the air over the trembling victims. How he feels giving scant comfort to those he is about to send the same death his god suffered. I like this priest; he plays up to the camera. How does he feel looking down on the near naked trembling victims on their knees before him, their cock viagra hard in their shorts? Eyes wide in terror. Does he feel pity or contempt? Does he feel like they deserve their fate for breaking State law? His face is hard and cold. I cannot imagine getting much comfort from this black clad cleric a crucifix about his neck, its crucified image an unsubtle reminder of the horrors to come. I feel Adamsi’s desperate needing for faith, for comfort, for forgiveness, to know that their will be something better in the next life. But secretly doubting. He will die like his god; Christ must take pity on him. But terrible people have died on the cross; the act of crucifixion cannot guarantee a place in heaven. While the priest mutters his incantations black clad anonymous soldiers advance silently into the studio. Adamsi senses their presence but tries to focus on the priest, on the redemptive words of god. Tries to focus on anything but the black crosses that are stark on the white tiled floor.
Crosses that are waiting to end his life.
The names and crimes of the convicted run across the bottom of the screen and I guess that the commentator is burbling on in his usual self-righteous way. Dull stuff full of worthy justice and state rhetoric without anything interesting about the cross or the crucified.
Adamsi feels the guards about him, feels them closing in. they are here for them. For them. Guns in hands. Quellers in hand. State troopers, crucifiers, hard, tough and professional men, brutal by even State Troopers standards. They are coming for him. For him and his father. They are intent on torturing him to death. Adamsi shudders. This is too big to him. Too much. He expects to wake up. Expects to be free of this evil place. They are AAAGH!
I jolt.
The TV screen flares with Queller energy.
I felt Adamsi’s pain, hear the cries of the others in my ears as the soldiers discharge their quelling energies into the huddle of condemned men. The wine glass has twitched in my hand as I felt the second pain. White wine running down my naked chest and soaking into my trunks. It’s cooling feel a contrast to the burning energy that runs through Adamsi’s nervous system. I see the screen each man has been blasted by a Queller at point blank range. Each man flashes in a brilliant light, appearing negative on the screen for one hundred moments before collapsing in a twitching, groaning heap, defenceless before the advancing State executioners.
Mariuz
My boy. Must be strong for my boy.
Must be strong.
My poor boy.
Will fight, show him how a man dies. Won’t kill me easy.
Wont.
Must fight, will fight. I am scared so scared but wont show. Be strong for my boy.
Gonna fight them.
What’s the smell?
Smell in the air. Describe it idiot I cannot smell it.
How do I understand him now?
Hair. I can feel my body hair start to move.
He looks down and his massive chest. The thick body hair starts to crawl. Start to stir. Confused. He remembers the smell ozone like before a storm or dodgem cars.
A storm is coming. Electric. ELECTRIC!
I jolt. I feel a wave of biting electric pain stab at Mariuz.
Pain.
Must be strong.
My poor boy.
Will fight, show him how a man dies. Won’t kill me easy.
Wont.
Must fight, will fight. I am scared so scared but wont show. Be strong for my boy.
Gonna fight them.
What’s the smell?
Smell in the air. Describe it idiot I cannot smell it.
How do I understand him now?
Hair. I can feel my body hair start to move.
He looks down and his massive chest. The thick body hair starts to crawl. Start to stir. Confused. He remembers the smell ozone like before a storm or dodgem cars.
A storm is coming. Electric. ELECTRIC!
I jolt. I feel a wave of biting electric pain stab at Mariuz.
Pain.
Obey the State. Electric on cage to drive out.
Panic and pain. They have electrified the metal of the cage. Painful. Feel the jarring nerve burning wave of pain. Panic. Must escape have to get away. Escape the pain’ have to get out. Maruiz pushes himself up with his powerful legs. He is aware of the other condemned doing the same all crushing for the exit from the van. Has to get away from this electric torture. Anything to get out. Treading over limbs. Sweating bodies rubbing together as all try to escape this sudden jolting burn. Sweating bodies tangle. The cries of men in panic and pain. Using his powerful shoulders to push out. Shoves them aside in panic and leaps from the truck.
Relief. Sudden relief as Mariuz exits the van and I feel a cold thud as he crashes to the dirty white tiles studio floor a shiver as the new cold runs through him.
Guilt.
Horrific guilt as he realises one of those men he shoved aside was his own son.
Rushed out and left his son in that agonizing cage.
Lee
Fire! I am fucking on fire gotta get out gotta get out.
Reggie
Fucking hurts. Fight it FIGHT IT! Let it kill me. Electric better than the cross must be! Stay in the van boy stay in the van! Hurts! Hurts bad. Thrashing around. Trying to keep of the metal. Not possible. It’s getting worse. Too much. Too much gotta get out have to. I feel the powerful man launch himself at the door. Limbs jerking. Must get away from this pain.Pain vanishes momentarily as I, err he leaps from the van.
Then a thud as his muscular body slams into the shockingly cold studio floor. Bad knee stabs with pain in impact. Black skin on white tiles.
Cold points into the back of his head. He knows the feeling. It is a gun.
Then a thud as his muscular body slams into the shockingly cold studio floor. Bad knee stabs with pain in impact. Black skin on white tiles.
Cold points into the back of his head. He knows the feeling. It is a gun.
Stephen
Bastards. Throwing me back, shoving me aside. The strong hurting the weak. This is not right. I am not the weak. I am better than them. Richer. This is not right. This is not fair. Fuck the crosses are there. Over there! Where is my fucking lawyer? Where are my family? Where is anyone? Help me please….
Adamsi
Betrayal. He pushed me! Papa shoved me aside. He wanted to get away from the pain and he pushed me. Naked shoulder slamming chest. How could he!
Cold now. Cold upon the hard tiles. Stench of hospitals but this is no hospital.
So that’s the stink, thanks Adamski-baby!
Cold now. Cold upon the hard tiles. Stench of hospitals but this is no hospital.
So that’s the stink, thanks Adamski-baby!
Shivering from the cold and the terror.
Cold on the tiles. Hot on the other side from the studio lights.
Cold spot where the gun pokes into my head.
Cold spot where the gun pokes into my head.
I remove the specs; all I can see is bright lights in the gantry or tiles on the floor. So I remove the spectacles and Adamsi’s view of his terrible world vanish. I see the stars of the show, bright on the TV screen. Five men shuddering on the studio floor, shivering as they recover from the electric jolt used to drive them from the cage and into the jaws of death. The crucifixion studio. Once used for drama, comedy and currant affairs, now used for punishment, pain and death. The studio is simple. Grey/white tiles on the floor and wall, the only splash of colour the black, azure and crimson State flag studied in mosaic on the cyclorama. Six black crosses on the ground waiting for today’s victims. Five soon to be raised with their struggling victims for our delight and education. I have seen this sight many times. I never miss the crucifixions. Even if I am working I download the highlights. To see that days victims. To see what they look like, to admire or despise their bodies. To see how they react in the face of terrible death. Each crucifixion different and yet the same. The subtle difference that each crucified brings to the cross, the differences that make it so fascinating, subtleties of bravery, strength, and stoicism. Desperation, pleading and agony. Tonight will be different. Tonight I can get into the victims, share the experience. Get as close to the cross as I ever really want to in reality. A black crow like figure appears. Today’s priest. It’s the fat one. I wish he would go on the link. I would love to know how it feels as he theatrically crosses the air over the trembling victims. How he feels giving scant comfort to those he is about to send the same death his god suffered. I like this priest; he plays up to the camera. How does he feel looking down on the near naked trembling victims on their knees before him, their cock viagra hard in their shorts? Eyes wide in terror. Does he feel pity or contempt? Does he feel like they deserve their fate for breaking State law? His face is hard and cold. I cannot imagine getting much comfort from this black clad cleric a crucifix about his neck, its crucified image an unsubtle reminder of the horrors to come. I feel Adamsi’s desperate needing for faith, for comfort, for forgiveness, to know that their will be something better in the next life. But secretly doubting. He will die like his god; Christ must take pity on him. But terrible people have died on the cross; the act of crucifixion cannot guarantee a place in heaven. While the priest mutters his incantations black clad anonymous soldiers advance silently into the studio. Adamsi senses their presence but tries to focus on the priest, on the redemptive words of god. Tries to focus on anything but the black crosses that are stark on the white tiled floor.
Crosses that are waiting to end his life.
The names and crimes of the convicted run across the bottom of the screen and I guess that the commentator is burbling on in his usual self-righteous way. Dull stuff full of worthy justice and state rhetoric without anything interesting about the cross or the crucified.
Adamsi feels the guards about him, feels them closing in. they are here for them. For them. Guns in hands. Quellers in hand. State troopers, crucifiers, hard, tough and professional men, brutal by even State Troopers standards. They are coming for him. For him and his father. They are intent on torturing him to death. Adamsi shudders. This is too big to him. Too much. He expects to wake up. Expects to be free of this evil place. They are AAAGH!
I jolt.
The TV screen flares with Queller energy.
I felt Adamsi’s pain, hear the cries of the others in my ears as the soldiers discharge their quelling energies into the huddle of condemned men. The wine glass has twitched in my hand as I felt the second pain. White wine running down my naked chest and soaking into my trunks. It’s cooling feel a contrast to the burning energy that runs through Adamsi’s nervous system. I see the screen each man has been blasted by a Queller at point blank range. Each man flashes in a brilliant light, appearing negative on the screen for one hundred moments before collapsing in a twitching, groaning heap, defenceless before the advancing State executioners.
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV- 6
Heels skidding on the tiles. Drain holes set in the floor, ready for our blood and filth to drain away. Dragged by arms and shoulders, fingers digging into skin,
I see the men on the screen dazed by the quell blast being dragged towards the black crosses that await them. Ready to be crucified. I feel the gnawing ache in Stephens’s limbs but the thump of my heart thudding in my chest is a result of my own excitement.
I feel the cross as they drop me I mean Stephen onto it. Feel the cross on my bare back. It is cold. Wood and metal. Stephen wretches at the smell. I don’t wonder.
I watch on the screen as each man, hardly able to struggle is dragged to a waiting cross, strange seeing Stephen struggle on the screen and yet feel what he feels, see what he sees, hear the groans of his fellow victims as they try to form words, try to get their jaws working properly again. I slip my specs back on; I want to experience this as he does.
I wince as the studio lights flare into my eyes as I start to see as Stephen sees. Cuffs opened. My arms falling away, pins and needles explode in my new freed. I try to get up, try to get away but I as so quelled. I can feel them dragging out my arms. Stop it please. My arms along the arms of the cross. I look about see the soldiers over me, all anonymous in the back goggled uniforms. I look down my body. My body so pale under the harsh studio lights. My chest rising and falling as I gasp for air, in panic and pain. My blue shorts obscenely pointed, the silk fabric my last shred of dignity. Troopers holding my bony ankles at the end of my hairy legs. Forcing my feet towards the inch wide foot rests that wait on each side on the base of my cross.
His cross.
Looking about in desperation. Looking for any hope. Any chance for escape. His lawyer bursting into the studio waving a pardon in victory. Nothing. He sees to his left side between the legs of his executioners the powerful black guy being forced down to his cross, his powerful, defined muscles useless as they force him down. He turns and we look at each other. I see the pain and humiliation in his wide eyes. He turns away and continues to hurl slurred abuse at his tormentors. Looking right I see the big hairy man being forced to his cross. He is looking at the young man, nothing else is important to him. No comforting glance at his other comrade in crucifixion.
I feel slighted.
Strange.
His big muscles remain unflexed as they force his arms out along the crosspiece.
His huge hairy belly shudders as they roughly force him into position.
Cold about my wrists, cold about my ankles.
Straps.
The straps that will hold me to the cross during the first stage of my crucifixion.
NO!
THIS CANNOT BE!
Real horror and panic floods through my host now. This is really going to happen. He is truly going to die.
Die on a State cross.
The panic is all consuming now. The straps are bonded polycarbide. Once they are tied they cannot be broken without the correct molecular key. Once they have you on the cross then there is no escape. Everyone knows that even the most stupid retard scum. The straps tighten about my wrists and ankles. I feel a shudder of horror as the clammy straps bind me and the troopers release their grips. I am on this filthy thing. On my cross, eyes blinking into the studio lights. Legs slight apart and ankles strapped to each side of the trunk of the cross, the soles of my feet resting on the cool metal foot rests, narrow and unbending, the point in my boxers a mockery for all to see, stretched out arms along the arms of the cross. I am on my cross. How did it happen? Cruelly the feeling starts to return to my quelled limbs ready to accept all the torments the cross will inflict onto me.
Reggie
I am on the cross fuck man they got me got me on the cross. I feel him pulling at his bonds trying to pull away from his wrist and ankle straps even though he knows it is futile, he will fight this cross now his strength has returned he will fight it, he will struggle and fight even though now he is on the cross he knows it is pointless but he is desperate and full of rage. I see his sculpted muscles working under his beautiful dark skin as he tugs and pulls on the bonds. I feel them rub and chaff at my skin, rubbing raw as I lay on my back and struggle. Feel so trapped, so helpless. He hates being helpless. He has never been helpless.
Pain in his knee as he tugs at the straps, those powerful legs have a flaw. The hard ramrod point in his white shorts waves before my gaze as he looks at his bound legs, at the foot rests bellow.
They got me in the end.
Mariuz
He looks at his son. His boy. The youth, lays on his cross, his pale chest raises and falls as he awaits his cross to be raised. He looks up, squinting into the lights, his long, long hair fans out about the top of his cross beam. His fingers wiggle as the feeling returns, obey the State, wrists clamped in the straps. He can see under his arms, the hair, new grown that denotes is emerging into manhood, a potential never to be fulfilled, he see the bulge in his prison shorts as the viagra works on his humiliation, his legs bend slightly at the knees. His son young fresh and innocent now on a State cross, why did he bring him to this terrible place? Were things that bad at home? Yes of course they were but now we will die. My boy and me will die on these stinking State crosses. He will be strong, show these evil bastards how his people die. How they will not be bowed by petty politic and paranoia. He looks down and sees himself. He flexes his strong muscles, his ankles bound and secured to the cross. His feet so white, not tanned like the rest him, tanned from working in the sun, working for this country that is now going to slaughter him. The insolent bulge in his prison shorts, the concealed cock that spawned the lad next to him. He turns.
Adamsi is looking. His dark eyes wide, his dark eyes full of fear.
Be strong. Be brave.
I feel myself smile.
“Alright boy?” I say.
“Papa…”
“Its ok son, be brave be strong don’t let these bastards break you, remember one thing, no matter what happens, what we endure, just remember that I love you son and I am so proud of you, promise me that you will remember that”
His son nods and starts to open his mouth to speak.
“Don’t speak,” I say “save your strength”
He nods and smiles.
