My crucifixion fantasy? Is there anybody in this crux community left that cannot guess the nature of my slave-death by crux fantasy? Tbh I have more than 1 but the theme follows a familiar pattern....
Where to start?
Naturally I am already a slave in chains and slave-skirt. I’ve always been a slave, am content to be lowly because it’s all I’ve ever known.
What I like is to be completely innocent and charged with a crime. This time, because I saw mistress’s daughter having sex with her boyfriend, she accused me of rape to cover her tracks and get rid of a witness (not that a slave’s accusation would carry weight)...
Mistress is outraged, and she gathers the household to witness my “trial” which consists of a brutal flogging and some routine torture with hot irons...
She is determined that I am to suffer brutally and orders that I suffer dungeon torture for months, maybe a year, suffering long slow pain from all devices, almost to death but then given recovery periods to heal. Rack, breast rippers, strappado, but especially my beloved whips and hot torture tools...
Finally, after a couple of weeks to fully recover, the day comes. I am lead to a whipping post in my shackles, and tied to it. Mistress herself picks a heavy scourge, lashing me terribly, drawing blood and ripping flesh. My skirt is ripped and stained with blood, but it remains.
I am chained to my Crossbeam across my shoulders, a long connector chain still connecting my manacles, with my ankles still shackled and my collar linked to a chain. I am dragged forward and encouraged with a cat o nine tails. My via crux is long and harsh, my feet tortured by the sharp stones of the slave path to doom. It takes me hours and I receive no mercy as a condemned rapist of a free human. Crowds gather to spit on me, taunt me, humiliate and degrade me. I definitely stain my loincloth skirt as I piss myself from the torment. Everyone laughs and hurls insults at my pathetic state.
At last I arrive at my doom field. The Stipes awaiting my burden to make a traditional T cross. The nails are shown to me, as I tremble in fear, dropping to my knees and grovel to beg for mercy. I am answered only by a crack of the whip across my back. The cross beam is removed and nailed firmly to the stipes.
At last it is time. I am laid across the crux, my manacles pushed up my arms to reveal my wrists. The connector chain is bolted to the stiles, but hangs loosely, it isn’t there to aide my dance, only to mark my status as the lowliest slave, condemned to die in chains. Similarly my collar is chained loosely to a similar bolt.
At last it is time for the terrible and long nails. Hammered into each wrist, the pain even more terrible than the worst dungeon torture. The sound of each blow and the pain gives me a sick thrill, my dick throbs under my torn loincloth.
With my wrists firmly hammered in, I am raised, feeling my full weight and suffering beautiful agony. As the base of the stiles thumps in I am jolted and discover a new level of pain.
Now it is time for two more nails. My ankle chains are left in place and my feet placed with each sole on the side of the stipes, they are pushed up so my knees bend, and my genitals feel very vulnerable. The cruel nails are hammered into the top of each foot as I cum in painful ecstasy.
Oh the agony as I am left to dance for over an hour and I discover I cannot breathe and learn the painful misery of a crux dance. I can also smell smoke...
It rises from a brazier, Mistress brings her daughter with one more torment in mind. “Hurt him, my darling, let him suffer and assuage your need for revenge!
My loincloth is pushed to one side to fully expose my genitals as the beautiful daughter raises a hot iron rod to burn me. Slowly branding my testicles, tip of my cock, the sides of my cock, I suffer terribly. She uses heated implements to pierce, tear, rip, and cut my manhood until at last there is nothing but bloody meat. The wounds are cauterized by the terrible heat, so I do not die.
I am given piss and vinegar soaked cloths to drink from, also salted ones for my groin. Under a strong breeze my slave skirt again droops over my ruined manhood. I suffer but even after a day, 2 days, 3, there is no merciful leg breaking, I long to be dead even as I continue to suffer pulling myself up by the nails to sip another breath of air.
By the last day I am so weak carrion birds sense it, pecking at my wounds, eventually tearing out my eyes... still I suffer to breath, but in my weakness I can barely lift. After my last time I could lift I hang by my arms. The crowd is gone, it still takes hours before I die in agony and alone, worthless condemned slave in chains.