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Female bdsm crucifixion stories

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Pornstar puta lamer pene orgía. ejercicios para quemar grasa del vientre. rosario dawson deslizamiento del pezón desnudo. Aplicación de citas para sordos. sexo al final del embarazo. video porno gratis de 3gp king. cambio de sexo masculino porno. I've read your stories from time to time over the past year or so but hadn't commented. Just wanted to say that the stories are interesting, but beyond that I feel your passion for the subject. The cross has been an obsession of Female bdsm crucifixion stories for many years too, and from time to Female bdsm crucifixion stories I have to write or do art work to vent some of my own pent-up energy. There are so many aspects of this agonizing punishment that one can delve into, and humiliation was certainly a big part of it. You have to wonder whether, in facing the imminent fact of being nailed to a cross, a victim would be anxious over being naked in public. I think so, although the degree of humiliation would likely vary among individuals. I've Female bdsm crucifixion stories thought that they might have viewed it as the last step before the real agony begins. I wrote the line in one of my stories where the victim thought, "When I click naked, they will nail me to the cross. From what we read about ancient crucifixions, victims were lucid and talking, and Seneca even describes them as trying to spit on people. So yes, I think their awareness of their nakedness and the humiliation from that would go on. Great subject! Why do you take the cross sanctified by the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and then you try to corrupt with pornography and the hatred of women. May God enlighten your heart, spirit and mind so that you would realize the darkness you are in, and help you walk towards God's light that is his word. Another great article source of this theme. Fuck maria davidson Crazy Anal Fuck.

video casero porno ruso gratis. Young woman challenges young man to a crux contest. More fun at the ' crucifixion' stories. Active tags by pollyplummerBDSM 12/23/ k. 6. 1. Six of them had died, and another three were crucified outside Arelate's gates. It would have been unthinkable in Rome for a woman to Female bdsm crucifixion stories the head.

Posts about female crucifixion written by 3hattergrindhouse. In BDSM play, restricting breathing during sex increases its orgasmic This juxtaposition of a sixteenth century story in Female bdsm crucifixion stories twenty-first century film is evident in. Her feet were nailed in such a way that her knees spread to expose her female parts for all to see.

50s porn Watch Amateur masturbating girl next door Video Llxxx Video. I whipped her for a while to see how she would react and was gratified to see how much more vulnerable and helpless she was. She had to use half of her energy just to hang there on the cross, and that left much less strength for her to endure the whipping. Claire was in real agony, and I determined to continue punishing her. It had a four inch dildo studded with electric contacts and a special extension designed to fit over her labia and clitoris. The dildo was a tight fit and Claire gasped when I shoved it into her. Wires from both sets of electrical contacts led to a small black TENS unit which I controlled with two sets of dials. I gagged Claire to help her endure the pain she would experience. I demonstrated how I could run these stinging sensations together faster. Then I illustrated to her how I could further increase the intensity until she felt as if a sharp saw was cutting into her flesh. I also demonstrated how I could create slow, deep, painful throbs. She quickly forgot about her gradually numbing hands as she surveyed the huge crowd that had gathered for the traditional pre-crucifixion scourging. It seemed the entire town had come to see her pain. Their eyes stared at her, filled with lust, hate, fear, love, desire All eyes focused intently on her, waiting for her pain to fulfill or shock them. Tears sprang to her eyes as she sobbed. Her cries caused a stir in the crowd. Many sighed, some laughed or ridiculed her, a few seemed upset. By far, the most common reaction was cheering, as if her tears fed some desire or lust. A rough hand grabbed her toga from behind and yanked, jerking her back, yanking her suspended wrists tightly, tearing the cloth of her clothes downward. The cloth ripped and fell away from her back, exposing the smooth flesh in preparation for the lash. Arana sobbed in humiliation as the executioner tore the front of her shift away, exposing her dangling breasts. The crowd cheered at the site of the perfectly sized lobes projected on either side of the whipping post, nipples pointed straight out, curves sloping down and around in a half oval that met her chest beneath with perfect smoothness. Arana closed her eyes tightly, feeling the open air brushing against her bare flesh, trying to shut out the cheering and drooling crowd. The scourge continued to strike her, again and again, and Arana looked at the pleasure that her pain and screams were providing for so many in the crowds. She became aware of how they reacted when she moved as the whip made her struggle, and when she did the crowd seemed to follow and enjoy her movements. Her body had been used as a tool in the past, enticing and teasing men. Now its agony was providing pleasure to men and women alike. For the women were also looking on with delight. The knotted leather of the scourge sliced across her flesh once again, licking the side of her right breast. As she jumped and sagged to the left, Arana saw that a number of the women in the crowd were talking excitedly amongst themselves, smiling and even laughing at her uncontrollable jerking. Arana lowered her eyes and bit her lip, unable to look at the whole town viewing her naked breasts, and her body reacting to the pain of the lash. When the whipping was over, they unhooked her arms from the whipping post, allowing her to collapse at its base. She curled slightly, crying softly. Her back was wet and the blood was already caking as it mixed with the dirt on the ground. She wasn't allowed to rest. Moments after falling to the ground, she was heaved up and made to stand, bare from the waist up, in the middle of the city square. She tried to hide her naked breasts by bringing her arms up, holding the shreds of cloth from her torn shift. Those in the front of the crowd saw her attempt at modesty and laughed. A few of the women jeered, making ugly remarks about how she wasn't going to be so pretty soon. A heavy beam of wood had been dragged to her side. The 6"x6" beam was about 5 feet long and rough cut. She was forced by the guards to pick the beam up to her shoulders, and several loops of rope secured the beam to her outstretched arms. She saw crucifixion as a completely sexualized torture ritual. Flagellation and rape for both woman and men were common before crucifixion. So, if Maria was right, crucifixion was a complete torture ritual that initially involved sexual humiliation and forcible sex. Grimy and bruised, the big toe split, but beautifully shaped and neatly arched, the skin white and tender below the grime. Not many people had feet like that. Certainly not a legionary engineer who had marched his nailed sandals through Syria and Dacia and up and down the Rhine to here. A trickle of blood was running down from her knee, mingling with flooding sweat to spread a pink transparent film on her pale skin. With one pile-driving blow he drove the nail clean through into the earth beneath. Nailing the feet was often the hardest part of a crucifixion. Not only was it awkward to drive a nail horizontally at knee height but the criminal would be spasming and jerking with frenzied wildness as the weight fell on the nails. It was easy to get it wrong. The oaf had never lived it down. For sure the task presented no difficulties to Antonius. Even so, it was more efficient to drive the nail through the foot while it was on the ground and you could swing the hammer vertically. There had been only the clang of the hammer, Antonius noted. The nail had slammed in but the foot was flexible; the bones had been forced apart, not splintered. That was good. Broken foot bones hurt more, but so much that they weakened the criminal and shortened the time on the cross. The soldiers jerked the foot to knee height and gripped it there and at once Antonius swung the hammer in a horizontal arc onto the head of the nail. There was a clang of metal and a solid thunk as the nail bit deep into the solid wood of the trunk. Livia Cuxena convulsed hysterically, toppling sideways, her wrist jerking on the nail, screaming a mindless string of blasphemies and obscenities. Mithras, what a gutter slut! He drove the last nail into her left foot — this time he heard the splintering crunch of breaking bones but that was always likely to happen. Again the soldiers raised it and forced it against the trunk. As he hammered the nail home, the stench told him that the woman had shat herself again. He looked up. Not far. Her crutch was almost at a level with his face, open to view as the soldiers held her, twisting and bucking as she screamed. The full belly was churning; her breasts shook and she let out a blubbering wail of abject despair as foul diarrhoea spattered the trunk under her arse. No point crying, girlie. One final blow and the last nail was in. Livia Cuxena, murderess and thief, was crucified. Suddenly she arched out on the cross until only the back of her head and her feet were touching the trunk and it seemed as if her spine must snap. Screaming all the time she hung for some moments like that, then her body slammed back against the cross, falling to hang by her arms again. Again and again she reared up and out, her screams never ending, as if she did not need to stop to breathe. Livia Cuxena, freshly crucified, presented an astonishing spectacle. Every time she spasmed out in agony, knees splaying out to thrust upwards, she offered the watchers on the road below a view straight up her crotch. She shook from head to toe, forcing that awful posture higher and higher, chest thrust up so that her full breasts pointed at the sky. Her screaming had ceased, and now her breath hissed in jerks from her chest, louder and louder, until suddenly: Severian glanced at the sun. It was an hour or so before mid-day. There was much he had to do, but nothing so urgent that he must get back at once. If she tore her arms out of her shoulders or dislocated an elbow, it would probably all be over by evening. Besides, that gorgeous body flailing on the cross was not a thing one would see every day. Hysterical, crucified, Livia Cuxena realised that she could not tear her arms free, could not pull her arms out of her body to escape the cross. She had to hang there, nailed, with the red-hot agony of her arms and her stretched armpit tendons. Hang on nails that scraped the boiling nerves of her arms. Had to hang. Eyes glaring against the sun, she struggled to find some balance of the pain, pressing on broken bones in her feet to ease a little of the torment in her arms, struggling to remain centred on those nails so as not to topple sideways and lurch against a wrist nail, struggling to find how to live when nailed on the cross. Again and again she failed. Again and again she fell to one side or another, and the nails in her wrists jerked and her arms exploded in boiling pain. Again and again she screamed as she fell, not just in pain but in a mindless anger. Again and again she slumped, her weight falling unbearably on the nails, the agony spurting. Again and again she summoned the desperate courage to push down on her splintered feet, exchanging that appalling agony for a tiny diminution in the pain in her arms. Again and again her back and buttocks scraped up against the trunk, sometimes only an inch or two, sometimes until her legs were almost straight and her head up higher than the beam. Sometimes she jerked her knees straight, and then her legs arched forward off the cross and only her nailed wrists and feet were against the wood, her body arched forward and up, or forward with her torso hanging down and breasts dangling. But her breasts were heaving with effort, her head jerking in pain, and time and again she lost her balance and fell sideways or her legs gave out and she collapsed, scraping down the trunk. And only very slowly did her screams rattle to hoarseness in her throat. Only very slowly did she learn how to exist on the cross. And even in those moments when she managed to hold herself in an agonised balance, every muscle straining to hold her from toppling and keep a little of the weight from those terrible nails in her wrists, even then the horror increased. For she learned that every part of the body is conjoined. Every twitch of her arms on those nails sent boiling spasms of pain not just into her wrists and down her arms, but into her chest and the twisting muscles of her belly, down her spine and back muscles. That long-pampered body had been an unconsidered, unmapped pleasure, but now Livia Cuxena learned the map of nerves that she had never considered, a web joining every point, a flaring web of interconnected pain, where a twist at one point, even a gasp for breath, ripped through the whole. She was aware of a complex of nerves and muscles and bones that she had never dreamed existed. The price of her illumination was unbearable pain, for the body on the cross was a miraculous engine of torture. And the pain of her flayed-open body was unbearable but inescapable. She was nailed on her cross and the pain was unceasing. Again and again the horror and terror drove her again to hysterical panic, sent her into frenzy on her cross, tugging and jerking while screams jetted out. And each time she desperately tried to get control again, for the pain of that jerking was not to be borne. There came to be longer spaces between the frenzies, longer periods when she froze in agony, trying to hold a balance on the cross, recover when she toppled sideways or her muscles gave way and she scraped down on the trunk to hang again. Then the cramps began. She was fighting desperately to remain balanced, keep her legs locked and her arms stiffened to relieve a little of the weight. Her head was slumped down and she was gasping in agony. Then a new dimension of her hell attacked her. The skin around her racked left bicep began to twitch and shake, then the muscles beneath to bunch and swell and distort. As her muscles spasmed, they hardened into a fierce, racking pain, a pain intense as if funnelled into that point, then swelling and invading neighbouring tissues. The muscle seemed to be tearing itself out of her arm. As the right arm too began to cramp and convulse she jerked her head up twice, gasping. The movement was transmitted to the nails and she twisted, screaming, her hips jerking frantically and she lost her balance and toppled down. Convulsively she straightened her legs, scraping up the cross again, the muscles of her arms bulging like twisted ropes, and with horror she felt the agony of cramps in her legs also. That would go on for a long time, Severian reckoned, with the spaces between the frenzies lengthening, the times of clinging on lengthening, cramps racking her muscles, every movement tugging the net of pain. Intriguingly, he could see that she was suffering shame as well as pain, for she tried constantly to bring her thighs together to conceal her nakedness. Yet to struggle up the cross and ease her arms she straddled her thighs apart to push herself up, opening her once-secret parts to the watchers below her. Sometimes, as she held herself erect, her breath came in grinding gasps, sometimes she cried and there was abject shame as well as pain and desperation in her blubbering. Only last night she had been wealthy and beautiful and powerful; now she was suffering the most shameful and hideous death, crucified as a slave. Sometimes she yelled abuse and curses; not, curiously, at the soldiers who had crucified her, but at the watchers below. Her breasts were in constant motion, heaving with her gasps and sobs, their outline changing as she alternately dragged herself up and slipped down again. Have fun. Some days ago i discovered in Munich a small gallery for exhibitions of fascinating images and other art works Self-taught in painting and digital art Ina Mar. Kali or Black refers to her being the entity of time and beyond time. Various cosmologies and Tantric beliefs worship her as the ultimate reality; she is also well-regarded as a redeemer of the universe or Bhavatarini. There are some ambiguous analogies in religious connotations between Christianity and Hinduism. At the time of Kali Bhavatarini unfinished. View attachment And it's about to get worse Well, everyone seemed to like the one time that I mixed stories with images. Even though I consider myself more of an artist, and more of a visual thinker, I think I can make something of a regular story that features my art. Bdsm crucifixion nude female images here bondage Jan. Bondage movie triler here bondage Jan. Amber michaels in bondage part 2 bondage Sep. Bdsm party pics sprout from Hudson dungeon bondage May. Free stories romance light bondage from Kearny bondage Jun. Black girl bondage from Crystal Lake bondage Jan. A cruel one. He hoped the Allies would take action in order to stop the genocide, but the British thought he was exaggerating, and the only move they would make was to bomb the industrial infrastructure around the camp and even that failed , regardless of the casualties that were to be inflicted among the prisoners and forced laborers. Finally, let down by the British and hunted by the Gestapo, the spy saw only one way out for himself: In one of the final scenes, he voluntarily joins a line of prisoners, waiting naked for what the others think will be a shower. Only he knew better… One idea, similar to that story, is submitting to the sentence of crucifixion as an opt-out, because there are alternatives that are even worse. So you prefer being crucified for a crime committed in a country far away, where nobody knows you. Another possible storyline to explore is anticipation. It is meant as a method to scare people from breaking the law. Nevertheless, you commit a crime or any other act that is sanctioned by crucifixion, fully aware of what could happen to you. Is it a calculated risk, or playing a game with an unspoken deep desire? Very interesting ideas Loxuru. I will post a couple of short stories soon, I hope clarifying a little that extrange fantasy of mine. I look forward to them. On the other hand, I tried to explain my fantasies of volunteering for a death on the cross in my post in page 4 of this thread: I have opened a thread that could be related to this topic. Loxuru Graf von Kreuzigung Jan 1, In order to make clear my interpretation of 'voluntary crucifixion', I post an excerpt from a story I wrote a few years ago. And more trouble is around the corner..

