Lucas Soranus
Governor
I knew the risks, and yet I still played. It was a fairly straightforward game, two teams of three going against each other to score the most points. The catch was in the end. The winning team received riches beyond imagine, while the losers had to sacrifice everything. The punishment for losing, was crucifixion, and not some temporary one with a loincloth and ropes, this was naked, with nails, until death.
That is the fate that I am about to receive. My team lost, and now it is time to die. My teammates and I are lined up, with a man looking ahead at us.
“You have all lost the game,” he yells. “You know what comes next. Behind each of you is the instrument of your death. In a moment, you will each be nailed to the cross and will be left to hang there until death. You will also be completely naked the entire time.”
“Sir, are we to be whipped?” I ask. “Do we have to carry the cross?”
“No,” he laughs. “We don’t partake in any of that whipping or carrying the cross crap. We do that, and it will simply wear you out. No, we play the long game here. You are to survive that cross for as long as possible.”
I gulp, dreading how long that might be.
“Now,” he continues. “Each of you take off all your clothes.”
We each look at each other, before complying. I begin by taking of my shirt, and then my shoes and socks, and then my shorts. I pause for a second, standing there in my underwear, pondering what is about to happen.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get those underpants off. I did say you were crucifying naked, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did sir,” I say, pealing my underwear off. My cock coming out to see the sun for the first, and final time. I look to my left and right, both of my teammates are naked as well, our cocks hanging freely for all to see.
“Alright, now let’s get these boys crucified,” the man says. Before I can even react, two guards grab me by my shoulders and pull me to the ground on top of my cross. My arms are forcibly pulled to both sides and held in place. I notice all three of us are in the same position. Two guards pinning us down to the cross. A third comes up for each of us, carrying a bucket. He sets the bucket down above my head and pulls out a hammer and a single long nail. Positioning the nail directly above my wrist. I look over in fear, as he then readies the hammer and drives it down.
The pain is immense. I scream almost immediately. My cries, and that of my teammates fill the air, with each impact, driving the nail further into my skin. I catch a brief moment of respite before the process begins over again for my other arm. Finally my legs a pulled down on either side of the upright, where additional nails are driven though my ankles. After copious amounts of screaming, it is done. I have been nailed to my cross.
I am given no time to examine my new condition however, as the guards go to immediately raise the cross. Two behind me, and on in from strain to pull the cross up and back before it slots into a hole in the ground, which allows it to stay in place.
It is official. I am crucified. I can feel it immediately, the pain of my own bodyweight crushing me. Forcing me to push up in order to breathe.
“This is your fault,” says Derek, the boy crucified to my left. “If you didn’t fumble the ball so much, we would have won. We wouldn’t be here.”
“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. star-player,” responds Caleb, the boy to my right. “I think it’s fair to say we’re all responsible for being here.”
“There is no right way to play,” I say. “Even the best teams loose eventually. All who play eventually face the cross.”
“Yes,” Derek retorts. “But those who win generally don’t play again. All you had to do was keep your eye on the ball and we would be rich, but now we’re dead.”
“Going to die,” Caleb corrected.
“How long is this going to last,” I ask.
“It depends,” Caleb responds. “I’ve seen some teams go in a few hours. Most however, have held on for a few days. Some even take a week to die.”
“What!?” Derek exclaims. “You’re saying this is going to last several days?”
“Yes,” Caleb says straining. “That’s the whole point of this. The cross kills you slowly, so you have to suffer the pain and humiliate for as long as possible. That’s why they got rid of the whipping and the procession of the cross. You live longer if that is cut out of the equation.”
We eventually fall silent, straining to breathe. Moving up and down, each shift causing pain as we do so. We’re each caked in sweat, that slowly drips off our the head of our cut dicks. This is the suffering that we all must endure. The humiliation that comes as we slowly dance until our deaths. I just pray it will all be over soon.
That is the fate that I am about to receive. My team lost, and now it is time to die. My teammates and I are lined up, with a man looking ahead at us.
“You have all lost the game,” he yells. “You know what comes next. Behind each of you is the instrument of your death. In a moment, you will each be nailed to the cross and will be left to hang there until death. You will also be completely naked the entire time.”
“Sir, are we to be whipped?” I ask. “Do we have to carry the cross?”
“No,” he laughs. “We don’t partake in any of that whipping or carrying the cross crap. We do that, and it will simply wear you out. No, we play the long game here. You are to survive that cross for as long as possible.”
I gulp, dreading how long that might be.
“Now,” he continues. “Each of you take off all your clothes.”
We each look at each other, before complying. I begin by taking of my shirt, and then my shoes and socks, and then my shorts. I pause for a second, standing there in my underwear, pondering what is about to happen.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get those underpants off. I did say you were crucifying naked, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did sir,” I say, pealing my underwear off. My cock coming out to see the sun for the first, and final time. I look to my left and right, both of my teammates are naked as well, our cocks hanging freely for all to see.
“Alright, now let’s get these boys crucified,” the man says. Before I can even react, two guards grab me by my shoulders and pull me to the ground on top of my cross. My arms are forcibly pulled to both sides and held in place. I notice all three of us are in the same position. Two guards pinning us down to the cross. A third comes up for each of us, carrying a bucket. He sets the bucket down above my head and pulls out a hammer and a single long nail. Positioning the nail directly above my wrist. I look over in fear, as he then readies the hammer and drives it down.
The pain is immense. I scream almost immediately. My cries, and that of my teammates fill the air, with each impact, driving the nail further into my skin. I catch a brief moment of respite before the process begins over again for my other arm. Finally my legs a pulled down on either side of the upright, where additional nails are driven though my ankles. After copious amounts of screaming, it is done. I have been nailed to my cross.
I am given no time to examine my new condition however, as the guards go to immediately raise the cross. Two behind me, and on in from strain to pull the cross up and back before it slots into a hole in the ground, which allows it to stay in place.
It is official. I am crucified. I can feel it immediately, the pain of my own bodyweight crushing me. Forcing me to push up in order to breathe.
“This is your fault,” says Derek, the boy crucified to my left. “If you didn’t fumble the ball so much, we would have won. We wouldn’t be here.”
“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. star-player,” responds Caleb, the boy to my right. “I think it’s fair to say we’re all responsible for being here.”
“There is no right way to play,” I say. “Even the best teams loose eventually. All who play eventually face the cross.”
“Yes,” Derek retorts. “But those who win generally don’t play again. All you had to do was keep your eye on the ball and we would be rich, but now we’re dead.”
“Going to die,” Caleb corrected.
“How long is this going to last,” I ask.
“It depends,” Caleb responds. “I’ve seen some teams go in a few hours. Most however, have held on for a few days. Some even take a week to die.”
“What!?” Derek exclaims. “You’re saying this is going to last several days?”
“Yes,” Caleb says straining. “That’s the whole point of this. The cross kills you slowly, so you have to suffer the pain and humiliate for as long as possible. That’s why they got rid of the whipping and the procession of the cross. You live longer if that is cut out of the equation.”
We eventually fall silent, straining to breathe. Moving up and down, each shift causing pain as we do so. We’re each caked in sweat, that slowly drips off our the head of our cut dicks. This is the suffering that we all must endure. The humiliation that comes as we slowly dance until our deaths. I just pray it will all be over soon.