I know that Mariuz is not being noble but cannot face the pain of talking to his son, simply trying to spare himself the heartbreak.
I remove my specs and look at the screen the five men on the ground secured to their crosses, trapped and helpless. Lee sweating and breathing his thin chest gasping in air the agony of cold turkey worse than the suffering of the cross, for now, his black and yellow erection absurd in his silly briefs. Reggie strong and powerful struggles in his bonds, roaring out his rage. Stephen thin and smooth weeping in his disbelief. Mariuz calm and strong, his heavy body trying to relax, Adamsi, beautiful and terrified emerging into a glorious manhood he will never realise. The stars of today’s show.
I can hear the commentator through his ears. He recognises the words. Numbers. I under stand the words it is a countdown.
I turn, I mean he turns. He sees his son in profile. He too standing, legs straight the narrow foot pegs denting his soles arms now slightly bent. Trickles of sweat role down from his exposed armpit. His cock bulge pointing before him. He turns. His forehead furrowed with concentration but he tries to smile. Maruiz wants to weep, seeing his son so abused. THE WAVE OF EMOTION IS TO STRONG I feel my own stiffy droop. I don’t want this I want to feel the physical effects of the cross not the emotion. Oh dear my sons crucified boo fucking hoo!
Reggie
Cant let them take me, cannot end like this, cannot die like this, like a fag on a cross. Limbs not working black-gloved hands grabbing beautiful muscles get off, let me die fighting. Can’t die like this please…
Lee
Too much, to strong, the cold turkey and the pain of the Queller I cannot join him.
Stephen
I hurt, I really hurt. I can’t do this, I really can’t do this. Help me someone help me. They cannot get me onto one of those things. It’s a mistake. Has to be. It must be a mistake, check, ask, find out, a pardon must be on the way, my lawyer must be stopping it, this cannot be real. LISTEN TO ME! Hands onto me, strong, so strong, arms and legs to weak dragging me backwards to that thing, that cross, my cross, NO!
Heels skidding on the tiles. Drain holes set in the floor, ready for our blood and filth to drain away. Dragged by arms and shoulders, fingers digging into skin,
I see the men on the screen dazed by the quell blast being dragged towards the black crosses that await them. Ready to be crucified. I feel the gnawing ache in Stephens’s limbs but the thump of my heart thudding in my chest is a result of my own excitement.
I feel the cross as they drop me I mean Stephen onto it. Feel the cross on my bare back. It is cold. Wood and metal. Stephen wretches at the smell. I don’t wonder.
I watch on the screen as each man, hardly able to struggle is dragged to a waiting cross, strange seeing Stephen struggle on the screen and yet feel what he feels, see what he sees, hear the groans of his fellow victims as they try to form words, try to get their jaws working properly again. I slip my specs back on; I want to experience this as he does.
I wince as the studio lights flare into my eyes as I start to see as Stephen sees. Cuffs opened. My arms falling away, pins and needles explode in my new freed. I try to get up, try to get away but I as so quelled. I can feel them dragging out my arms. Stop it please. My arms along the arms of the cross. I look about see the soldiers over me, all anonymous in the back goggled uniforms. I look down my body. My body so pale under the harsh studio lights. My chest rising and falling as I gasp for air, in panic and pain. My blue shorts obscenely pointed, the silk fabric my last shred of dignity. Troopers holding my bony ankles at the end of my hairy legs. Forcing my feet towards the inch wide foot rests that wait on each side on the base of my cross.
His cross.
Looking about in desperation. Looking for any hope. Any chance for escape. His lawyer bursting into the studio waving a pardon in victory. Nothing. He sees to his left side between the legs of his executioners the powerful black guy being forced down to his cross, his powerful, defined muscles useless as they force him down. He turns and we look at each other. I see the pain and humiliation in his wide eyes. He turns away and continues to hurl slurred abuse at his tormentors. Looking right I see the big hairy man being forced to his cross. He is looking at the young man, nothing else is important to him. No comforting glance at his other comrade in crucifixion.
I feel slighted.
Strange.
His big muscles remain unflexed as they force his arms out along the crosspiece.
His huge hairy belly shudders as they roughly force him into position.
Cold about my wrists, cold about my ankles.
Straps.
The straps that will hold me to the cross during the first stage of my crucifixion.
NO!
THIS CANNOT BE!
Real horror and panic floods through my host now. This is really going to happen. He is truly going to die.
Die on a State cross.
The panic is all consuming now. The straps are bonded polycarbide. Once they are tied they cannot be broken without the correct molecular key. Once they have you on the cross then there is no escape. Everyone knows that even the most stupid retard scum. The straps tighten about my wrists and ankles. I feel a shudder of horror as the clammy straps bind me and the troopers release their grips. I am on this filthy thing. On my cross, eyes blinking into the studio lights. Legs slight apart and ankles strapped to each side of the trunk of the cross, the soles of my feet resting on the cool metal foot rests, narrow and unbending, the point in my boxers a mockery for all to see, stretched out arms along the arms of the cross. I am on my cross. How did it happen? Cruelly the feeling starts to return to my quelled limbs ready to accept all the torments the cross will inflict onto me.
Reggie
I am on the cross fuck man they got me got me on the cross. I feel him pulling at his bonds trying to pull away from his wrist and ankle straps even though he knows it is futile, he will fight this cross now his strength has returned he will fight it, he will struggle and fight even though now he is on the cross he knows it is pointless but he is desperate and full of rage. I see his sculpted muscles working under his beautiful dark skin as he tugs and pulls on the bonds. I feel them rub and chaff at my skin, rubbing raw as I lay on my back and struggle. Feel so trapped, so helpless. He hates being helpless. He has never been helpless.
Pain in his knee as he tugs at the straps, those powerful legs have a flaw. The hard ramrod point in his white shorts waves before my gaze as he looks at his bound legs, at the foot rests bellow.
They got me in the end.
Mariuz
He looks at his son. His boy. The youth, lays on his cross, his pale chest raises and falls as he awaits his cross to be raised. He looks up, squinting into the lights, his long, long hair fans out about the top of his cross beam. His fingers wiggle as the feeling returns, obey the State, wrists clamped in the straps. He can see under his arms, the hair, new grown that denotes is emerging into manhood, a potential never to be fulfilled, he see the bulge in his prison shorts as the viagra works on his humiliation, his legs bend slightly at the knees. His son young fresh and innocent now on a State cross, why did he bring him to this terrible place? Were things that bad at home? Yes of course they were but now we will die. My boy and me will die on these stinking State crosses. He will be strong, show these evil bastards how his people die. How they will not be bowed by petty politic and paranoia. He looks down and sees himself. He flexes his strong muscles, his ankles bound and secured to the cross. His feet so white, not tanned like the rest him, tanned from working in the sun, working for this country that is now going to slaughter him. The insolent bulge in his prison shorts, the concealed cock that spawned the lad next to him. He turns.
Adamsi is looking. His dark eyes wide, his dark eyes full of fear.
Be strong. Be brave.
I feel myself smile.
“Alright boy?” I say.
“Papa…”
“Its ok son, be brave be strong don’t let these bastards break you, remember one thing, no matter what happens, what we endure, just remember that I love you son and I am so proud of you, promise me that you will remember that”
His son nods and starts to open his mouth to speak.
“Don’t speak,” I say “save your strength”
He nods and smiles.
I know that Mariuz is not being noble but cannot face the pain of talking to his son, simply trying to spare himself the heartbreak.
I remove my specs and look at the screen the five men on the ground secured to their crosses, trapped and helpless. Lee sweating and breathing his thin chest gasping in air the agony of cold turkey worse than the suffering of the cross, for now, his black and yellow erection absurd in his silly briefs. Reggie strong and powerful struggles in his bonds, roaring out his rage. Stephen thin and smooth weeping in his disbelief. Mariuz calm and strong, his heavy body trying to relax, Adamsi, beautiful and terrified emerging into a glorious manhood he will never realise. The stars of today’s show.
I can hear the commentator through his ears. He recognises the words. Numbers. I under stand the words it is a countdown.
“Six, five, four, three, two, one! Crucify them!”
A hiss. A rumble then a jolt.
The pistons at the base of each cross, the steady hum of power and the crosses start to shake. I feel Mariuz flex his powerful muscles in anticipation. I hear the others moan in horror. The cross starts to move. The cross rises. Powerful hinges raising the cross and their groaning burdens. Maruiz feels the point of balance move, it moves, instinct makes him want to place his feet on the ground but they are bound and wont obey him. It continues to go up. His weight shifts. His body weight starts to pull on the straps that bind him to the cross. His back slides down the wood, metal, it is smooth, worn down by the hundreds of bodies that have struggled against it. The cross continues to remorselessly climb, he feels the narrow metal footrests press into his soles, they will take his body weight but not comfortable. He turns and sees his sons cross going up next to him, sees him squirm as he shifts with each change of physical circumstance. His arms start to pull as they take his weight. He stands on the footrests to take is weight and the narrow footrests push into his flesh. There is a thud as the cross reaches its apex and locks into place. He continues to move forward for a moment before he jerks back, snatched into place by the straps. A ripple of pain runs through him as his joints are tugged. So this is it. His arms stretched out, pulling at his shoulders his heavy body dragging down. He shifts on the footrest desperate to get a more comfortable purchase on them, they press into the soft flesh of his feet. He pushes down harder onto them to stretch his legs and to take the weight off his arms and he realises he can stand like this. Stand and weight. Stand before the gawping gaze of the troopers the cameras and the viewing public beyond. Standing trapped before the power of the State. Cock hard in his rough prison shorts, a vulgar display before the later obscene one. The studio lights hot on my head. Is this it? Is this crucifixion? How can this kill a man?
A hiss. A rumble then a jolt.
The pistons at the base of each cross, the steady hum of power and the crosses start to shake. I feel Mariuz flex his powerful muscles in anticipation. I hear the others moan in horror. The cross starts to move. The cross rises. Powerful hinges raising the cross and their groaning burdens. Maruiz feels the point of balance move, it moves, instinct makes him want to place his feet on the ground but they are bound and wont obey him. It continues to go up. His weight shifts. His body weight starts to pull on the straps that bind him to the cross. His back slides down the wood, metal, it is smooth, worn down by the hundreds of bodies that have struggled against it. The cross continues to remorselessly climb, he feels the narrow metal footrests press into his soles, they will take his body weight but not comfortable. He turns and sees his sons cross going up next to him, sees him squirm as he shifts with each change of physical circumstance. His arms start to pull as they take his weight. He stands on the footrests to take is weight and the narrow footrests push into his flesh. There is a thud as the cross reaches its apex and locks into place. He continues to move forward for a moment before he jerks back, snatched into place by the straps. A ripple of pain runs through him as his joints are tugged. So this is it. His arms stretched out, pulling at his shoulders his heavy body dragging down. He shifts on the footrest desperate to get a more comfortable purchase on them, they press into the soft flesh of his feet. He pushes down harder onto them to stretch his legs and to take the weight off his arms and he realises he can stand like this. Stand and weight. Stand before the gawping gaze of the troopers the cameras and the viewing public beyond. Standing trapped before the power of the State. Cock hard in his rough prison shorts, a vulgar display before the later obscene one. The studio lights hot on my head. Is this it? Is this crucifixion? How can this kill a man?
I turn, I mean he turns. He sees his son in profile. He too standing, legs straight the narrow foot pegs denting his soles arms now slightly bent. Trickles of sweat role down from his exposed armpit. His cock bulge pointing before him. He turns. His forehead furrowed with concentration but he tries to smile. Maruiz wants to weep, seeing his son so abused. THE WAVE OF EMOTION IS TO STRONG I feel my own stiffy droop. I don’t want this I want to feel the physical effects of the cross not the emotion. Oh dear my sons crucified boo fucking hoo!
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV-7
LEE
Have to try, have to try.
“Sir there is a terrible mistake.. Please I beg you just contact my lawyer…ugh cramp sorry sir as I was…?” “
Shit! I curse as the computer crashes, fucking thing, I sigh as I press restart, my poor old computer being asked to process such a complex new system. The sights and sounds vanish. I loose my sense of the crucified. I need a new computer but I simply cannot afford one. I remove the specs and ear pods and hit the sound on the remote. The television pans along the five crucified men. Each starting to feel the bite of enforced immobility as they defy gravity from the cruel straps that holds them to the cross. A constant stream of text runs across the bottom the screen displaying their names and crimes. Lee seems to be suffering the most, he drips with sweat and pants for breath, his back arches against the cross and he groans audibly between his teeth, his pains more from a lack of drugs. Mariuz also seems to suffering although strong his weight puts pressure on his arms, his great belly sucks in and out as he gulps down air, his feet shifting in a futile effort to take the stress off his bound wrists. Stephen seems to be coping the best with his extra height helping him to stand and take the weight off his arms. All of them are all sweating profusely, it is running down them their entire bodies drenched, dripping from chins and toes, each appear to have their chests becoming fixed their breathing becoming obvious. The commentator drones on with inevitable tedium I wish they would sack him, his summer holiday replacement was far more fun, a giggly woman whose State propaganda was pepped up with innuendo and sly digs at the victims expense. “…and now you can see they are starting to feel the effects of state justice as the justified punishments commence. Don’t forget citizens that this is only the start of their crucifixions, at nine tonight, post watershed their true crucifixions will take place, when they will truly suffer for their heinous crimes, also at twelve tonight we have midnight mercy where you the public can show the clemency they denied their victims and end the suffering of one of these criminals. Lines are now open to call for midnight mercy contact the numbers at the bottom of your screen to select the unworthy criminal you think most deserves to have his rightful suffering ended, call now, charges for calls may vary between state sectors and calls after midnight will still be charged but will not influence the result, vote now, remember that the State cannot guarantee that your vote will be honour should the criminal expire before the witching hour, death can be swift, sometimes not, it is not the loss of blood or fatigue that kills but the difficulty in aerating the lungs since the forced postures hinder the normal process of natural respiration. Sometimes their black hearts fail them. Watch now citizens and learn from their examples, learn that the path of criminality will only lead to the cross, so obey the state and.…”
I snarl irritated by hearing him drone out the same old spiel yet again and awkwardly climb to my feet, I have sat at the computer for to long and my leg has gone to sleep, I pad to the kitchen to retrieve the wine bottle, it runs with condensation, I pour into the glass and think of the thirsty Stephen, I gulp it down turning to the scream to see the trader weeping on his cross, I raise the glass to him, “cheers friend”, I return to the living room my cock still hard and jutting out in my grundies I note a circle of precum on the fabric.