Both men and Female bdsm crucifixion stories. of this theme. I loved your earlier story "Crucifixion of a citizen" too. Other BDSM Blogs. Unnaturally. “Altered States” is a new crucifixion story I've written and mentioned a few times over Joe, are members Female bdsm crucifixion stories a BDSM group. cat is obsessed with being crucified. For she learned that every part of the body is conjoined. Every twitch of her arms on those nails sent boiling spasms of pain not just into her wrists and down her arms, but into her chest and the twisting muscles of her belly, down her spine and back muscles.

That long-pampered body had been an unconsidered, unmapped pleasure, but now Livia Cuxena learned the map of nerves that she had never considered, a web joining every point, a flaring web of interconnected pain, where a twist at one point, even a gasp for breath, ripped through the whole. She was aware of a complex of nerves and muscles and bones that she had never dreamed existed.

The price of Female bdsm crucifixion stories illumination was unbearable pain, for the body on the cross was a miraculous engine of torture. And the pain of her flayed-open body was unbearable but inescapable. She was nailed on her cross and the pain was unceasing. Again and again the horror and terror drove her again to hysterical panic, sent her into frenzy on her cross, tugging and jerking while screams jetted out.

And each time she desperately tried to get control again, for the pain of that jerking was not to be borne. There came to be longer spaces between the frenzies, longer periods when she froze in agony, trying to Female bdsm crucifixion stories a balance please click for source the cross, recover when she toppled sideways or her muscles gave way and she scraped down on the trunk to Female bdsm crucifixion stories again.

Then the cramps began. She was fighting desperately to remain balanced, keep her legs locked and her arms stiffened to relieve a little of the weight. Her head was slumped down and she was gasping in agony.

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Then a new dimension of her hell attacked her. The skin around her racked left bicep began to twitch and shake, then the muscles beneath to bunch and swell Female bdsm crucifixion stories distort.

As her muscles spasmed, they hardened into Female bdsm crucifixion stories fierce, racking pain, a pain intense as if funnelled into that point, then source and invading neighbouring tissues. The muscle seemed to be tearing itself out of her arm. As the right arm too began to cramp and convulse she jerked her head up twice, gasping.

When Lucius Murena, agent for the coadjutor Agrippa, heard the story he called in agents from the docks and put them to new duties, to watch the house of Livia Cuxena, note who went in and out, and follow anyone who left.

The movement was transmitted to the nails and Female bdsm crucifixion stories twisted, screaming, her hips jerking frantically and she lost her balance and toppled down. Convulsively she straightened her legs, scraping up the cross again, the muscles of her arms bulging like twisted ropes, and with horror she felt the agony of cramps in her legs also. Female bdsm crucifixion stories would go on for a long time, Severian reckoned, with the spaces between the frenzies lengthening, the times of clinging on lengthening, cramps racking her muscles, every movement tugging the net of pain.

Intriguingly, he could see that she was suffering shame as well as pain, for she tried constantly to bring her thighs together to conceal her nakedness. Yet to struggle up the Female bdsm crucifixion stories and ease her arms she straddled her thighs apart to push herself up, opening her once-secret parts to the watchers below her. Sometimes, as she held herself erect, her breath came in grinding gasps, sometimes she cried and there was abject shame as well as pain and desperation in her blubbering.

Only last night she had been wealthy and beautiful and powerful; now she was suffering the most shameful and hideous death, crucified as a slave. Sometimes she yelled abuse and curses; not, curiously, at the soldiers who had crucified her, but at the watchers below. Her breasts were in constant motion, heaving with her gasps and sobs, their outline changing as she alternately dragged herself up and slipped down again. And when she toppled to hang on the nails, the wave of pain that resulted was evident in her screams and pain convulsions.

He ordered Memmius to soak a sponge in the bucket and put it on more info spear for her. It was never wise to put a hand near a crucified criminal — they had nothing to lose any more by crazy viciousness. She Female bdsm crucifixion stories greedily at the sponge, which Memmius refilled and offered her again and again.

The bees were buzzing in the meadowland, thrusting into the pollen of the thyme, and lizards flickered among the dry rocks by the road. How terrifying crucifixion was, he ruminated, and how efficient. A few minutes work by Antonius and his team, a couple of wooden beams and four Female bdsm crucifixion stories was all it took to torture a criminal to death over hours or days.

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To achieve the same effect by any other means would call Female bdsm crucifixion stories several teams of expert torturers working day and night. And though that might have the same Female bdsm crucifixion stories on the criminal, it would surely not give so stark and implacable an image to the watchers as the sight of a naked criminal writhing and screaming on a cross, beyond all hope of reprieve, legally dead but struggling in agony for days.

What genius of ancient times had been the first to crucify, he wondered.

