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.licking at the sweat running down your face, its salty but your thirst is starting to build. the beam rubs your wounded back, insults being yelled at you, the soldiers tug you along, cock and balls out, back is on fire, an egg hits you in the face, small kids throw stones your chest heaves as you breath, an old woman spits in your face, a child runs up slaps your face and runs away giggling, you look at them pleadingly but you get no comfort from your countrymen, body bent forward under the weight, you slow and CRACK the whip slices the backs of your legs
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH! you lunge forward
the heat beats down,you reach at last the city gate, soon you will loose the shade of the city walls, ahead the unshaded stipe as you leave the city gate and the full blast of the sun strikes you, sweat pouring down, not a tree in sight, no shade, the ground starts to become rough and stony, the burden seems to get greater you start to slow as your journey ends, a stone catches your foot ARRRRRRRRGH! falling the wood slams down on top of you unable to protect your face you crash down rocks slamming into your face blood pours from your lips
a soldier gives you a kick to your ribs GET THE FUCK UP
UGGGGGGGGGGGGGH! your yelling in pain now, the mounting tortures breaking you and forcing you to react
they pull the chain and you struggle to your feet you stumble on, unsteady now, swaying, the heat gets to you heat waves rise from the ground, sweat pours down you, the ground so uneven as you leave the road you trip and fall to your knees UGGGGGGGGH!
finally reach the end of our walk the stipes looming large before you, your soaked with sweat and exhausted
13
You are staggering the last few paces towards the waiting soldiers, the drum stops sounding, your guards are using the whips more frequently, you are staring at the stipes laying on the ground, waiting for the crossbeam, waiting for its sobbing burden, it has a sedile rather than a footrest, a splintered block of wood with a nail crudely driven into it, the even more painful way to be crucified as ant standing can only be on the spikes through your feet rather than onto any comforting support, it will also crush what makes you a man, adding to your pain and shame, you pause for a second when you see the waiting crossbeam, your gaunt face unreadable before the whip cuts across your naked ass driving you forward,
Marco steps up to you and as the crowd slowly gathers .
A soldier is gathering the iron spikes from the leather bag, they clank in his hands, you hear the metallic sound and you look at the spikes, your eyes wide.
The remove the chain roughly from around your neck, yanking it over your head, as it scrapes past your years and comes away your head jerks back hitting your wooden cross beam. sweat roles down your high forehead, your face appears even more gaunt and haunted.
Marco kicks you hard in the bare balls, all the men in the crowd wince at seeing the blow, my own slaves move there hands over there groins in sympathy,
"UUUUUUUUUUUUGH" you moan and sink to your knees, pain creasing your face.
Once on your knees the soldiers start to untie the ropes slowly from around your arms, the ropes have left burns around the soft skin of your upper arms, as the ropes fall away then the soldiers lift the wood from your raw back, at the same time others grab your arms and force your hands behind your back and the loop of chain that hand been about your neck is tightened around your wrists to stop you from lashing out. Your on your knees, naked and chained before the crowd and the might of Rome, it is hard to imagine a greater humiliation for a rebel.
they carry the wooden beam to the stipe and start to fix the two together with a squeak of wood, making a T shaped cross, the cross onto which you will soon be nailed.
i see you watching them build your cross, your face cold and hard, but your chest pants with nerves and sweat roles down your glistening torso .
i clear my throat and raise my arm, the soldiers pull out their swords and the crowd goes silent,
"This man naked before us now is a traitor against Rome, a bandit, a killer, a thief and a brigand, he has been tried and justly found guilty for his crimes, his sentence is death and his punishment is the slowly degrading death of crucifixion. Watch as he is nailed onto the cross and hung out to die before you, watch his torture and learn from his example, obey Roman law and avoid the naked shame of this criminal before you." i see you staring into the quiet crowd, your face like stone, challenging them with your suffering, are they shamed that you are dying because of your desire for your peoples freedom? or are they glad another trouble maker that blights there lives will soon be disposed of? "soldiers of Rome, you have a duty to perform, you have justice to enact, carry out your duty in the name of the emperor of Rome, crucify him!"
you take a look of the world, the city, the beautiful sky, the mob here to watch, men and women are here they laugh and point, your so naked and exposed, humiliated before them all
i take a last look at you, on your knees before me, you give me a long hard look, your eyes cold and full of hate.