“Of course crucifixion is a common practice, the penalty for robbery, murder, tumult and sedition. It is of course reserved only for bonded workers, foreigners, traitors and the lower orders in society and is intended as a form of public humiliation. Do not feel pity for those displayed before you, I say displayed remember citizens the true punishment does not take place until 21.00. As I say do not feel sorry for these criminals as they are guilty of breaking the laws of our glorious State, the State that protects and supports its people, these condemned are no better than vermin, the lowest of the low, save your pity for their victims and the State the so betrayed and remember…”
“Oh shut up!” I snarl at the TV and hit the mute button.
I sigh in relief as I not that the computer is now online and the hyperlink winks invitingly. I quickly find the DTTV site via bookmarks and the icons for the five crucified await. I return the ear pods into position and the specs over my eyes I realise that I never removed the cluster from my neck it feels so natural somehow.
The convict’s icons flicker as they come available. I make a deal with myself to click onto the first of the crucified to come online.
I click off for a moment the pain of the leg took me by surprise. I feel the shock of his pain. The memory clings to me and I find myself rubbing my own leg to comfort it.
Nervously I hover over Reggie’s picture then click on again.
LEE
Fuck man this is bad real bad. The addict struggles. His limbs twitch and spasm as he hangs from his cross. I feel the torment he feels as his body craves the substances it so lacks. I feel my feet sheened with sweat they are slipping on the fucking footrests, he can’t get a grip. They slip and slide and he pulls and tugs on his arms with each slip his body weight onto his arms. I feel his desperation and panic and his all-consuming need for my stuff. I feel a terrible felling of breathlessness as I slide and hang. Feeling my arms drag in their sockets, feel my chest stretch, I look down my ribs stick out, why they have to stick me next to that butch number next door?
Head is thumping like my brain will burst. Cant breath out, I can't fucking well breath out; shit what am I going to do man! Fuck! Bending my knees lift my feet, slide them onto the narrow metal pegs, the footrests, I cant quite reach… their I am on. I feel myself stand, straighten my legs, my arms bend and I breath out, the relief is wonderful, who would have thought something as easy and simple as breathing could feel so special, so wonderful. My fucking legs are shaking; I need my stuff real bad.
Head is thumping like my brain will burst. Cant breath out, I can't fucking well breath out; shit what am I going to do man! Fuck! Bending my knees lift my feet, slide them onto the narrow metal pegs, the footrests, I cant quite reach… their I am on. I feel myself stand, straighten my legs, my arms bend and I breath out, the relief is wonderful, who would have thought something as easy and simple as breathing could feel so special, so wonderful. My fucking legs are shaking; I need my stuff real bad.
Reggie
AAAAGH! My fucking knee! The pain shots up, the kneecap feels as if it will burst from its socket. I feel the big man try to shift his weight onto his good leg. He grunts, I feel my teeth deliberately gritted he will not moan for these State thugs. His leg is ridged the kneecap squirming in its socket. His strong arms pull at the straps; they flex and pull desperate to take the weight of his damaged leg. Sweat rolls down his face and I feel his eyes sting. He shakes his head and my vision of the cameras shakes from side to side. Sweat raining from his head. He stands defiant on his cross, sneering at the cameras, sneering at the world, I like the feel inside his powerful body, he looks down at his traitorous knee but I focus on the long bulge in his white shorts. He feels the muscles in his arms start to burn, feels the circulation in his hands start to fail from the weight he puts on the wrist straps. He grunts defiant like a man in a gym, he will hold, HE WILL and he does until it becomes to much and he sinks down slowly as to not drop to heavily or quickly on his knee. HE FEELS THE SPASM OF PAIN ROCKET UP HIS LEG and he slams his head into the cross so as not to cry out. He waits until he can bare the pain in his knee no longer. I feel it with him a grinding, gnawing pain, I wait in Reggie as long as I can stand it…
Stephen
Stephen
Have to try, have to try.
“Please trooper, I have to speak with you?”
Stephen is tall and I feel myself stand on the cross with little difficulty but the sole of my feet ache so very badly where the foot pegs dig in, he is thirsty, very thirsty.
“Please sir I have to speak”
His voice is dry but controlled.
Relief, he had really expected the black clad trooper to ignore him.
I feel the tension in my calf muscles as I try to stand on the narrow pegs, try to balance. The trooper saunters over. Hope tickles the back of the traders mind.
Stephen is tall and I feel myself stand on the cross with little difficulty but the sole of my feet ache so very badly where the foot pegs dig in, he is thirsty, very thirsty.
“Please sir I have to speak”
His voice is dry but controlled.
Relief, he had really expected the black clad trooper to ignore him.
I feel the tension in my calf muscles as I try to stand on the narrow pegs, try to balance. The trooper saunters over. Hope tickles the back of the traders mind.
“Sir there is a terrible mistake.. Please I beg you just contact my lawyer…ugh cramp sorry sir as I was…?” “
“What? You want me to call your lawyer yeah”
This is good, he is talking, first law of business keep people interested, keep them talking, get them on side then the deal will be done.
“Yes.. Yes that’s right, you see this must be a mistake, you see their was an appeal, my lawyer was going to… uugh sorry was going to…”
“Appeal to the peoples council?” asks the trooper brightly.
I feel the relief wash through my host, he understands, he could help…
He will help.
My host starts to really feel the tension in his calves as he balances on the footrests.
But he fights the gnawing distraction. He has to concentrate. Has to convince this thuggish oaf.
“Yeah he has I believe, you’re an important man? A rich man?”
Thank god! The relief explodes through me.
“Yes I worked for…”
“I know who you worked for, you’re a powerful man? Special?”
“I guess so” I feel the pride sell, release must be soon, it has to be soon.
“The council rejected your plea!”
Hope drops like a stone; it actually feels as if freezing water has been thrown over me.
“Your to die by crucifixion like any other bit of cross scum”
“Besides…” the solder flicks the hard cock in the expensive silk shorts “you don’t look that special to me!”
I feel the tears well in Stephens’s eyes as the trooper walks away laughing.
Hopelessness, humiliation, despair!
I love it!
This is good, he is talking, first law of business keep people interested, keep them talking, get them on side then the deal will be done.
“Yes.. Yes that’s right, you see this must be a mistake, you see their was an appeal, my lawyer was going to… uugh sorry was going to…”
“Appeal to the peoples council?” asks the trooper brightly.
I feel the relief wash through my host, he understands, he could help…
He will help.
My host starts to really feel the tension in his calves as he balances on the footrests.
But he fights the gnawing distraction. He has to concentrate. Has to convince this thuggish oaf.
“Yeah he has I believe, you’re an important man? A rich man?”
Thank god! The relief explodes through me.
“Yes I worked for…”
“I know who you worked for, you’re a powerful man? Special?”
“I guess so” I feel the pride sell, release must be soon, it has to be soon.
“The council rejected your plea!”
Hope drops like a stone; it actually feels as if freezing water has been thrown over me.
“Your to die by crucifixion like any other bit of cross scum”
“Besides…” the solder flicks the hard cock in the expensive silk shorts “you don’t look that special to me!”
I feel the tears well in Stephens’s eyes as the trooper walks away laughing.
Hopelessness, humiliation, despair!
I love it!
There is a problem, please restart your system
Shit! I curse as the computer crashes, fucking thing, I sigh as I press restart, my poor old computer being asked to process such a complex new system. The sights and sounds vanish. I loose my sense of the crucified. I need a new computer but I simply cannot afford one. I remove the specs and ear pods and hit the sound on the remote. The television pans along the five crucified men. Each starting to feel the bite of enforced immobility as they defy gravity from the cruel straps that holds them to the cross. A constant stream of text runs across the bottom the screen displaying their names and crimes. Lee seems to be suffering the most, he drips with sweat and pants for breath, his back arches against the cross and he groans audibly between his teeth, his pains more from a lack of drugs. Mariuz also seems to suffering although strong his weight puts pressure on his arms, his great belly sucks in and out as he gulps down air, his feet shifting in a futile effort to take the stress off his bound wrists. Stephen seems to be coping the best with his extra height helping him to stand and take the weight off his arms. All of them are all sweating profusely, it is running down them their entire bodies drenched, dripping from chins and toes, each appear to have their chests becoming fixed their breathing becoming obvious. The commentator drones on with inevitable tedium I wish they would sack him, his summer holiday replacement was far more fun, a giggly woman whose State propaganda was pepped up with innuendo and sly digs at the victims expense. “…and now you can see they are starting to feel the effects of state justice as the justified punishments commence. Don’t forget citizens that this is only the start of their crucifixions, at nine tonight, post watershed their true crucifixions will take place, when they will truly suffer for their heinous crimes, also at twelve tonight we have midnight mercy where you the public can show the clemency they denied their victims and end the suffering of one of these criminals. Lines are now open to call for midnight mercy contact the numbers at the bottom of your screen to select the unworthy criminal you think most deserves to have his rightful suffering ended, call now, charges for calls may vary between state sectors and calls after midnight will still be charged but will not influence the result, vote now, remember that the State cannot guarantee that your vote will be honour should the criminal expire before the witching hour, death can be swift, sometimes not, it is not the loss of blood or fatigue that kills but the difficulty in aerating the lungs since the forced postures hinder the normal process of natural respiration. Sometimes their black hearts fail them. Watch now citizens and learn from their examples, learn that the path of criminality will only lead to the cross, so obey the state and.…”
I snarl irritated by hearing him drone out the same old spiel yet again and awkwardly climb to my feet, I have sat at the computer for to long and my leg has gone to sleep, I pad to the kitchen to retrieve the wine bottle, it runs with condensation, I pour into the glass and think of the thirsty Stephen, I gulp it down turning to the scream to see the trader weeping on his cross, I raise the glass to him, “cheers friend”, I return to the living room my cock still hard and jutting out in my grundies I note a circle of precum on the fabric.
“Of course crucifixion is a common practice, the penalty for robbery, murder, tumult and sedition. It is of course reserved only for bonded workers, foreigners, traitors and the lower orders in society and is intended as a form of public humiliation. Do not feel pity for those displayed before you, I say displayed remember citizens the true punishment does not take place until 21.00. As I say do not feel sorry for these criminals as they are guilty of breaking the laws of our glorious State, the State that protects and supports its people, these condemned are no better than vermin, the lowest of the low, save your pity for their victims and the State the so betrayed and remember…”
“Oh shut up!” I snarl at the TV and hit the mute button.
I sigh in relief as I not that the computer is now online and the hyperlink winks invitingly. I quickly find the DTTV site via bookmarks and the icons for the five crucified await. I return the ear pods into position and the specs over my eyes I realise that I never removed the cluster from my neck it feels so natural somehow.
The convict’s icons flicker as they come available. I make a deal with myself to click onto the first of the crucified to come online.
Reggie
Fuck that leg really hurts now. The damaged knee screams under the constant pressure of having to balance on the short metal footrest pegs.I click off for a moment the pain of the leg took me by surprise. I feel the shock of his pain. The memory clings to me and I find myself rubbing my own leg to comfort it.
Nervously I hover over Reggie’s picture then click on again.
Reggie
Relief. Reggie is pulling up, his powerful arm muscles hauling him up and the weight off his knee. His arms are tired now but this one workout he cannot walk away from. I notice something else his bladder is uncomfortably full. The stress of the cross has filled is system with urea and it wants out. I enjoy the feeling of his squeezing his muscles, desperate to hold it in, doing anything to delay the humiliation of pissing himself live on television. I feel a wave of desperation wash through the big man, never in his life has he been so helpless, so humiliated, even when a rival held him at knife point he never felt like this, at least then he had a chance, he knew he could escape, but this is shameful, utterly trapped. He thinks of his brothers, are they watching him so disrespected? Watching him shamed? Are they are on the net feeling his utter defencelessness. Are his enemies enjoying his downfall? Are fags jerking off at the sight of glistening muscles? He can feel the piss pushing forward. He wants to scream, “No please don’t let this happen!” instead he grits his teeth and closes his myopic eyes and my view of the cameras vanish. I can feel the urine force its way up the hard cock, I thrill at the feeling of its length, even now he holds it back but as he sinks down onto his twisted knee and a spasm of knifing pain explodes through him he looses control. I feel the urine balloon up under the foreskin, filling the flesh its exit prevent by the cloth of his shorts, then like a forced boil the hot acrid piss bursts out, I feel the horror stab Reggie’s soul, the urine collects in his shorts for a moment before it starts to course down his ebony leg, I feel its hot surge as it runs down the leg, now its started it cannot stop, and the piss streams down his left leg. I hear Reggie’s own sob as he wets himself for the first time since he was four years old. His eyes open and he looks down at his white shorts have gone slightly translucent and now stick to the contours of his body. I can see the line of his hard cock and the leg of his shorts cling to the muscle of his thigh. Reggie wants to vomit. He can hear the mocking laughter of the troopers and the camera operators. Wants to run away and hide. Just wants to be anywhere but here. He knows there is worse to come and he can’t face it, can’t bare it. He wishes the knifeman had been better at his art.
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV-8
Fool! I feel the flash of raw anger and hatred that explodes through the youth, his father has led him to the cross as surly as the guards. The anger is suddenly replaced with a terrible guilt at these unworthy thoughts. He closes his eyes against the harsh lights and the blank gaze of the soldiers.
How long until the nailing? He wonders.
Dix
Look at this fucking lot, fucking scum, fucking crucifixion detail AGAIN, how come I always get it? They fucking stink! That fucking brother has pissed himself, big bastard the State be thanked for the quellers! Welcome followers its Dixie Boy on line for all his fans. Welcome ladies to the best bit of man meat in the State army! Here I am on cruxy duty yet again I can only guess the sergeant is jealous of my looks and style and has stuck me onto watching more of these cunts whine and grinch. Five today but they were no trouble, bunch of poofs, anyone who goes to the cross that easy deserves all they get!
I whip off the specs in surprise. I see other icons have appeared on the computer screen, guards and camera crew all with their own idents and avatars. I am surprised that they are allowed to during something so official and yet everyone does it these days. Following is all the fashion where you click on someone on random then follow him or her through the day, the ultimate in social networking. Most commentators say it is the ultimate in boredom!
Dix
The guard is looking at the men shifting on their crosses and I feel his boredom.
Stephen
How long has it been, how long until.. Until they nail me to this fucking cross! Fucking nail me! Oh god oh Christ! How long, they say time moves slowly on the cross. It must be ages yet. Must be. Shit I am so scared of the spikes. Please let me die before they nail me, please let me faint. I feel the thud as he tries to knock himself out but he lacks the strength but we now have a dull ache in our skulls.
I feel his terrible revulsion, how can a man like him be dying on a cross?
How? It’s not right. God I am thirsty…
I feel his terrible revulsion, how can a man like him be dying on a cross?
