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Vignettes from the slave pits
- Thread starter theseus
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theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
The story is based on fact. Many thousands of Irish men, women and children were sent to the West Indies as slaves, although some were called indentured servants. Girls and women were rounded up to be sold to the planters who wanted a change from black women.
In September, a Captain John Vernon was employed by the Commissioners for Ireland and signed a contract on their behalf to supply Mr Sellick and Mr Yoemans, Bristol merchants, with 250 women above the age of twelve years to be found in the country within a twenty miles radius of Cork, Youghal, Kinsale, Waterford and Wexford, and then transport them to Barbados and New England. Lord Broghill, governor of Cork, assured the commissioners that he could find, in a short time, the 250 within the environs of Cork alone.
O'Callaghan, Sean. To Hell or Barbados (p. 77). The O'Brien Press. Kindle Edition.
Hearing that the planters in New England and the West Indies were weary of maroons, and would pay any price for a white woman, Puritan Cromwell at once volunteered to supply their needs. Gangs of his soldiers invaded Connaught, and pouncing on all the women and girls they could find, drove them in gangs to Cork. It was the work of 1603 over again, only on a much larger and even more revolting scale. The young and pretty women were frequently violated, the older and uglier beaten and branded. From Cork they were taken to Bristol and, after being publicly sold in the market there, they were thrust on board ship, and borne to their final destination. The mind shrinks from imagining the horrors of their suffering at sea. From the records of survivors, they must have been at least equal to any of the sufferings experienced by African slaves on the way to America.
O'Callaghan, Sean. To Hell or Barbados (pp. 77-78). The O'Brien Press. Kindle Edition.
First came the men and boys. Planters went among them, feeling their muscles and opening their mouths to judge their ages. When the women and girls appeared there was a visible stir of interest in the crowd. Like the African slaves, it is even possible that they were stripped before being put on the auction block. The older women were disposed of first, and the planters who required field labour went among them and, after an examination, bought them, often in batches. Then came the turn of the young Irish girls. These aroused the greatest interest, as the planters wanted them mainly as concubines or sexual playthings. Again the physical examination was a thorough one, the buyer often bringing a “churgeon” or a midwife to examine them and assure themselves that they were buying a virgin. The children, boys and girls, came last. They were dragged screaming on to the auction block where again they were vetted. The richer planters and their wives required the boys as pages and the young girls to be trained as maids or house servants. Occasionally they were bought for more sinister reasons. Homosexuals and paedophiles frequented these auctions, buying at inflated prices children whose fate would be years of debauchery until they became too old for such purposes and were then sold off to the numerous brothels in Bridgetown. One further degradation awaited the slaves. A heated branding iron bearing their owner’s initials was applied to the bare skin; in the case of women and girls to the forearm; in the case of men and boys to the buttocks. The slaves were then issued with cotton trousers and shirts for the men and gowns for the women, and driven, guarded by mulattos with cow-hide whips, to the plantations. Those who fell were flogged and then thrown into carts.
O'Callaghan, Sean. To Hell or Barbados (pp. 109-110). The O'Brien Press. Kindle Edition.
The history they never taught us!
In September, a Captain John Vernon was employed by the Commissioners for Ireland and signed a contract on their behalf to supply Mr Sellick and Mr Yoemans, Bristol merchants, with 250 women above the age of twelve years to be found in the country within a twenty miles radius of Cork, Youghal, Kinsale, Waterford and Wexford, and then transport them to Barbados and New England. Lord Broghill, governor of Cork, assured the commissioners that he could find, in a short time, the 250 within the environs of Cork alone.
O'Callaghan, Sean. To Hell or Barbados (p. 77). The O'Brien Press. Kindle Edition.
Hearing that the planters in New England and the West Indies were weary of maroons, and would pay any price for a white woman, Puritan Cromwell at once volunteered to supply their needs. Gangs of his soldiers invaded Connaught, and pouncing on all the women and girls they could find, drove them in gangs to Cork. It was the work of 1603 over again, only on a much larger and even more revolting scale. The young and pretty women were frequently violated, the older and uglier beaten and branded. From Cork they were taken to Bristol and, after being publicly sold in the market there, they were thrust on board ship, and borne to their final destination. The mind shrinks from imagining the horrors of their suffering at sea. From the records of survivors, they must have been at least equal to any of the sufferings experienced by African slaves on the way to America.
O'Callaghan, Sean. To Hell or Barbados (pp. 77-78). The O'Brien Press. Kindle Edition.
First came the men and boys. Planters went among them, feeling their muscles and opening their mouths to judge their ages. When the women and girls appeared there was a visible stir of interest in the crowd. Like the African slaves, it is even possible that they were stripped before being put on the auction block. The older women were disposed of first, and the planters who required field labour went among them and, after an examination, bought them, often in batches. Then came the turn of the young Irish girls. These aroused the greatest interest, as the planters wanted them mainly as concubines or sexual playthings. Again the physical examination was a thorough one, the buyer often bringing a “churgeon” or a midwife to examine them and assure themselves that they were buying a virgin. The children, boys and girls, came last. They were dragged screaming on to the auction block where again they were vetted. The richer planters and their wives required the boys as pages and the young girls to be trained as maids or house servants. Occasionally they were bought for more sinister reasons. Homosexuals and paedophiles frequented these auctions, buying at inflated prices children whose fate would be years of debauchery until they became too old for such purposes and were then sold off to the numerous brothels in Bridgetown. One further degradation awaited the slaves. A heated branding iron bearing their owner’s initials was applied to the bare skin; in the case of women and girls to the forearm; in the case of men and boys to the buttocks. The slaves were then issued with cotton trousers and shirts for the men and gowns for the women, and driven, guarded by mulattos with cow-hide whips, to the plantations. Those who fell were flogged and then thrown into carts.
O'Callaghan, Sean. To Hell or Barbados (pp. 109-110). The O'Brien Press. Kindle Edition.
The history they never taught us!
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montycrusto
Guest
That made wonderful reading... is there an illustrated edition? Please write some more vignettes based on this history!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
The Apprentice
There were so many things to learn at the slave school. Some of them were boring, like deportment, and the correct way to serve at table. Others were much more exciting!
Paul was gentle. His massive paunch was intimidating, but when it came to first time anal instruction, his modest cock was just the thing. Anne was, not surprisingly, very nervous as the day of the first lesson approached. So far, she had excelled. She was a natural, instinctive cocksucker, and the exercises that old Bess had given her made her pussy even tighter than it already was.
She was a bit frightened of anal. She knew that, to pass her final exam, she would be required to take both Mustapha and MacLean, front and back, at the same time. Like all the girls, she had stared in disbelief at the massive members these two worthies presented for inspection.
Bess had prepared her. “Now don’t you fret yourself, sweetling,” she had cooed as her finger gently penetrated Anne’s tight little hole, spreading lube generously inside and out. “Paul is a gentleman. He is so gentle, and his little pizzle slips into you so that you don’t even notice it.” Anne smiled at the old slave. She might consider Paul’s “little pizzle”, to be small, but Anne had sucked him often, during her first lessons. He wasn’t huge, but he was considerably thicker than Bess’ finger, and that felt big enough where it was now.
Paul smiled as Anne walked into the room walking almost on tiptoe, as she always did. He loved the way that walk of her’s accentuated the muscles of her thighs, and her tight little bottom. He liked her. She was petite, friendly and willing. More than willing; enthusiastic! Unlike many of the trainees, who had become slaves against their will, she was a volunteer, one who had wanted to be a slave for as long as she could remember. She did a slow pirouette in front of him, remembering what he liked. She knew he liked her bum, his hands always cupped the firm cheeks, stroking her back. He really was a very good teacher.
Anne stopped her pirouette close to him, her back to him. After all, that was the important part today. His touch was feather light as he stroked her back and buttocks. She was looking forward to this, but despite herself she felt her sphincter clench. “Relax, girl, relax. It will be fine. Bums were meant to be fucked, and yours is a peach. How do you want to do the first time? Sit on me, or lying on your tummy?”
She thought about that for a few moments. If she was on top, she would be in control, she could chicken out if she wanted to. She shook her head. “If I’m on top I might chicken out.” She turned onto her stomach. Now he was in command. “I’m ready, I think. Please be gentle, but don’t stop. I can take it. At least I hope I can.” She looked back at him over her shoulder.
“I’ll try to relax, but…I’m scared.”
He was very gentle. She flinched as she felt the pressure against her rosebud. “Relax. I’ll just leave it there until you nod. Okay?” She nodded. The pressure grew. “Ow.” She said softly. “Its okay. Don’t stop.” A bit louder. The pressure increased. “Ow!Ow!Ow!” The ring of muscle surrendered to the adamant pressure. “Ow!”
He stopped. She felt as if he had shoved a baseball bat inside her. He made soothing noises in her ear. “Relax, girl, relax. I’m inside you. Let the muscles get used to it, then I’ll go deeper.” She gave a little whimper, a weak smile. The pain was easing. It felt strange. Full, stretched. Her smile became stronger. “Can I have some more? Please?”
“Oh!” He pushed deeper, slowly, smoothly. She breathed deeply. He stopped. She looked back at him, smiling shyly. “Is it all in?” She could feel the pressure of his belly against her back. He nodded. “All the way.”
“Mmmm,” she purred. “It feels good. It doesn’t hurt any more. Well, not much.” They lay like that for a minute or two, then he slowly drew back. “What are you doing?” She murmured. “It was nice. So full. Don’t go.” She felt suddenly empty, bereft. His voice was a deep purr. I’m going to fuck you now. Fuck you until I cum. Okay?”
He started slowly pumping in and out, almost withdrawing, then slowly driving himself home, harder and faster each time. Each time he bottomed out she gave a little grunting sigh. His pace quickened! He was panting! He drove home, hard! A wave of warmth filled her belly. He stayed deep, panting, his weight on her back.
She smiled at him. “That was nice. Weird. Sore. But nice. When can we do it again?”
“Patience girl.” He laughed. “I have to recover.” He pulled out of her, with a little plop. “Oh!” She sighed. “I feel so empty now.”
“We can remedy that. Look in the cupboard, there is a wooden box. Bring it here.” He watched her as she scampered up, admiring the lovely ass he had just buggered.
The box was heavy. She brought it to him. Inside were eight, shiny stainless steel buttplugs, ranging from small to intimidatingly massive, nestled in velvet slots. Each was topped by a coloured ‘jewel’. He selected the third smallest. “Bend over.”
The well lubed stainless steel egg slipped almost easily into her still open anus. The sphincter closed around the narrower base. It was heavy. She stood up, feeling the weight of it inside her, the fullness. It felt strange, it felt good. She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Come back in an hour, and we’ll do it again. Off you go! I need a break. I’m only human!”
Bess greeted her with a smile. “Cherry popped, sweetling? How was it?” Anne smiled, shyly. “Sore, but good. We’re going to do it again, in an hour. Meanwhile,” she turned and bent over so that Bess could see the plug in her bum, “meanwhile, that is helping me stay open, and, and it feels good. Am I wrong to say that? Does that make me a terrible slut?”
Bess smiled at her enthusiasm. “We’re all sluts, sweetling. We wouldn’t be fuckslaves otherwise. Now run off and play.
Bess looked indulgently at the girl’s departing back, her slightly awkward walk, with the weight of the steel plug in her bowels. “She’s a good ‘un,” she thought, “a born slave, like I was, fifty years ago. Bless her!”
There were so many things to learn at the slave school. Some of them were boring, like deportment, and the correct way to serve at table. Others were much more exciting!
Paul was gentle. His massive paunch was intimidating, but when it came to first time anal instruction, his modest cock was just the thing. Anne was, not surprisingly, very nervous as the day of the first lesson approached. So far, she had excelled. She was a natural, instinctive cocksucker, and the exercises that old Bess had given her made her pussy even tighter than it already was.
She was a bit frightened of anal. She knew that, to pass her final exam, she would be required to take both Mustapha and MacLean, front and back, at the same time. Like all the girls, she had stared in disbelief at the massive members these two worthies presented for inspection.
Bess had prepared her. “Now don’t you fret yourself, sweetling,” she had cooed as her finger gently penetrated Anne’s tight little hole, spreading lube generously inside and out. “Paul is a gentleman. He is so gentle, and his little pizzle slips into you so that you don’t even notice it.” Anne smiled at the old slave. She might consider Paul’s “little pizzle”, to be small, but Anne had sucked him often, during her first lessons. He wasn’t huge, but he was considerably thicker than Bess’ finger, and that felt big enough where it was now.
Paul smiled as Anne walked into the room walking almost on tiptoe, as she always did. He loved the way that walk of her’s accentuated the muscles of her thighs, and her tight little bottom. He liked her. She was petite, friendly and willing. More than willing; enthusiastic! Unlike many of the trainees, who had become slaves against their will, she was a volunteer, one who had wanted to be a slave for as long as she could remember. She did a slow pirouette in front of him, remembering what he liked. She knew he liked her bum, his hands always cupped the firm cheeks, stroking her back. He really was a very good teacher.
Anne stopped her pirouette close to him, her back to him. After all, that was the important part today. His touch was feather light as he stroked her back and buttocks. She was looking forward to this, but despite herself she felt her sphincter clench. “Relax, girl, relax. It will be fine. Bums were meant to be fucked, and yours is a peach. How do you want to do the first time? Sit on me, or lying on your tummy?”
She thought about that for a few moments. If she was on top, she would be in control, she could chicken out if she wanted to. She shook her head. “If I’m on top I might chicken out.” She turned onto her stomach. Now he was in command. “I’m ready, I think. Please be gentle, but don’t stop. I can take it. At least I hope I can.” She looked back at him over her shoulder.
“I’ll try to relax, but…I’m scared.”
He was very gentle. She flinched as she felt the pressure against her rosebud. “Relax. I’ll just leave it there until you nod. Okay?” She nodded. The pressure grew. “Ow.” She said softly. “Its okay. Don’t stop.” A bit louder. The pressure increased. “Ow!Ow!Ow!” The ring of muscle surrendered to the adamant pressure. “Ow!”
He stopped. She felt as if he had shoved a baseball bat inside her. He made soothing noises in her ear. “Relax, girl, relax. I’m inside you. Let the muscles get used to it, then I’ll go deeper.” She gave a little whimper, a weak smile. The pain was easing. It felt strange. Full, stretched. Her smile became stronger. “Can I have some more? Please?”
“Oh!” He pushed deeper, slowly, smoothly. She breathed deeply. He stopped. She looked back at him, smiling shyly. “Is it all in?” She could feel the pressure of his belly against her back. He nodded. “All the way.”
“Mmmm,” she purred. “It feels good. It doesn’t hurt any more. Well, not much.” They lay like that for a minute or two, then he slowly drew back. “What are you doing?” She murmured. “It was nice. So full. Don’t go.” She felt suddenly empty, bereft. His voice was a deep purr. I’m going to fuck you now. Fuck you until I cum. Okay?”
He started slowly pumping in and out, almost withdrawing, then slowly driving himself home, harder and faster each time. Each time he bottomed out she gave a little grunting sigh. His pace quickened! He was panting! He drove home, hard! A wave of warmth filled her belly. He stayed deep, panting, his weight on her back.
She smiled at him. “That was nice. Weird. Sore. But nice. When can we do it again?”
“Patience girl.” He laughed. “I have to recover.” He pulled out of her, with a little plop. “Oh!” She sighed. “I feel so empty now.”
“We can remedy that. Look in the cupboard, there is a wooden box. Bring it here.” He watched her as she scampered up, admiring the lovely ass he had just buggered.
The box was heavy. She brought it to him. Inside were eight, shiny stainless steel buttplugs, ranging from small to intimidatingly massive, nestled in velvet slots. Each was topped by a coloured ‘jewel’. He selected the third smallest. “Bend over.”
The well lubed stainless steel egg slipped almost easily into her still open anus. The sphincter closed around the narrower base. It was heavy. She stood up, feeling the weight of it inside her, the fullness. It felt strange, it felt good. She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Come back in an hour, and we’ll do it again. Off you go! I need a break. I’m only human!”
Bess greeted her with a smile. “Cherry popped, sweetling? How was it?” Anne smiled, shyly. “Sore, but good. We’re going to do it again, in an hour. Meanwhile,” she turned and bent over so that Bess could see the plug in her bum, “meanwhile, that is helping me stay open, and, and it feels good. Am I wrong to say that? Does that make me a terrible slut?”
Bess smiled at her enthusiasm. “We’re all sluts, sweetling. We wouldn’t be fuckslaves otherwise. Now run off and play.
Bess looked indulgently at the girl’s departing back, her slightly awkward walk, with the weight of the steel plug in her bowels. “She’s a good ‘un,” she thought, “a born slave, like I was, fifty years ago. Bless her!”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
No illustrated edition, I'm afraid. I shall try to find some suitable pics to write to. The history of white women enslaved in fairly recent times, the last 400 years ago, is largely unknown. the truth is that many landed up as slaves as recently as the lathe 19th century. Interesting were raids by North African slavers on places as far away as Iceland in search of those desirable pale blondes and redheads.
M
montycrusto
Guest
I’m guessing, but it looks like the work of @Hornet1ba .
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thanks. I like to be able to attribute the artist if I can. Especially renders like this.
It wasn't Tree... it is all too neat and organized!!!
Hornet1ba
Governor
This is mine circa 2019 using old assets but with the leading line effect it did turn out fine!
M
montycrusto
Guest
Always a dreamer, our Monty … it’s endearing.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Avenue of Agony
A Roman paterfamilias had almost unlimited power over his household, and of course, over his property. Septimus Severus was a man of great wealth, and very strict, old-fashioned morals. He owned several hundred slaves, most of whom laboured from dawn to dusk on his farms, in his mines and in his quarries. His various houses, mansions really, were staffed largely by young, attractive slaves, of both sexes. Severus, despite his strict morals was not at all averse to having his bed warmed by a lissom slave girl, or, occasionally, an equally lissom boy. The news of the orgy enraged him!
He first heard about it in the Senate, when one of his fellow conservatives shared a salacious tale about an orgy, apparently involving his sons, a myriad of their friends, and dozens, if not hundreds, of the young slaves at his country house just outside the City. His anger built as he heard his colleagues chuckle about what happened in his absence, about the skill and perversions practiced by his slaves, and about his sons’ insatiable sexual appetites. It built further as his litter was borne, at the run, over the twelve miles to his estate, especially when he was dropped, unceremoniously, half a mile from his destination when one of the bearers dropped from exhaustion.
His sons, all four of them, quailed before his wrath! They more than quailed when he summoned Gigantus, his huge Nubian chief overseer, and started issuing orders. His sons were confined to their rooms, but could hardly miss the sounds coming from the courtyard. Many voices, all hushed and terrified, sounds of hammering, digging, the sound of feet as slaves arrives from his other estates. Their confinement lasted throughout the night. As the first streaks of dawn appeared, Gigantus appeared in their rooms. “Master say come! Now!” The eldest son, Gaius, reached for a tunic. “No clothes! Naked! Like slaves!” Gigantus was not a master of oratory, but his meaning was clear.
The four naked, by now distinctly worried young patricians filed out into the courtyard, herded by Gigantus. The courtyard was packed. Free members of the household, their mother and sisters prominent, were assembled on one side. Opposite them, were all the female slaves under the age of thirty, the rest of the slaves, from boot boys to quarry labourers, filled up the sides. In the centre of the courtyard were four upright posts, ten crosses lay on the ground, in two neat rows. Severus spoke, his angry voice carrying to every ear. “You four! My sons! You have disgraced my name and the reputation of our family. This is unacceptable! If you wish to behave like animals, you will be treated like animals, like slaves. Firstly, Gigantus will administer, to each of you, fifty lashes of the whip. Secondly, you will be chained and serve as slaves in the marble quarry for six months!” Their mother sobbed, unable to maintain suitable noble dignity. He turned toward the ranks of young women. “You! You are slaves! As such, you had no choice but to obey. However, your behaviour cannot go unpunished. In front of you is an urn, one with an opening just large enough for you to insert an arm. It contains white marble disks, but not all of them are white! Ten are black! You will come forward and each will take a disk. Those who take a black disk will be crucified!” There was a low wail of despair. About one in twenty of them would die on a cross. One by one they shuffled forward, plunging a slim arm down into the urn, looking anxiously at the disk, faces lighting up as they saw the gleam of white marble.
More than thirty had drawn their lots before the first cry of despair rose. She was a pretty girl, her hair in dark ringlets, her petite body lithe and strong, like those in the paintings of the bull dancers from her homeland, Crete.
She looked around her, bewildered, terrified. Gigantus beckoned with a finger. She stumbled to where he stood at the first of the crosses. He held out his hand. She pulled the tunic, her only garment, over her head, standing there, naked, tears running down her face. The procession carried on. Each time a slave drew a black token there were sobs from her, and a low moan of sympathy from the assembly. Crucifixion was a terrible, slow, painful way to die!
The four naked young patricians were led to the whipping posts. Gigantus’ grin was broad, showing gleaming white teeth in his black face. These arrogant young pricks treated him and the other slaves with contempt. It was going to be a great pleasure to whip their backs to raw meat. And then there would be their months in the quarry. Stretching their aristocratic arses to the utmost would be a great, and recurring, pleasure! Each one was stretched against the rough wood, standing on tiptoe. Livius, the second youngest, was sobbing, begging for mercy. Gigantus ran a rough hand over his shapely buttocks. “Cry as much as you like, you arrogant little shit! I’m going to fuck your tight, patrician ass every day for the next six months, and I won’t be the only one.” Livius’ bladder betrayed him, hot liquid splashing over the post and his feet.
Gigantus shook out his whip. The hard, braided leather had inflicted agony on many a slave, often at the orders of these young shits, often for no other reason than the pleasure they derived from watching a slave scream under the lash. The tip whistled evilly before it cracked against the back of Septimus Minor, the heir. His scream echoed off the walls, his feet trampling. “Pater! Pater! Please! I’m sorry! It will never happen again! Please!” His pleas fell on deaf ears. “Continue, Gigantus! And put your back into it!”
Screams, curses, pleas for mercy, prayers to the gods, nothing had any effect as the Nubian did his duty, rolling his massive shoulders between each victim to loosen the muscles for the next burst of effort. Livius looked on in moaning horror as his bothers were reduced to bloody masses of pain. Gigantus took up his position next to the third victim, rolling his shoulders, flexing his mack. Cleaning gore from his whip with his fingers. Tears streamed down Livius’ face his body rocked with sobs. “Don’t cry yet, young master.” Gigantus said sarcastically. “I’ll soon give you something to cry about.” The whip sang its song! “What about Julia!” He screamed after many strokes has flayed his back. “Why is she allowed to stand there, smiling like a cat, when she played the slave, naked like the other sluts?” The whip cracked against his back again, ending his words in a high, sobbing screech!
Severus held up his hand. Gigantus stopped. There was a deafening silence, apart from Livius’ sobs. He walked up to his younger daughter. His eyes bored into her brain. “Is this true?” She stared at him, defiantly, for long moments, then her eyes fell, she looked down. “Yes, Pater. It was only a game.” His hand snapped out, grabbing her by the hair. “Then we shall continue the ‘game’ to its conclusion!” He snapped. His free hand seized the neck of her gown, ripping it from her body, her shift and her loincloth followed. He led his naked daughter to the nearest cross! The slave girl standing by it looked at him numbly. She was already resigned to a slow, agonising death. “You may go back to the others,” Severus said softly, “I have a more deserving occupant for your cross.” The girl gasped in disbelief, in hope. Her legs folded as she crumpled in a dead faint.
“Father, you can’t…” Julia cried out in horror, then, as his grip relaxed slightly, she made a break for it! Gigantus’ forearm flexed, the whip licked out, like a striking snake, wrapped around her hips, bringing her crashing to the ground. Two overseers dragged her, kicking and screaming, back to the cross. “Nail her arms! Now! Let us see if she can run then!” Julia screamed, kicked, struggled. All to no avail. The hammer blows clashed with her screams as iron spikes drove through flesh and bone into wood. Two slaves supported her sobbing mother. “Gigantus, you may continue with the punishment.”
The brothers had been whipped, the slave girls had been nailed to their crossbars, amid much weeping, screaming and begging. Each was then helped to their feet. They would drag their crosses outside the compound. There they would form an avenue of agony through which all the slaves would enter and exit the compound. Julia begged, sobbing with pain, as she was dragged, none to gently, to her feet, the cross resting on her shoulders, shards of agony shooting up her arms from her nailed wrists, her fingers curled like claws, useless, never to be used again. Her brothers led the procession, now laden with heavy chains. The whips of the overseers encouraging them on their way. As she took a step forward, the weight of the cross dragged on the spikes through her wrists. The pain was unbearable! She stopped! The whip cracked across her buttocks! She screamed, but wouldn’t budge. Once more the whip carved a fiery streak I her flesh, still she remained motionless. Gigantus came to see what the holdup was. His wrist moved almost imperceptibly, the tip flicking out, between her spread legs, finding the little nub of pleasure. Screaming, she jerked forward. The procession moved. Gigantus smiled at the overseer, “quality, not quantity, my boy!”
Slowly, painfully, the procession moved. Julia could not believe the pain, could not believe that in a matter of minutes she had gone from being a pampered, spoilt favourite daughter to a naked body, nailed to a cross, one who would end her life in slow agony. They finally reached the gate, five crosses on each side of the road. The four brothers were given the task of raising the crosses. Livius cringed in horror each time a cross was lifted to the vertical, as the girl’s full weight hung from the spikes through her wrists, as the upright dropped into its hole with a jarring thud, as flailing legs kicked against his head, his shoulders, his flayed back. Legs that were trapped, placed, and then nailed to the upright. He could not meet Julia’s eyes as he helped raise her cross, tried to close his ears to her screams as she hung by her arms, as spikes shattered bones in her feet as they were driven through into the wood. He looked up to her gaping sex, obscenely displayed, briefly recalling the pleasure he had enjoyed between her thighs. “Thank you, dear, loving brother”, she spat. The bloody gobbet of spit filled his eye.
Julia looked around her, at her weeping mother, the hard, stoic face of her of her father, as he gave instructions to Gigantus and his men. “I want them kept alive. They are to be fed and watered regularly. If they start to weaken too much, give them a cornu, a cornu well coated with ginger, refreshed regularly. That one,” he pointed at Julia, “is to get a double one. Thick! However, I don’t expect that they will need those until the fourth day. Keep the crows off them, at least for the first week. And chase away the rats at night!” He turned his back and strode back to the mansion.
Julia struggled to push herself up on her broken feet, desperate to breathe. She took great gasps of fresh air. The slaves had not yet been dismissed. She looked at the still naked girl who should have been hanging here, but for her spineless brother. “Enjoy your life, bitch!” She screamed!
“Life! What was it that made the body cling to life, despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite the certainty of a slow, painful death?” Julia could bear the pain in her feet no longer, sank down to hang by her wrists, not new pain, different pain. The sun burned her pale skin.
“Well done, boys. Now the aim is to keep this lot alive for at least a week. Alive and dancing. Right! Let’s get this bunch to work! As for those four,” he nodded at the brothers staring in horror at the avenue of agony, aware that it was their fault. “I want them reamed out good, every day! Often! Let’s go!”
Julia and her fellow sufferers danced for life, as they would for the rest of their lives.
Art by Hornet1ba
A Roman paterfamilias had almost unlimited power over his household, and of course, over his property. Septimus Severus was a man of great wealth, and very strict, old-fashioned morals. He owned several hundred slaves, most of whom laboured from dawn to dusk on his farms, in his mines and in his quarries. His various houses, mansions really, were staffed largely by young, attractive slaves, of both sexes. Severus, despite his strict morals was not at all averse to having his bed warmed by a lissom slave girl, or, occasionally, an equally lissom boy. The news of the orgy enraged him!
He first heard about it in the Senate, when one of his fellow conservatives shared a salacious tale about an orgy, apparently involving his sons, a myriad of their friends, and dozens, if not hundreds, of the young slaves at his country house just outside the City. His anger built as he heard his colleagues chuckle about what happened in his absence, about the skill and perversions practiced by his slaves, and about his sons’ insatiable sexual appetites. It built further as his litter was borne, at the run, over the twelve miles to his estate, especially when he was dropped, unceremoniously, half a mile from his destination when one of the bearers dropped from exhaustion.
His sons, all four of them, quailed before his wrath! They more than quailed when he summoned Gigantus, his huge Nubian chief overseer, and started issuing orders. His sons were confined to their rooms, but could hardly miss the sounds coming from the courtyard. Many voices, all hushed and terrified, sounds of hammering, digging, the sound of feet as slaves arrives from his other estates. Their confinement lasted throughout the night. As the first streaks of dawn appeared, Gigantus appeared in their rooms. “Master say come! Now!” The eldest son, Gaius, reached for a tunic. “No clothes! Naked! Like slaves!” Gigantus was not a master of oratory, but his meaning was clear.
The four naked, by now distinctly worried young patricians filed out into the courtyard, herded by Gigantus. The courtyard was packed. Free members of the household, their mother and sisters prominent, were assembled on one side. Opposite them, were all the female slaves under the age of thirty, the rest of the slaves, from boot boys to quarry labourers, filled up the sides. In the centre of the courtyard were four upright posts, ten crosses lay on the ground, in two neat rows. Severus spoke, his angry voice carrying to every ear. “You four! My sons! You have disgraced my name and the reputation of our family. This is unacceptable! If you wish to behave like animals, you will be treated like animals, like slaves. Firstly, Gigantus will administer, to each of you, fifty lashes of the whip. Secondly, you will be chained and serve as slaves in the marble quarry for six months!” Their mother sobbed, unable to maintain suitable noble dignity. He turned toward the ranks of young women. “You! You are slaves! As such, you had no choice but to obey. However, your behaviour cannot go unpunished. In front of you is an urn, one with an opening just large enough for you to insert an arm. It contains white marble disks, but not all of them are white! Ten are black! You will come forward and each will take a disk. Those who take a black disk will be crucified!” There was a low wail of despair. About one in twenty of them would die on a cross. One by one they shuffled forward, plunging a slim arm down into the urn, looking anxiously at the disk, faces lighting up as they saw the gleam of white marble.
More than thirty had drawn their lots before the first cry of despair rose. She was a pretty girl, her hair in dark ringlets, her petite body lithe and strong, like those in the paintings of the bull dancers from her homeland, Crete.
She looked around her, bewildered, terrified. Gigantus beckoned with a finger. She stumbled to where he stood at the first of the crosses. He held out his hand. She pulled the tunic, her only garment, over her head, standing there, naked, tears running down her face. The procession carried on. Each time a slave drew a black token there were sobs from her, and a low moan of sympathy from the assembly. Crucifixion was a terrible, slow, painful way to die!
The four naked young patricians were led to the whipping posts. Gigantus’ grin was broad, showing gleaming white teeth in his black face. These arrogant young pricks treated him and the other slaves with contempt. It was going to be a great pleasure to whip their backs to raw meat. And then there would be their months in the quarry. Stretching their aristocratic arses to the utmost would be a great, and recurring, pleasure! Each one was stretched against the rough wood, standing on tiptoe. Livius, the second youngest, was sobbing, begging for mercy. Gigantus ran a rough hand over his shapely buttocks. “Cry as much as you like, you arrogant little shit! I’m going to fuck your tight, patrician ass every day for the next six months, and I won’t be the only one.” Livius’ bladder betrayed him, hot liquid splashing over the post and his feet.
Gigantus shook out his whip. The hard, braided leather had inflicted agony on many a slave, often at the orders of these young shits, often for no other reason than the pleasure they derived from watching a slave scream under the lash. The tip whistled evilly before it cracked against the back of Septimus Minor, the heir. His scream echoed off the walls, his feet trampling. “Pater! Pater! Please! I’m sorry! It will never happen again! Please!” His pleas fell on deaf ears. “Continue, Gigantus! And put your back into it!”
Screams, curses, pleas for mercy, prayers to the gods, nothing had any effect as the Nubian did his duty, rolling his massive shoulders between each victim to loosen the muscles for the next burst of effort. Livius looked on in moaning horror as his bothers were reduced to bloody masses of pain. Gigantus took up his position next to the third victim, rolling his shoulders, flexing his mack. Cleaning gore from his whip with his fingers. Tears streamed down Livius’ face his body rocked with sobs. “Don’t cry yet, young master.” Gigantus said sarcastically. “I’ll soon give you something to cry about.” The whip sang its song! “What about Julia!” He screamed after many strokes has flayed his back. “Why is she allowed to stand there, smiling like a cat, when she played the slave, naked like the other sluts?” The whip cracked against his back again, ending his words in a high, sobbing screech!
Severus held up his hand. Gigantus stopped. There was a deafening silence, apart from Livius’ sobs. He walked up to his younger daughter. His eyes bored into her brain. “Is this true?” She stared at him, defiantly, for long moments, then her eyes fell, she looked down. “Yes, Pater. It was only a game.” His hand snapped out, grabbing her by the hair. “Then we shall continue the ‘game’ to its conclusion!” He snapped. His free hand seized the neck of her gown, ripping it from her body, her shift and her loincloth followed. He led his naked daughter to the nearest cross! The slave girl standing by it looked at him numbly. She was already resigned to a slow, agonising death. “You may go back to the others,” Severus said softly, “I have a more deserving occupant for your cross.” The girl gasped in disbelief, in hope. Her legs folded as she crumpled in a dead faint.
“Father, you can’t…” Julia cried out in horror, then, as his grip relaxed slightly, she made a break for it! Gigantus’ forearm flexed, the whip licked out, like a striking snake, wrapped around her hips, bringing her crashing to the ground. Two overseers dragged her, kicking and screaming, back to the cross. “Nail her arms! Now! Let us see if she can run then!” Julia screamed, kicked, struggled. All to no avail. The hammer blows clashed with her screams as iron spikes drove through flesh and bone into wood. Two slaves supported her sobbing mother. “Gigantus, you may continue with the punishment.”
The brothers had been whipped, the slave girls had been nailed to their crossbars, amid much weeping, screaming and begging. Each was then helped to their feet. They would drag their crosses outside the compound. There they would form an avenue of agony through which all the slaves would enter and exit the compound. Julia begged, sobbing with pain, as she was dragged, none to gently, to her feet, the cross resting on her shoulders, shards of agony shooting up her arms from her nailed wrists, her fingers curled like claws, useless, never to be used again. Her brothers led the procession, now laden with heavy chains. The whips of the overseers encouraging them on their way. As she took a step forward, the weight of the cross dragged on the spikes through her wrists. The pain was unbearable! She stopped! The whip cracked across her buttocks! She screamed, but wouldn’t budge. Once more the whip carved a fiery streak I her flesh, still she remained motionless. Gigantus came to see what the holdup was. His wrist moved almost imperceptibly, the tip flicking out, between her spread legs, finding the little nub of pleasure. Screaming, she jerked forward. The procession moved. Gigantus smiled at the overseer, “quality, not quantity, my boy!”
Slowly, painfully, the procession moved. Julia could not believe the pain, could not believe that in a matter of minutes she had gone from being a pampered, spoilt favourite daughter to a naked body, nailed to a cross, one who would end her life in slow agony. They finally reached the gate, five crosses on each side of the road. The four brothers were given the task of raising the crosses. Livius cringed in horror each time a cross was lifted to the vertical, as the girl’s full weight hung from the spikes through her wrists, as the upright dropped into its hole with a jarring thud, as flailing legs kicked against his head, his shoulders, his flayed back. Legs that were trapped, placed, and then nailed to the upright. He could not meet Julia’s eyes as he helped raise her cross, tried to close his ears to her screams as she hung by her arms, as spikes shattered bones in her feet as they were driven through into the wood. He looked up to her gaping sex, obscenely displayed, briefly recalling the pleasure he had enjoyed between her thighs. “Thank you, dear, loving brother”, she spat. The bloody gobbet of spit filled his eye.
Julia looked around her, at her weeping mother, the hard, stoic face of her of her father, as he gave instructions to Gigantus and his men. “I want them kept alive. They are to be fed and watered regularly. If they start to weaken too much, give them a cornu, a cornu well coated with ginger, refreshed regularly. That one,” he pointed at Julia, “is to get a double one. Thick! However, I don’t expect that they will need those until the fourth day. Keep the crows off them, at least for the first week. And chase away the rats at night!” He turned his back and strode back to the mansion.
Julia struggled to push herself up on her broken feet, desperate to breathe. She took great gasps of fresh air. The slaves had not yet been dismissed. She looked at the still naked girl who should have been hanging here, but for her spineless brother. “Enjoy your life, bitch!” She screamed!
“Life! What was it that made the body cling to life, despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite the certainty of a slow, painful death?” Julia could bear the pain in her feet no longer, sank down to hang by her wrists, not new pain, different pain. The sun burned her pale skin.
“Well done, boys. Now the aim is to keep this lot alive for at least a week. Alive and dancing. Right! Let’s get this bunch to work! As for those four,” he nodded at the brothers staring in horror at the avenue of agony, aware that it was their fault. “I want them reamed out good, every day! Often! Let’s go!”
Julia and her fellow sufferers danced for life, as they would for the rest of their lives.
Art by Hornet1ba
Brilliant! Well done!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thank you!
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Mia’s Adventure
Mia was hungry! Her Master had tethered her in the garden, forbidden her to remove her hands from behind her, and left her to contemplate the tomatoes. “You’re a good fuck, Mia, willing and eager, but you are carrying too much weight around your waist. Until you meet my standards, you are limited to one meal a day of slave slop.”
She had been assured that the tasteless, unappetising slop was nutritious and provided all her nutritional needs, except taste and carbohydrates. The stuff left her unsatisfied, craving something with taste. She looked longingly at the tomatoes, green as they were, her mouth watering at the thought of finding a ripe one. She would gladly risk the whip if she could have one.
Apart from the food, she was happy with her new life as a slave. She had signed up for six months as a no-limits sex slave. It had been a fantasy for many years, and now it was reality. She was certainly being satisfied in the sexual department!
It had started at her sale, where she was required to give practical demonstrations of her cocksucking skills to the crowd of voyeurs and prospective buyers attending the sale. Servicing numerous strangers in full view of dozens of watchers was the most exciting thing she had ever done. Her buyer was a well-known man in the kink community, a man who kept several ‘slaves’ and was generous in sharing them with friends and associates. She was popular with her Master’s friends, a result of her eagerness to give her all and her lack of any inhibitions. There seemed to be nothing she would not do, or at least attempt to do.
Mia spotted a ripe tomato. It was out of her reach, tethered as she was by her leash. She looked around her, nobody was watching. Her leash was simply looped around a bamboo stick stuck in the ground. She could easily move the stick, nobody would notice. She could taste that tomato! She took another careful look around her. Nobody! She knee-walked to the stick, pulled it up, knee-walked a few yards and replanted it. She plucked the tomato, stuffed it in her mouth. Hands behind her back, she savoured the tart juiciness of the fruit.
Inside the house, her Master watched the CCTV monitor screen. With a smile, he selected a thin, braided leather whip from his collection. Let her enjoy her stolen fruit. He would have the pleasure of marking her, of watching as she writhed and begged, desperately trying to evade the probing tip of the lash as it found her most tender spots.
Mia found another tomato. Her mouth full, she thought about her Master. He was kind, always allowing her to have her moment of pleasure after use, unlike his friends who took their pleasure and left her, empty and wanting, a used and discarded receptacle for their lust. The tomato juice ran down her chin, dripped onto her breasts, as her Master’s gift so often did, when he overfilled her mouth with his seed.
“Enjoying it, are you?” The words came at almost the same moment that a streak of fiery pain burned across her shoulders! She rolled on the ground in agony as the flicking tip of the whip found its targets! Her nipples, her pussy, her anus! “Lie on your back! Spread your legs, wide!” The lash found the soft inside of her.
She whimpered, pleading for mercy.
“You disappoint me.” Master said, almost sadly. “I see you can’t be trusted. For the next five days you will go on a special diet. Semen and water, that is all you will get to swallow. I will ensure that you have copious amounts of semen to meet your needs.”
Two hours later, Mia knelt in the garden. Her mouth was wide open, kept like that by a steel ring, her wrists cuffed to her ankles. Semen and drool ran down her face, covered her body. She knew what the sign behind her said.
“Free Cum Dump. Use as often as you wish. All males welcome!”
Five Days!
Story inspired by Sultryfiefdom. For his friend Mia.
Mia was hungry! Her Master had tethered her in the garden, forbidden her to remove her hands from behind her, and left her to contemplate the tomatoes. “You’re a good fuck, Mia, willing and eager, but you are carrying too much weight around your waist. Until you meet my standards, you are limited to one meal a day of slave slop.”
She had been assured that the tasteless, unappetising slop was nutritious and provided all her nutritional needs, except taste and carbohydrates. The stuff left her unsatisfied, craving something with taste. She looked longingly at the tomatoes, green as they were, her mouth watering at the thought of finding a ripe one. She would gladly risk the whip if she could have one.
Apart from the food, she was happy with her new life as a slave. She had signed up for six months as a no-limits sex slave. It had been a fantasy for many years, and now it was reality. She was certainly being satisfied in the sexual department!
It had started at her sale, where she was required to give practical demonstrations of her cocksucking skills to the crowd of voyeurs and prospective buyers attending the sale. Servicing numerous strangers in full view of dozens of watchers was the most exciting thing she had ever done. Her buyer was a well-known man in the kink community, a man who kept several ‘slaves’ and was generous in sharing them with friends and associates. She was popular with her Master’s friends, a result of her eagerness to give her all and her lack of any inhibitions. There seemed to be nothing she would not do, or at least attempt to do.
Mia spotted a ripe tomato. It was out of her reach, tethered as she was by her leash. She looked around her, nobody was watching. Her leash was simply looped around a bamboo stick stuck in the ground. She could easily move the stick, nobody would notice. She could taste that tomato! She took another careful look around her. Nobody! She knee-walked to the stick, pulled it up, knee-walked a few yards and replanted it. She plucked the tomato, stuffed it in her mouth. Hands behind her back, she savoured the tart juiciness of the fruit.
Inside the house, her Master watched the CCTV monitor screen. With a smile, he selected a thin, braided leather whip from his collection. Let her enjoy her stolen fruit. He would have the pleasure of marking her, of watching as she writhed and begged, desperately trying to evade the probing tip of the lash as it found her most tender spots.
Mia found another tomato. Her mouth full, she thought about her Master. He was kind, always allowing her to have her moment of pleasure after use, unlike his friends who took their pleasure and left her, empty and wanting, a used and discarded receptacle for their lust. The tomato juice ran down her chin, dripped onto her breasts, as her Master’s gift so often did, when he overfilled her mouth with his seed.
“Enjoying it, are you?” The words came at almost the same moment that a streak of fiery pain burned across her shoulders! She rolled on the ground in agony as the flicking tip of the whip found its targets! Her nipples, her pussy, her anus! “Lie on your back! Spread your legs, wide!” The lash found the soft inside of her.
She whimpered, pleading for mercy.
“You disappoint me.” Master said, almost sadly. “I see you can’t be trusted. For the next five days you will go on a special diet. Semen and water, that is all you will get to swallow. I will ensure that you have copious amounts of semen to meet your needs.”
Two hours later, Mia knelt in the garden. Her mouth was wide open, kept like that by a steel ring, her wrists cuffed to her ankles. Semen and drool ran down her face, covered her body. She knew what the sign behind her said.
“Free Cum Dump. Use as often as you wish. All males welcome!”
Five Days!
Story inspired by Sultryfiefdom. For his friend Mia.
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Bondage Party
“Are we disappearing down the rabbit hole?” Susan’s voice held just a touch of doubt. “I mean, six months ago I thought I was being very daring, going to a party with no underwear. Now I’m bound like this, and I’m going to be available to everybody.” George removed his reading glasses. He had been squinting at the tiny lettering of the usage instructions for the temporary, stick-on tattoo. “Are you having second thoughts? We don’t have to do this, you know.” George would be hugely disappointed if she chickened out, but he loved his wife, and did not want her doing something she would regret later.
She smiled. “Part of me, the bit above my shoulders, says that I am crazy, and that we should stay at home, watch the football, eat take aways, and make love in the dark, under the covers, in the missionary position. Another part of me,” she giggled, spreading her legs wider, to show off the gleaming rings in her labia, and the glisten of moisture leaking out, “wants to know why the fuck it is taking you so long to figure out how to apply that thing?”
“I’ve worked it out. You do realise that it will take about a week to wear off. It can’t be removed any other way?” She gave him an arch look. “Well, that means you have carte blanche for the next week then, doesn’t it?” George held up the tattoo, a decal, really, now soaked in the application liquid. “Right, it is going on your mound. Sit still for ten minutes while it cures, we don’t want it cracking!” He bent over her. Savouring the smell of arousal emanating from her, carefully applied it. It looked good; the words FUCK ME ANYWHERE stood out beautifully against the smooth skin. “Perfect!” he said. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he picked up a small bunch of keys from her dressing table. “These need to be locked away.” He fiddled with the dials on the time safe. “Sixty hours. That should do it.”
Instinctively, she tested her bonds. The cuffs connecting her elbows behind her back, the cuffs connecting her wrists in front of her, she didn’t have much range of movement at all. In fact, she was almost totally helpless. “Sixty hours? That takes us to Monday morning!” He nodded. “Exactly. You will be at my mercy, and that of anyone else I wish to invite, all weekend. Not to mention that you will be very popular at the party!” She looked doubtful. Isn’t that a bit long? I mean…” He dropped the keys into the safe, closed the door, and sun the tumblers. “Oh! Well. Too late now. I’ll get your cloak. Time to go. It’s going to be fun!”
“Are we disappearing down the rabbit hole?” Susan’s voice held just a touch of doubt. “I mean, six months ago I thought I was being very daring, going to a party with no underwear. Now I’m bound like this, and I’m going to be available to everybody.” George removed his reading glasses. He had been squinting at the tiny lettering of the usage instructions for the temporary, stick-on tattoo. “Are you having second thoughts? We don’t have to do this, you know.” George would be hugely disappointed if she chickened out, but he loved his wife, and did not want her doing something she would regret later.
She smiled. “Part of me, the bit above my shoulders, says that I am crazy, and that we should stay at home, watch the football, eat take aways, and make love in the dark, under the covers, in the missionary position. Another part of me,” she giggled, spreading her legs wider, to show off the gleaming rings in her labia, and the glisten of moisture leaking out, “wants to know why the fuck it is taking you so long to figure out how to apply that thing?”
“I’ve worked it out. You do realise that it will take about a week to wear off. It can’t be removed any other way?” She gave him an arch look. “Well, that means you have carte blanche for the next week then, doesn’t it?” George held up the tattoo, a decal, really, now soaked in the application liquid. “Right, it is going on your mound. Sit still for ten minutes while it cures, we don’t want it cracking!” He bent over her. Savouring the smell of arousal emanating from her, carefully applied it. It looked good; the words FUCK ME ANYWHERE stood out beautifully against the smooth skin. “Perfect!” he said. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he picked up a small bunch of keys from her dressing table. “These need to be locked away.” He fiddled with the dials on the time safe. “Sixty hours. That should do it.”
Instinctively, she tested her bonds. The cuffs connecting her elbows behind her back, the cuffs connecting her wrists in front of her, she didn’t have much range of movement at all. In fact, she was almost totally helpless. “Sixty hours? That takes us to Monday morning!” He nodded. “Exactly. You will be at my mercy, and that of anyone else I wish to invite, all weekend. Not to mention that you will be very popular at the party!” She looked doubtful. Isn’t that a bit long? I mean…” He dropped the keys into the safe, closed the door, and sun the tumblers. “Oh! Well. Too late now. I’ll get your cloak. Time to go. It’s going to be fun!”
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Get me down off this thing!
“Get me off this thing! Please! I can’t bear it! I’ll do anything! Anything! Please! Get me down off this thing!”
The girl twisted wildly on the cross, her body twisting and writhing as she desperately, vainly, tried to find some way of reliving the excruciating pain caused by having her entire weight supported by three cruel iron spikes driven through wrists and feet into the rough wood of her cross.
Marcus watched the girl’s tortured body with a mixture of horror and arousal It was his first crucifixion duty as a member of the Praetorian guard. He had watched, open mouthed, as she twisted under the scourge, her beautiful back turned into bloody rags. He had taken his place between her thighs as she lay, sobbing with pain and humiliation, her arms nailed to the crossbar, while he and the rest of his squad ensured that she was not a virgin.
“Are they always like this?” He asked the grizzled old veteran in charge of the squad. “I mean, surely, she knows we can’t let her down? That she is up there until she dies?”
The veteran laughed! “Pretty much! When they’re nailed, they go into shock. So, she just lay there while we had her, not really fighting at all. Then comes the raising, when all of her weight is hanging by her wrists, suddenly she realises that this is not doing to go away. Catching the feet and nailing them can be risky. I’ve been kicked more than once.”
The girl screamed shrilly as she rose to stand on her mangled feet, shaking her head, her sweat soaked hair flailing around her face, her mouth wide open in a shrill scream of pain, shame and frustration. “What did she do wrong?” Marcus asked, wincing at the sound.
“Who knows? Who cares? Spilt some wine, perhaps? Gave a poor blowjob? Presented some palace flunky with a badly ironed tunic to wear. It’s a shit job being a slave in the palace, believe me.”
“Why? Why?” The girl sobbed. “Why?”
“I need some breakfast,” the veteran grunted, “hungry work, crucifixions. Coming? She isn’t going anywhere.” As they walked off the mess, followed by her screams, the veteran continued. “She’ll carry on like that for an hour or two, then she’ll get down to the serious business of breathing, of living! She’s a strong girl. Keep her well-watered, nine parts water, one part wine, use a toilet sponge, let her drink as much as she wants. Keep her going for two, three, maybe even four days. She’s a game ‘un.”
Marcus shook his head in disbelief. Would he, too, become so callous?
Art by Jucundus
“Get me off this thing! Please! I can’t bear it! I’ll do anything! Anything! Please! Get me down off this thing!”
The girl twisted wildly on the cross, her body twisting and writhing as she desperately, vainly, tried to find some way of reliving the excruciating pain caused by having her entire weight supported by three cruel iron spikes driven through wrists and feet into the rough wood of her cross.
Marcus watched the girl’s tortured body with a mixture of horror and arousal It was his first crucifixion duty as a member of the Praetorian guard. He had watched, open mouthed, as she twisted under the scourge, her beautiful back turned into bloody rags. He had taken his place between her thighs as she lay, sobbing with pain and humiliation, her arms nailed to the crossbar, while he and the rest of his squad ensured that she was not a virgin.
“Are they always like this?” He asked the grizzled old veteran in charge of the squad. “I mean, surely, she knows we can’t let her down? That she is up there until she dies?”
The veteran laughed! “Pretty much! When they’re nailed, they go into shock. So, she just lay there while we had her, not really fighting at all. Then comes the raising, when all of her weight is hanging by her wrists, suddenly she realises that this is not doing to go away. Catching the feet and nailing them can be risky. I’ve been kicked more than once.”
The girl screamed shrilly as she rose to stand on her mangled feet, shaking her head, her sweat soaked hair flailing around her face, her mouth wide open in a shrill scream of pain, shame and frustration. “What did she do wrong?” Marcus asked, wincing at the sound.
“Who knows? Who cares? Spilt some wine, perhaps? Gave a poor blowjob? Presented some palace flunky with a badly ironed tunic to wear. It’s a shit job being a slave in the palace, believe me.”
“Why? Why?” The girl sobbed. “Why?”
“I need some breakfast,” the veteran grunted, “hungry work, crucifixions. Coming? She isn’t going anywhere.” As they walked off the mess, followed by her screams, the veteran continued. “She’ll carry on like that for an hour or two, then she’ll get down to the serious business of breathing, of living! She’s a strong girl. Keep her well-watered, nine parts water, one part wine, use a toilet sponge, let her drink as much as she wants. Keep her going for two, three, maybe even four days. She’s a game ‘un.”
Marcus shook his head in disbelief. Would he, too, become so callous?
Art by Jucundus
theseus
SERVILIS CURATOR
Thank you very much.