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She jerked her head to the narrow field behind, where several couples were moving towards the wood. It was a little before sunset that Severian returned. From his seat on the horse he could look directly across at the woman on the Female bdsm crucifixion stories.

Lgpa nudes Watch Kitty filipina nude pussy Video Fucking Bmw. I untied her wrists, and I placed a chair in front of the cross so Claire could stand on it, and then I carefully wrapped her arms above and behind the wooden crossbar, so that she would have to support her weight on her back and shoulders. This position also thrust her breasts out invitingly. I tied her ankles to the perpendicular member of the cross, so she could shift some of the weight to her legs. But this was still a much more agonizing and authentic crucifixion than her earlier position where she was really standing on the floor. Now she had to support most of her weight with her shoulders. I whipped her for a while to see how she would react and was gratified to see how much more vulnerable and helpless she was. She had to use half of her energy just to hang there on the cross, and that left much less strength for her to endure the whipping. Claire was in real agony, and I determined to continue punishing her. It had a four inch dildo studded with electric contacts and a special extension designed to fit over her labia and clitoris. The dildo was a tight fit and Claire gasped when I shoved it into her. Consensual Crucifixion. Thread starter carloscruz Start date Nov 28, Joined Jan 1, Likes 1, I really like and get excited with consensual crucifixion stories. The idea of women or men going voluntarily to the cross excites me greatly. Could anyone recomend stories of consensual ctucifixion. KvK Governor Nov 28, Joined Sep 15, Likes 2, Naraku Draconarius Nov 28, There are several here as well: Thns a lot! Fox-on-Cross Tribune Nov 29, Nice would be in your home a secret room with two fixed crosses opposite to each other. One problem when you are only with three people is that not simultaneously the two victims can be crucified, this difference in time makes the consensual time shortener. Life is imperfect. LittleSiss Sorceress Nov 29, It's took a little searching but I think you will like this one. Thanks a lot for taking the time to help me! The poor bitch doesn't know why she's crucified? When was she tagged? She's just suffering for no reason! I love the idea of tagging women condemned to be crucified. Like we're cattle headed for slaughter. Very dark and horrifying! You could tag our ears, you know. Or something around our Marcella Gets Tagged. I want to thank Barb for reading it and encouraging me to go forward with it. She has graciously agreed to contribute a chapter, which will appear a bit later. There are any number of crucifixion stories on this site. Looking for more bondage ball gags? The right direction is at premier bondage website! I am a writer of femdom fiction from Tennessee. Erotic Female Domination Story. Bdsm crucifixion nude female images here bondage Jan. Bondage movie triler here bondage Jan. But I do not think any fantasy I have been asked to draft is as unusual as this one. It is from Maria, a young, single Filipina who lives in San Francisco. This young woman has managed to cross an awareness of the ordeal of crucifixion with an attraction for BDSM. Her screams cut the air once again as she began to kick and jerk, trying to get free. The crowd gathered closer to watch the involuntary writhing of the condemned from the intense pain. Screams filled the air, drowning out the satisfied murmering of the citizens gathered to watch Arana's humiliating execution. Two more thunks from the huge mallet and the spike was through her hand and embedded deep in the wood beneath. The soldiers let go and Arana instinctively tried to free her arm, but the shattering of nerves kept her from controlling or manipulating her hand. Pulling just ground the spike against bone and nerves, making her scream again, and she quickly stopped. The other arm was turned and exposed. The crowd shifted their focus to Arana's other side as they watched the careful placement of the spike, the pitiful cries from the condemned girl as her bare chest heaved in sobs, and the hammer rising up. A few of the men in the audience pushed for position as they discretely touched themselves. Seeing Arana's naked body was enough to arouse any man, but seeing her writhe was simply too much for some. The second spike sliced through and crushed Arana's hand as the first had, separating bone and mangling nerves in a way designed to cause agony. The crowd observed the torture of the condemned as she jerked and convulsed, both hands now firmly affixed to the patibulum. There was no longer any need to hold her in place. The long wooden post of the cross stood already embedded in place. Crucifixions were frequent enough that the soldiers didn't want to be constantly digging holes and raising the crosses. Instead, ladders were placed against the stipes and Arana was slowly dragged upright by two soldiers lifting the patibulum higher up the post. As she was dragged back and up, her legs kicked and struggled, flopping about uselessly. The crowd sighed in approval at her fight, which made the sight of her crucifixion and ordeal more exciting. Her slim thighs stretched and flexed, the muscles trying to gain a vantage to relieve the pull from the ever rising beam which dragged her nailed wrists higher and higher, until her feet were pulled off the ground and she merely kicked in the air. The cross beam was set in place and the soldiers that had lifted the poor girl into place descended. Arana now hung from her nailed wrists, her whole body weight born by the spikes which secured her to the wood. While she struggled, the pain was almost too much for her, and her struggles subsided as they simply jerked the spikes against the torn nerves of her wrists and caused even more agony. She began to go limp, as the pain overcame her. To help her a little, two soldiers grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs. She hardly struggled now and it was easy for them to bend her legs to spread apart at the knees and cross her feet, one over the other. A third spike was brought and placed at the top of the foot, just below the ankle. The heavy hammer was raised again and slammed down on the spike, driving it through her top foot and through until it penetrated the bottom one. Arana screamed yet again, this new agony filling the bottom half of her body, and as the hammer struck again and again, driving the nail through her delicate bones and mangling equally delicate nerves, she lost consciousness. A bucket of water was brought and dumped over Arana's head. The water revived her, as well as making her naked flesh glisten in the bright afternoon sun. She cried out as if waking from a bad dream and began a weak sort of writhing on the cross. The nailing of the victim complete, the crowd came closer. He moved behind her, and pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall about her shoulders, then gathered and bound it with a strip of leather cord. She stood there, held by the soldiers, seeming stunned and mindless, shaking in every limb. A soldier came through the side gate and marched up to Severian. He motioned the soldiers to put her on her knees again. They pressed her down, but she seemed not to understand what was wanted. Severian moved behind her, and his heavy sandal crashed into her ankle. As her feet went out from under her, her trace-state suddenly broke and a howl burst from her. With soldiers gripping her she flailed desperately as the beam was placed on her shoulders and her arms dragged up behind it to be bound with turn after turn of heavy rope. It was so horrifying as to be unthinkable, the mind blacking out the bare possibility — and here and now the slab of harsh-edged wood was being tied on her shoulders with thick manila ropes whose sharp prickles stabbed the skin of her arms. The vivid hurts drove home the fact that it was actually happening. Sweat-stinking soldiers were putting the cross on her; she was naked and helpless in their grasp. They were roping a hurt beam on her shoulders. It was happening, here and now, in this hot drab yard it was happening. She was sentenced, it would not be revoked. She could not change it. She was going to be crucified. She struggled wildly, screaming and twisting in their grip, as they knotted another rope around her neck and two of the soldiers grasped its ends — roped her like a slave to be dragged to execution. They hoisted the beam upwards, dragging her to her feet, but as soon as they released her she leapt away, only to tumble heavily as the rope around her neck stopped her. She lay winded in the dust, gasping and roiling, helpless with her arms twisted back over the heavy beam, her breasts jolting. Two of the soldiers seized the beam again and hauled her up, almost twisting her arms from her shoulders. She was heaving great gasps of breath as they held her upright, her legs loose below her. Severian nodded to a soldier who stood nearby holding a cart-whip. Moving behind her, the soldier cast his arm back so that the long lash snaked out on the dusty ground. As her scream crescendoed the whip snaked back again and then again slashed forward, coiling around her ribs and striking up under her breast. She howled for mercy as the third stroke lashed into her. Severian stood before her, grim faced. Shaking in terror she tried to be silent and listen, but could barely hear him above her blubbering sobs. What she heard was enough. She was to walk with her beam, and if it took the whip to make her do it then the whip it would be. Did she need to feel it again? The frantic shaking of her head told she did not. He signalled to the centurion to march the first squad out. As the column passed through the gate, the soldiers holding the rope tugged Livia Cuxena forward. With a gasping cry she stumbled forward in the wake of the procession. As she passed through the gate into the piazza she could sense the crowd of watchers, and tried to lift her head despite the heavy beam pressing its sharp edge into her neck. Her vision was blurred, her eyes stinging with tears she could not wipe away, but a crowd it was, a crowd of Areletans, and they knew her. Her clients were there, and slaves and petty dealers, and the prefect of the port. She could smell the sweaty odour of the lower orders. They were looking at her nakedness, her breasts dangling and swinging, her groin covered only by a rag. They would see her bottom roiling as she passed. Severian walked slowly over. Lysander licked his lips nervously. It was alarming that Marcus Severian knew his name, that authority had its eye on him. Severian knew it would shake him. People felt safe in crowds, that was what made crowds dangerous, so Severian learned names so that no one could hide and be part of a mob. Once they were named, people tended to take care of what they did. So do any of you think I need advice? He waited a moment, then turned on his heel and walked to where his horse was waiting. He swung into the saddle and rode to the front of the column, past the second half-century that was now filing out of the barracks, past the wretched woman stumbling under her load, jerking in terror as the whip cracked the air behind her, blubbering in fear of what would happen when the procession reached its end. As she passed out of the piazza it seemed her legs would give way under her, and the whip landed fiercely and sent her staggering onwards. The crowd flowed out and followed. Severian would not allow them close to the road, but they spread out into the heathland and little paths that ran nearby. There were children shouting with glee as Livia Cuxena fell upon the road and was hauled sobbing to her feet and thrashed upon her way again, shrieking with wonder at the gyrations of her breasts and bottom. There were youths — and not a few young men — whose hands were moving at their groins as they watched her staggering onwards, howling for pity with all her feminine fullness shaking. Every few hundred yards her legs gave way and she crashed down, unable to protect herself with her hands lashed up behind the heavy beam. She would twist desperately to one side or the other as she fell, trying not to smash her face and breasts directly on the paving of the road, but that could not save her from her falls against the stones. And every time she fell the soldiers pulled her up and the whip lashed in again. Older men strode forward, watching with grim approval the process of justice demonstrating that brigandage would never pay in the new order. Young wives and matrons walked on with eager comments to watch with deep, smug pleasure as the proud Livia Cuxena was taken to her just desserts. A mile to the north of Arelate rose a little ridge a matter of eight feet high to the left of the road. On each was a crucifixion trunk, a square, foot-thick post of wood some seven foot high, fixed solidly in the ground. The one on the further hummock was bare, but the nearer one carried a cross-beam and a blackened thing, eyeless and torn, strips of half-flayed skin peeling down, shrivelled and beak-pecked intestines falling from its opened belly. Never to be buried. The spirit never to cross the river but to wander the earth, windblown, wailing. On either side of the further trunk two blocks of wood had been set to serve as steps, drums a foot or so high cut through the trunk of a large tree. Behind it, a non-combatant auxiliary was laying out tools on a square of sacking the mule that had carried them was tethered at the edge of the coppice behind. The legionary engineer assigned to the detail, a ten-year veteran named Antonius, walked over to him and surveyed the material: And nails from the stores, ugly things some six inches long, square in cross section and tapering — unevenly for they had been hammered by hand — from sharp points to rather over half an inch at the end. The final half inch flared sharply to be an inch or more across at the top. They were dark and still greasy with the oil used to protect them against the salty coastal air. Antonius nodded dourly in satisfaction. The trunk on which Livia Cuxena would be crucified was not cut straight across the top. The construction is not easy to explain in words. For about a foot from the top of the weathered post, the front six inches of the wood had been chiselled out. Or, to put it another way, there was a horizontal cut across the post a foot below the top, six inches deep, and from there up the post was only six inches thick. It was on that flat, six-inch ledge that the hurt-beam itself six inches thick would lie. That shelf was not a simple flat surface however. It had been chiselled out, not just sawn, and in the middle a tenon of solid wood jutted up, a tenon two inches thick so that it was two inches in front of the final block behind it and two inches away from the front of the trunk, and about eight inches wide, so that to left and right there were a couple of inches of flat shelf between it and the edge of the trunk. The slot in the hurt-beam, two inches deep and eight inches long would fit on that tenon, so that the back of the beam lay snugly against the back of the trunk and the front ran level with its forward edge. The soldier waiting at the turn of the road waved his arm and began to walk towards the mound. The crucifixion procession was on its way. The soldiers put away their dice and got to their feet as the leading squad appeared past the trees to the right, followed by the woman to be put up the tree. She was in a bad way, bent under the weight of the hurt-beam, reeling from side to side as she staggered. It seemed that her legs would collapse under her but the whipman walking behind her swung the lash in to spur her on..

