When the hammering stops and Sabina can stop screaming, she feels the cornu's wooden horn deep inside her. How deep, she wonders? She knows there is more because she is not yet resting her weight on it. She has to try to pull her vagina off of it, but it will be hard, she is near exhaustion, and they are removing the ropes holding her feet so all her weight is on the nails. The agony down there is nearly unbearable.
Sabina continues to narrate:
Muscles trembling, I waited for yet another blow that never came. The hammering had finally stopped. The tingling in my lower lips, that now encircled the horn’s girth, was strong still. I knew it was deeper in me. It filled me, its width forced my lips open. My vagina throbbed weakly now. The Nubian standing behind my cross took his hands away.
I felt the ropes across the tops of my feet loosen. I wanted to scream No! No! Because without the ropes, there was nothing at all except those nails in my feet to bear my weight, which meant this horrible agony was going to become even worse. I had to push up now, right now, get myself off this cornu in the heartbeats remaining before they took the ankle ropes away and my full weight bore down on those nails.
But I was afraid, I had to be careful pulling my vagina off the horn that impaled it.
It must be nearly all inside me, I thought. And with a sinking feeling, I thought, I’ll never have enough time. It’s already too late.
The ropes across the tops of my feet were already gone. I groaned as the ropes that held my ankles loosened and my feet settled down hard on the nails. Before I could stop myself, I felt my vagina slide farther down on the horn, its point deep inside me, the hard tingling throb as fear made me tighten down there.
I struggled again to pull up with my arms and shoulders, take some of the weight that way. I flexed my legs, pushed down, screamed at the agony in my feet. I tried to catch my breath, pushed down again and fought the agony, pulling myself upward by my wrists. I felt the horn give and slip inside me, wanted to stop and rest, just for a few seconds.
I can’t stop! I realized. If I do, I’ll slide back down and have to do it all over again!
The two Nubians were removing the last of the ropes from my feet. Nothing but the nails in my wrists and feet and the horn up my vagina held me to the cross now. I groaned and struggled my way upward, awkwardly pushing on one foot, then the other, pulling with my wrists to help. The motion caused the horn to angle around and twist inside my vagina, my so-sensitive inner lips tingling and making its opening tighten around the horn, grip it, embrace it.
I thought I was high enough, but it was hard to tell. My vagina kept throbbing inside even after the cornu was pulled out of it. I tried to move forward but felt the horn’s point still there, too deep inside me. I struggled farther upward, got myself higher until I was sure I was free of it before desperately pushing my hips forward. I was nearly too exhausted. Only the horror of falling back down onto that horn drove me. If that happened, I could only slide all the way down and sit on the cornu until I recovered enough strength to try again.
As it was, I was dragging my crotch across the point of the horn, trying to keep it to my right side to avoid it entering my anus. I finally felt it reach the upward curve of my butt cheek and allow me to lower my body downward on the cross.
I looked to my left and saw Hercules coiling up the rope, saw the dark stains of my blood on it. The only support left for my feet were the nails. Beyond him was the pile of skulls, bleached bones, wood and rags that was all that remained of the dozens of men and women who had died here on these crosses. Where my bones would be after the crows picked them clean.
Here is the scene:
Some executioner's eye views:
And some victim's eye views:
