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SV's Occasional Crucifixion Thread

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Apostate

Administrator
Staff member
Love the stark white setting contrasting with her black skin. The shoe adds a touch of color to the scene and maybe a glimmer of hope but that thought is dashed when you realize the energy pent up in her captor's stance. Her fate is sealed.

Gee, I hope so. I have developed an almost certainly ignoble fixation on this one's cut, glistening body, and am impatient for it to be displayed on a cross. :babeando:
 

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Apostate

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Servus Venandi

Magistrate
SV, I hope you'll indulge my focus on the center panel, and a bit of brightening to bring the bodies into better view. :babeando:

The shadowy firelight is more realistic to me, but the brightening is a fair "viewer experience" improvement. I brightened the third panel myself, but lazily didn't address the others. At 8 hours of render time a pop, the extra few minutes of post-work maybe should've gone into the originals. ;)

SW_ToA_HangingAround02.jpg
 

lember

Magistrate
On The Shoulders Of Giants
by Servus Venandi

View attachment 807925View attachment 807927View attachment 807926

Two crosses stood in the open area at the base of Cellblock F1, well-used metal T’s that would probably still be standing long after the rest of the place fell to a concrete ruin around them. There was something almost sublime about this thought as Takara balanced on a wooden stool, her bare back to one of the vertical posts and arms splayed against the beam, while Officer Wendy Vicano finished buckling the leather ankle cuffs. A handful of the guards who had broken up the fight and hauled Takara down here stood back and watched, arms folded, expressions ranging from disdain to mild amusement.

Assholes, the lot of them. Except Wendy. Wendy was kind and understanding most days, even gentle when she could afford to be. If Takara had to do an hour on the cross, she supposed she was comfortable enough having Wendy see to it. Her only regret was in knocking Rochelle Diggs out cold, so now the thieving bitch got pampered in the infirmary instead of getting to dance on the second cross.

Maybe they’d make her dance later, and Takara could watch from her cell. That might be even better.

“Yes, they’re locked,” Wendy said. “Keep tampering with them, though, and somebody’s gonna tack another hour onto this session.”

Takara realized she’d been idly fumbling with the clips attaching her wrist cuffs to the crossbeam eyelets.

She stopped and muttered, “Sorry.”

Wendy smirked and cinched down the final strap behind Takara’s ankles. “Going up, honey. Let yourself down easy so this won’t jar you too bad.”

Takara sighed and slid down the length of the post until her arms extend above her at at forty-five-degree angles. It was her first time on the cross, but she’d seen it enough times to know the drill.

She didn’t willfully place her entire weight on her wrists, but she didn’t have a choice when Wendy picked up her feet and pinned them flat against the post. Sharp pain cut from her neck to her fingers, and Takara sucked a hard breath between clinched teeth.

Wendy slapped the ankle clip onto an eyelet somewhere south of Takara’s butt, and there she was, crucified. If only her parents in Zone 3 could see her now.

“Pace yourself,” Wendy said. “The longer you can relax here in the early going, the longer you’ll be able to hold yourself up later.”

Finding the advice nonsensical as her arms caught on fire, Takara nevertheless hung in the cuffs and tried to save her legs. She wiggled from side to side a bit, testing the bondage for some secret position that might hurt less, but she figured there wasn’t one.

“Is that observation or personal experience?” she asked the guard.

“A lot of the former,” Wendy replied, “a little of the latter. Every officer here trained in disciplinary crucifixion. Three years ago I hung for an hour right where you are now. My best advice is to control your breath and hang as long as you can.”

“You could’ve come down anytime,” Takara said more harshly than she intended. “Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten the job, but you could’ve said no and gone home.”

“And if I hadn’t gotten the job, you’d be locked up without me, hanging up there with nobody to talk to.”

“Perish the thought.”

Wendy reached forward and squeezed Takara’s left knee, then she leaned over and snatched her riot rifle off the floor. She was the only guard among those who’d responded to the brawl who carried one. Fortunately, she hadn’t used it. The things were nonlethal, but the pain level was reportedly somewhere between childbirth and burning alive.

“I wasn’t the only person of note to precede you up there,” Wendy continued. “Care to hazard a guess who it was?”

Letting her chin rest against her bulky metal prisoner collar, Takara said, “Nope, not really.”

“Fine, be that way. It was Sage Gallows. Before she got shipped to Zone Nine Asylum, while the lawyers and courts were still trying to sort out that galactic mess of a case, she spent some time right here in block F.”