She was struggling to hold herself upright, her legs nearly straight. The pain of it was evident in the way her arms and leg muscles stood out starkly, bunched and quivering.

She would be raked with cramps by now, in addition to her other agonies. Her mouth gaped open, as if she were unaware of the flies crawling round it. As he swung out of the saddle he saw her begin to Female bdsm crucifixion stories — and heard her too, for she wailed as her Female bdsm crucifixion stories collapsed under the strain, and she went down to hang on outstretched arms.

Not straight down on the cross, though. Her body twisted to the side as she went down, Female bdsm crucifixion stories hips thrusting to the side of the trunk. As he strode up, he could see why she instinctively hung thus. Huge blisters bulged on her flesh, and where others had burst the skin hung ragged and link over raw flesh. Even the cleft between her cheeks was raw.

He guessed that at some time she had tried to ease the strain on arms and feet by ramming her crack against the corner of the trunk. The skin between her thighs was red raw too, caked with her filth.

Insects that had sought to feast there had been caught between her thighs as they writhed Female bdsm crucifixion stories as she slithered down the trunk, and fragments of their chitinous bodies were caught there.

The flies were burrowing around her crotch and arse, busy at her belly around her sweat-beaded navel. The nails the wrists were holding firm, Severian saw, with no sign of working loose. The feet too, despite all her frantic tugging and twisting.

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The raw holes had been torn a little wider Female bdsm crucifixion stories her struggles, but the nail heads were too big for her ever to escape them. Flies were swarming around the wounds too, even into the gaping holes that her struggles had torn wider.

Some blood oozed down. Not much.

