The following totally fictitious writings of Faibhar are intended for the sole readership of those of LEGAL AGE. The ADULT ONLY material contained within is also for personal use only where local standards permit scenes of extreme violence, torture, sex and crucifixion. Please do not read further if any of these subjects offend, or if you are not of legal age. Your sole enjoyment and cooperation in not using this story in any other application without the express permission of the author is requested. Thank you. Faibhar Barbarian Torture Dawn's flat light awoke another golden Mediterranean sky over the city and its environs. Focus fell to the hefty Roman legionnaire leaned over the fallen female nude. "Your boot," he stated to the younger soldier standing upright next to his hunched figure, the tone of his voice leaving no room for question. "Huh?" "You heard me. Your BOOT. And fetch a hammer." The nude's foot felt warm as he cupped it, its smooth shin and sculpted calf submissively bending upward until her heel snuggly nestled in his crotch. Ruminating as he stroked the foot's warm smoothness, he thought to himself. Novel as crucifying a female might seem based merely on the basis of her gender he determined to impress his innovation-happy superiors with added value, naturally of his own design. The feeling of caressing the leg brought back memories of lust perhaps more mundane than innovative. Authority placed him in charge of the squad to capture the barbarian. The rapid trial before the procurator followed her detainment. During the trial, however short, a discovery of the thin necklace with its precious stone pendant had not helped her case. The jewelry signified royalty, however barbaric. All understood, especially the procurator. The guilty verdict came swiftly. And then the fun really began. What followed remained his honor. There was yesterday, the cave and how she fought as she was tied around the stalactite, the way her ass finally yielded to his thrusting cock, the firmness of her generous tits, the give and take of her feminine hips as he plunged ever deeper in the darkness, spelunking human flesh. The swaying hair smelled so sweetly even in the dankness of the cave, and eventually her protests that became so loud a gag was used. Memories inside of the cavern yesterday afternoon hardly ceased with his ejaculation. Even the confusion amongst his men at first over stalactites and stalagmites. Others used her after he finished. The original outgrowth finally snapped, her arms still embracing the rocky calcium column as she lay on the cavern floor. She then was secured to another craggy formation, the scourge ripping the defined back. Back to town just before nightfall, the subsequent rapes. Much later selling turns to the occasional latenighter as the barbarian bitch cowered in chains. "It's about time," he said as he brusquely took the military boot in hand, his reverie momentarily interrupted. Turning the military shoe with its dangling straps over so that the sole faced up into the growing light, he first examined the hob nails securing the worn leather. He used a small blade to pick at one of the small iron heads. "Wwwwhat are you going to do?" "Just listen and follow orders. I'm going to prepare this one for the cross. Now get me that hammer." She could not help but quake as her foot was lifted. Drying cum felt sticky all over. Agony from the past 24-hours engulfed. The voice of the Roman straddling her leg and lifting her foot from behind she recognized, though she could only hear and feel him. It belonged to the one who remained at the center of all of her torment. She spat out tangled hair and eased any resistance to her leg. Ahead she followed the links of chain. One end was attached to the iron slave collar given when first sentenced. The metal tether led from under her chin to the post where the other end was locked to a ring. Hard bricks underneath scraped abrasions on her chest. Already, fresh sweat ran over face and forearms. Those sensations recalled the surprise and capture, the Romans laughable excuse for a trial, the hillside cave with its many horrors, last night's rapes by the sentries only to be then pitifully "sold" to others... And now this latest activity, whatever it was to be. Hammer finally in hand, he pinched the short nail between the thumb and index finger. With other fingers he brushed away the accumulated dirt from the ball of the barbarian's foot and said to the soldier leaning over his shoulder, "She can't very well walk to her crucifixion in bare feet. These will give her something to walk on". With a tap atop the positioned nail head, the foot jerked. He felt the nail sink into the sole. The first felt like a thorn. The second, on the outside of her upraised foot, stung. Grimacing back a cry, she reached out for the chain in front of her. Toes curled. Muscles flinched. Eyes shut tight Fingers of both hands clutched the links, tightening harder around cold metal. More stabbing pains ignited every sense and fiber. Despite the relative coolness of the early hour sweat streamed down his face. He ignored the growing crowd of spectators milling about, curious to see what he was doing. Satisfied that all of the tacks had been tapped into the soles of both feet, he straightened. With a wipe across his sweaty brow he turned to the young man at his side and said, "Help me get the barbarian up. Let's see how she likes her new footwear." Those about laughed as each knee jumped, almost as