It is one of mine. Great story!You’re next!
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The hill was noisy.
The air was filled with screams, groans, pleading voices and the thud of hammers hitting iron nails. Gemina knelt in the dust, trying to look inconspicuous, trying to shut out the sounds of her friends’ slow death, trying to ignore the fact that soon, very soon, she would be screaming in agony like the others.
She already hurt all over. Her bound hands clutched at her breasts where the guards had amused themselves sticking burning slivers of wood into tender flesh. Breasts that had been crushed in a giant vice. She hurt from multiple rapes, she hurt from the torture they used to wring confessions from the slaves, and she hurt from the flogging she had been given prior to the agonising walk up the hill, dragging her cross. So much pain, and all for something they were all innocent of.
“You’re next!” His hands were stained with blood, in his hand was the heavy hammer that would drive the spikes through her flesh. She recognised him. He had raped her at least three times last night. Brutally! Intending to hurt her. “Please! I’ve been hurt so much. I didn’t do it, none of us did. It was the young master. He poisoned his father.” His boot swung, brutally impacting on her anus. “On your feet! I haven’t got all day! There’s another seven of you bitches to nail up before I can get some breakfast. Move!!”
She struggled to her feet, hampered by the rope connecting her ankles. Behind her, Anna screamed again! She had just been raised, and the shock was wearing off, the pain taking full effect. “Take me down! Oh gods! Take me down! I can’t take it! It hurts! I can’t take it! I’ll die!” The guard chuckled. “That’s the point, bitch! Remember! That’s why you’re here. To die! Slowly! Painfully! You’re here to die!”
Gemina stumbled behind the guard, Anna’s cries and pleas for mercy ringing in her ears. Her arms and wrists were so thin. How could she hang from them, for hours, days. Her wrists nailed to the wood of the cross, the spikes grating against the bones. Impossible!
He stopped to pick up four long, rusty spikes. She looked at them with horror. Those were for her. Those spikes were going to be hammered through her flesh, through her bones, Attaching her to the rough wood of the cross, for the rest of her life! Her bladder betrayed her, the warm liquid running down her thighs. She stumbled after him, numb with horror and fear!
Freya’s cross was just being raised. Gemina watched, petrified, as the cross became more vertical. Her friend’s slight body slid down the rough wood, the girl moaning as the wood scraped against her raw back. Her feet were neatly crossed, nailed by one spike. As her weight came onto the spikes through her wrists she started screaming! A high, unearthly keening of utter, indescribable agony. The screaming was cut off, briefly, as the cross was dropped into the hole prepared for it. The brutal jerk silenced the girl for a moment, just a moment, before she screeched out her new, unbearable agony! An agony she would have to bear, for many, many hours! For the rest of her life, in fact.
There were four men waiting at the empty cross. Big, strong, brutal men. “Lie down on the upright. Spread your arms along the patibulum.” The carnifex’s voice was soft, almost kindly. She did as she was told, whimpering softly as the rough wood scraped against her raw back. “Up a bit.” His boot against her bum shoved her a touch higher, painfully. “That’ll do. Hold her!”
Strong hands held her arms in place, others took her ankles, spreading them wide apart. “Nice cunt,” one of them said. “Do we get to fuck her?” The carnifex was kneeling next to her right hand, the point of the spike feeling for the right spot in her wrist. “Yep!” he grunted. “I’m going to nail her feet to the sides of the stipes, so her legs will be spread nice and wide to welcome us.” Gemina listened to this casual conversation with disbelief. These were the men who were going to kill her, yet it seemed that it was all a casual day’s work for them.
Her attention was caught by a soft cry and the squawk of a raven. She looked up to where a man and a woman were crucified together, on a double cross, her left wrist and his right wrist nailed with the same spike. The tituli told the story. Adultura and Adulterer. Illicit lovers who had been caught in the act. The woman was shaking her head, weakly, in an attempt to frighten the raven. For a moment her eye met Gemina’s, exchanging a look of sympathy and pity. Just her left eye! Where the right eye should be was a bloody socket, where the raven had succeeded in his quest for a juicy morsel. Her lover was beyond caring. He had clearly been dead for some time. The ravens had been busy there. The carnifex caught the direction of her gaze. “Tough old bitch, that one. Nailed her up six days ago. She won’t see tonight’s sunset, that’s for sure. Her other eye will be gone soon.” He grunted with satisfaction as the tip of the spike found just the right spot. “Ready, boys?”
Gemina watched as the hammer moved, incredibly slowly, from its position above his shoulder. It seemed to take forever to make the journey to the broad head of the spike his left hand held against her wrist. She watched, fascinated, as if from a different place, as the heavy hammer struck the spike. She heard the metallic sound as though from a long distance. She watched as the tip of the iron spike disappeared into her slim wrist. It all seemed unreal, some kind of a dream.