Bushy Xxxx Watch Nude asian teens pictures Video Jordi Xxvideo. This could continue, up to half an hour in which the intervals of immersion would be longer and longer. Not a funny prospect! That was a suspicious death. There has been a suspect questioned, the person with which he was last seen, but who had a conclusive alibi and who has thereafter been allowed to continue his voyage to Rhodes. After some time, the case has been filed, in the absence of other suspects. It was believed the killer had left the island. There is also a reward on bringing evidence regarding to the killer. I did it! What's your motive? I needed money. But this beats everything! A self-accusation! And what would you win by that? You can compare with the facts from the file. Only the inquirers and the killer would know that. So I convinced the Praefect there that I had been the culprit. What do you think now you are gaining? That money of the reward will help you nothing. Your case only worsened! Donate that money to whom you want. I did it for a favour, I said. As usual in public, so that the traders are given the satisfaction and the reassurance that murderers and robbers of merchants are given theirs properly, and that Roman law actually protects them! Instead of being send to Gaul. Death by hanging on the cross. My sentence came out well for justice. By far, the most common reaction was cheering, as if her tears fed some desire or lust. A rough hand grabbed her toga from behind and yanked, jerking her back, yanking her suspended wrists tightly, tearing the cloth of her clothes downward. The cloth ripped and fell away from her back, exposing the smooth flesh in preparation for the lash. Arana sobbed in humiliation as the executioner tore the front of her shift away, exposing her dangling breasts. The crowd cheered at the site of the perfectly sized lobes projected on either side of the whipping post, nipples pointed straight out, curves sloping down and around in a half oval that met her chest beneath with perfect smoothness. Arana closed her eyes tightly, feeling the open air brushing against her bare flesh, trying to shut out the cheering and drooling crowd. The scourge continued to strike her, again and again, and Arana looked at the pleasure that her pain and screams were providing for so many in the crowds. She became aware of how they reacted when she moved as the whip made her struggle, and when she did the crowd seemed to follow and enjoy her movements. Her body had been used as a tool in the past, enticing and teasing men. Now its agony was providing pleasure to men and women alike. For the women were also looking on with delight. The knotted leather of the scourge sliced across her flesh once again, licking the side of her right breast. As she jumped and sagged to the left, Arana saw that a number of the women in the crowd were talking excitedly amongst themselves, smiling and even laughing at her uncontrollable jerking. Arana lowered her eyes and bit her lip, unable to look at the whole town viewing her naked breasts, and her body reacting to the pain of the lash. When the whipping was over, they unhooked her arms from the whipping post, allowing her to collapse at its base. She curled slightly, crying softly. Her back was wet and the blood was already caking as it mixed with the dirt on the ground. She wasn't allowed to rest. Moments after falling to the ground, she was heaved up and made to stand, bare from the waist up, in the middle of the city square. She tried to hide her naked breasts by bringing her arms up, holding the shreds of cloth from her torn shift. Those in the front of the crowd saw her attempt at modesty and laughed. A few of the women jeered, making ugly remarks about how she wasn't going to be so pretty soon. A heavy beam of wood had been dragged to her side. The 6"x6" beam was about 5 feet long and rough cut. She was forced by the guards to pick the beam up to her shoulders, and several loops of rope secured the beam to her outstretched arms. She realized that this beam was part of the cross that would kill her, and that she was being forced to carry it to the execution hill, just outside of the city gates. It was heavy, and her loss of blood made her weak. As she sank down to her knees, another lash of the whip cut across her lower back, and she struggled back to her feet and began walking. Before long they crowd had followed Arana all the way to the bottom of the hill. The lash encouraged her up the low slope to the top, which rose only about 10 feet or so above the road below. The hill was a gentle one, with a large open area at the top. The guards kept the crowd from surging to the top of the hill, but they were still only a few feet away when Arana collapsed on her back, looking up at the blue, hot sky with her arms still stretched out, tied to the beam that would be with her until her death. She lay panting, trying to ignore the crowds as they pushed forward to look at her pain. She lay recovering from the exhausting trek out of the city. The sky remained blue above her as she rested on the ground and stared up. Until, that is, the vision of the centurion, the leader of the guards, appeared above her. What remained of her clothing was yanked and pulled, tearing and sliding down. She struggled, trying to keep them from removing her last protection from exposing herself completely, but it was no use. The cloth tore away and she felt the breeze slide across her bare skin. The exposure of her breasts had been nothing. Her sex was now exposed for all the city to see as she lay on the ground. Rough hands forced her legs apart and she felt something pushing between them. Moments later she was penetrated and she looked up to see the face of the centurion above her as he shoved himself deep within her. She cried out in humiliation and fear as he thrust repeatedly. Unable to get away or to really fight back because she was tied to the heavy beam, Arana simply wriggled beneath the heavy soldier as he raped her. He looked up. Not far. Her crutch was almost at a level with his face, open to view as the soldiers held her, twisting and bucking as she screamed. The full belly was churning; her breasts shook and she let out a blubbering wail of abject despair as foul diarrhoea spattered the trunk under her arse. No point crying, girlie. One final blow and the last nail was in. Livia Cuxena, murderess and thief, was crucified. Suddenly she arched out on the cross until only the back of her head and her feet were touching the trunk and it seemed as if her spine must snap. Screaming all the time she hung for some moments like that, then her body slammed back against the cross, falling to hang by her arms again. Again and again she reared up and out, her screams never ending, as if she did not need to stop to breathe. Livia Cuxena, freshly crucified, presented an astonishing spectacle. Every time she spasmed out in agony, knees splaying out to thrust upwards, she offered the watchers on the road below a view straight up her crotch. She shook from head to toe, forcing that awful posture higher and higher, chest thrust up so that her full breasts pointed at the sky. Her screaming had ceased, and now her breath hissed in jerks from her chest, louder and louder, until suddenly: Severian glanced at the sun. It was an hour or so before mid-day. There was much he had to do, but nothing so urgent that he must get back at once. If she tore her arms out of her shoulders or dislocated an elbow, it would probably all be over by evening. Besides, that gorgeous body flailing on the cross was not a thing one would see every day. Hysterical, crucified, Livia Cuxena realised that she could not tear her arms free, could not pull her arms out of her body to escape the cross. She had to hang there, nailed, with the red-hot agony of her arms and her stretched armpit tendons. Hang on nails that scraped the boiling nerves of her arms. Had to hang. Eyes glaring against the sun, she struggled to find some balance of the pain, pressing on broken bones in her feet to ease a little of the torment in her arms, struggling to remain centred on those nails so as not to topple sideways and lurch against a wrist nail, struggling to find how to live when nailed on the cross. Again and again she failed. Again and again she fell to one side or another, and the nails in her wrists jerked and her arms exploded in boiling pain. Again and again she screamed as she fell, not just in pain but in a mindless anger. Again and again she slumped, her weight falling unbearably on the nails, the agony spurting. Again and again she summoned the desperate courage to push down on her splintered feet, exchanging that appalling agony for a tiny diminution in the pain in her arms. Again and again her back and buttocks scraped up against the trunk, sometimes only an inch or two, sometimes until her legs were almost straight and her head up higher than the beam. Sometimes she jerked her knees straight, and then her legs arched forward off the cross and only her nailed wrists and feet were against the wood, her body arched forward and up, or forward with her torso hanging down and breasts dangling. But her breasts were heaving with effort, her head jerking in pain, and time and again she lost her balance and fell sideways or her legs gave out and she collapsed, scraping down the trunk. And only very slowly did her screams rattle to hoarseness in her throat. Only very slowly did she learn how to exist on the cross. And even in those moments when she managed to hold herself in an agonised balance, every muscle straining to hold her from toppling and keep a little of the weight from those terrible nails in her wrists, even then the horror increased. For she learned that every part of the body is conjoined. Every twitch of her arms on those nails sent boiling spasms of pain not just into her wrists and down her arms, but into her chest and the twisting muscles of her belly, down her spine and back muscles. That long-pampered body had been an unconsidered, unmapped pleasure, but now Livia Cuxena learned the map of nerves that she had never considered, a web joining every point, a flaring web of interconnected pain, where a twist at one point, even a gasp for breath, ripped through the whole. She was aware of a complex of nerves and muscles and bones that she had never dreamed existed. The price of her illumination was unbearable pain, for the body on the cross was a miraculous engine of torture. And the pain of her flayed-open body was unbearable but inescapable. She was nailed on her cross and the pain was unceasing. Again and again the horror and terror drove her again to hysterical panic, sent her into frenzy on her cross, tugging and jerking while screams jetted out. And each time she desperately tried to get control again, for the pain of that jerking was not to be borne. There came to be longer spaces between the frenzies, longer periods when she froze in agony, trying to hold a balance on the cross, recover when she toppled sideways or her muscles gave way and she scraped down on the trunk to hang again. Then the cramps began. She was fighting desperately to remain balanced, keep her legs locked and her arms stiffened to relieve a little of the weight. Her head was slumped down and she was gasping in agony. Then a new dimension of her hell attacked her. The skin around her racked left bicep began to twitch and shake, then the muscles beneath to bunch and swell and distort. As her muscles spasmed, they hardened into a fierce, racking pain, a pain intense as if funnelled into that point, then swelling and invading neighbouring tissues. The muscle seemed to be tearing itself out of her arm. As the right arm too began to cramp and convulse she jerked her head up twice, gasping. The movement was transmitted to the nails and she twisted, screaming, her hips jerking frantically and she lost her balance and toppled down. Convulsively she straightened her legs, scraping up the cross again, the muscles of her arms bulging like twisted ropes, and with horror she felt the agony of cramps in her legs also. That would go on for a long time, Severian reckoned, with the spaces between the frenzies lengthening, the times of clinging on lengthening, cramps racking her muscles, every movement tugging the net of pain. Intriguingly, he could see that she was suffering shame as well as pain, for she tried constantly to bring her thighs together to conceal her nakedness. Yet to struggle up the cross and ease her arms she straddled her thighs apart to push herself up, opening her once-secret parts to the watchers below her. Sometimes, as she held herself erect, her breath came in grinding gasps, sometimes she cried and there was abject shame as well as pain and desperation in her blubbering. Only last night she had been wealthy and beautiful and powerful; now she was suffering the most shameful and hideous death, crucified as a slave. Sometimes she yelled abuse and curses; not, curiously, at the soldiers who had crucified her, but at the watchers below. Her breasts were in constant motion, heaving with her gasps and sobs, their outline changing as she alternately dragged herself up and slipped down again. And when she toppled to hang on the nails, the wave of pain that resulted was evident in her screams and pain convulsions. He ordered Memmius to soak a sponge in the bucket and put it on a spear for her. It was never wise to put a hand near a crucified criminal — they had nothing to lose any more by crazy viciousness. She sucked greedily at the sponge, which Memmius refilled and offered her again and again. The bees were buzzing in the meadowland, thrusting into the pollen of the thyme, and lizards flickered among the dry rocks by the road. How terrifying crucifixion was, he ruminated, and how efficient. A few minutes work by Antonius and his team, a couple of wooden beams and four nails was all it took to torture a criminal to death over hours or days. To achieve the same effect by any other means would call for several teams of expert torturers working day and night. And though that might have the same effect on the criminal, it would surely not give so stark and implacable an image to the watchers as the sight of a naked criminal writhing and screaming on a cross, beyond all hope of reprieve, legally dead but struggling in agony for days. What genius of ancient times had been the first to crucify, he wondered. She jerked her head to the narrow field behind, where several couples were moving towards the wood. It was a little before sunset that Severian returned. From his seat on the horse he could look directly across at the woman on the cross. She was struggling to hold herself upright, her legs nearly straight. The pain of it was evident in the way her arms and leg muscles stood out starkly, bunched and quivering. She would be raked with cramps by now, in addition to her other agonies. Her mouth gaped open, as if she were unaware of the flies crawling round it. As he swung out of the saddle he saw her begin to fall — and heard her too, for she wailed as her muscles collapsed under the strain, and she went down to hang on outstretched arms. Not straight down on the cross, though. Her body twisted to the side as she went down, her hips thrusting to the side of the trunk. As he strode up, he could see why she instinctively hung thus. Huge blisters bulged on her flesh, and where others had burst the skin hung ragged and dirty over raw flesh. Even the cleft between her cheeks was raw. He guessed that at some time she had tried to ease the strain on arms and feet by ramming her crack against the corner of the trunk. The skin between her thighs was red raw too, caked with her filth. Insects that had sought to feast there had been caught between her thighs as they writhed together as she slithered down the trunk, and fragments of their chitinous bodies were caught there. The flies were burrowing around her crotch and arse, busy at her belly around her sweat-beaded navel. The nails the wrists were holding firm, Severian saw, with no sign of working loose. The feet too, despite all her frantic tugging and twisting. The raw holes had been torn a little wider by her struggles, but the nail heads were too big for her ever to escape them. Flies were swarming around the wounds too, even into the gaping holes that her struggles had torn wider. Some blood oozed down. Not much. The flesh was swollen and bruised, and a faint stink of gangrene came from it. One utterly incongruous thing about this gasping, tortured body was the fingernails. On fingers that clawed down into her palms, the manicured, silvered nails glowed like pearls. There were still a couple of dozen people watching from the road, but most of the crowd had gone. Julia leaned towards her husband sitting beside her, and put her arm around his shoulder. Severian dismissed the half century, keeping only a detachment of eight men for a night watch. There was bread and pease porridge with bacon in the pack that the mule had brought, and ample dry wood in the coppice for a fire. He spent a few minutes with the file leader, making sure he knew his duties and had all he needed. If she starts to faint, you use those brands to get her back. Armpits, tits, between her legs, whatever. I want her kept alert and alive for tomorrow. It was not until mid-afternoon the next day that Marcus Severian could make time to ride out to the crucifixion site. Maybe a half-dozen or so people were standing along the road, watching the wretched woman die. A gentle breeze was blowing towards the road, and it bore a stink of rotting flesh, stale sweat and excrement. His mare, not battle trained, shied away, and he called one of the squad to hold the reins before he swung out of the saddle and strode up the slope between the hummocks. Closer up the smell was sickening, but Marcus Severian had worked over the detritus of battlefields and his stomach was hardened. She must have scoured the skin right off her buttocks during the night as she twisted and struggled against the hard, striated wood. She was hanging at the limit of her arms, angled forwards as if pulled out by the weight of her sagging breasts. Her breath came in short, harsh rasps,. Her wrists had swollen and purpled. The puffy, gangrened flesh was swelling against the nails. Gaping flesh was open where her convulsions had torn the wounds wider, but it was not clean, red flesh. It was greenish in hue, and little maggots, barely larger than hairs, were crawling in the cloven holes. July June May April March December Whippedass video gallery starring Kym Wilde Rope bondage tit torture Want more femdom orgasm stories? Chantasbitches Redhead Strapon! Wrestling video gallery with stunning asian Mika Tan! Subscribe Leave a comment Comments 1. 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The flesh was swollen and bruised, and a faint stink of gangrene came from it. One utterly incongruous thing about this gasping, tortured body was the fingernails. On fingers that clawed down into her palms, the manicured, silvered nails glowed like pearls.

There were still a couple of dozen people watching from the road, but most of the crowd had gone. Julia leaned towards her husband sitting beside her, and put her arm around his shoulder.

Severian dismissed the half century, keeping only a detachment of Female bdsm crucifixion stories men for a night watch. There was bread and pease porridge with bacon in the pack that the mule had brought, and ample dry wood in the coppice for a fire.

He spent a few Female bdsm crucifixion stories with the file leader, making sure he knew his duties and had all he needed.

Claire was your typical high school student.

If she starts to faint, click use those brands to get her back. Armpits, tits, between her legs, whatever. I want her kept alert and alive for tomorrow. It was not until mid-afternoon the next day that Marcus Severian could make time to ride out to the crucifixion site.

Female bdsm crucifixion stories a half-dozen or so people were standing along the road, watching the wretched woman die.