Takara shoved her ass to the right, desperate for relief but still hoping to not push up with her legs until she absolutely couldn’t stand it. This party was just getting started, after all.

“Were you here then?” she wondered.

“Was brand new that year,” Wendy said, “but yeah. I put her up there once, same as I just did for you.”

“For me? Some favor, Officer.”

“You’re a firecracker, Taka, but I’ve never seen anybody fight that hard. Gallows fought the cuffs. She fought the clamps. She fought the whip. She fought the cross. Hell, she fought meal times and medical checkups. That girl wore a ballgag and heavy steel constantly, and I swear I was still terrified she might find a way to rip my jugular out.”

Takara straightened herself out on the cross and managed a tiny shrug. “Well, you do work for the syndicate that screwed her like a two-bit whore, and then didn’t even pay her the two bits.”

Wendy nodded. “I tried to be easy with her. We probably didn’t trade more than a few dozen words during the weeks she was here, but I like to think we had an understanding. She never broke my nose, at least.”

“You crux her a lot?”

“She got cruxxed almost daily. I only did her that one time—on orders, not my choice. I told her as much. I think she believed me, thank god.”

Takara asked, “How’d it go?”

“She was a machine,” Wendy replied. “I mean ... the cross hurt. You could tell. Nobody gets crucified and mistakes it for Yoga. But she hardly made a sound, and I never saw her shed a tear during torture. She’d cry at night in her cell, strapped down and blindfolded, but never when you’d expect.”

“Was she crazy as they say?”

“She was crazy violent, but only to protect herself or hand down her version of justice. I don’t think she was actually crazy at all.”

Takara gave up and pushed herself into a standing position. The relief that flooded through her arms was almost divine, but her slender legs weren’t going to hold for long.

“Say that opinion too loud,” Takara said, “and I might have a dance partner soon.”

Wendy waved the warning off. “I wouldn’t speak well of Sage Gallows in front of the warden or anything, but I’m not saying anything my peers don’t already know. Especially the ones who were here back then.” She glanced down and brushed nonexistant dust from her rifle. “So sad how they killed her, you know? All that rigamarole, then....” She mimed a noose with her free hand, crossed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue.

Takara said, “If you were trying to make me feel better about dancing here, you just failed.”

“Look on the bright side—you aren’t an interstellar terrorist, and you’re still slated for release before Christmas.” Wendy tapped the side of her visor. “What do you know? We’ve chatted your cross time down by five minutes. Only fifty-five to go.”

“Yay.”

“You want a gag to bite down on? Sometimes it helps.”

Takara shook her head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure? I’m off to lunch in twenty, so you’ll be on your own for the duration.”

“I’m good.”

Wendy waited a beat, smiled, and gave Takara a friendly swat on the ass.

“All right, honey. Breathe and relax. And for the love of god, stop fighting other inmates, and you ragdoll instantly the next time a guard says stop. You aren’t Sage Gallows, and you don’t wanna be. ‘Kay?”

Takara blinked once, bent her knees, and sunk back into a hanging position. The burn rushed back into her arms, and she stifled a groan in the back of her dry throat. It was going to be a long hour.

“’Kay. Enjoy your lunch, Wen.... Officer Vicano.”

--

Please please continue this story. I am really moved by these stockholm-syndrome conversation scenes. I want to know how she can manage her thoughts alone and distract from her uncomfortness. I am curious how she describe her feelings to Wendy and what she tries to ask for when she comes back.

I love that you did not describe that unimaginable pain a classic crucifixion means, it brings the story closer. The description of small movements and sounds make me feel I am the naked girl on the steel cross. But you did not extract the thread why she is naked. As a girl you find it humiliating in a woman department, or are there or will be men around? If she was just stripped for this punishment, where are her clothes?

Than you for bring back this classic kind of crucifixion stories to the forum
 

Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Please please continue this story. I am really moved by these stockholm-syndrome conversation scenes. I want to know how she can manage her thoughts alone and distract from her uncomfortness. I am curious how she describe her feelings to Wendy and what she tries to ask for when she comes back.

I love that you did not describe that unimaginable pain a classic crucifixion means, it brings the story closer. The description of small movements and sounds make me feel I am the naked girl on the steel cross. But you did not extract the thread why she is naked. As a girl you find it humiliating in a woman department, or are there or will be men around? If she was just stripped for this punishment, where are her clothes?

Than you for bring back this classic kind of crucifixion stories to the forum

Thank you for the kind words. It means a lot.

I didn't write the "Giants" story with any intention of a follow-up (though there's a short prequel here). Any attempt to shoehorn a continuation would probably fall flat, but if inspiration strikes it will certainly land in this thread.

As for Takara's lack of clothing—when you are arrested in the Syndicate Wars universe, you will usually be stripped and kept that way until your time is served (or you are acquitted, which rarely happens). ;)
 

lember

Magistrate
I and the people who thumbed me up are sure there are more in this one. You built up an interesting situation in an interesting world, with an interesting character who faces new experiences:
-being exposed - You could bring out more of this if nudity was not common there, but it is still new for her how the feelings themselves are exposed on cross
-loneliness
-relativity of time
within constant distracting discomfortness.
Will she change? Will she be more closed or more open toward Wendy, after she may be broken, meanwhile probably understand the difference of being crucified in clothes, among classmates who faces the same exercise
In the post You mentioned there was that very well constructed redhead: Damn hot, meanwhile not as perfect that she can even be proud while being exposed on the cross, not embarrassed - I don't even know, how you did it: strong pubic hair like of hedgehog; wrinkles that shows fat that have gone in the months of prison, dirt, a very little bit soft and hanging breasts or anything else; anyway, putting it besides the last image of Takara, where she is just left alone with her pain by Wendy, we see another situation: When Rochelle still arrives at last and be put besides her:Takara is already tired and covered by plenty of sweat (btw we need to talk about your sweat effect, much better than any of mine), while Rochelle is not, as well as with her own stamina which is the straight consequence of mouth gag. Do their relationships change in this situation? Is there any difference in how they handle their ordeal?
So if you give us the answers to these questions, while keeping your very depicting literary and visual images about movements and feelings (that`s why writers like crucifixion: these things are very closely attached together), the story cannot be flat.
We are thinking about crucifixion very similarly, you may see if you read my stories here (Five and a half hours, The tax office, The office [short], The corner [short])
So this is what I could add to your inspiration in the first round, hereby asking help from the others (Phlebas, my most loyal inspiration and critic, where are You). Let`s play the game
 

Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Thanks again, @lember. Those would all be fine avenues to explore in a continuation. I particularly like the idea of seeing what happens with Rochelle, or between Rochelle and Takara next time they meet.

I'm a finicky writer who typically doesn't do well when I try to make myself do something, but I'll keep all that mind. We'll see what happens. :)
 

lember

Magistrate
Thanks again, @lember. Those would all be fine avenues to explore in a continuation. I particularly like the idea of seeing what happens with Rochelle, or between Rochelle and Takara next time they meet.

We too. It will be an interesting communication with mouth gag.

We may play out the other one between Takara and Wendy when she comes back, if You wish. You are Takara and we are Wendy.
 

Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Trials of Ariana: The Long Dance
by Servus Venandi

SW_ToA_TheLongDance.jpg

Since Chelja’s humiliating defeat at the ruins of Fort Falgaard more than a month ago, she has learned more about Wildling depravity—and the fragility of her own mind—than she ever cared to know.

Death on the cross might have been a cruelty—a tragedy, even, as a good handful of people across New T’Cora might ultimately mourn Chelja to some degree—but these elfin barbarians have condemned her to something far more sinister than death.

For Mistress Zola’s thralls have not simply driven spikes into Chelja’s wrists and feet, and then left her to struggle and expire as nature wills. No, they have crucified her repeatedly, once every few days, only to take her down each time and mend her wounds, to compel her recovery with foul elfin magic and medicine. When her strength returns, they start the process anew.

Chelja’s longest dance to date spanned a full two days, her shortest a mere two hours. As such, she now struggles hard from the instant her cross is raised, as it sometimes causes more bleeding and shortens her suffering. In retrospect, she realizes this is a trained response, like a dog having learned to sit or fetch. The elfs enjoy watching her.

Regardless, hanging calmly against the spikes, adjusting herself as needed every few moments, invariably results in extended pain. Fighting ferociously doesn’t ensure any particular benefit, but it at least provides the chance of one. What choice does she have but to gyrate her nude, muscular body for dirty elfin onlookers, in hopes she will bleed enough to earn an early reprieve? None, by Chelja’s reasoning, and perhaps that is the point—accepting her lot, submitting to the absolute control exercised by her mistress.

Mercenary jobs are always rife with the possibility that Chelja will be incapacitated and wake up in slavery, but to be broken in this manner by filthy Wildlings, while repeatedly teased with the oblivion she craves, is a nigh unbearable shame.

