Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/T/THE_CROS.TXT

Text File | 1991-03-07 | 13.7 KB | 245 lines

the_cross

The bright, red welts on the back of her legs, shoulders, and buttocks
told the ones who knew that she had been whipped by one tall and one
short man.  She was the only woman who would be crucified in this group
today.  She had carried the crossbar, her outstretched arms rigidly
ties to it by heavy chains, through the streets of the city and up
the hill by the roadside.  Her clothing had long disappeared and she
wore only the narrow white ritual loincloth that barely covered her
crotch.  She also wore a hand-lettered wooden sign which hung heavily
from rings which pierced each of her nipples.  The sign read, "DEBORAH--
SLAVE SLUT--PITY ME".

A group of the ancient woman approached Deborah with the crowd pleasing
paint and a goat-skin filled with a mind numbing potion.  With the goat-
skin bag positioned slightly over her head and in front of her, Deborah
shook back the long strands of her light-brown hair from her face.  She
gulped the potion lustily, hoping and praying for the numbness that would
help her face your torture.

Three soldiers approached her as two of the ancient ones delicately
unkooked the wooden sign from the nipple rings.  The sign was quickly
passed to one of the soldiers who walked over to the stake nearest
the road, put up a ladder, scaled it, then nailed the sign to the
very top.  Turning on the ladder and looking out over the growing
crowd of onlookers, the soldier shouted, "Behold Deborah the slave-
girl!  To be crucified for her insolence to her master!  A strong
body!  Certain to provide a great spectacle!"

The ancient ones began applying the bright red paint to Deborah's
nipples.  Actually a powder mixed with Deborah's own sweat to form
a paint, the same was used to great effect by the courtesans from
Egypt.  With long brushes, two of the ancient women stroked the
fine red powder onto Deborah's sweaty nipples.  The effect was
quite dramatic as the paint highlighted her areolas and now aroused
nipples for maximum viewing.  The old ones swirled the tips of their
brushes around the edges of the slavegirl's nipples, deftly mixing
the powder with her sweat until the powder had enough consistency
to eventually harden into a bright red cake.  Then shaking their
heads as the soldiers grabbed Deborah's beam, the ancient women
turned and left.

Turning her beam around until she directly faced the crowd, the
soldiers went to work.  One of them removed Deborah's loincloth,
exposing her nakedness to all, and tossed it to the ground.
He then held Deborah's feet while the two other soldiers grabbed
her beam on each end and roughly laid her down backwards.

The late morning sun was hot on Deborah's bare skin and blinded her
temporarily.  She did not see the executioner approach with his
hammer and two long spikes.  Feeling the point of the first large
nail against her left wrist, Deborah turned her head just in time
to see the first blow.  A lightning bolt of pain surged throughout
her body.  Deborah screamed into the heavy air, her breasts quivered,
and her arms frantically tried to free themselves from the chains
that bound them to the timber.  But, to no avail.  The soldier who
held her ankles noticed a golden scream of urine spilling down the
inside of the slavegirl's legs.  The executioner bent the nailhead
up on the last blow, then after making sure she could not free her-
self, stepped over her naked body and nailed the other wrist.

Deborah's smooth, flat belly frantically expanded and contracted as
she breathed in and out.  The soldiers jerked her beam up cruelly,
dragging her body in front of the designated stake.  They quickly
unwrapped the now redundant heavy chains which had bound her to
her crossbar.  As they proudly inspected their handiwork, Deborah
leaned backwards against her pole, her arms pinned apart, her
breasts exposed and thrust forward.  The crowd moved in closer to
view her panting, naked body, glistening with sweat.  Deborah could
feel the warm path her blood made as it made its way down her arms
then down the smooth curves of her waist.