Hdsex trailer Watch Strapon sex story Video Lesbisk sex. I wanted to see Claire in real agony. I untied her wrists, and I placed a chair in front of the cross so Claire could stand on it, and then I carefully wrapped her arms above and behind the wooden crossbar, so that she would have to support her weight on her back and shoulders. This position also thrust her breasts out invitingly. I tied her ankles to the perpendicular member of the cross, so she could shift some of the weight to her legs. But this was still a much more agonizing and authentic crucifixion than her earlier position where she was really standing on the floor. Now she had to support most of her weight with her shoulders. I whipped her for a while to see how she would react and was gratified to see how much more vulnerable and helpless she was. She had to use half of her energy just to hang there on the cross, and that left much less strength for her to endure the whipping. Claire was in real agony, and I determined to continue punishing her. It had a four inch dildo studded with electric contacts and a special extension designed to fit over her labia and clitoris. The dildo was a tight fit and Claire gasped when I shoved it into her. Wires from both sets of electrical contacts led to a small black TENS unit which I controlled with two sets of dials. I gagged Claire to help her endure the pain she would experience. I demonstrated how I could run these stinging sensations together faster. Then I illustrated to her how I could further increase the intensity until she felt as if a sharp saw was cutting into her flesh. Her bottom was full and rounded, swelling and magnificent, and her breasts were full and rounded, swelling and magnificent. At the base of her belly was a flame-coloured swatch of silky hair, razored trimly to a tapered invitation. The soldiers hauled the naked woman to her feet and hustled her along to the side-port that gave entry to the barracks. Murena moved swiftly to dispel any rumours or confusion in the city. He had dictated a text after speaking to the legate, and as soon as Livia Cuxena was convicted lictors were going out to affix the posters in all public places: Confronted with the evidence against her, she has confessed her crimes, and will be crucified an hour before noon beside the Arausio road. Her confederates have been arrested and will also be dealt with. Lucius Murena disliked extreme measures; in the four years he had been here in Arelate there had been, apart from the executions of the bandits themselves, only five official crucifixions, and all for extremes of violence that would have had the citizens up in arms if the severest punishments had not been imposed. To execute some and not others would not lance this boil. The sudden and inexorable death of Livia Cuxena would make a far greater impact than an execution followed by partial and scrappy penalties. No, the citizens would go into exile, the non-citizens would go to the mines in Spain, and Livia Cuxena would go on the cross alone. That was cleaner and more appalling to anyone who thought of going outside the law. A half-century was paraded at the barracks under the second centurion, with a squad in light marching order in front of them when Livia Cuxena was frog-marched naked onto the parade ground and thrust on her knees. Marcus Severian cast a quick look at the beam that lay on the dusty ground. It was weathered and grey, with dark stains near either end. That way, the beam could be used almost indefinitely, and this one had obviously served a number of times. It was a matter of four feet long, eight inches high and six inches thick. In the middle a rectangular hole, some eight inches long and two inches wide, had been chiselled through. Severian did not bother to ask if it was the right size for the trunk they would be using; he knew Antonius would have made sure of that. The kneeling woman looked up at him with horrified eyes, her mouth moving wordlessly, uttering moaning gasps. The sight was erotic and incongruous: Livia Cuxena had been driven into a tiny corner of her mind by the horror of what was happening. She was going to be killed in the worst way ever devised. These people, these garlic-stinking soldiers, were going to take her to the execution site and drive nails through her wrists and feet and crucify her. It was happening. That weathered block of wood was a hurt beam Those were bloodstains on it They were going to nail her to it. She was naked in the dust, being taken to crucifixion. In the tiny cell of her mind to which she had fled, Livia Cuxena screamed in terror, but from that tiny cell her screams did not reach her body. Her mouth moved wordlessly, uttering moaning gasps. One of the light-order squad brought a cloth and cord, and Severian had the soldiers pull the woman to her feet. He folded the cloth in two and passed the cord through it. He put the cord around her waist so that the cloth hung down behind her, then reached between her trembling thighs — smooth, soft thighs, his arm brushing against the folds of her cunt — pulled the cloth forward and up against her belly, and tied the cord tightly round her waist, pulling it into the yielding flesh. The overlap of the white strip of cloth hung down to her groin. He moved behind her, and pulled the pins out of her hair, letting it fall about her shoulders, then gathered and bound it with a strip of leather cord. She stood there, held by the soldiers, seeming stunned and mindless, shaking in every limb. A soldier came through the side gate and marched up to Severian. He motioned the soldiers to put her on her knees again. They pressed her down, but she seemed not to understand what was wanted. Severian moved behind her, and his heavy sandal crashed into her ankle. As her feet went out from under her, her trace-state suddenly broke and a howl burst from her. With soldiers gripping her she flailed desperately as the beam was placed on her shoulders and her arms dragged up behind it to be bound with turn after turn of heavy rope. It was so horrifying as to be unthinkable, the mind blacking out the bare possibility — and here and now the slab of harsh-edged wood was being tied on her shoulders with thick manila ropes whose sharp prickles stabbed the skin of her arms. The vivid hurts drove home the fact that it was actually happening. Sweat-stinking soldiers were putting the cross on her; she was naked and helpless in their grasp. They were roping a hurt beam on her shoulders. It was happening, here and now, in this hot drab yard it was happening. She was sentenced, it would not be revoked. She could not change it. She was going to be crucified. She struggled wildly, screaming and twisting in their grip, as they knotted another rope around her neck and two of the soldiers grasped its ends — roped her like a slave to be dragged to execution. They hoisted the beam upwards, dragging her to her feet, but as soon as they released her she leapt away, only to tumble heavily as the rope around her neck stopped her. She lay winded in the dust, gasping and roiling, helpless with her arms twisted back over the heavy beam, her breasts jolting. Two of the soldiers seized the beam again and hauled her up, almost twisting her arms from her shoulders. She was heaving great gasps of breath as they held her upright, her legs loose below her. Severian nodded to a soldier who stood nearby holding a cart-whip. Moving behind her, the soldier cast his arm back so that the long lash snaked out on the dusty ground. As her scream crescendoed the whip snaked back again and then again slashed forward, coiling around her ribs and striking up under her breast. She howled for mercy as the third stroke lashed into her. Severian stood before her, grim faced. Shaking in terror she tried to be silent and listen, but could barely hear him above her blubbering sobs. What she heard was enough. She was to walk with her beam, and if it took the whip to make her do it then the whip it would be. Did she need to feel it again? The frantic shaking of her head told she did not. He signalled to the centurion to march the first squad out. As the column passed through the gate, the soldiers holding the rope tugged Livia Cuxena forward. With a gasping cry she stumbled forward in the wake of the procession. As she passed through the gate into the piazza she could sense the crowd of watchers, and tried to lift her head despite the heavy beam pressing its sharp edge into her neck. Her vision was blurred, her eyes stinging with tears she could not wipe away, but a crowd it was, a crowd of Areletans, and they knew her. Her clients were there, and slaves and petty dealers, and the prefect of the port. She could smell the sweaty odour of the lower orders. They were looking at her nakedness, her breasts dangling and swinging, her groin covered only by a rag. They would see her bottom roiling as she passed. Severian walked slowly over. Lysander licked his lips nervously. It was alarming that Marcus Severian knew his name, that authority had its eye on him. Severian knew it would shake him. People felt safe in crowds, that was what made crowds dangerous, so Severian learned names so that no one could hide and be part of a mob. Once they were named, people tended to take care of what they did. So do any of you think I need advice? He waited a moment, then turned on his heel and walked to where his horse was waiting. He swung into the saddle and rode to the front of the column, past the second half-century that was now filing out of the barracks, past the wretched woman stumbling under her load, jerking in terror as the whip cracked the air behind her, blubbering in fear of what would happen when the procession reached its end. As she passed out of the piazza it seemed her legs would give way under her, and the whip landed fiercely and sent her staggering onwards. The crowd flowed out and followed. Severian would not allow them close to the road, but they spread out into the heathland and little paths that ran nearby. There were children shouting with glee as Livia Cuxena fell upon the road and was hauled sobbing to her feet and thrashed upon her way again, shrieking with wonder at the gyrations of her breasts and bottom. There were youths — and not a few young men — whose hands were moving at their groins as they watched her staggering onwards, howling for pity with all her feminine fullness shaking. Every few hundred yards her legs gave way and she crashed down, unable to protect herself with her hands lashed up behind the heavy beam. She would twist desperately to one side or the other as she fell, trying not to smash her face and breasts directly on the paving of the road, but that could not save her from her falls against the stones. And every time she fell the soldiers pulled her up and the whip lashed in again. Older men strode forward, watching with grim approval the process of justice demonstrating that brigandage would never pay in the new order. Young wives and matrons walked on with eager comments to watch with deep, smug pleasure as the proud Livia Cuxena was taken to her just desserts. A mile to the north of Arelate rose a little ridge a matter of eight feet high to the left of the road. On each was a crucifixion trunk, a square, foot-thick post of wood some seven foot high, fixed solidly in the ground. The one on the further hummock was bare, but the nearer one carried a cross-beam and a blackened thing, eyeless and torn, strips of half-flayed skin peeling down, shrivelled and beak-pecked intestines falling from its opened belly. Never to be buried. The spirit never to cross the river but to wander the earth, windblown, wailing. On either side of the further trunk two blocks of wood had been set to serve as steps, drums a foot or so high cut through the trunk of a large tree. Behind it, a non-combatant auxiliary was laying out tools on a square of sacking the mule that had carried them was tethered at the edge of the coppice behind. The legionary engineer assigned to the detail, a ten-year veteran named Antonius, walked over to him and surveyed the material: And nails from the stores, ugly things some six inches long, square in cross section and tapering — unevenly for they had been hammered by hand — from sharp points to rather over half an inch at the end. The final half inch flared sharply to be an inch or more across at the top. They were dark and still greasy with the oil used to protect them against the salty coastal air. Antonius nodded dourly in satisfaction. The trunk on which Livia Cuxena would be crucified was not cut straight across the top. The construction is not easy to explain in words. For about a foot from the top of the weathered post, the front six inches of the wood had been chiselled out. Or, to put it another way, there was a horizontal cut across the post a foot below the top, six inches deep, and from there up the post was only six inches thick. It was on that flat, six-inch ledge that the hurt-beam itself six inches thick would lie. That shelf was not a simple flat surface however. It had been chiselled out, not just sawn, and in the middle a tenon of solid wood jutted up, a tenon two inches thick so that it was two inches in front of the final block behind it and two inches away from the front of the trunk, and about eight inches wide, so that to left and right there were a couple of inches of flat shelf between it and the edge of the trunk. The slot in the hurt-beam, two inches deep and eight inches long would fit on that tenon, so that the back of the beam lay snugly against the back of the trunk and the front ran level with its forward edge. The soldier waiting at the turn of the road waved his arm and began to walk towards the mound. The crucifixion procession was on its way. The soldiers put away their dice and got to their feet as the leading squad appeared past the trees to the right, followed by the woman to be put up the tree. She was in a bad way, bent under the weight of the hurt-beam, reeling from side to side as she staggered. Embed this content in your HTML. Report adult content: More Channels. Channel Catalog Subsection Catalog. Articles on this Page showing articles to of Channel Description: Crucified Women. Contact us about this article. A Quick Drawing. Topsy Turvy. Jedakk's Masterpiece. Drawing Crucifixion Girl. Humour'crucifixion By Messaline Rotrex' Pictures Gallery. Adult Image? Browse the Latest Snapshot. Browsing All Articles Articles. That idea does not appeal to me that much in contrast to volunteering with ropes, but that is intended as an erotic experience. The base line is that crucifixion is a death sentence. A cruel one. He hoped the Allies would take action in order to stop the genocide, but the British thought he was exaggerating, and the only move they would make was to bomb the industrial infrastructure around the camp and even that failed , regardless of the casualties that were to be inflicted among the prisoners and forced laborers. Finally, let down by the British and hunted by the Gestapo, the spy saw only one way out for himself: In one of the final scenes, he voluntarily joins a line of prisoners, waiting naked for what the others think will be a shower. Only he knew better… One idea, similar to that story, is submitting to the sentence of crucifixion as an opt-out, because there are alternatives that are even worse. So you prefer being crucified for a crime committed in a country far away, where nobody knows you. Another possible storyline to explore is anticipation. It is meant as a method to scare people from breaking the law. Nevertheless, you commit a crime or any other act that is sanctioned by crucifixion, fully aware of what could happen to you. Is it a calculated risk, or playing a game with an unspoken deep desire? Very interesting ideas Loxuru. I will post a couple of short stories soon, I hope clarifying a little that extrange fantasy of mine. I look forward to them. On the other hand, I tried to explain my fantasies of volunteering for a death on the cross in my post in page 4 of this thread: I have opened a thread that could be related to this topic. Loxuru Graf von Kreuzigung Jan 1, In order to make clear my interpretation of 'voluntary crucifixion', I post an excerpt from a story I wrote a few years ago. And more trouble is around the corner. Someone with connections. Then his little empire was finished quickly. We were both arrested and imprisoned in the citadel of the capital Melita. He suddenly faced a series of serious allegations: Enough for risking the death penalty and its competitors would do everything to put pressure to the local Praefect. And, along the way, she discovered my writing. So, she wrote me and shyly asked me to fashion a crucifixion fantasy for her. She wanted me to portray her as a slave in the Roman era. Filtering Exclude erotica Include mainstream erotica Include all erotica. About Publish Join Sign In..