How? It’s not right. God I am thirsty…
Adamsi
He is looking at his father. His father is looking ahead, into the cameras, his strong heavy body a weight against the straps that hold him to the vile black cross to which he is strapped. Adamsi admires his father I can feel it. He his looking at his father, at his work hard body, his sun tanned skin, the manly sweat that mats the thick body hair that smothers his body. Adamsi casts a furtive glance at his fathers shorts, the insolent viagra bulge that tent poles the crude prison garb. He looks down his own body to the bulge in his own shorts and his emotions change. Jealously? Inadequacy? Fear of the stripping to come? The feelings are confused and hard to read, much like Adamsi himself. Both he and his father are stocky and he struggles to stand on his cross, I feel the ache in his arms as bound as they are to the arms of the cross, I feel the tension in his thighs and calves as he tries to rest his body weight on the thin pegs that hold him to the wood. The base of his backaches from stretching, he feels the hardship in breathing out a foretaste of the horrors to come. He has seen crucifixions on the television and they are horrific, terrible and he cannot believe that he is here, shifting on this device of torture, his thin body displayed to all, are they mocking him out there? Of course they are, we are here to be mocked. Here to be humiliated. Fucking country. Papa knew what these people are like and yet they still came, all would be fine, work hard and they will not care, and the money is sooooo good.Fool! I feel the flash of raw anger and hatred that explodes through the youth, his father has led him to the cross as surly as the guards. The anger is suddenly replaced with a terrible guilt at these unworthy thoughts. He closes his eyes against the harsh lights and the blank gaze of the soldiers.
How long until the nailing? He wonders.
Dix
Look at this fucking lot, fucking scum, fucking crucifixion detail AGAIN, how come I always get it? They fucking stink! That fucking brother has pissed himself, big bastard the State be thanked for the quellers! Welcome followers its Dixie Boy on line for all his fans. Welcome ladies to the best bit of man meat in the State army! Here I am on cruxy duty yet again I can only guess the sergeant is jealous of my looks and style and has stuck me onto watching more of these cunts whine and grinch. Five today but they were no trouble, bunch of poofs, anyone who goes to the cross that easy deserves all they get!
I whip off the specs in surprise. I see other icons have appeared on the computer screen, guards and camera crew all with their own idents and avatars. I am surprised that they are allowed to during something so official and yet everyone does it these days. Following is all the fashion where you click on someone on random then follow him or her through the day, the ultimate in social networking. Most commentators say it is the ultimate in boredom!
Dix
The guard is looking at the men shifting on their crosses and I feel his boredom.
This is just duty for him. These are criminals who deserve all they get and are getting it. It just means a long night shift. I feel his contempt for the men crucified before him, he is more concerned about his getting his overtime, he is covering for a sick trooper, that Sammo is always pulling a sickie, the men on the cross are not even human to him, they are things, objects, just tasks that have to be preformed, he has jobs to do and he has long boring waits between them. He has them on the cross check, done. At nine and when the permissions come will come the stripping, a hateful job being so close to the privates of men and criminal filth privates, the shorts will stink and be covered in piss and shit, at the very least skiddies will coat them. I feel his revulsion. After the stripping come the impaling again I feel his contempt for the task, having to deal with the assholes of these subnorms he hates them, they have spat on the State, his employer, they deserve this humiliation, he just resents being the one to administer it! After that comes the nailing, that he does not mind so much, but he hates the nose they make. They may be scum but they could at least try to die with a bit of dignity but they never do. Squealing in his ears. Damn forgot my paracetamol well I guess I will have a headache later. Still the nail guns are well cool man…
Adamsi
Tickle. He has a terrible tickle in his nose. Itching and ticking. He can’t scratch it. His hands are bound, he realises he can never touch his face again, ever. His nose itches so badly and it consumes the youth. All he wants to do is scratch his nose and it drives him mad. The gnawing itch is worse than the ache in his arms and the pain in his back. His nose is worse than the cramp that is growing in his thighs. I find myself scratching my own nose but there is no relief from the itch, it is not my nose it is Adamsi’s nose and he cannot scratch it. He cranes his head about and tries to rub the offending nose on his shoulder his long hair swishing about his back. He has no relief. He wants to scream…
Lee
Shakes. He has the shakes each muscle in his arms and legs twitch and jerk at their own volition, he hates this, he really hates it.“How could you not avoid this fuck up?” he whispers to himself his voice horse.
HIS BONES ACHE, his feet sweat and slip on the narrow foot rests.
Hard cock rubbing on the fabric of his briefs. The charge it sends a welcome distraction to the suffering he feels.
Also a humiliating reminder that such a private sensation is exposed to the ridicule of the viewers and the hypes…
Stephen
Enjoy these last moments, try to remember these last moments before they… before they… think of my arms my strong squash players arms free from pain, think of these last moments of dignity while I am still in my shorts, enjoy these last beautiful moments of standing on my feet, enjoy the last moments of my ass free from invasion. The wonderful cool breeze that caresses my naked chest when someone opens the studio doors. Some bore technician drinking coffee, shit I am thirsty. Concentrate on these blessed moments before they do… what they are going to do to me. Focus on these moments, so I can remember them when I am crucified… crucified… shit
HIS BONES ACHE, his feet sweat and slip on the narrow foot rests.
Hard cock rubbing on the fabric of his briefs. The charge it sends a welcome distraction to the suffering he feels.
Also a humiliating reminder that such a private sensation is exposed to the ridicule of the viewers and the hypes…
Stephen
Enjoy these last moments, try to remember these last moments before they… before they… think of my arms my strong squash players arms free from pain, think of these last moments of dignity while I am still in my shorts, enjoy these last beautiful moments of standing on my feet, enjoy the last moments of my ass free from invasion. The wonderful cool breeze that caresses my naked chest when someone opens the studio doors. Some bore technician drinking coffee, shit I am thirsty. Concentrate on these blessed moments before they do… what they are going to do to me. Focus on these moments, so I can remember them when I am crucified… crucified… shit
Reggie
Fuck man I am on the cross. Fuck this hurts. Fuck my knee is gonna explode. Why did my bro’s not get me out of this? Did they sell me, give me to the State? They did it before, sold out Tony, when the filth were getting to close, give them a victim and it pleases the plods and settles the district. Why me? I was loyal been in the gang all my life, it is my life, was… Fuck me this hurts bad, I feel the strain on his arms and shoulders, across his powerful chest. The pain in his upper body is building; the pain from hanging from his wrists and the tortured man wonders what it will feel like when he is hanging from metal spikes…Lee
Stomach muscles cramping and twitching. Lee is looking down his own narrow, painfully thing chest. The cheep and poorly executed tattoos stretched over the all to obvious ribs. His snow-deprived stomach sinks in on itself, he feels terrible, his head aches, his eyes flash, he wants off this cross so bad. He feels like he is being punched in the guts but there is no one near. I feel the nausea then the fist that forces itself up his neck. His mouth involuntarily opens. I watch through his eyes as his bile vomits from his mouth, yellow and viscous, it splashes thickly down his chest. Hot and wet he is on his pointing briefs. I feel the warmth of the vomit on his cock. It splashes at his the base of his cross. He can feel a long strand of vomit drool slide from his lips and coat his chin. He feels exhausted from the effort and his arms are painful now, they are thin and feel as if they are being stretched from his sockets. He is wretched. His veins on fire and yet he feels so cold. So cold. He shivers and stinks and I am glad the hyper system has no smell attachment. I hear his load groan of pain as he arches his back against the cross, he wants to die but he knows deep down that he wont and that he is going to suffer worse to come. I click out there is no erotic romance or bravado in this mans pain…Mariuz
His back aches real bad now. He stretches his strong but stocky legs desperate to relieve the stress on his lumber region. Almost standing on his toes to ease himself from the terrible stretching of his spine, more relentless than any medieval rack. He wants to pull at his bonds wants to escape, wants to go mad and struggle with this hateful cross, but he will be brave, must be brave for his boy, but it is so hard to be brave, such a struggle. He will be brave…He turns to his son hanging next to him, I see through his eyes, obey the state, his son shifting gently obviously feeling the terrible gnawing bite suspension from the cross, constantly, futile shifting in a futile attempt to ease his stretching joints and cramping muscles, his body hair now darkening from the sheen of sweat that glistens all over him, his chest looking narrow now, shrunk by his raised arms, his cock insolently hard in his prison shorts, a cock that will no longer provide grandchildren,
He must be brave for his boy. He will be brave…
He must be brave for his boy. He will be brave…
Dix
The black bro is talking, “fuck that funking junkie stinks, wash that fucking spew of him, he makes me want to honk!” “he stinks of vomit you stink of piss, what’s the fucking difference bro?”
Adamsi
Painful but almost not painful enough.He is bored.
He is sick of waiting for the horrors to come.
It is boring just standing here, waiting for the nails, waiting to die.
He wants it over with, just wants to get on with it.
When hope is gone why prolong the agony?
I don’t want to die but I don’t want to live like this.
I wish my papa would stop looking at me with those big sad eyes it breaks my heart.
What is he checking out, checking that he is still stronger? That his cock bulge is bigger? Wants to see me weep, wants to see if he is still the big man and I am his disappointing son, the son who was never clever enough, never strong enough, never funny enough, is he so competitive that he will try to live longer on the cross to prove that he is the stronger?
Is that what you want papa?
I shiver at this wave of resentment and bitterness his emotional torment far worse than his physical distress.
Just get this fucking over with, how long until they crucify us?
How long?
Hurry the fuck up and get it over with!
Please…..
He is sick of waiting for the horrors to come.
It is boring just standing here, waiting for the nails, waiting to die.
He wants it over with, just wants to get on with it.
When hope is gone why prolong the agony?
I don’t want to die but I don’t want to live like this.
I wish my papa would stop looking at me with those big sad eyes it breaks my heart.
What is he checking out, checking that he is still stronger? That his cock bulge is bigger? Wants to see me weep, wants to see if he is still the big man and I am his disappointing son, the son who was never clever enough, never strong enough, never funny enough, is he so competitive that he will try to live longer on the cross to prove that he is the stronger?
Is that what you want papa?
I shiver at this wave of resentment and bitterness his emotional torment far worse than his physical distress.
Just get this fucking over with, how long until they crucify us?
How long?
Hurry the fuck up and get it over with!
Please…..
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV- 8
Shame. This is beyond shame this is utter degradation and part of his still cannot believe this is happening to him, and yet it is, he feels so vulnerable, so powerless a man who had built himself a cocoon of power and money to protect himself. He had always been afraid. So he studied hard to become the cleverest. Dealt and deal to be the richest. Paid escorts to have the prettiest on his arm. Trained hard to be the best on the squash court. And now he was standing on a state cross, thin chest dripping with his own tears, exposed to ridicule, all those who had sneered at him were proved right, how they will mock, how they will laugh, how they will point to the damp patch now dark on the crotch tip point of his oh so expensive shorts. They will sneer and crow and they will be right to, because he has failed. How long until… until they nail me? Oh god I cant bare this…
Mariuz
This is the nailing, THE NAILING! This is evil, these people are evil, and why did I come to this cursed place, why did I ever bring my boy to this terrible country.
Got to be brave, got to be brave for my boy…
Adamsi
Its time, is over, the waiting is over, this is going to be cruel, but its gotta to be less boring than the waiting, here they come, shit man they are going to torture me to death, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, dad help me, don’t let them hurt me, please dad…
“Once again we advise those of a nervous disposition to be warned of the graphic content of the following broadcast. Strong language and violence predicted. Scenes of actual torture and termination.”
“You fucking listening to the commentator?”
“Yeah”
“Christ man you must be bored”
“Hope they aint shit themselves”
“You got gloves on”
“Yeah but the fucking smell hangs about for fucking days no matter how often you scrub um and the sergeant don’t like it”
“Don’t I know it”
“Think this lot will give any bother?”
“Dunno the black bro and the alien look strong enough”
“Nah what can they do”
“I got head butted by that terrorist bloke don’t forget he cracked my visor”
“Yeah I know I saw it on TV I pissed myself laughing!”
“The fucking junkie looks like he has had enough already, fuck he stinks”
“The bloke in the middle will be no trouble, looks to scared”
“Yeah shout boo and he will shit himself”
“These criminals displayed before you now have been sentenced to the shameful and ignoble death of crucifixion. Each has been tried and condemned as an enemy of The State and so are condemned to die”
“Do you think anyone watching would not actually know any of that, no ones that thick even these fuckers”
“Legal stuff”
“That bloke gets paid a fortune for talking bollocks”
“Miserable twat never talks”
“The lad at the end looks young for this”
“He has it coming they all fucking do”
“Guess so”
“Watch their humiliations and suffering, learn that the path of law breaking can only lead to terrible justice. Obey the State.”
THIS IS CONTROL, GUARDS DO YOUR DUTY
“That our que Razz”
“Its Showtime Dixie boy, get the lads ready”
“Ok men, we do them in order, lets get it right our public is watching!”
“Ok the junkie first”
Lee
I am utterly helpless to their touch.
I don’t care about this, what does it matter.
He feels so terrible that this is a minor nuisance that’s all.
I look through his eyes as the black clad trooper flicks open his blade and advances on his crotch. The troopers bring their knives nearer to me and I have a moment of real terror worse than the fear of death, I fear they aim to cut me, to cut off my cocks for their sadistic pleasure, I know they are not but it is instinctive, a knife near my privates. The knife slices the left side of my grundies and then the left and with a single movement they pull the briefs away. I fell the fabric roughly pull across my balls and the sudden change in sensation as the air reaches my ass and cock. I look down and my cock juts out naked and exposed for all to see, rock hard from the filthy injection I endured so many ours ago.
He is short and stubby; his foreskin callused with old gonorrhoea warts. His pubes sparse and his groin pockmarked from the heroin needle.
My own cock so hard as I experience Lee’s stripping. Real tears match the tattoo tear on Lee’s cheek
Dix
“Their you go needle dick, not much of a treat for the ladies their”
“Our fucking rating will go down”
“How you fuck with a thing like that?”
“Fucking stinks”
“Got the pox make sure you scrub your gloves”
“What a way to earn a living, why do we do it?”
“Orders”
“Ha ha yeah man!”
“Ok lets do the brother”
“Careful he is a big bastard”
“That knee of his is bothering him, any trouble, use that”
Reggie
The pain, knee on fire, arms cramping from the strain of trying to lift from the legs.
They are fucking coming for me, fuck!
They have stripped that junkie, not much of a cock! Wont get the attention of the fags, they will be focused on me, getting off on my slab of black beef!
I thrill at his arrogance, enjoying his bravado, feeling the movement of his powerful muscles, my own cock rock hard but I know my man now, know he is distracting himself from his fear and pain.
“Reggie Sebastian Elton you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?”
“Yeah man, fuck you and the fucking State whose cock you suck!”
“Insolent bastard!”
AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” he tests the muscles in my gut by punching my belly and observes my twisting and gasping to judge my strength in my recovery, I hang from my arms, the bonds biting into my wrists. Hot fire spreads through my guts. I want to punch back, want to fight these state cunts but I am trapped. I feel Reggie’s frustration.