It was time to begin her final torture.  The executioner carefully
measured her body.  As he did so he glided her hand methodically
up and down her right side while groping for and feeling her cunt
with the fingers of his right hand.  Deborah, with the electrified
nerves along the inside of her outstretched arms not yet dulled
by the potion, did not move, but only continued breathing in short
gasps.  The executioner looked deeply into Deborah's eyes as he
smiled and lefted his right hand to his face.  He sniffed and
licked his fingers then wipped his hand against her perspiring
stomach.  "I'm really going to enjoy watching this one seduce the
stake with her writhings", he said to the soldiers.  Then laughing,
he ordered her stake be raised and her torture begin.

Deborah fainted briefly from the incredible pain as your baretoes
left the ground for the last time.  The nailing of the spike
through the tops of her beautiful barefeet reawakened her and
jolted her body forward until the spikes in her wrists restrained
her fall.  She was feeling the full agonizing torture of the
cross.  Hanging from her wrists and pinned through her feet,
Deborah screamed, twisted, and writhed as she fought desperately
to find some accomodating position that would ease the pain.
Exhausted, she finally just let herself hang from her spikes.

                               To be continued...


                       "The Cross-Part II"

Deborah looked up and around at the excited crowd extending to the
road.  She noticed they were not staring at the beauty of her dark,
brown eyes and light-brown hair, but at her large breasts and exposed
sex.  She looked down at her large, firm breasts and noticed drops
of blood and sweat collecting on her nipples.  She watched the
drops grow large and heavy until they fell free, falling down past
the triangle of brown muff, past her smooth thighs, and down past
the large spike in her feet.  As she hung, breathing became more
and more difficult.  The executioner had ingeniously spiked her to
the cross in such a way that her legs were bent at the knees.  Her
feet were nailed to the beam at about the point where her knees
would be positioned if she hung straight.  This clever method of
hanging victims to crosses was done for one reason and one reason
only--it prolonged their suffering.  The executioner knew that if
he had hung Deborah straight, soon her breathing would become so
labored she would pass out and eventually die prematurely.

Deborah had witnessed executions on the cross before and knew what
she must do.  She remembered that the Romans watched in fascination
as the crucified slid up and down their torture stakes, gasping
for air like fish out of water.  This they did until they were
too weak to pull themselves up any longer, then they died.  She
knew to live, she would have to raise herself up.

The crowd squirmed anxiously as they waited for her to move.  She
tried to stand on her spike, then pulling from her wrists, Deborah
straightened her legs until her head was above the crossbar.  Able
to breath deeply for the first time since her torture began, she
rapidly breathed in and out until the hot pain in her feet became
to much to bear.  The crowd cheered as she slid painfully down,
her scourged back and ass chafing against the torture stake.  It
seemed as if time were eternal; shouldn't I be dead by now?, she
thought dimly to herself.

The weight from Deborah's entire body, pulling from the spikes in
her wrists, stretched her arms greatly.  As the passing travelers
stared at the many crosses from the road, their gazes focused
immediately on Deborah's beautiful, naked body.  The inverted
curve of the hollow of her underarms, combined with the bright
paint on the tips of her nipples, created the illusion of breasts
twice their actual size.  The motions of this woman on the cross,
her pinned body on display for their pleasure, the painted nipples
of her breasts signaling every breath, and the sight of her
total nudity created, among the watchers, an atmosphere of
bloodlust.

Deborah turned her head from side to side in agony and shame,
knowing she could not escape the gaze of the onlookers.  She
realized that every man in the crowd wanted to torture her
exposed cunt with their throbbing cocks.

After what seemed to be all day, but in reality was just four hours,
Deborah became aware of the pressure in her bladder.  The potion
she had drunk earlier had done its job and certainly numbed much
of her pain.  However, it had now worked its way to her bladder
and she knew she must somehow relieve herself on the cross.
Embarrassed, Deborah tightly squeezed her legs together.  But
each time she pulled herself up to breathe, she could feel the
urine dribbling between her legs.  Finally, she spread her legs
as much as she could and, staring numbingly across the jeering
smiles of the crowd, released the trapped fluids within her bowels.
She could hear the splatter the golden arc made as it struck the
bare dirt below her.  Deborah felt ashamed as she hung on her
cross--unable to clean herself.