Unbelievable, unbearable, shocking pain! Her scream echoed against the hills! Her body arched, legs thrashing wildly! One of the men holding a leg lost his grip! Her leg thrashed, he reeled back as her heel smashed into his face, blood spurting from his broken nose. The man who had been holding her left wrist grabbed wildly for the flailing leg. There was no need to hold that wrist, it was already firmly attached to the patibulum, the spike driven through the flesh and bone, deep into the wood.
“Idiot! Can’t you do anything right? I hope your fucking nose hurts!” The carnifex was not impressed. The hammer struck the spike twice more, gentle taps, driving it home so that the broad head rested neatly against her wrist. He was a perfectionist. He watched his helpers as they struggled to hold the girl. Slim she might be, but she was strong! She would last for days, perhaps as long as the one-eyed adulteress watching from her cross. “If you ladies have quite finished messing around, I would like to nail the right wrist,” he snarled. “If it’s not too much trouble, that is.” He knew that his spike had found exactly the right spot, crushing the median nerve against the bone, causing incredible pain. Her fingers turned into claws.
Gemina looked at her hand in disbelief. The pain was incredible, shooting up her arm into her shoulder. The slightest movement intensified it tenfold! What would it be like when she was hanging by her wrists? She couldn’t bear it!
The carnifex moved to her right wrist, the tip of the spike feeling for the sweet spot. She watched the intent expression on his face as he sought the spot. “Please?” She whimpered. “Please? No more. I can’t bear it. I’ll die.” He smiled at her, a kind, almost fatherly smile. “Of course you’ll die, girl. That’s the whole idea. But you won’t die for a long time. Three, four, maybe five days. Who knows, you might even last as long as that faithless bitch up there. You’ll be praying for death for a long time! Got it!” He smiled as he felt the spot he wanted for the spike. “Now, for fuck’s sake, hold on to her, you dozy bastards!”
This time the hammer seemed to move like lightning, the pain shooting up har arm, her world turning red with agony! Two more taps, and he was satisfied. “Now for her feet, then we can fuck her.”
They spread her knees wide, drawing up her feet until they were flat against the side of the stipes, her legs bent almost double. She could hear and feel the bones in her feet crunch and break under the onslaught of the spikes. Somewhere in her brain, there was the realisation that unbearable pain could become even worse, even more unbearable, and that despite the pain she was still alive, feeling every detail of her pain, hearing the echoes of her shrieks. All the while she was aware of the pitying gaze of the one-eyed woman on the cross.
She had no choice about being used. She was spread wide for them. Every touch, every thrust, sent new waves of pain through her, yet, somehow, there was also pleasure. She was swamped in sensation!
The one-eyed woman shook her head, the raven squawked, and flew off, a gobbet of her cheek in its bill. Her eye watched Gemina’s humiliation. She knew that it was only a matter of time before she would no longer see, before the raven gained its juicy titbit, before she would suffer in darkness. Soon, she knew, Gemina would be hanging opposite her, doing her slow dance, wanting to die, trying desperately to live.
“Right, you dozy bastards! Tuck your cocks away. Let’s get this one up. There are six more to do before we can go home!” They lifted the head of the cross. Gemina screamed shrilly as her weight shifted on the rough wood, her raw, scourged back scraping against the wood, her weight being borne by her mangled wrists. She had thought the pain unbearable before, now it was ten times worse, and getting even worse as the cross approached the vertical. Then the base of the cross dropped into the hole dug for it, dropped with a solid thud! White hot agony flooded her body at the sudden jerk! Her shrieks were wild, she danced helplessly on her cross. There was no escape! No way to ease the pain!
It was so difficult to breathe. She would suffocate. Her brain welcomed it; she would die soon. Her body had other ideas. Life! Life was precious! It would do anything to live! She gasped desperately, futilely.
The one-eyed woman looked at her, pityingly. “You have to stand up. Straighten your legs, take the strain off your shoulders and chest.” Gemina tried. She could feel the broken bones in her feet grating against the spikes. Her pain had a new centre. Her legs were strong, slowly, they straightened. She took deep gasps of air. “That is our dance! The dance of the dead.” The woman half smiled, in her own world of agony. “No!” She screamed. The raven squawked triumphantly, flying off, the juicy titbit in its beak.
The woman turned her empty eye sockets toward Gemina. “This is our life. Welcome to hell!”
I don't know whose artwork this is. Could someone please tell me, so that I can give him/her credit.
Such a twist !!Expanding her Horizons.
