The following is a work of total fiction and intended solely for consumption by those legally of age and where ADULT MATERIAL is permitted. Strong subject matter is contained and is for those not easily offended by such. Any reuse of the material without the author's express consent is strongly discouraged. Thank you and enjoy. Faibhar Author's note: The following is a second of two episodes. Readers are encouraged to read the first, though every attempt to make this tale stand-alone has been exerted for those not accessing the opening. CRUCIFIED! II The corrupt provincial governor batted away pesky flies as he impatiently sat in his sella. The men responsible for this execution took their time, and perhaps merited a reprimand for their slow pace. Quintus Epidus Sorex, son of the famous senator in Rome, but now banished to this wayward outpost for supposed excessive cruelty, signaled the sedan chair carriers at either side of his curved chair. The ivory and gold furniture with him in it rose most impressively. The servants' arms glistened in the heat as they absorbed the strain. Sorex reached for the pendant Mdgasha had given and casually ran his tongue through the crinkled circle with the golden-haired perimeter. Time, thanks to the slovenly pace of others, was his. He had to admit that the jewelry did taste good, and contrasted well with the silk purple of his toga. She must have perfumed it, he thought, as his tongue tasted more. They sat the nailed slave up. The centurion pulled back fallen strands of hair and uncovered the slave's tits. What used to be pink nipples and aureolae swayed heavily with the scored flesh. Discoloration around the reopened scourge wounds indicated internal bleeding. Sorex let the pendant fall back to his sunken chest and silently cursed that the Dacian bitch had yet to scream out, toothless or not. Arneior fought her breathing. As she sat up her stomach beat faster as she inhaled and exhaled shallow gulps of air. Nausea swum inside. She vaguely saw Sorex floating in the air in front of her, and at first did not understand, but then saw the two servants holding the arms of his curled chair with him in it. She looked out to other side. Her arms extended out. Two soldiers held either end of the crossbeam. Spike heads protruded from her wrists where she had been nailed to the wood. Pools of blood circled the iron. She shivered at the sight and gulped back rising bile. Sorex decided to explain to the locals. No doubt, this was their first crucifixion and he felt at least some responsibility as their praetor to act as a sort of docent. Paternally he said, "You will notice both of the slave's thumbs turned inward toward the palms. Care was taken when she was nailed to avoid hitting important arteries, veins, bones and so forth, but nerves caused each thumb to fold into the palm as you see them now." Clods of encrusted soil dropped from her back as she was sat up. Long legs stretched out, knees slightly bent and apart. "You think you have been tortured so far," Sorex said at the stubborn blonde as she sat up with arms wide and the pink inner lips between her thighs surrounded by charred remains of her outer lips and clitoris. "Your tortures, I am afraid, have only just begun. Others will follow and I shall listen from my quarters, but for now, this heat has become insufferable. I must take my leave. But, my best wishes. You look strong enough to last at least another day. Carpe Diem." Sorex royally waved to his people as the chair he rode in on turned and went back. Over his shoulder he could see the Nubian freedman who had been so savage with the scourge on the caged tits. The hulking man's nude body sauntered behind the seated slave. Arneior felt her hair pulled again. Her face tilted up. The sky blackened. The top of her head fell between two massive trunks of thighs. They squeezed and held her head back. Sorex ordered his chair bearers to halt and turn him back toward the site. They did in time for his to see the Nubian target the plum circle of the slave's lips and slide inside. Berbers started it. Other gathered tribes joined in the chants and dancing as the Nubian's cock descended into the white woman's mouth. Men and women of differing nationalities either shouted or stamped their feet, or both. They cheered the Nubian's prowess. The stout organ stuffed her mouth. Given its size, Arneior had little chance but to tightly wrap her lips around its girth. The throbbing member kept entering. Her nose rapidly breathed in a small space under the giant's genitals. The heavy ball sack weighted her wet forehead. She tried to whimper but could not as she felt herself suffocating. Arneior relaxed as best she could. The head of the organ plunged though to the rear of her mouth. Somewhere, she felt hands lifting up her tender breasts. Her throat began to be rubbed by their inside flesh. The crowd's gaiety increased. Those with a frontal view began to see the slave's bared throat bulge. Coal-black fingers firmly laced a multi-colored chest whose bosoms stretched as the massive hands molded them upwards. Scarlet nipples pointed skyward as scourged flesh scrubbed along the slave's lower jaw. Sorex could tell by the man's expression and rigid muscles when he ejaculated. Impressed by what he saw, Sorex continued to watch as the slave's throat went up and down. She no doubt was gulping to save herself from drowning, but for all intents and purposes it looked as though she was sucking out of enjoyment. Arneior coughed as her head was finally freed from between the thighs. She gasped as her breasts were released and heavily fell. Her chin fell down. She thankfully breathed. Drool and gobs of ejaculate seeped from her lower lip and dripped between her breasts. Her chest shuddered, and she gagged. Only streaks of gold remained of her blonde hair-the rest was much darker. Tangled strands limply hung. She coughed again and felt the rawness