I smile at you "you said you would show your countrymen how a true Gaul dies, bravely and defiant, time to see if you can"
your head snaps around to look at your cross as the sound of hammering, the soldiers are nailing your titulus, the sign naming your crime to the top of your cross, the sound of nailing makes you react, the nails going into the wooden sign makes your eyes widen in horror, very soon similar nails will be going through your limbs.
the soldiers approach
they are ready for you
the guards grab you, they punch your guts and drag you towards the cross the wood cruel and waiting, a soldier standing a hammer in his meaty fists, they roughly drag you to the cross,terror sets in now, you see a bag of nails waiting
"oh gods no" i hear you whisper under your breath before you are pulled away from me and towards your cross. the chain behind your rattles, hanging down between your butt cheeks , you look at your cross and the neat hole before it at the road side.
the road is now full of people, all trying to see. they are all excited with expectation now, each man goes to the cross slightly differently, some brave, some stunned, some pleading.
the soldiers gather around you so you cannot escape. They release your hands from the chains and you stand rubbing yours wrists. you look down at the cross then around you, you smile sadly
you look at the soldier with the hammer and say loudly so all can here "alright, lets fucking do this"
they turn you around quickly, your cock slapping your thigh, they throw you down, your torn back slapping into the wood, you fall back and writhe as your raw back hits the cross, they grab your arms and spread them across the crossbeam the sun is in your eyes chest pushed up stomach is sucked in they stamp you down, your legs bent, knees in the air, your feet flat on either side of the upright, the sedile between your legs, your cock laying on your thigh.
the mob starts to chant "crucify him, crucify him, crucify him, crucify him..."
you feel a nail pressed against your wrist, you lift and turn your head and see the guard with hammer kneel down, he places a square of wood on your wrist, to act as a washer that will stop you pulling the nail through your wrist. He gently taps the thick iron nail into the wood, it breaks through and you feel the cold nail tip gently press against the skin on your wrist. jolt when you feel the nail, i guess you get a thrill of horror at feeling the nail that will soon be driven through your living flesh.
"crucify him, crucify him, crucify him, crucify him..."
he raises the hammer
this is it, no escape
i see you breathing deeply preparing yourself, you close your eyes and your top teeth bite deep into your bottom lip, ready for the pain.
the soldier pauses deliberately to let your terror mount his muscles flexing as he prepares to slam the hammer down onto the nail head
the he strikes
clang clang clang, the nail breaks the skin of your wrist
"gods" you grunt
clang clang clang
your pelvis thrusts into the air, cock flopping
clang clang clang the metal spike cuts through the sinew of your wrists forces apart the bones
"UUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!" you moan and squirm, no longer acting strong
clang clang clang the nails cut through the median nerve of your wrists, your hands closeup looking like claws, a spurt of blood spays the soldiers, the nail is driven into the wood
"oh gods noooooooo" you moan, twisting in pain, you open your eyes wide and pain and look at the nail protruding from your wrist, the nail head flat against the wooden washer.
the nail man steps over your torso and readies himself to nail your other wrist...
i watch you staring at your nailed wrist in agony an expression of disbelief on your face, i wonder if you think it hurts worse than you imagined? your mouth is wide open now, sucking air into your chest, trying to manage your pain.
The bloody soldier taps the spike through the washer and starts to position it on your other wrist, the soldiers holding your arm to the cross.
You turn your head and see they are ready, your eyes fill with panic and you close them, lowering your head and resting your head on the crossbeam.
He raises the hammer.
Then slams it down,
the iron spike start to bite through flesh
driven through living muscle
this time you react with the pain, crying sounds terrible ... full of pain and disbelief
the hammer blows clang clang clang
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! you yell
the spikes start to slit the delicate bones of the wrist
the crowd goes silent, shocked by the brutal nailing of a man
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
some of the youths and men in the crowd start mocking you, they have seen better ones before ...what a despicable man
clang clang clang, you feel the nails start to burst out of the underside of your wrist
clang clang clang the nails are driven hard into the wood!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH you yell, pain overwhelming your wanting to be brave. You cannot stop crying during the nailing
"QUIT HOWLING GAUL!" complains one soldier
"FUCKING BARBARIAN!" insults another
you shake your head from side to side in pain
"NOT SO FUCKING TOUGH NOW GAUL!"
i can see the sinews on my neck, they get up for a moment leaving you nailed to the wood, your back arching in agony, your legs dancing in the dust
"FUCKING BASTARDS PISSED HISELF!"