Rescue seems unlikely after this long. The path of least suffering might be surrender, to allow her mind to scurry off into whatever delusory fantasies it deems a suitable escape from the reality of the cross. For the moment, however, Chelja remains just stubborn enough to reject this solution. Still, even she can’t deny that her grip on herself loosens with each grueling dance.
 

SinDD

Condemned
Trials of Ariana: The Long Dance
by Servus Venandi

View attachment 917762

Since Chelja’s humiliating defeat at the ruins of Fort Falgaard more than a month ago, she has learned more about Wildling depravity—and the fragility of her own mind—than she ever cared to know.

Death on the cross might have been a cruelty—a tragedy, even, as a good handful of people across New T’Cora might ultimately mourn Chelja to some degree—but these elfin barbarians have condemned her to something far more sinister than death.

For Mistress Zola’s thralls have not simply driven spikes into Chelja’s wrists and feet, and then left her to struggle and expire as nature wills. No, they have crucified her repeatedly, once every few days, only to take her down each time and mend her wounds, to compel her recovery with foul elfin magic and medicine. When her strength returns, they start the process anew.

Chelja’s longest dance to date spanned a full two days, her shortest a mere two hours. As such, she now struggles hard from the instant her cross is raised, as it sometimes causes more bleeding and shortens her suffering. In retrospect, she realizes this is a trained response, like a dog having learned to sit or fetch. The elfs enjoy watching her.

Regardless, hanging calmly against the spikes, adjusting herself as needed every few moments, invariably results in extended pain. Fighting ferociously doesn’t ensure any particular benefit, but it at least provides the chance of one. What choice does she have but to gyrate her nude, muscular body for dirty elfin onlookers, in hopes she will bleed enough to earn an early reprieve? None, by Chelja’s reasoning, and perhaps that is the point—accepting her lot, submitting to the absolute control exercised by her mistress.

Mercenary jobs are always rife with the possibility that Chelja will be incapacitated and wake up in slavery, but to be broken in this manner by filthy Wildlings, while repeatedly teased with the oblivion she craves, is a nigh unbearable shame.

Rescue seems unlikely after this long. The path of least suffering might be surrender, to allow her mind to scurry off into whatever delusory fantasies it deems a suitable escape from the reality of the cross. For the moment, however, Chelja remains just stubborn enough to reject this solution. Still, even she can’t deny that her grip on herself loosens with each grueling dance.
Beautiful
 

Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Inquisitor's Dungeon: The Cross

SW_Crux08_Kiruna.jpg

Toward the end of the Third Shale War, renowned Sergeant Magus [Sgm.] Kiruna Tomasi was ambushed on the infamous Kerrigan Trail just south of the Ethereal Wilds. Stripped, bound, and gagged to prevent the uttering of spells, she was hauled on horseback deep into the Shale Forest and locked in the dungeon of a ruined castle, which had been repurposed as a forward base for Shale forces. The first two days passed in dark isolation, but she soon met the resident inquisitor, and his magic-infused methods would transform her already harrowing ordeal into a waking nightmare.
 

Servus Venandi

Magistrate
Dance Partners

SW_Crux10_DancePartners.jpg

Sexual contact in the NA East Detention Center is strictly reserved for punishment and training. Inmates caught in romantic pursuits are sent straight to the cross, no questions asked. Repeat offenders may be whipped, placed in solitary, subjected to 24-hour stress restraint and sensory deprivation, or some combination thereof. This reality is made clear to everyone upon arrival.

For whatever reason, Annabelle Martin and Tiffany "Phaze" North thought they could pleasure one another in a maintenance closet during work detail, and get away with it. As is generally the case with amorous inmates, they were quite wrong.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

This was supposed to be a short comic, but the two panels above took upwards of 20 hours each to render to a barely-tolerable 60% convergence. Once the widescreen panel 3 ran for 10 hours and only achieved 4% convergence, I threw in the towel. This is far from my best crux result anyway. Moving on....
 

Apostate

Administrator
Staff member
This was supposed to be a short comic, but the two panels above took upwards of 20 hours each to render to a barely-tolerable 60% convergence. Once the widescreen panel 3 ran for 10 hours and only achieved 4% convergence, I threw in the towel. This is far from my best crux result anyway. Moving on....
SV, crux is a hobby, which by definition should be, y"know, fun.

And whatever drawbacks you feel about these renders, know that you’ve nailed down pain. :eeek: :babeando:
 

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