Gloved fists smash into his knee and Reggie is surprised by the sound of his own yelp. A ripple of disjointed agony explodes through his leg.
Reggie’s arrogance dissolves into agonized panic and his broad chest gulps down air. He fights the tears that spring to his eyes and I feel a tangible chill of helplessness claw at him. The sense of dread bloats as a gloved hand grabs the band of his white shorts. “You are to be stripped before the state and die as naked as the common scum you are”
“Fuck you man” his voice sounds rough and deep. He looks down his glistening ebony skin to his crotch where the guards start to cut away his shorts. With deliberate brutality they rip away the expensive trunks. I feel the air change about his privates, feel his balls fall away from their white cotton prison. I hear the fabric ripping through his ears. With a final yank the trunks are ripped away and I feel the slap of his viagra hard cock on his muscular belly. He is a big boy and thick and I thrill to feel myself connected to such a cock, I want to tough it, draw back the foreskin but I am as trapped in Reggie’s body as he is on his cross.
“Nowt to be ashamed of their big fella” mocks a guard and I feel the insolent flick on the crown of the cock. God he hates that. The thought of any man in contact with his privates revolts him.
He spits I feel the saliva gather in his mouth and with all the force he can muster from his powerful lungs gobs at the nearest trooper.
He misses.
Stephen
I hear through his ears, the air has started to fill with sounds, heavy breaths, coughs, the hint of groans as each man shifts on his cross to ease the growing aching tension that starts to eat at them. Time drags so slowly for him and yet not slowly enough, he is terrified of the nails, he has never been good with pain and now he is to suffer the worst torture the state can inflict on any degenerate criminal. The horror of it is overwhelming, please don’t let this happen. He wants to pray but knows it is pointless and yet a desperate man will clutch at any straw. He feels his cheeks burn with shame as large salt tears run down his face and drip onto his heaving chest. He is angry with himself he is so thirsty and yet he waists his precious fluids on useless tears.Shame. This is beyond shame this is utter degradation and part of his still cannot believe this is happening to him, and yet it is, he feels so vulnerable, so powerless a man who had built himself a cocoon of power and money to protect himself. He had always been afraid. So he studied hard to become the cleverest. Dealt and deal to be the richest. Paid escorts to have the prettiest on his arm. Trained hard to be the best on the squash court. And now he was standing on a state cross, thin chest dripping with his own tears, exposed to ridicule, all those who had sneered at him were proved right, how they will mock, how they will laugh, how they will point to the damp patch now dark on the crotch tip point of his oh so expensive shorts. They will sneer and crow and they will be right to, because he has failed. How long until… until they nail me? Oh god I cant bare this…
Mariuz
He opens his eyes; the glare of the studio lights hurt them. He wore shades when he worked. Worked cheaply on the building sights. Working for a country that now is killing him. His arms and chest are feeling the strain of his weight; he is not tall enough to relax his arms and legs. I feel the stab of pain as pain permeates his muscles, stabs of cramp; he so wants to rub his arms and legs. His instinct is overwhelming to sooth his aching limbs. But he can’t his arms and legs are held fast. He is trapped, trapped and starting to hurt.
Lee
I hang upon my cross in agonized misery, gnawing pain in every limb, shivering in the freezing pain, it should be hot, I should be hot, must be the lack of gear in my system, fucking stuff, the groans of my crucifixion companions haunting in the studio, the only light being from the fires that burn behind my eyes, the low murmur of soldiers, their mask muffled conversation obscured by my own gasps and sobs…
Dix
“The time is 2100, the place is the state studios of justice, the event the rightful execution of justly condemned criminals. I advise children and those of a nervous disposition to cease viewing now as these criminals now face the true punishment of crucifixion” the words are relayed into the troopers helmet, he is scanning his own broadcasts, vain bugger! The orders given, thank fuck for that, shit I am bored, time to get these bastards stripped, impaled and nailed, something to do at last. Fucking cross duty, easy money but so fucking boring. Don’t know why you all watch it, nothing fucking happens, they just hang about, jerking a bit, sometimes one will shit himself but that not exactly thrilling entertainment. I guess some of you just get off on watching a naked guy struggle on the nails. Sure do!
Stephen
They are moving, the guards are up to something, what are they saying to each other, fuck I cant here. Is it time? Its time. NO! It cant be time this cant be it no please, I don’t want this, please don’t nail me PLEASE, I cant stand it no please no, no no… shit no don’t crucify me please…
Lee
Fuck man this is it I guess, fuck fuck fuck, oh Jesus
Reggie
My fucking leg hurts real bad, shit they are coming they are coming this it, shit, common then you fuckers do your fucking worst, bastards, gonna fucking nail me, Christ, fuck I am gonna get the rod, fuck I don’t want that, don’t want to die with a fag stick up my ass, so don’t want that, fuck, but its coming, its coming…Mariuz
This is the nailing, THE NAILING! This is evil, these people are evil, and why did I come to this cursed place, why did I ever bring my boy to this terrible country.
Got to be brave, got to be brave for my boy…
Adamsi
Its time, is over, the waiting is over, this is going to be cruel, but its gotta to be less boring than the waiting, here they come, shit man they are going to torture me to death, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, dad help me, don’t let them hurt me, please dad…
Dix
“Right let’s get the filth stripped, show the girlies and the gays what they have been waiting for”
“You fucking love it”
“Piss off twat”
“You fucking love it”
“Piss off twat”
“Once again we advise those of a nervous disposition to be warned of the graphic content of the following broadcast. Strong language and violence predicted. Scenes of actual torture and termination.”
“You fucking listening to the commentator?”
“Yeah”
“Christ man you must be bored”
“Hope they aint shit themselves”
“You got gloves on”
“Yeah but the fucking smell hangs about for fucking days no matter how often you scrub um and the sergeant don’t like it”
“Don’t I know it”
“Think this lot will give any bother?”
“Dunno the black bro and the alien look strong enough”
“Nah what can they do”
“I got head butted by that terrorist bloke don’t forget he cracked my visor”
“Yeah I know I saw it on TV I pissed myself laughing!”
“The fucking junkie looks like he has had enough already, fuck he stinks”
“The bloke in the middle will be no trouble, looks to scared”
“Yeah shout boo and he will shit himself”
“These criminals displayed before you now have been sentenced to the shameful and ignoble death of crucifixion. Each has been tried and condemned as an enemy of The State and so are condemned to die”
“Do you think anyone watching would not actually know any of that, no ones that thick even these fuckers”
“Legal stuff”
“That bloke gets paid a fortune for talking bollocks”
“Miserable twat never talks”
“The lad at the end looks young for this”
“He has it coming they all fucking do”
“Guess so”
“Watch their humiliations and suffering, learn that the path of law breaking can only lead to terrible justice. Obey the State.”
THIS IS CONTROL, GUARDS DO YOUR DUTY
“That our que Razz”
“Its Showtime Dixie boy, get the lads ready”
“Ok men, we do them in order, lets get it right our public is watching!”
“Ok the junkie first”
Lee
I feel the warm gloved hands of the traders upon my naked body, feeling the muscles in my legs. It’s a welcome distraction for a moment from the hot fire in my belly and head but it is starting. “Lee Bowler you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement” what? What does he want me to say? What can I say? My vomit burned throat is on fire. Think! Think of something Lee my lad. THINK, FUCKING SAY SOMETHING. “No? Very well, you are to be stripped before the State.” I am defenceless, my bound arms unable to defend myself from their molesting fingers, they pull at my under crackers and I jolt as I feel the warmth on my sensitive parts.
I am utterly helpless to their touch.
I don’t care about this, what does it matter.
He feels so terrible that this is a minor nuisance that’s all.
I look through his eyes as the black clad trooper flicks open his blade and advances on his crotch. The troopers bring their knives nearer to me and I have a moment of real terror worse than the fear of death, I fear they aim to cut me, to cut off my cocks for their sadistic pleasure, I know they are not but it is instinctive, a knife near my privates. The knife slices the left side of my grundies and then the left and with a single movement they pull the briefs away. I fell the fabric roughly pull across my balls and the sudden change in sensation as the air reaches my ass and cock. I look down and my cock juts out naked and exposed for all to see, rock hard from the filthy injection I endured so many ours ago.
He is short and stubby; his foreskin callused with old gonorrhoea warts. His pubes sparse and his groin pockmarked from the heroin needle.
My own cock so hard as I experience Lee’s stripping. Real tears match the tattoo tear on Lee’s cheek
Dix
“Their you go needle dick, not much of a treat for the ladies their”
“Our fucking rating will go down”
“How you fuck with a thing like that?”
“Fucking stinks”
“Got the pox make sure you scrub your gloves”
“What a way to earn a living, why do we do it?”
“Orders”
“Ha ha yeah man!”
“Ok lets do the brother”
“Careful he is a big bastard”
“That knee of his is bothering him, any trouble, use that”
Reggie
The pain, knee on fire, arms cramping from the strain of trying to lift from the legs.
They are fucking coming for me, fuck!
They have stripped that junkie, not much of a cock! Wont get the attention of the fags, they will be focused on me, getting off on my slab of black beef!
I thrill at his arrogance, enjoying his bravado, feeling the movement of his powerful muscles, my own cock rock hard but I know my man now, know he is distracting himself from his fear and pain.
“Reggie Sebastian Elton you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?”
“Yeah man, fuck you and the fucking State whose cock you suck!”
“Insolent bastard!”
AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” he tests the muscles in my gut by punching my belly and observes my twisting and gasping to judge my strength in my recovery, I hang from my arms, the bonds biting into my wrists. Hot fire spreads through my guts. I want to punch back, want to fight these state cunts but I am trapped. I feel Reggie’s frustration.
Gloved fists smash into his knee and Reggie is surprised by the sound of his own yelp. A ripple of disjointed agony explodes through his leg.
Reggie’s arrogance dissolves into agonized panic and his broad chest gulps down air. He fights the tears that spring to his eyes and I feel a tangible chill of helplessness claw at him. The sense of dread bloats as a gloved hand grabs the band of his white shorts. “You are to be stripped before the state and die as naked as the common scum you are”
“Fuck you man” his voice sounds rough and deep. He looks down his glistening ebony skin to his crotch where the guards start to cut away his shorts. With deliberate brutality they rip away the expensive trunks. I feel the air change about his privates, feel his balls fall away from their white cotton prison. I hear the fabric ripping through his ears. With a final yank the trunks are ripped away and I feel the slap of his viagra hard cock on his muscular belly. He is a big boy and thick and I thrill to feel myself connected to such a cock, I want to tough it, draw back the foreskin but I am as trapped in Reggie’s body as he is on his cross.
“Nowt to be ashamed of their big fella” mocks a guard and I feel the insolent flick on the crown of the cock. God he hates that. The thought of any man in contact with his privates revolts him.
He spits I feel the saliva gather in his mouth and with all the force he can muster from his powerful lungs gobs at the nearest trooper.
He misses.
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV- 9
Dix
Goooood looooking brother! Doing the bros proud up their, they say once you have black you never go back, looking good my man so much better than that scrawny mangy cocked white junkie.
“ok lets get on with it, Mr Money, lets see what you got”
Stephen
Oh god they are coming for me next. They are going to strip me, oh god no. It’s too much, to humiliating. He wants to run, wants to flee. But he is trapped on his cross and totally at the mercy of the state troopers that gather around him. He is taller than most and the troopers only come up to his middle. They gather about him. He is breathing so rapidly his smooth chest panting, sweat drips off him and yet I can feel he has suffered the least of all of the others, being tall and with no injuries or addictions he has borne the pre-nailing cross with relative ease. But he knows this is not a good thing. I can feel it at the back of his mind. He knows he is fit and well and so will not die easy when nailed to the cross, he had a medical recently and was pronounced A1 a boost he now regrets.
I am amazed at how much detail I am getting now. How much I can learn from these men, how deeply the system can probe into them. I love it the more I know the more I can enjoy the tragedy of their crucifixions. They are more than bodies on a cross, meat on display; they are individuals with feelings and fears. It makes the experience so much more powerful, so much more erotic.
Stephen dreads the stripping. Fears the humiliation, but why, he is I can tell from his bulge not tiny and I can sense that he has no hang ups about his size and yet he dreads the stripping as much as he fears the nails.
“Stephen Henry Clunes you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?” Despite everything he still has hope, feels as if he can still cut a deal, talk his way off the cross.
“Please I am from the elite, there are laws, please their must be a mistake, I am not being rude but people like me don’t die on the cross, please check, please discover the mistake if not for my sake for yours, the State punishes mistakes we all know that”
His words are entirely reasonable and he sounds calm and yet raw cunning is flowing through his head. All his skills are focused on this last gambit.
All his hopes are concentrated upon it.
They have stopped, they are thinking about it. This is always a good sign.
He tries to ignore his nervous heart thumping in his chest.
Dix
He is right you know this is unusual.
Should we check?
Should I check?
But…
Stephen
“Just check, I plead with you, it has to be a mistake, members of the elite just don’t die on the cross” he sounds so confident and yet I feel his terror one could almost admires him.
“How long have you been on the cross mate?” asks a trooper.
Questions, that’s good they are thinking, doubting.
“Nearly three hours I guess”
“A big audience do you reckon?”
What’s that got to do with anything? I feel a sudden return of the dread Stephen feels as he remembers the people watching his shame.
“I suppose so”
“So if a mistake had been made I think someone would have realised by now and done something, ordered your rescue!”
Terror strikes Stephen like a knife. The fucking trooper has made a good point, no help is coming, and his hope runs away like Lee’s vomit down the drain.
A sudden yank and they pull down his oh so expensive silk shorts, “besides Mr Elite you don’t look all that special to me!”
He looks at his circumcised cock and I understand, to be naked in public is the ultimate humiliation for any Jew.
Mariuz
They are coming, they are going to strip me, and there is nothing I can do about it. NOTHING!
Gotta be brave, brave for my lad. Why am I hard? This is insane, must have been that filthy injection, must have been. This is not fair. The sight only a lover should see exposed to the gawping scum of this fucking country.
And my son.
My son will see my hard cock, this is not right, this feels so wrong.
I don’t want my boy to see where he spawned from, see his papa naked and vulnerable. I have never been vulnerable to him, always been strong. “Mariuz Venshu you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?”
He does not understand the question.
I almost want to translate for the big man. I am I his head and yet have no influence upon him at all. What are they asking him, his this a test? Is he gives the right answer will he go free. “Please sir free my son”
Dix
Eh what the fuck was that? Don’t speako the lingo! Guess that was his statement, hope it was profound!
Best thing about these prison shorts id that they have side fastening down both legs makes them easy to get off.
“You are to be stripped before the State”
Adamsi
Here they come, it is time. Why the fuck was I so impatient? I sooo don’t want this. Not now. Don’t want to be naked, not naked next to papa. The guards gather about the youth, he hates the smell from their gas masks.