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“Oh God! This is amazing! I’m sooo full! I didn’t think it would go in, and it hurt so much, but, now! Oh shit! Deeper! Please! Bugger me! Hard! Please!”
It had taken some time to convince her that anal sex was not unnatural or disgusting. “No! It’s nasty, and dirty, and they say it hurts terribly! No way! What’s wrong with my pussy? Isn’t it good enough for you?”
I wanted her arse! She had a delicious bum, and a delectable rosebud. It just begged to have a cock inserted in it. I was patient, and gentle. First just my tongue, touching and teasing. “No! How can you do that, that’s disgusting!” Which slowly turned into, “It’s disgusting, but it does feel nice.”
She learned about enemas. Fingers followed. First one, well lubed, then two, then three. There was much protest, some giggling, and plenty of wrinkling of her nose, especially when I presented my fingers to her to sniff. She would later learn to lick them, a prelude to the required cleaning of the cock that buggered her.
I slowly drove my cock home. She was no longer complaining. There were smiles now, and giggles, and little panting noises. I let her set the pace, allowing her to ride me, to get used to the invasion of her bowels. She was tight, almost too tight. She would have to start wearing a buttplug, another new sensation. A girl has so much to learn. There were little gasps as I finally let go, and she felt the hot surge of semen in her bowels for the first time. There was a little sigh of disappointment as I slid out of her. She gave me that special little smile. “Can we do this again? Please? Soon?”
I explained to her about the buttplug. She looked doubtful, until I showed her a small one. It slipped in easily. “Keep that in you unless you need to go to the toilet. Then wash it, lube it, and put it back when you’re done. We’ll give you a bigger one tomorrow.” In a few days I would bugger her again. Perhaps in a few weeks she would be ready to be doubled.
I kissed her slowly, gently. “Did you enjoy that?” She nodded, thoughtfully. “Once it stopped hurting. It sort of burns, at first.”
I watched her fondly as she walked to the shower, smiling at the way she clenched her butt, unnecessarily, to keep the plug in.
It takes time, and patience, and a sense of humour, to train a daughter.
Good story and lovely artwork by @jucundus
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Her scream echoed off the hills!
The sun was setting on the first day of her dying. It had been a long day, a day of pain, humiliation and despair. They had joked and laughed as they nailed her, as she thrashed around in pain! They had nailed one arm, then left her, sobbing, hugging the broken wrist, as they had a leisurely breakfast. Bread and cheese and whisky. Then they had nailed her other hand, and had fallen around to catch her flailing legs and drive the spikes through her feet.
The Laird had stood over her tortured body, spat in her face. “You betrayed us, you faithless bitch! Betrayed the clan, your family. Called in the sassenach soldiers. Let them come and save you now. Raise the bitch up!”
They had not been gentle, each bump as the cross was raised and wedged into its hole jarred broken bones. Her screams echoed off the hills, the men laughed. “She should not be given the dignity of clothing!” The voice was harsh, merciless. A voice she had known all her life. The voice of her father. He reached up and tore the shift from her body, her naked body exposed to all. The jug of whisky did the rounds.
The sun rose in the sky, hot on her naked body. She was thirsty. She stared out over the hills, trying to forget the pain. They were so beautiful, the heather all in flower, the sun glinting on the waters of the loch. Life was beautiful! She was young! Her life was ahead of her! She moaned as she struggled to raise herself, the broken bones in her feet grating against the iron spikes, the pain shooting up her legs. She took deep breaths, the air scented with the scents of spring. She wanted to live!
The men were bored. One by one they started off home. Her father was last to leave. He spat at her. “Accursed witch! Suffer! I hope you live long. I hope you spend many days in your agony!” He walked off, not looking back.
She gazed out over the glen. She was innocent! She had not betrayed them! They hated her because she was different. The feared her because she questioned. A woman was supposed to accept, to obey. The sun moved across the sky, agonisingly slowly. “How can you do this? How can you be so cruel? Why do you hate meeee?”
“Me, me, me.” The echo came back from the crags. An eagle screeched somewhere behind her. She heard a corncrake call, saw it in the heather. It would live. It would find a mate, raise chicks. She would die, slowly, painfully.
Would the pain never end? She looked up at her hands, the fingers curled like claws. She dragged herself up. Pain! “Take me down! Get me off here!” The echoes rolled around her. She was strong. She would live a long time. Caw! She heard the crow, looked around. It sat on the end of her crossbar, its black, beady eyes watching her. She looked at the sharp beak. “Go away!” It flapped off. She knew it would be back.