A gentle breeze was blowing towards the road, and it bore a stink of rotting flesh, stale sweat and excrement. His mare, Female bdsm crucifixion stories battle trained, shied away, and he called one of the squad to hold the reins before he swung out of the saddle and strode up the slope between the hummocks.

Closer up the smell was sickening, but Marcus Severian had worked over the detritus of battlefields and his stomach was hardened. She must have scoured the skin right off her buttocks during the night as she twisted and struggled against the hard, striated wood.

She was hanging at the limit of her arms, angled forwards as if pulled out by the weight of her sagging breasts. Her breath came in short, harsh rasps. Her wrists had swollen and purpled. The puffy, gangrened flesh was read article against the nails. Gaping flesh was open where her convulsions had torn the wounds wider, but it was not clean, red flesh.

It was greenish in hue, and little maggots, barely larger than hairs, were crawling in the cloven holes. A yellowish pus that was thicker than cream oozed from Female bdsm crucifixion stories wounds and trickled down her arms. The Real Historical Female Jesus.

The time Female bdsm crucifixion stories finally here for me to start posting it. They live in an old house on some acreage that was View attachment The Greek and Latin words corresponding to "crucifixion" applied to many different forms of painful execution, from impaling on Female bdsm crucifixion stories stake to affixing to a tree, to an upright pole.

Did anyone here managed to persuade his own wife to try bdsm crucifixion? If yes, please tell me how! We are a young married couple, and my wife knows nothing about my cruxfetish.

Oklahoma nudes Watch Naked sexy college teen self Video Nude nymphs. Maria had come to the conclusion that unspeakable things happened before crucifixion: Maria told me I needed to read between the lines of the Catholic retelling of the biblical record. She saw crucifixion as a completely sexualized torture ritual. Flagellation and rape for both woman and men were common before crucifixion. So, if Maria was right, crucifixion was a complete torture ritual that initially involved sexual humiliation and forcible sex. Ina Mar. Kali or Black refers to her being the entity of time and beyond time. Various cosmologies and Tantric beliefs worship her as the ultimate reality; she is also well-regarded as a redeemer of the universe or Bhavatarini. There are some ambiguous analogies in religious connotations between Christianity and Hinduism. At the time of Kali Bhavatarini unfinished. View attachment And it's about to get worse Well, everyone seemed to like the one time that I mixed stories with images. Even though I consider myself more of an artist, and more of a visual thinker, I think I can make something of a regular story that features my art. I could there is a certain appeal to giving the images backstories - a little bit of context goes a long way to solidify the erotic undertones of an images. Another reason I think stories will be great for my work; it will help smooth out my often erratic output with Alexia Agonia. I'm probably in the minority here in that I prefer the scourging part of the crucifixion to the actual hanging from the cross something that many noted about my story The Scapegoat - I've reattached it in case anybody wants to see it without having to trawl through a search , but I'm guessing most of us enjoy whipping. So, I was wondering, what are our favourite depictions of flogging either in film, pictures or writing? I used to read out the story of the crucifixion in my Children's Crucified Women http: Are you the publisher? Seeing Arana's naked body was enough to arouse any man, but seeing her writhe was simply too much for some. The second spike sliced through and crushed Arana's hand as the first had, separating bone and mangling nerves in a way designed to cause agony. The crowd observed the torture of the condemned as she jerked and convulsed, both hands now firmly affixed to the patibulum. There was no longer any need to hold her in place. The long wooden post of the cross stood already embedded in place. Crucifixions were frequent enough that the soldiers didn't want to be constantly digging holes and raising the crosses. Instead, ladders were placed against the stipes and Arana was slowly dragged upright by two soldiers lifting the patibulum higher up the post. As she was dragged back and up, her legs kicked and struggled, flopping about uselessly. The crowd sighed in approval at her fight, which made the sight of her crucifixion and ordeal more exciting. Her slim thighs stretched and flexed, the muscles trying to gain a vantage to relieve the pull from the ever rising beam which dragged her nailed wrists higher and higher, until her feet were pulled off the ground and she merely kicked in the air. The cross beam was set in place and the soldiers that had lifted the poor girl into place descended. Arana now hung from her nailed wrists, her whole body weight born by the spikes which secured her to the wood. While she struggled, the pain was almost too much for her, and her struggles subsided as they simply jerked the spikes against the torn nerves of her wrists and caused even more agony. She began to go limp, as the pain overcame her. To help her a little, two soldiers grabbed her ankles and lifted her legs. She hardly struggled now and it was easy for them to bend her legs to spread apart at the knees and cross her feet, one over the other. A third spike was brought and placed at the top of the foot, just below the ankle. The heavy hammer was raised again and slammed down on the spike, driving it through her top foot and through until it penetrated the bottom one. Arana screamed yet again, this new agony filling the bottom half of her body, and as the hammer struck again and again, driving the nail through her delicate bones and mangling equally delicate nerves, she lost consciousness. A bucket of water was brought and dumped over Arana's head. The water revived her, as well as making her naked flesh glisten in the bright afternoon sun. She cried out as if waking from a bad dream and began a weak sort of writhing on the cross. The nailing of the victim complete, the crowd came closer. Guards prevented them from touching the exposed victim, but for those lucky enough to push their way to the front, the woman's exposed body could be seen in great detail. Her naked breasts bounced slightly from her struggles, and small nipples stood out clearly. Her feet were nailed in such a way that her knees spread to expose her female parts for all to see. Both men and women crowded around now, observing both her body and her movements as she writhed. The crowd milled, some shocked and unable to come close, but most pushing for their turn to observe the torture of the young woman up close. Those that observed for too long were pushed aside by those that grew tired of waiting. Arana became agonizingly aware of this process. She was nailed out on display, like an object of curiosity. Her agony and paroxysms of pain were now the public entertainment of the day. Unable to even brush her long hair out of her eyes, she had no choice but to endure every indignity. A soldier reached up and spread the lips between her legs. A small bit of white fluid trickled out and down her inner thigh. This raised a murmur of appreciation from those closest who surged forward. Arana began to cry as much from the horror of her situation as from the pain. She was meat. A piece of meat on display, without even the dignity of an animal held in a cage for all to observe. It wasn't just her naked body on display, it was her pain. Her writhing brought appreciative cheers from the crowd. Arana tried to lift herself on her nailed feet. The pain shot through her ankles and legs as sharply broken bones moved and cut into fresh nerves. She sagged back down quickly, but the weight of her body jerking on her wrists made her scream in agony, to the delight of the crowd. She tried again, stealing herself for the pain and moving higher this time until she was able to lock her knees. Fox-on-Cross Tribune Nov 29, Nice would be in your home a secret room with two fixed crosses opposite to each other. One problem when you are only with three people is that not simultaneously the two victims can be crucified, this difference in time makes the consensual time shortener. Life is imperfect. LittleSiss Sorceress Nov 29, It's took a little searching but I think you will like this one. Thanks a lot for taking the time to help me! Loxuru Graf von Kreuzigung Nov 29, Joined Sep 12, Likes 33, Thanks for the suggestion. I am considering and have some ideas for a long consensual crux story. I will post some ideas and I will try to get some feed back. This is a great thread and a great concept. Loxuru Graf von Kreuzigung Dec 28, I seems the thread has silently been extinguished. Here some thoughts about the concept. About consensual crucifixion, I think of many aspects. Carloscruz has mentioned already the option of men and women getting themselves nailed to a cross, to die on it. That idea does not appeal to me that much in contrast to volunteering with ropes, but that is intended as an erotic experience. The base line is that crucifixion is a death sentence. A cruel one. He hoped the Allies would take action in order to stop the genocide, but the British thought he was exaggerating, and the only move they would make was to bomb the industrial infrastructure around the camp and even that failed , regardless of the casualties that were to be inflicted among the prisoners and forced laborers. Finally, let down by the British and hunted by the Gestapo, the spy saw only one way out for himself: In one of the final scenes, he voluntarily joins a line of prisoners, waiting naked for what the others think will be a shower. Only he knew better… One idea, similar to that story, is submitting to the sentence of crucifixion as an opt-out, because there are alternatives that are even worse. Bdsm 3D Porn Here bondage Jun. Black bondage models from the Medford dungeon bondage Apr. Welcome abroad! Bondage ball gags from Madison bondage Oct. About I am a writer of femdom fiction from Tennessee. October September August July .

Of course I often have fantasies about her being crucified, but Female bdsm crucifixion stories never mentioned it to her. The most perverse thing we ever did were footfetish games. We are more atheist than religious, and she even thinks some things about Christian religion is kinky, or ridiculous.

How would you Bdsm 3D Porn Here bondage Jun. Black bondage models from the Medford dungeon bondage Apr. Welcome abroad! Bondage ball gags from Madison bondage Oct.

Xxx Follandk Watch Sexy latina news women Video 0lgun Porno. Claire Forlani. Die super geile Claire. Babygirl Claire. Claire from Leeds UK. Uk Slut Claire louise Hearle from Bristol. Mi culo. More Girls Chat with x Hamster Live girls now! Comments 1 Spam comments 0. Please log in or register to post comments. If spammers comment on your content, only you can see and manage such comments Delete all. JavaScript is required for this website. Please turn it on in your browser and reload the page. Reaching her female softness, her friend fondled Arana for a while, and then with a sigh turned her back on the victim and left. Arana's parents came late in the evening. Still completely conscious, Arana was able to discern her mother's form as it climbed the low hill to where she hung. Her parents simply stood and observed for a while, not showing pity or concern, but simply looking at the naked form of their daughter stretched taught and hanging by nails, suffering. As her parents left, pain erupted in Arana's lower abdomen and she cried out as she lost bowel control. Her parents turned just in time to see Arana release a huge and continual stream of diarrhea which splashed the wooden cross and her legs before splattering on the ground below her. The stench rose and filled Arana's nose, and she screamed in frustration at her complete inability to control even her most basic dignity. The night was a long one. The condemned looked skyward frequently, watching the stars move across the sky more slowly than could be imagined. She knew death would come, and she prayed for it, quietly, loudly, screaming it out. Yet when the sunrise finally arrived she was frustratingly, horribly alive. He looked up and sighed Her heart leaped for a moment, thinking that he was going to kill her. Then she saw the sponge on the end as he lifted it to her face. It smelled of wine. It was a taunt, she knew. The wine would be mixed with vinegar, and was designed to increase her sense of thirst. And yet She let the sponge be placed immediately next to her lips and slowly she opened her mouth and sucked. The foul taste of the vinegar immediately shriveled her tongue and lips and she turned her head away, more desperately thirsty than ever before. There was activity below her. Her sense of dignity was almost completely gone, she mostly was just wishing for death as quickly as possible. The activity below turned out to be a wooden spike being shoved through a hole in the stipes, a sedile designed to extend her life in a painful manner. The spike slid through the wood and then up toward her body It penetrated. It dug in. It lifted her up. She could feel her weight slowly easing off her wrists but she also found the wooden spike was tearing her insides as it penetrated deep. She tried once again to lift herself on her feet, failed, and fell down on the spike. She was now impaled by a monster, sharp, wooden phallus. This further humiliation was not only painful, but would prolong her agony and postpone her death. As the day went on, it provided much amusement for the crowd that once again gathered below her. A new torture, livening and making the whole even more fun for everyone but Arana. Once again, her suffering was taking new shapes and providing interesting new experiences for those who observed her so closely. Consciousness began to leave the crucified girl. She found her awareness of time was slipping and that the faces of those that mocked her in the crowd changed without her seeing people come and go. The pain never left, in fact, parts of her were hurting that hadn't hurt at first. Bdsm crucifixion nude female images here bondage Jan. Bondage movie triler here bondage Jan. Amber michaels in bondage part 2 bondage Sep. Bdsm party pics sprout from Hudson dungeon bondage May. Free stories romance light bondage from Kearny bondage Jun. Black girl bondage from Crystal Lake bondage Jan. Bdsm 3D Porn Here bondage Jun. What's your motive? I needed money. But this beats everything! A self-accusation! And what would you win by that? You can compare with the facts from the file. Only the inquirers and the killer would know that. So I convinced the Praefect there that I had been the culprit. What do you think now you are gaining? That money of the reward will help you nothing. Your case only worsened! Donate that money to whom you want. I did it for a favour, I said. As usual in public, so that the traders are given the satisfaction and the reassurance that murderers and robbers of merchants are given theirs properly, and that Roman law actually protects them! Instead of being send to Gaul. Death by hanging on the cross. My sentence came out well for justice. Two days later, some pirates would be crucified along the quays of the Sirocco Bay. The execution of my master was also scheduled there, the same day. And for me, there would also be a stipes waiting. The port could then watch how justice on Melita dealt with pirates, scammers and robbers, in other words, with all the fears of every decent merchant. View attachment Then there is the Punishment, Penance, And Love. Hi together, my first female crucifixion image. A face with more Pain is still under construction. Have fun. Some days ago i discovered in Munich a small gallery for exhibitions of fascinating images and other art works Self-taught in painting and digital art Ina Mar. Kali or Black refers to her being the entity of time and beyond time. Various cosmologies and Tantric beliefs worship her as the ultimate reality; she is also well-regarded as a redeemer of the universe or Bhavatarini. There are some ambiguous analogies in religious connotations between Christianity and Hinduism. At the time of Kali Bhavatarini unfinished. View attachment And it's about to get worse So, she wrote me and shyly asked me to fashion a crucifixion fantasy for her. She wanted me to portray her as a slave in the Roman era. Filtering Exclude erotica Include mainstream erotica Include all erotica. About Publish Join Sign In..

About I am a writer of femdom fiction from Tennessee. October She was nineteen and managed to make a few friends and went to some of the parties now and then. Neither of us could quite believe that this was going to happen.

I sat in the https://woodpornx.best/fisting/blog-30-05-2020.php, soaping my cock as it craned out of the water, aroused by the thought of events to come. It was a wonderful summer fling, Claire and I had met on a summer camp where we were both working. We had real sexual chemistry and we would take every opportunity we could to get some Female bdsm crucifixion stories time but that wasn't easy at a busy summer camp.

Claire Crucified Claire Crucified Claire was naked and Female bdsm crucifixion stories to a cross. Not an X, but a real Roman-style cross--a perpendicular beam with a horizontal crossbar. Her wrists were bound with leather cuffs that attached to eye-bolts in the wood. Her long legs were tied together at the base of the cross, where her feet with her carefully painted red toenails rested Female bdsm crucifixion stories the ground.

Stretched out naked like that, Claire looked almost too beautiful to flog, so I hit her extra hard, getting pleasure from the way her breasts bounced each time I struck them with the flogger. Article source chance that you write about tthe upside down crucifixion? Female bdsm crucifixion stories you use my idea to write a new story?

Here it is: She should be scourge with a bull whip,crucified with exactly Female bdsm crucifixion stories nails,have a crown of thorns on her head and tormented and humiliated at the maximum level.

Post a Comment. Monday, January read article, Humiliation of Crucifixion. Arana was a tall, thin girl of mixed Roman and Greek descent known as being the most beautiful woman in the city. Her legs were lean and muscular, breasts perfectly formed, with a thin waist that emphasized her hips.

Men in the city had all looked and dreamt of her for several years, and she knew it. Her dark brunette hair was always washed, smooth, and the envy of all the women. The brief trial was attended heavily. Word was spread that Arana was on trial for sedition against the empire, and her fame drew every man that could afford the time to attend.

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They hoped for a glimpse of the beauty, perhaps stripped to the waist for a whipping or some other punishment. Such a spectacle would provide masturbation fodder for weeks to come. Arana had been shaking with fear as the charges were read; her legal representation, a former lover, failed to counter most of the charges and the judge deliberated Female bdsm crucifixion stories a moment before announcing the death sentence.

Female bdsm crucifixion stories here the room wobble and then go black as she fainted and fell on the floor. When she awoke, her wrists were bound tightly and she was hanging from the city whipping post in the center square.

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She was desperately thirsty, for the sun beat down and she was sweating profusely. The ropes bit deeply https://woodpornx.best/ass-spreading/blog-free-black-xxxx-movies.php her wrists, and a smear of blood stained the rough fiber as she wriggled. She quickly forgot about her gradually Female bdsm crucifixion stories hands as she surveyed the huge crowd that had gathered for the traditional pre-crucifixion scourging.

It seemed the entire town had come to see her pain. Female bdsm crucifixion stories eyes stared at her, filled with lust, hate, fear, love, desire All eyes focused intently on her, waiting for her pain to fulfill or shock them.

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