“Adamsi Venshu you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?”
I feel the youth think, feel him take a deep breath and try to ignore the gnawing pain in his back.
“m m m my father and I have done nothing to deserve this terrible punishment, if we have broken, the law it is the law that is at fault not us, but we are powerless to stop you doing what you are going to do” I feel his dread feel his trying to holdback his tears. “so do your worst, our hell is now but yours awaits you” his voice trails away as the pain in his stretched arms dominates his thoughts again. The speech is strong stuff, the English flawless and I bet it wont feature in the highlights. Obey the state. He wants his Mum.
I feel his confusion; he wants this over with and yet wants to delay the horrors to come forever. I feel his terrible resentment as the gloved hands start to pull on the detachable seems of his prison shorts. He closes his eyes and my vision vanishes, he tries to close out this shame.
Mariuz
He watches his son, he has not understood what his boy has said but he is so proud that he said something and it appeared both eloquent and steadily spoken. He watches his son being stripped and a flash of white-hot rage explodes through him, his boy, his son being humiliated before these animals and there is nothing he can do to help. His bound hands clench into fists, he wants to punch these impudent soldiers but he is powerless to intervene, helpless. His sons shorts are pulled away and he looks at his sons exposed nudity, a line of hair leading to a thick patch of pubic hair, his hard cock curves up like his own but it is not as thick or quite as long as his own. Mariuz is slightly pleased about this and then feels shame for feeling this.
Dix
That’s them naked, time for a quick pause, let the viewers get off on them, naked and struggling on their crosses, hard cock bobbing free.
Let them feel the shame of being exposed bollock naked before the State, naked and ashamed before the citizens of the world. Let them writhe from their bonds before they are impaled, before the seat of shame curtails their struggles.
I sit back and look at the screen for a moment the visualizers off. I rub my eyes, they feel sore, tired. The camera pans across the five men hanging from their crosses, now naked. My own cock rock solid in my shorts. All they have now exposed to the leering public, the viagra ensuring that there is no dignity, no manly secret left. Lee the smallest, Reggie the biggest, the black lad ensuring the old racist stereotype persists, Stephen a cut cock and the fathers and sons curving up to heaven. I feel a sense of purpose from the trooper Dix. He is getting ready, preparing to operate the cross seats. The only support that the crucified will get to take their weight from the nails from which they will soon hang, state mercy, the cross seat itself transformed into a humiliating torture. I know who I want to be for this…
Dix
Goooood looooking brother! Doing the bros proud up their, they say once you have black you never go back, looking good my man so much better than that scrawny mangy cocked white junkie.
“ok lets get on with it, Mr Money, lets see what you got”
Stephen
Oh god they are coming for me next. They are going to strip me, oh god no. It’s too much, to humiliating. He wants to run, wants to flee. But he is trapped on his cross and totally at the mercy of the state troopers that gather around him. He is taller than most and the troopers only come up to his middle. They gather about him. He is breathing so rapidly his smooth chest panting, sweat drips off him and yet I can feel he has suffered the least of all of the others, being tall and with no injuries or addictions he has borne the pre-nailing cross with relative ease. But he knows this is not a good thing. I can feel it at the back of his mind. He knows he is fit and well and so will not die easy when nailed to the cross, he had a medical recently and was pronounced A1 a boost he now regrets.
I am amazed at how much detail I am getting now. How much I can learn from these men, how deeply the system can probe into them. I love it the more I know the more I can enjoy the tragedy of their crucifixions. They are more than bodies on a cross, meat on display; they are individuals with feelings and fears. It makes the experience so much more powerful, so much more erotic.
Stephen dreads the stripping. Fears the humiliation, but why, he is I can tell from his bulge not tiny and I can sense that he has no hang ups about his size and yet he dreads the stripping as much as he fears the nails.
“Stephen Henry Clunes you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?” Despite everything he still has hope, feels as if he can still cut a deal, talk his way off the cross.
“Please I am from the elite, there are laws, please their must be a mistake, I am not being rude but people like me don’t die on the cross, please check, please discover the mistake if not for my sake for yours, the State punishes mistakes we all know that”
His words are entirely reasonable and he sounds calm and yet raw cunning is flowing through his head. All his skills are focused on this last gambit.
All his hopes are concentrated upon it.
They have stopped, they are thinking about it. This is always a good sign.
He tries to ignore his nervous heart thumping in his chest.
Dix
He is right you know this is unusual.
Should we check?
Should I check?
But…
Stephen
“Just check, I plead with you, it has to be a mistake, members of the elite just don’t die on the cross” he sounds so confident and yet I feel his terror one could almost admires him.
“How long have you been on the cross mate?” asks a trooper.
Questions, that’s good they are thinking, doubting.
“Nearly three hours I guess”
“A big audience do you reckon?”
What’s that got to do with anything? I feel a sudden return of the dread Stephen feels as he remembers the people watching his shame.
“I suppose so”
“So if a mistake had been made I think someone would have realised by now and done something, ordered your rescue!”
Terror strikes Stephen like a knife. The fucking trooper has made a good point, no help is coming, and his hope runs away like Lee’s vomit down the drain.
A sudden yank and they pull down his oh so expensive silk shorts, “besides Mr Elite you don’t look all that special to me!”
He looks at his circumcised cock and I understand, to be naked in public is the ultimate humiliation for any Jew.
Mariuz
They are coming, they are going to strip me, and there is nothing I can do about it. NOTHING!
Gotta be brave, brave for my lad. Why am I hard? This is insane, must have been that filthy injection, must have been. This is not fair. The sight only a lover should see exposed to the gawping scum of this fucking country.
And my son.
My son will see my hard cock, this is not right, this feels so wrong.
I don’t want my boy to see where he spawned from, see his papa naked and vulnerable. I have never been vulnerable to him, always been strong. “Mariuz Venshu you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?”
He does not understand the question.
I almost want to translate for the big man. I am I his head and yet have no influence upon him at all. What are they asking him, his this a test? Is he gives the right answer will he go free. “Please sir free my son”
Dix
Eh what the fuck was that? Don’t speako the lingo! Guess that was his statement, hope it was profound!
Best thing about these prison shorts id that they have side fastening down both legs makes them easy to get off.
“You are to be stripped before the State”
Mariuz
He feels the gloved hands of the State trooper start to unfasten the seems of his crude prison shorts, designed to be pulled away, designed for easy stripping, the idea taken borrowed from strippers! He looks down and tries to keep his face calm, trying to look stoic, tries to looks brave. His face impassive but his soul burns with shame, being stripped by men. The shoots are quickly removed and he looks past his brown hairy belly to the lily white skin just revealed, he wore shorts on those building sites he worked do hard on. His mind flits for a moment to his wife back at home, does she know? Will she see his shame? Will she curse him for leading her beloved son to his doom? He tries not to think of her, live for the moment, why create pain? His cock is thick and curves up from a dark bush of black pubes. The cock his wife once caressed and kissed softly after sex now exposed to public ridicule. He shifts uncomfortably his stocky build now starting to torture him on the cross. He turns his head and looks at his son, who is looking back trying not to be seen taking a furtive glance at his fathers erect cock. Mariuz does not mind, he has more to worry about…Adamsi
Here they come, it is time. Why the fuck was I so impatient? I sooo don’t want this. Not now. Don’t want to be naked, not naked next to papa. The guards gather about the youth, he hates the smell from their gas masks.
“Adamsi Venshu you hang condemned for crimes against state law, you are condemned to death by crucifixion and it is my duty to carry out this sentence, do you have any final statement?”
I feel the youth think, feel him take a deep breath and try to ignore the gnawing pain in his back.
“m m m my father and I have done nothing to deserve this terrible punishment, if we have broken, the law it is the law that is at fault not us, but we are powerless to stop you doing what you are going to do” I feel his dread feel his trying to holdback his tears. “so do your worst, our hell is now but yours awaits you” his voice trails away as the pain in his stretched arms dominates his thoughts again. The speech is strong stuff, the English flawless and I bet it wont feature in the highlights. Obey the state. He wants his Mum.
I feel his confusion; he wants this over with and yet wants to delay the horrors to come forever. I feel his terrible resentment as the gloved hands start to pull on the detachable seems of his prison shorts. He closes his eyes and my vision vanishes, he tries to close out this shame.
Mariuz
He watches his son, he has not understood what his boy has said but he is so proud that he said something and it appeared both eloquent and steadily spoken. He watches his son being stripped and a flash of white-hot rage explodes through him, his boy, his son being humiliated before these animals and there is nothing he can do to help. His bound hands clench into fists, he wants to punch these impudent soldiers but he is powerless to intervene, helpless. His sons shorts are pulled away and he looks at his sons exposed nudity, a line of hair leading to a thick patch of pubic hair, his hard cock curves up like his own but it is not as thick or quite as long as his own. Mariuz is slightly pleased about this and then feels shame for feeling this.
Dix
That’s them naked, time for a quick pause, let the viewers get off on them, naked and struggling on their crosses, hard cock bobbing free.
Let them feel the shame of being exposed bollock naked before the State, naked and ashamed before the citizens of the world. Let them writhe from their bonds before they are impaled, before the seat of shame curtails their struggles.
I sit back and look at the screen for a moment the visualizers off. I rub my eyes, they feel sore, tired. The camera pans across the five men hanging from their crosses, now naked. My own cock rock solid in my shorts. All they have now exposed to the leering public, the viagra ensuring that there is no dignity, no manly secret left. Lee the smallest, Reggie the biggest, the black lad ensuring the old racist stereotype persists, Stephen a cut cock and the fathers and sons curving up to heaven. I feel a sense of purpose from the trooper Dix. He is getting ready, preparing to operate the cross seats. The only support that the crucified will get to take their weight from the nails from which they will soon hang, state mercy, the cross seat itself transformed into a humiliating torture. I know who I want to be for this…
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV- 10
PAIN! I share Stephens’s sudden pain, it explodes inside me as we share the experience and I find myself rolling around the sticky carpet of my sitting room my hands between my legs trying to comfort the source of our shared agony, this was the worst, the sudden stab rather than the slow invasion suffered by the others. I shake with pain as Stephen shares his torn ass, I reach for the computer and with trembling finger point at the troopers ident…
Dix
Wow man that gotta hurt! Rammed up the ass. Bet that could bring a
tear to a glass eye!
I lay on my carpet; Dix’s petty insults run though my head. I tremble and realise I am covered with sweat, my skinny body drips and glistens, my cock still rock hard in my trunks an obvious wet patch even wider at where my cock tent poles the material. I sigh in relief from escaping Stephens shocking assault, and look at the TV screen at the trader as he shivers and squirms on his cross a thin line of blood runs down his long thigh, you can see the pain and humiliation in his face a long drool of precum dangles from his chemical erected cock. He has no escape from that pain all he can do is try to stand again to try and slide it out, try to escape the terrible pain that shocks him. He throws his head back suddenly and howls. It is a shrill, shocking admission of pain and defeat, it attracts the attention of the troopers and his fellow crucified, his head drops forward with a thud onto his naked, heaving chest, waiting for further torment.
Dix stands back for a moment.
He glances around the line of crucified while he waits for his fellow troopers to bring the nailer. The compressed air, nail gun used to crucify scum like this. Each man now suffers for their crimes, each is stretched upon their cross, their joints really painful now after being suspended for so long, each suffers the agony and the indignity of having the seat of shame rammed into their ass, reduced to the position of whores before the state, each suffers the personal humiliation of being naked and hard in public, each knowing that they are being scrutinised by friends, families and enemies. Well it’s what they deserve, without the State this country would fall into anarchy and chaos and yet filth like this tries to spit on the State, breaks its laws, harms its people. They deserve this, they had this suffering coming and he will ensure they get it, ensure they will endure every drop of torment and suffering vermin like this deserve. They are not people, they are animals, filth and scum, decent people do not go to the cross, the elite do not get crucified, loyal citizens do not get crucified, rebels and vermin. I feel his contempt as he surveys the five condemned men. He feels no pity; no decent man ends up on the cross with their cocks hard and their balls giggling about as they squirm, their filthy bodies dripping and oozing, vile displays of subhuman degradation.
“Ok permissions given and I got the gun”
“Good let’s get on with it”
“Ok lads its time for you guys to get the point!”
“Ha ha ha!”
Dix can see the fear in there eyes, good, he always enjoys this bit!
“No man please no” it’s the junkie.
“Ok shrivel dick lets call it off shall we?”
“Ha ha yeah lets get him down and buy him dinner!”
“Any kids junkie boy”
“Yeah two”
“How you manage it with a knuckle cock like that?”
“Sure they’re yours man?”
“Ha ha, yeah right, did you fuck a dwarf?”
“Fuck man you stink”
I see Lee getting larger as Dix advances on him
Obey the state.
His comrade passes him the nail gun, it is a wide metal cylinder, it is heavy, loaded with steel spikes, and some wag has painted “stick it to um” onto its smooth surface. It hums with power, it has a narrow barrel at its top, and the barrel is dark, blood stained. I have seen so many crucifixions but today I can experience the nailing. Dare I? I pulled away when Stephen got his ass spiked how will I cope with a real nailing? Guess I will soon find out if I have the guts to stay with them.
Reggie
Pain. His knee is on fire now; his teeth are tight together trying to suppress the groans that want to escape his throat, his cock hard before him, he feels sick at the thought of fags getting off on his man meat. “AAAAAAAAGH!” NOOO FUCK MAN IT HURTS MAN!”
The sudden scream grabs Reggie’s attention, it is the junkie next to him, he has heard him retching and groaning for hours now but this is the first reaction of real pain he has heard from the skinny runt. “FUCK NO GET IT OUT GET IT OUT!” Reggie tries to focus his myopic eyes on the naked junkie. The beige blur is jolting and bouncing on his cross, he can hear the hum of machinery under the yelps of the smack head. Reggie knows what this means and his blood runs cold. He hears a hum from his own cross. Fuck no! He sooooo does not want this to happen to him. Does not want it up the ass. The metal rod starts to telescope from the cross like an old style radio ariel. The mechanical metal snake starts to emerge from the cross under Reggie’s strong legs and he wants to vomit as he feels its brush its skin. The computer directed sedile starts to force itself between the black mans sculpted buttocks. “NOOO!” Reggie panics now. He ignores the agony in his knee and stands up straight on the narrow footrests desperate to escape the metal rod as it remorselessly tries to find its mark. The rod continues to push up and Reggie realises he has stretched as far as he can go, his knee in agony and his arms burn with the effort of lifting his muscular bulk. The seat of shame is between his buttocks and he feels the utter horror of its brushing the rim of his annus. “NO MAN NO!” his last utterance before he feels it start to force its way inside. He clenches his strong ass cheeks together in a futile attempt to block the invader. He feels the cold metal invade his asshole, pushing through tight muscle, forcing into soft pipe. Raw pain as the rod forces itself inside him, he feels it enter, impaling him, forcing itself past muscle and shit. Pain! His fevered mind wonders how anyone could do this for pleasure. It fills his ass and continues to force itself inside. He growls a deep groan of pain and hates himself for the demonstration of weakness. I am so excited feeling the cross rape this powerful man; I feel his horror, his shame, his disgust at himself at being reduced to being a fag. Please no deeper! Please. It is all he can do to stop himself begging these words aloud. The rod is unyielding, he is impaled. It hurts, hurts real bad and he is on his toes, he has an unhealthy speculation at how it will feel with the nails rammed in when the cruel seat is his only way of resting from the spikes. He feels sick.
The sudden scream grabs Reggie’s attention, it is the junkie next to him, he has heard him retching and groaning for hours now but this is the first reaction of real pain he has heard from the skinny runt. “FUCK NO GET IT OUT GET IT OUT!” Reggie tries to focus his myopic eyes on the naked junkie. The beige blur is jolting and bouncing on his cross, he can hear the hum of machinery under the yelps of the smack head. Reggie knows what this means and his blood runs cold. He hears a hum from his own cross. Fuck no! He sooooo does not want this to happen to him. Does not want it up the ass. The metal rod starts to telescope from the cross like an old style radio ariel. The mechanical metal snake starts to emerge from the cross under Reggie’s strong legs and he wants to vomit as he feels its brush its skin. The computer directed sedile starts to force itself between the black mans sculpted buttocks. “NOOO!” Reggie panics now. He ignores the agony in his knee and stands up straight on the narrow footrests desperate to escape the metal rod as it remorselessly tries to find its mark. The rod continues to push up and Reggie realises he has stretched as far as he can go, his knee in agony and his arms burn with the effort of lifting his muscular bulk. The seat of shame is between his buttocks and he feels the utter horror of its brushing the rim of his annus. “NO MAN NO!” his last utterance before he feels it start to force its way inside. He clenches his strong ass cheeks together in a futile attempt to block the invader. He feels the cold metal invade his asshole, pushing through tight muscle, forcing into soft pipe. Raw pain as the rod forces itself inside him, he feels it enter, impaling him, forcing itself past muscle and shit. Pain! His fevered mind wonders how anyone could do this for pleasure. It fills his ass and continues to force itself inside. He growls a deep groan of pain and hates himself for the demonstration of weakness. I am so excited feeling the cross rape this powerful man; I feel his horror, his shame, his disgust at himself at being reduced to being a fag. Please no deeper! Please. It is all he can do to stop himself begging these words aloud. The rod is unyielding, he is impaled. It hurts, hurts real bad and he is on his toes, he has an unhealthy speculation at how it will feel with the nails rammed in when the cruel seat is his only way of resting from the spikes. He feels sick.
Stephen
He can feel the seat of shame telescope up from the cross, it brushes his naked thighs as it snake like hunts out his hole. He stands on his toes, the tension tight in his legs. The rod brushes his buttocks but he is to tall for it, he stretches his legs and the rod cant quite penetrate him although it brushes the rim of his ass and tries to stretch forward to impale him. But how long can he stand how long can he resist the invader?
Mariuz
He can feel the vibration in his cross, feel the internal mechanisms buzz to life. The slight vibration a new torture for his aching limbs, his stretched muscles. He can see the well groom tall man on the cross next to him standing tall and avoiding the evil seat but he knows he is short and stocky and is to be impaled. He will be brave. He feels the cold metal prod the meaty flesh of his hairy buttocks as it seeks out his annus, he feels a thrill of anticipated horror as it starts to probe his buttocks crawling between them sliding through the sweaty flesh. Its cold head snakes between the flesh, then he feels it brush his rim, it senses it target ant starts to force itself in, I feel him clench his muscles the mans instinct to repel the invader but it is futile and it just causes him pain when the muscles fail and the rod rushes in, impaling him in a sudden rush. I also jerk in sudden pain as the seat of shame jabs in, pushing in hard. Pleasure for me pain for him. I know I can remove the cluster from the base of my neck and I can escape this pain, Mariuz has not escape from the humiliating invader, he cant believe how deep it is sinking and fears the machine has gone wrong and it will burst out of him. Its stops at last and he realises he is arched against the cross, he cant hold this straining position and faces the horror of having to try and relax his muscles and sit on this horrible, humiliating probe.He feels a sudden chill when he realises that they are about to do this to his son, his boy is going to be identically invaded. He wants to howl, wants to scream with impotent rage.
“Papa? You ok? What’s it like papa? Is it really bad papa?”
His sons voice is higher than usual revealing the strain he feels, what can he say? Should he lie and say it is ok?
Tell the truth and add to his boy’s fears?
“Hold in their son… soon be over” is the best he can come up with.
He looks into his son’s eyes and he see the pain and fear and his heart breaks once more. He hears the hum from his sons cross. He sees the bright metal of the sedile emerge from its hole, it snakes towards his sons pale buttocks, “be brave my son…”
I see through his eyes his son jolt as the cold steel touches his skin.
See his back arch as he tries to evade the invader, in doing so po8inting his hard cock obscenely into the air, its crown glistens in the studio lights. He hears his son gasp as the rod worms its way between his pert young buttocks and force its way towards his hole.
He is so angry. He wants to break free and defend his son as a father should but he is powerless, his body aches from the cross and his ass is on fire and he knows his boy will soon suffer as he does. He hears his boy groan, almost child like as the rod finds its mark and starts to impale his virgin ass. Big strong Mariuz wants to weep.
“Papa? You ok? What’s it like papa? Is it really bad papa?”
His sons voice is higher than usual revealing the strain he feels, what can he say? Should he lie and say it is ok?
Tell the truth and add to his boy’s fears?
“Hold in their son… soon be over” is the best he can come up with.
He looks into his son’s eyes and he see the pain and fear and his heart breaks once more. He hears the hum from his sons cross. He sees the bright metal of the sedile emerge from its hole, it snakes towards his sons pale buttocks, “be brave my son…”
I see through his eyes his son jolt as the cold steel touches his skin.
See his back arch as he tries to evade the invader, in doing so po8inting his hard cock obscenely into the air, its crown glistens in the studio lights. He hears his son gasp as the rod worms its way between his pert young buttocks and force its way towards his hole.
He is so angry. He wants to break free and defend his son as a father should but he is powerless, his body aches from the cross and his ass is on fire and he knows his boy will soon suffer as he does. He hears his boy groan, almost child like as the rod finds its mark and starts to impale his virgin ass. Big strong Mariuz wants to weep.
Adamsi
I feel his pain as I click onto the youth; feel the bite of the rod as it makes its relentless journey into him. Feel it force its way in forcing through tight muscle he feels as though the ring of his asshole will split. His ass crawls with pain, he feels sick, nausea building as the invader rams itself home. He wants it out, wants it out so bad, I feel the youth trying to pull himself higher, trying to escape the dildo but it just climbs higher and his thin legs are not as long as the lanky Stephen and his muscles just burn until with a moan of frustration he just sags down and he feels the rod ram harder, his cock bobs with the impact and he lets out a gasp. He feels utterly frustrated and helpless. We share a groan of despair. I hear loud moans, it is Stephen…
Stephen
His muscles are on fire. He is shaking his muscles on fire; I feel his strain and effort as he tries to keep lifted. He groans like a body builder who is almost overcome with effort. He quivers and struggles, his legs are cramped the foot rests digging in, he feel the top of the rod at the rim of his ass, coldly waiting for him. He tries to delay a little longer, delay the terrible moment and yet he knows it is futile, he knows he will tire and his cross for all to see will bugger him. His arms shake with the effort, even more violently than the detoxing Lee. The moment comes as a shock to both of us, his legs suddenly collapse, he collapses down with sudden force and the seat of shame suddenly ramming into him, the pain explodes inside him as it rips down to his prostate…PAIN! I share Stephens’s sudden pain, it explodes inside me as we share the experience and I find myself rolling around the sticky carpet of my sitting room my hands between my legs trying to comfort the source of our shared agony, this was the worst, the sudden stab rather than the slow invasion suffered by the others. I shake with pain as Stephen shares his torn ass, I reach for the computer and with trembling finger point at the troopers ident…
Dix
Wow man that gotta hurt! Rammed up the ass. Bet that could bring a
tear to a glass eye!
I lay on my carpet; Dix’s petty insults run though my head. I tremble and realise I am covered with sweat, my skinny body drips and glistens, my cock still rock hard in my trunks an obvious wet patch even wider at where my cock tent poles the material. I sigh in relief from escaping Stephens shocking assault, and look at the TV screen at the trader as he shivers and squirms on his cross a thin line of blood runs down his long thigh, you can see the pain and humiliation in his face a long drool of precum dangles from his chemical erected cock. He has no escape from that pain all he can do is try to stand again to try and slide it out, try to escape the terrible pain that shocks him. He throws his head back suddenly and howls. It is a shrill, shocking admission of pain and defeat, it attracts the attention of the troopers and his fellow crucified, his head drops forward with a thud onto his naked, heaving chest, waiting for further torment.
Dix stands back for a moment.
He glances around the line of crucified while he waits for his fellow troopers to bring the nailer. The compressed air, nail gun used to crucify scum like this. Each man now suffers for their crimes, each is stretched upon their cross, their joints really painful now after being suspended for so long, each suffers the agony and the indignity of having the seat of shame rammed into their ass, reduced to the position of whores before the state, each suffers the personal humiliation of being naked and hard in public, each knowing that they are being scrutinised by friends, families and enemies. Well it’s what they deserve, without the State this country would fall into anarchy and chaos and yet filth like this tries to spit on the State, breaks its laws, harms its people. They deserve this, they had this suffering coming and he will ensure they get it, ensure they will endure every drop of torment and suffering vermin like this deserve. They are not people, they are animals, filth and scum, decent people do not go to the cross, the elite do not get crucified, loyal citizens do not get crucified, rebels and vermin. I feel his contempt as he surveys the five condemned men. He feels no pity; no decent man ends up on the cross with their cocks hard and their balls giggling about as they squirm, their filthy bodies dripping and oozing, vile displays of subhuman degradation.
“Ok permissions given and I got the gun”
“Good let’s get on with it”
“Ok lads its time for you guys to get the point!”
“Ha ha ha!”
Dix can see the fear in there eyes, good, he always enjoys this bit!
“No man please no” it’s the junkie.
“Ok shrivel dick lets call it off shall we?”
“Ha ha yeah lets get him down and buy him dinner!”
“Any kids junkie boy”
“Yeah two”
“How you manage it with a knuckle cock like that?”
“Sure they’re yours man?”
“Ha ha, yeah right, did you fuck a dwarf?”
“Fuck man you stink”
I see Lee getting larger as Dix advances on him
Obey the state.
His comrade passes him the nail gun, it is a wide metal cylinder, it is heavy, loaded with steel spikes, and some wag has painted “stick it to um” onto its smooth surface. It hums with power, it has a narrow barrel at its top, and the barrel is dark, blood stained. I have seen so many crucifixions but today I can experience the nailing. Dare I? I pulled away when Stephen got his ass spiked how will I cope with a real nailing? Guess I will soon find out if I have the guts to stay with them.
crassuswild
Magistrate
DTTV- 11
Lee
Oh fuck man they are coming for me, they are going to nail me! No man no. His bones are cold, brain on fire from the detox but he knows what is coming will be worse. Fuck he is so scared; his terror eats into me as I rest in his body. The guards are close now they stand right in front of him their black uniforms brushing his tattooed flesh. I can feel the lump in his throat, the desire to run the desire to hide. He closes his eyes and the view vanishes he has no desire to watch what is to happen to him even if I do.
I remove the spex and the blackness is replaced by my room and the television but the feelings and sounds remain Lee’s. I look at the man ob the screen, every rib is visible, every tendon visible under his pale skin his tattoos glisten with sweat, his callused cock bobs as he squirms on his cross, he disappears as the soldiers crowd around him. I can see them reach up the bulky nail gun placed against the junkies left fore arm, just above the elbow, I feel the gloved fingers probing his skinny arm between the bones, Lee wants to pull his arm away but they are held fast by the bonds, his narrow biceps bounce under the tattooed flesh, I feel a shock of horror when the nail gun is pressed against it is so cold, I feel Lee’s sense of utter helplessness as the barrel is pressed into his arm. “No man please” we whisper. It is an instinctive moan but made in the full knowledge that it is futile. The soldiers don’t even acknowledge him. “OK ready” it is Dix husky tones. I feel Lee take a deep breath, his narrow chest expanding, trying to relish his final moments, I to prepare myself ready to take the nail with him, to see if I brave enough…
CHUNK!
AAAAAAAAAAAAGH! Oh my god! I rip the cluster from the back of my neck and the agony vanishes from my arm. I clutch my arm and can still feel the shadow of the intense pain of the steel spike, I can still hear Lee’s screams in my ears, tears well in my eyes and I rub my arm constantly, I can see on the TV the metal spike that now protrudes from the middle of Lee’s forearm, the soldiers are placing the nail gun next to his other arm. THAT WAS TOO MUCH! To intense. I can still feel the sudden explosion of pain as the nail was driven through muscle bone and nerves and into the cross. To fucking much! I shiver form the experience and look at Lee on the TV waiting for his second spike, he cannot remove his cluster, cannot escape that shocking pain I experience just for a moment, he has it forever, until he dies. I feel contempt for myself. I have always been fascinated by the cross, always imagined myself on the cross, dreamed of hanging naked by the nails and yet my first real taste of it I run away like a coward.
CHUNK! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!
I see the screen and Lee’s other arm is impaled onto the cross.
I look at myself in the mirror,
Pale in the screen light, skinny and yet with a hairy belly, cock bulge in my shorts a marker of my unhealthy interests and yet I lack the courage of my convictions, my first experience of the real cross I run. I Look at Lee gasping on his cross as they kneel down to work on his ankles, I take a deep swig of wine, cast myself another look of contempt. I reach for the computer…
Dare I click onto, Lee? Click on and off, have a taste of full crucifixion? To experience in one shocking burst what it really feels like to hang crucified?
No I am too much of a coward.
I will stick with Reggie, see how long I can stay with him before the pain is to great and I have to flee like the coward I am.
Reggie wants to be brave, wants to look tough; it’s always been what he has wanted. But he knows he looks humiliated, a rod up his ass, his cock hard, leg shaking and waving his balls, he feels like a fag, he hates it and he is scared, he is so scared, he has known pain, but he always knew he would survive, but he knows now that he is going to die. Fuck man he is going to die, he was brought up in the church and he has done so much evil he knows that he is going to hell.