from your face i can see that the pain is unbearable, nothing else than pain .... terrible pain, iron nails deep through your wrists, wrists that are NAILED to the patibulum
after some moments - for you like after an eternity - you calm down ... stop crying, knowing that your only half crucified.
they slam both your ankles into the sides on the cross, they force your heels against the cross
i see your lips moving and i wonder if your praying
they jab the washered spike into your left ankle, they break the skin
"ARRRRRRRRRRRGH GODS NOOOOOOOOOO" the movement has caused your wrists fresh agony and you feel the nail on your ankle, knowing your torture is going to increase.
they raise the hammer and slam down
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH"
bang bang bang
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH" i see the muscles in your legs tense as they start to hammer the spike into your heel. the spikes breaks your ankle as it cuts through the muscle and tissue
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH GOD PLEASE" your whole body jumps and jerks, cock bobbing, face twisting
bang bang bang , nail into the wood
" ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH" your face a mask of pain, chest rapidly rising as you breath, tears and sweat cover your face
satisfied your ankle is secure to the cross they step over you to the other foot, spikes ready, hardened in fire, sharp as razors, they force it againt your heel, despite yourself you sit up slightly to watch, they produce the heavy hammer ready to drive the spike in.
you lay on the cross, swear rolling off you, shaking your head in pain, a look of desperation on your handsome gaunt face, still trying to be brave but being overwhelmed by the pain. the crowd mocking and cheering, you see me watching your humiliating torture and glare, i smile at you with satisfaction
they pull back the hammer
"GODS SAVE ME, SOWN WITH ROME, RISE UP AND FREE GAUL, GODS SAVE ME, GODS SAVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" they start to drive in the spike,
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
they nail you, you watch as the spike breaks the skin of your heel, the spike break your heel bone
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH MY GODS MY GODs WHY WHY STOP STOP I CAN'T TAKE IT!" your bravery gone now, the pain is to great. The spike starts to sink into the cross
your heart feels like it will explode, it is pounding
The soldiers stand back, your nailed to your cross, a spike through each wrist and each ankle, your writhing on the ground, your lean body undulating like a snake, your cock flopping, your back arching against the cross, your in terrible agony and your bravery humiliatingly gone, your pain is beyond belief but it is only the start of your suffering as the order is given,
"RAISE THE CROSS"
The Soldiers start to thread ropes around the metal rings at the end of your crossbeam. i watch you on your cross as they work, your face constantly moving, blinking tears from your eyes and trying to suppress the groans that are growing in your throat, you teeth sunk into your bottom lip desperate to hold back the wails, desperate to appear brave before the people who will soon watch your cross erected. Your limbs are shaking slightly from the shock of your injuries, blood leaks from around the nails that impale you to the wood.
The ropes are readied and burly troops stand ready to pull while others stand at the top of your cross.
"OK LETS LIFT THE FUCKER" snarls Marco
The soldiers at the top of your cross force there fingers under the crossbeam, the cross moves slightly and i see the pain on your face as you move on the nails. Once they get purchase the lift the head of the cross slightly,
"NOW!" commands Marco and the arm muscles of the soldiers at the head of the cross flex as grunting they start to lift the cross. At the same time the other soldiers start to pull on the ropes.
Your cross shifts and starts to raise, the effect on you is devastating, as it lefts it starts to tilt and you start to hand more and more from the spikes, with each second your agony intensifies , you start to pull down on the wrist nails while at the same time your raw back slides down the wood, the sedile starts to dig into and crush your balls.
The soldiers sweating and cursing continue to lift, your head shaking from side to side, your eyes rolled back as you suffer unimaginable pain, you are pushing back, desperate for all the support the cross can give you, desperate not to hand solely from the spikes.
the crowd cheers as the cross gets higher and they all get a good view of your tortured naked body, exposed for all to see.
The cross is high now and your body shakes and undulates in agony, the soldiers guide the cross towards the neatly dug hole in the ground, then with a sudden and sickening thud the cross drops into the hole.
The cross drops down and you bounce on the nails, you throw back your head.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
while the soldiers drive little wedges into the base of your cross to stop it falling you realise what it is to be crucified. You are hanging from the nails, the sedile crushing your balls, totally agony written over your face. your sweating body twisting and writhing, desperate to escape the raw pain that now tortures you, your handsome gaunt face totally screwed up, limbs jerking, your cock jiggling with each movement
The crowd jeers at the crucified Gaul
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.
DTTV-3
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 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…
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.
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