in her throat. Nausea churned. Sorex signaled his servants to resume carrying him back. Behind him, he heard strangled cries, the shouts of Romans and the dancing chants of the natives. He really did need to get somewhere cool and away from all of this heat, he thought, as he fingered the pendant gift. Crude, though it might seem, Sorex felt himself deserving of its unique charms. Arneior's chest heaved as she was hauled backwards. Searing pain speared her arms as the beam was raised, pulling her with it. One foot dug in. Her knee bent higher. The leg flexed to help her motion, but her foot slipped. Both feet planted on the hard soil. Knees raised. Toes and soles fought for purchase as she was dragged. Matted hair whipped from side to side. The rabble became a blur. Cheers rang out as the slave was raised to her feet. Evidence of her starvation became clearer. Ribs and other bones starkly glistened in the mid-day sun. The crossbeam leaned against the tall stipes as ladders were raised to the sides of the upright. Two local young men vied with each other to see who could raise an end of the patibulum up the fastest. Both stripped to the waist, the sparsely bearded Syrian displayed his arm muscles to the crowd. The other showed less bravado, but smart bettors waged that his wiry frame would win the contest. Each stepped onto lower rungs of the ladders and took and end of the beam from the Roman soldiers. Two grunts were shouted, and the lifting began. Sorex held onto his wobbly perch on the sandy descent back toward the road. Over his shoulder bellowed a screeching howl. The governor's thin lips spread as he recognized the source of the noise; finally, the Dacian screamed. He gripped the padded arms of the chair to steady himself and saw the flat of the road approach. It would not be long before they were in the cooler confines of the outpost. He eagerly anticipated its shelter, though his mind pictured the screaming slave. They must be raising her on the upright, he surmised. Arneior's eyes shut tight. The back of her head banged against the upright. Movement of her nails wrists was excruciating, and her feet had yet to leave the ground. Screams from deep in her chest burst out. At once, there was trouble. The one with the showy biceps and scraggly beard nearly slipped from his ladder as he fought to hold the wood. Part of the problem was the hysteria and writhing. The slave kicked out and hit the upright hard and her torso twisted enough to loosen the man's grip on the thick plank. The other faired somewhat better. His end rose higher and he even took another step up the rungs, but the crucified angled more as the other end of the crossbeam dipped. The wood felt hot in his hands. He took another deep breath and jerked it upward. The movement raised one end of the crossbeam, but twisted the other side away from the Syrian. Unable to hold both ends at once, the other's hold also was lost. The rabble gasped as the crucified fell forward. She landed on her knees. Both young men stood atop the ladder dumbfounded. They could only watch. The slave's torso swung at the last moment. The far end of the patibulum dug into the dirt. The other side collapsed. She landed face-down on the gritty soil. Legs lay flat. Only the crossbeam remained off the dirt, pinning the striped back and its unfortunate owner. One bare calf and foot rose up, lazily swayed, and then crashed into the dirt. All remained frozen until the centurion ordered the slave lifted to a kneeling position on her haunches. Activity renewed. The two competitors were admonished to not waste any more time with their crude, and obviously faulty, games. Pitched water drenched away much of the grime suffered in the fall. Relief came with the small deluge. Arneior relished the simple pleasure. One of the soldiers poured watered-down wine into her mouth. She thirstily gulped until she could drink no more. The lull proved too momentary for the slave. She cried out as the chastened two lifted her back to her feet. Crimson streams from the two spikes freely flowed along the shiny forearms. Returning to the ladders, this time both of the men lifted as a team. Each struggled to hold their ends as the condemned violently shook. Higher up the stipes they went, until at last reaching a point just below the sign. Cries and jeers filled the crowd and drowned out the slave's screams. A first crucifixion for most, thrills of watching the condemned raised stimulated the throng. Feet wildly beat dust clouds. Excitement reigned. The soles of Arneior's feet sought any ground incredible agony shot through her as she was raised. They fruitlessly beat against the wood of the upright until at last feeling the slanted block. Arneior's eyes looked up to the cloudless sky. Partially shading them was the edge of the titulus she had seen before, the one inscribed "slave", but she was more intent on gaining a foothold on the slant felt by her feet. As much as she tried, they kept slipping from the block, and would not stay. She needed the foothold for desperate reasons. Intense arm strain quivered her limbs. Strength was fleeing, but a new problem arose: breath lost was impossible to return. Eyes skyward in fright, Arneior at last felt her ankles grabbed and held to the slanted wood. Thick ropes secured them. Her head lowered until her chin rested on her chest. Much framed the view of the centurion, mallet and two more spikes in hand, bantering with his troops as he strode nearer. Back in his cooler quarters, Sorex made himself comfortable. In the distance, he could hear noises traveling the short distance from the crucifixion site. He smiled to himself as his mind viewed the Dacian's plight. Tomorrow he might ride out and see for himself how she was doing, but for now he sat at his desk. He needed to compose a Thank You letter. One addressed to Rome. The End(for now)
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