The splashing sound of her urine increased her thirst.  She had
now hung in the hot, one-hundred degree sun for almost six hours.
The potion was now wearing off.  Her pain was intense and
unimaginable--too great too bear.  Deborah struggled to the top
of her cross once again and cried...  "Please someone, have pity
on me!  Buy me from this cross and I will serve you well!"  She
knew that the rich would sometimes take pity and buy a man or
woman from the cross.  Perhaps someone would buy her, although
she knew no one could outbid her master.  She looked at her master
for relief, although, it was he who had condemned her to the stake.
Recognizing that look of certainty and determination in his eyes,
she slumped back down slowly and hung from her wrists.  Her still
beautiful, sweat and blood covered body glistened in the hot sun.

Her master thinking Deborah might die to soon upon her cross,
summoned one of the soldiers.  Instructions were whispered into the
soldier's ear as Deborah looked on.  She prayed her master had
forgiven her and had issued orders to have her removed from her
torture.  Her heart leaped with anxious anticipation as she watched
the soldier walk over to other soldiers and issue some sort of
command.  She could not hear what the command was.  One of the soldiers
picked something up and walked directly toward Deborah with it in hand.
He held it up smiling as he did.  Deborah's stomach immediately
sickened as she recognized what it was.  It was the dreaded horn.
Deborah knew that some men and women condemned to the cross were
given extra punishment by suffering the indignities of the rhinoceros
horn up their buttholes.

The soldiers were already approaching with a ladder, the end of which
was set against the top of the cross near Deborah's head.  The soldier
handed the horn to the executioner who was smiling from ear to ear as
he ascended the ladder.  As he reached the top, he held the horn only
inches from Deborah's face and said, "First i'm going to rape your cunt
with this slut then i'm going to make you ride it into eternity."

Taking the horn by the blunt end, he poked the pointed end into her
flesh along the inside of her thighs and slowly scratched parallel
lines along her flanks.  Then, he reached up with it and circumscribed
the undersides of both her breasts.  Stepping down a few rungs of the
ladder, the executioner moved his face close to her sex.  He immediately
smelled the pungent odor of Deborah's musk scent mixed with violent
excretions of blood, sweat, and tears.  Taking his fingers to her
cunt, he spread the swollen lips surrounding her pleasure mound,
revealing her secret moistness to the afternoon daylight.  With linear
up and down strokes, his tongue tortured her slender clit mercilessly.
Her juices spilled between her thighs as she wagged her head back and
forth in pained pleasure, inflamed with the conflicting passions of
her incredible pain and torture, the humiliation of her naked flesh,
and the sweet torture which was spreading throughout her loins like
raging fire.

Forced to stand on her spike to breathe, the executioner's tongue
followed her motions, constantly pressing and licking her clitoris.
Her passion overwhelmed her awareness of public exhibition.  Her
nipples became erect and pronounced as they stretched against the
dried, red paint.  Deborah panted as she prayed to the Great Goddess
to give her strength.

Tilting his head back, the executioner looked up along her belly
and breasts covered by sweat and blood.  Smiling again, he took
the horn and began exploring Deborah's sex tunnel with it.  Her
moans increased, and she pulled herself up again to gather more air.
Her breasts vibrated back and forth in the air as the probing horn
expanded her sensitive vagina.  Suddenly, with a force that over-
powered the throbbing wounds in her wrists and feet, Deborah stood
on her spike, thrust her breasts out and up, and shuddered
violently in synch with the sensations radiating from her loins.
She had experienced her last orgasm.

The executioner asked for and was quickly handed a hammer and nails
to finish the installation of the horn.  He located the horn with
the point up, as Deborah stood on her spike, and nailed the base to
the stake.  Then, he spread her scarred ass cheeks apart and guided
her anus slowly onto the horrid point.  Now positioned a foot
higher on the cross, Deborah could breathe freely.  The pressure
in her butthole, humiliating and painful, would allow her to live
yet another day.  Hungry, thirsty, and physically raped, Deborah
hung on through the night.