The sun sank, the clouds turned gold. It was so beautiful. She pulled herself up, her calf cramped, the muscle bunching. There was no way to stretch it! The agony crawled up her leg as other muscles cramped in sympathy. “You bastards!! Come back and take me down! Kill me! Don’t leave me here! AAAARRRGGHH!!!!!”
Her world was pain. Her world one of was incredible beauty! Unbearable pain! Unbelievable suffering! Her screams echoed from the hills. Screams of pain! Screams of pain! Screams of anger! Screams of sorrow! Screams of hate!
It was the first day of her dying.
Artwork by Jucundus.
That`s another exciting story that describes the feelings of a girl sentenced to the cross. Thank you.The Last Walk
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“Why? I did nothing wrong! Do I have to die like this? Why?”
The cross was heavy, the wood rough and splintery against the soft skin of her back. Gudrun looked once more at the path ahead, the path to the top of the hill. The hill was decorated with crosses, crosses that bore men and women writhing in pain, no, in agony, as they died slowly, too slowly. All because they had dared to defend their town against the invading Romans.
She looked pleadingly at the young legionary who was assigned to take her to the hill. He was not much older than she was, a nice looking young man, looking rather uncertain about what he had been ordered to do. “Please?” He said in atrocious German. “Please, pick up your cross and walk to the place of execution. I do not wish to hurt you, but if you do not go now, I will have to whip you. Please get up and walk.” He swallowed convulsively. She looked at him, almost with pity. “He is going to be sick. He hates what he has to do. Why do these Romans do this? Why are they so cruel?”
The warriors had fought hard against the invading Romans, selling their lives dearly. They had died with the swords in their hands, and even now would be feasting in Valhalla. For those who survived death would be slower in coming, and much more painful! The Legate commanding the legion had decided that he would make an example of the townsfolk, in order to terrify others into submission. One in five of the townsfolk would be crucified! The rest would be sold into slavery, as was usual. Selection of those who were to die was totally random.
Gudrun staggered to her feet, bent under the heavy cross. The young legionary followed her, looking miserable. He was deeply unhappy. He had joined the army for the glory, the fame of being one of the finest soldiers in the world. Not for this! Not to kill the innocent. This girl, so pretty, so soft, so fragile, was going to die! She was going to die horribly, slowly, painfully. Why? He looked longingly at her naked body. She would be much better off as a slave, even if it was in a brothel.
The sounds of suffering grew louder. Screams! Voices, male and female, begging for mercy! The sound of crying, of hysterical sobbing! The dull thud of hammers hitting nails! Driving those nails through human flesh. Ahead a cross was being raised, the woman screaming hysterically as her full weight was borne by the nails through wrists and feet. She recognised the contorted face, the head thrashing frantically back and forth, long grey hair whipping around her face. Her grandmother!
“Junius!” A burly soldier with a hammer in his hand bellowed. The young soldier raised his head, straightened. “Bring that one over here! Come on, soldier! Buck up! I haven’t got all fucking day!”
Gudrun looked up into her grandmother’s pain filled eyes. Their crosses would be beside each other. Perhaps that would be a comfort. A small, very small, comfort.
Picture from Cruxdreams.
Well, glad to know she's moving up in the world... sort of!Forever?
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“How do I take this off, Master?”
He smiled at his new slave. “Well, if you can find someone with a special diamond saw, you could take it off. Another option is to remove your head, but that is rather drastic. You are a slave now, your collar stays until you die, and then we bury you wearing it.”
Tara was stunned. She had resigned herself to slavery. She had no choice; debts had to be paid, and she was the payment. Life for a poor girl was hard, and slavery was probably no worse than her life as a free, poor, peasant would have been. The work she was expected to do around the house was so much easier than the daily grind in her father’s poor, stony fields. There it was dawn to dusk, rain or shine, six days a week. Even the sex was better than at home. Her uncle and brothers were rough, careless, nasty in the way they used her.
It was just…the collar. It was so hard, so uncomfortable, so brutal. So humiliating! It marked her as something less than human, an object, perhaps lower than an animal.
Her Master was not cruel. She was fed, better than she had been at home. She never went to bed hungry. Her little bed was comfortable, and she didn’t even have to share her blanket. She had a smock, one that covered her more or less modestly. Admittedly, she was not allowed to wear it yet, the Master said he enjoyed looking at her as she worked around the house. He was even quite gentle when he used her body, and his bed was so big, and soft. Last night he had allowed her to sleep there!
She supposed she would get used to the collar. Perhaps if she was very good the Master would let her have some soft fabric, satin perhaps, or velvet, that she could line the collar with so that it did not chafe so badly.
She looked into the eyes of the man who owned her. “Thank you, Master. I shall try to be a good slave. This collar will remind me that I am a slave. Forever!”