Lee
Oh fuck man they are coming for me, they are going to nail me! No man no. His bones are cold, brain on fire from the detox but he knows what is coming will be worse. Fuck he is so scared; his terror eats into me as I rest in his body. The guards are close now they stand right in front of him their black uniforms brushing his tattooed flesh. I can feel the lump in his throat, the desire to run the desire to hide. He closes his eyes and the view vanishes he has no desire to watch what is to happen to him even if I do.
I remove the spex and the blackness is replaced by my room and the television but the feelings and sounds remain Lee’s. I look at the man ob the screen, every rib is visible, every tendon visible under his pale skin his tattoos glisten with sweat, his callused cock bobs as he squirms on his cross, he disappears as the soldiers crowd around him. I can see them reach up the bulky nail gun placed against the junkies left fore arm, just above the elbow, I feel the gloved fingers probing his skinny arm between the bones, Lee wants to pull his arm away but they are held fast by the bonds, his narrow biceps bounce under the tattooed flesh, I feel a shock of horror when the nail gun is pressed against it is so cold, I feel Lee’s sense of utter helplessness as the barrel is pressed into his arm. “No man please” we whisper. It is an instinctive moan but made in the full knowledge that it is futile. The soldiers don’t even acknowledge him. “OK ready” it is Dix husky tones. I feel Lee take a deep breath, his narrow chest expanding, trying to relish his final moments, I to prepare myself ready to take the nail with him, to see if I brave enough…
CHUNK!
AAAAAAAAAAAAGH! Oh my god! I rip the cluster from the back of my neck and the agony vanishes from my arm. I clutch my arm and can still feel the shadow of the intense pain of the steel spike, I can still hear Lee’s screams in my ears, tears well in my eyes and I rub my arm constantly, I can see on the TV the metal spike that now protrudes from the middle of Lee’s forearm, the soldiers are placing the nail gun next to his other arm. THAT WAS TOO MUCH! To intense. I can still feel the sudden explosion of pain as the nail was driven through muscle bone and nerves and into the cross. To fucking much! I shiver form the experience and look at Lee on the TV waiting for his second spike, he cannot remove his cluster, cannot escape that shocking pain I experience just for a moment, he has it forever, until he dies. I feel contempt for myself. I have always been fascinated by the cross, always imagined myself on the cross, dreamed of hanging naked by the nails and yet my first real taste of it I run away like a coward.
CHUNK! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!
I see the screen and Lee’s other arm is impaled onto the cross.
I look at myself in the mirror,
Pale in the screen light, skinny and yet with a hairy belly, cock bulge in my shorts a marker of my unhealthy interests and yet I lack the courage of my convictions, my first experience of the real cross I run. I Look at Lee gasping on his cross as they kneel down to work on his ankles, I take a deep swig of wine, cast myself another look of contempt. I reach for the computer…
Reggie
Pain. Pain in his knee, grinding and gnawing and yet nothing to the horror of the nail. Pain. Pain in the ass, ripping and invasive. Horror, I feel his horror at watching the junkie being nailed to his cross. The big man has heard the thunk of compressed air, heard the chunk of the nail blasting out, he has heard the sound of breaking skin, the scrape of steel against bone, the bang of the nail embedded into the cross, the terrible, shocking shriek of agony from the skinny man. He squints to make out the detail with the morbid curiosity of knowing what is going to happen to him next. They have the air gun next to his bound ankle, CHUNK! The nail is blasted in and again I feel gang mans dread increase as he see’s the junkie thrash and arch in raw agony as the nail is blasted through his living flesh. AAAAAAGH! The screaming is terrible, all the more shocking as the junkie has been reasonably quiet on his cross, groaning quietly as he suffered his detox. Fuck man it must hurt he thinks! Fuck man it must hurt real bad! Fuck they are going to do that to me! TO ME! Fuck man they are going to fucking nail me, fuck this thing in my ass hurts so bad I want it out, please god get it out,Please get me away from this, don’t let it hurt to long.
Please. “AAAAAAAAAAAGH! FUCK MAN IT HURTS IT FUCKING HURTS!”
Shut the fuck up I don’t want to hear that! “FUCK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! LET, ME DOWN I CANT BARE IT LET ME DOWN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! NOT MY OTHER A A A ANKLE NOOOOOOOO!”
Shut up man I don’t want to hear how bad it is!
CHUNK!
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH OH MY SWEET JESUS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
“Stop fucking screaming man fucking stop it”
“AAAAAAAAGH FUCK MAN PLEASE END THIS PLEASE!”
“Stop it man!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAGH CAN’T MAN AAAAAAAAAAGH SHIT! YOU WILL SEE YOU WILL FUCKING SEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
Reggie wishes he could stuff his fingers in his ears and block out Lee’s terrible scream but his bound hands wont let him. He hears the troops.
“OK release his bounds let him know how it feels to hang from the steel prick and the spikes”
“AAAGH NO MAN PLEASE NOT JUST THE SPIKES AAAAAAAAGH FUCK MAN LET ME KEEP THE BONDS, AAAAAAAAAGH! I DON’T WANT TO HANG AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! I DON’T WANT TO AAGH HANG!”
“OK computer control release clamps, cross one”
“NOOOO OH GOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
I see via Reggie the blur I know to be Lee starting to thrash as the bonds that hold his wrists and ankles withdraw curving, retracting into the cross. His skinny beige blur sinks down as his wrists and ankles are released, the rod digging deeper into his ass.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaagghghghg” his scream subsides into a gurgle, his arms rotate on the nails and his freed hands claw into empty air his thin arms bent at the elbow.
“Very good control, now retract foot rests please and this bastard can dance on the spikes”
“Confirmed”
Reggie watches in morbid fascination at his preview of hell blurred though his eyes are and as distracting as the sharp stabbing in his knee is. He watches the desperate Lee shuffle and slide his ankles along their impaling spikes in last bid to support himself on the disappearing footrests, with a horrified yelp the junkies final support retracts inside his cross and Lee experiences for the first time the brutal hell of hanging his whole body weight from the steel spikes through his arms, sitting on a rod that sinks deeper into his ass and standing on his ankles bones. He gives a low moan of agonised despair as the true realities of his final tortured hours. Reggie can tell the needle dick junkie is in complete and total agony. And now it’s his turn…
“One down four more of these fuckers to go, what a life”
Please. “AAAAAAAAAAAGH! FUCK MAN IT HURTS IT FUCKING HURTS!”
Shut the fuck up I don’t want to hear that! “FUCK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! LET, ME DOWN I CANT BARE IT LET ME DOWN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! NOT MY OTHER A A A ANKLE NOOOOOOOO!”
Shut up man I don’t want to hear how bad it is!
CHUNK!
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH OH MY SWEET JESUS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
“Stop fucking screaming man fucking stop it”
“AAAAAAAAGH FUCK MAN PLEASE END THIS PLEASE!”
“Stop it man!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAGH CAN’T MAN AAAAAAAAAAGH SHIT! YOU WILL SEE YOU WILL FUCKING SEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
Reggie wishes he could stuff his fingers in his ears and block out Lee’s terrible scream but his bound hands wont let him. He hears the troops.
“OK release his bounds let him know how it feels to hang from the steel prick and the spikes”
“AAAGH NO MAN PLEASE NOT JUST THE SPIKES AAAAAAAAGH FUCK MAN LET ME KEEP THE BONDS, AAAAAAAAAGH! I DON’T WANT TO HANG AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! I DON’T WANT TO AAGH HANG!”
“OK computer control release clamps, cross one”
“NOOOO OH GOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
I see via Reggie the blur I know to be Lee starting to thrash as the bonds that hold his wrists and ankles withdraw curving, retracting into the cross. His skinny beige blur sinks down as his wrists and ankles are released, the rod digging deeper into his ass.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaagghghghg” his scream subsides into a gurgle, his arms rotate on the nails and his freed hands claw into empty air his thin arms bent at the elbow.
“Very good control, now retract foot rests please and this bastard can dance on the spikes”
“Confirmed”
Reggie watches in morbid fascination at his preview of hell blurred though his eyes are and as distracting as the sharp stabbing in his knee is. He watches the desperate Lee shuffle and slide his ankles along their impaling spikes in last bid to support himself on the disappearing footrests, with a horrified yelp the junkies final support retracts inside his cross and Lee experiences for the first time the brutal hell of hanging his whole body weight from the steel spikes through his arms, sitting on a rod that sinks deeper into his ass and standing on his ankles bones. He gives a low moan of agonised despair as the true realities of his final tortured hours. Reggie can tell the needle dick junkie is in complete and total agony. And now it’s his turn…
“One down four more of these fuckers to go, what a life”
Dare I click onto, Lee? Click on and off, have a taste of full crucifixion? To experience in one shocking burst what it really feels like to hang crucified?
No I am too much of a coward.
I will stick with Reggie, see how long I can stay with him before the pain is to great and I have to flee like the coward I am.
Reggie wants to be brave, wants to look tough; it’s always been what he has wanted. But he knows he looks humiliated, a rod up his ass, his cock hard, leg shaking and waving his balls, he feels like a fag, he hates it and he is scared, he is so scared, he has known pain, but he always knew he would survive, but he knows now that he is going to die. Fuck man he is going to die, he was brought up in the church and he has done so much evil he knows that he is going to hell.
He is scared of dying.
He so does not want to go to hell.
Does not want to die.
He sees the black blurs he knows to be State Troopers gathering around his cross, he does not like the smell of their uniforms but does not think why. They have the silver blur, the nail gun.
Oh Christ the nail gun.
No request for final words this time, fuck this is it, I feel Reggie flexing his powerful muscles, fighting the cross desperate to escape, but held fast each movement a fresh agony for his damaged knee and the rod up his ass. “OK my big bro, its spike time”
“Fuck you asshole”
“Nope the State is fucking yours ha ha!”
He won’t beg, he wont please, he wont.
I feel as nervous as him, worse in a way I have already felt Lee’s agony as the spike was blasted through his living flesh.
We hang together on Reggie’s cross, the pain in his ass turns me on, and I rub my own leg as we share the pain of his damaged knee.
AAGH! A stab of pain as a trooper deliberately slaps his thick cock aside. He is unable to make out their whispered jokes.
“Guess the black bitch likes the rod up his ass” they are bouncing his cock, I thrill at the sensation.
“The black fag is as hard as iron”
“Bet his fag pals are going to miss that nigger hose”
He honks up from his lungs and spits, I feel my own mouth copy his actions, he spits and I do also, my own saliva globs wetly onto my naked chest, Reggie spits and it lands sticky onto the shoulder of one of his tormentors, it has the consistently of runny egg. “Fucking black bastard!” the soldier pushes down on Reggie’s muscular thighs, driving the prick seat deeper into his tight ass, I feel the explosion of burning pain and hear his grunt of pain in my ears. I also feel his satisfaction of his last act of defiance. It only lasts a moment he feels the circular barrel of the nail gun, it is warm, sticky with Lee’s blood.
I feel Reggie clench his teeth, I feel the cold wave of terror, he is so scared now but I admire the way he keeps the snarl on his face but I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he nervously gulps down air.
The waiting is terrible.
He almost wishes that they would get on with it.
He hears the buzz from the device, feels the barrel pushed hard into his flesh of his brawny forearm just below the elbow.
He wants to pull away but the damn rod in his ass wont let him move, he grunts at its ripping burning presence.
The cross rubs on his naked shoulders
He feels a brief shudder in the barrel, is this it?
CHUNK!
“FUCK!”
I feel the steel nail shot through the thick muscle, between the bones of the forearm I feel the cross shake as the nail embeds into it!
For a moment a split second, there is nothing, a moment for Reggie and myself to contemplate the reality of that moment, a bolt of steel through living fleshes holding his arm to the cross.
Then the signals from the shredded nerves reach the brain of the crucified and his parasite.
The pain is as intense! It explodes through my arm, it is like the moment I broke my arm as a child, the steel grinds the bone, rips the nerves, a jet of hot blood sprays into Reggie’s face, into his mouth!
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
We scream together and I pull out. I stayed in longer this time but again the pain was far too much,
He so does not want to go to hell.
Does not want to die.
He sees the black blurs he knows to be State Troopers gathering around his cross, he does not like the smell of their uniforms but does not think why. They have the silver blur, the nail gun.
Oh Christ the nail gun.
No request for final words this time, fuck this is it, I feel Reggie flexing his powerful muscles, fighting the cross desperate to escape, but held fast each movement a fresh agony for his damaged knee and the rod up his ass. “OK my big bro, its spike time”
“Fuck you asshole”
“Nope the State is fucking yours ha ha!”
He won’t beg, he wont please, he wont.
I feel as nervous as him, worse in a way I have already felt Lee’s agony as the spike was blasted through his living flesh.
We hang together on Reggie’s cross, the pain in his ass turns me on, and I rub my own leg as we share the pain of his damaged knee.
AAGH! A stab of pain as a trooper deliberately slaps his thick cock aside. He is unable to make out their whispered jokes.
“Guess the black bitch likes the rod up his ass” they are bouncing his cock, I thrill at the sensation.
“The black fag is as hard as iron”
“Bet his fag pals are going to miss that nigger hose”
He honks up from his lungs and spits, I feel my own mouth copy his actions, he spits and I do also, my own saliva globs wetly onto my naked chest, Reggie spits and it lands sticky onto the shoulder of one of his tormentors, it has the consistently of runny egg. “Fucking black bastard!” the soldier pushes down on Reggie’s muscular thighs, driving the prick seat deeper into his tight ass, I feel the explosion of burning pain and hear his grunt of pain in my ears. I also feel his satisfaction of his last act of defiance. It only lasts a moment he feels the circular barrel of the nail gun, it is warm, sticky with Lee’s blood.
I feel Reggie clench his teeth, I feel the cold wave of terror, he is so scared now but I admire the way he keeps the snarl on his face but I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he nervously gulps down air.
The waiting is terrible.
He almost wishes that they would get on with it.
He hears the buzz from the device, feels the barrel pushed hard into his flesh of his brawny forearm just below the elbow.
He wants to pull away but the damn rod in his ass wont let him move, he grunts at its ripping burning presence.
The cross rubs on his naked shoulders
He feels a brief shudder in the barrel, is this it?
CHUNK!
“FUCK!”
I feel the steel nail shot through the thick muscle, between the bones of the forearm I feel the cross shake as the nail embeds into it!
For a moment a split second, there is nothing, a moment for Reggie and myself to contemplate the reality of that moment, a bolt of steel through living fleshes holding his arm to the cross.
Then the signals from the shredded nerves reach the brain of the crucified and his parasite.
The pain is as intense! It explodes through my arm, it is like the moment I broke my arm as a child, the steel grinds the bone, rips the nerves, a jet of hot blood sprays into Reggie’s face, into his mouth!
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
We scream together and I pull out. I stayed in longer this time but again the pain was far too much,