if in dancing. Little did they know, much less care, that any pressure placed on the hob nails caused them to further sink into the soles of the barbarians feet. This show was too good. Instant jokes were made concerning the barbarian's wobbling stature, jiggling tits, flailing arms, flying brunette hair, the narrow reddish triangle running down her otherwise pale, but sweaty chest. "Here we go. Try these on for size," the Roman said as he unlocked the chain linking her collar to the post and shoved the barbarian bitch. She teetered and then fell, her hands desperately poised to break the inevitable. Two barrels filled with grain broke open as they were hit. Two giggling maidens, obviously of upper class, pointed to loose hob nails scraped off prior to the crash between naked body and market stand. A nearly hysterical Persian merchant rattling his wooden beads shouted in his own tongue and gestured to the partial footprints left behind, a trail smeared in wet crimson. Others drew attention to the pattern of nail heads in the soles of both upturned feet of the collapsed barbarian. Though he was no shoemaker he could tell that many of the nails seated. There would be no need to bind the bitch's arms as they managed their way to the garrison. The Roman permitted himself a private smile: He had many more innovations in mind that were sure to impress. Flickering firelight replaced morning daylight inside of the garrison walls. Her head bent back and all she could see was the pitch of the timbers above. The heavy weight of the patibulum rested behind her back and on her forearms. A tight strand of rope connected both wrists. The wood held its place for the time being, though its heft caused her back to arc. Coarse fibers of another rope creased her forehead just below the hairline. She felt a tug and its other end tied to the beam behind her back. She had managed to lift the heels of her feet ever so slightly, easing pressure there somewhat from the offending nails. Sensation in the balls of her feet long ago had numbed, though sharpness progressing to throbbing pain remained fresh. Nervously she carefully shifted her weight, the newness of carrying the timber making her stance all the more precarious. Any sudden shift instantly brought spears of pain starting up her legs, into her back, and all the way up to her tilted head. From sounds close around it was apparent that their preparations for her had ended and that the march once more into daylight about to begin. As the Mediterranean sun soared higher into the cloudless sky, so did crowds packing the city's narrow streets. Arms of every sex, ethnicity , caste, age, stretched through the mass as the barbarian passed. Fingers clawed for any touch of the condemned's flesh. Shouts were raised as she faltered, fell to her knees, or even better, stumbled closer to more outreaching hands. The Roman sincerely hoped that his efforts were being observed by the higher ups. There just might be a promotion in store, an acknowledgement of his fertile imagination. So pleased with his inner thoughts, he practically forgot about swinging the heavy belt against the barbarian bitch's upper back. To keep focus, he swung again, intent on moving her along through the congested streets. Soldiers above looked down as she passed under the gate. It took all of her concentration just to keep steady. The hands grabbing at her and their cruel taunts were secondary to balancing the heavy weight of the timber, now moved lower down her forearms and scraping across her ass. As the wood lowered it pulled the rope across her head, bending her further backward. With exhaustion, plus nails in her feet, plus the stinging streams running into her eyes and down into her parted jaws, balance was unsteady at best. Hot sun, now almost directly above, did not help. From the corner of her wet eyes she saw that they were now on the road leading to the city. A soldier's hand shoved an elbow to the left. Gasping, she blindly swiveled in the direction of the shove. Her legs felt a slight incline, then got further confused and buckled. The soldiers temporarily blocking out the sun did not appear too evil. She felt herself somewhat steady as she again was helped up. The brilliant sun returned its focus on her upturned face. She braced herself to take another step forward. The numbness from the pain in her feet actually helped, better than the initial torture. The Roman surveyed the panting barbarian, resting on her elbows, the patibulum still behind her, her torso thrust upward. Scratches on the inside swell of her tits leftover from the stalactite in the cave matched the narrow abrasion that tapered down to just above her pubic hair. The fixed upright loomed from the side.. He had his plans, plans to clearly show that there existed more tricks in this old soldier's bag. Casting his eyes away from the sweaty brunette, he ordered another, shorter crossbeam to be nailed to the stipes, just an arm's length off of the ground. "Last night, some of you paid to use this barbarian bitch," he said to the clustered group. "A pity, because as you can see," he looked back down. The breasts remained ripe, legs long, hips centered by the small dark triangle, curvaceous. "Despite all this one has endured today, she is still quite desirable. For a barbarian bitch, that is." He allowed the jovial response to subside before continuing to say, "For those who waited, want more, or just went to sleep too early last night, today she is yours to use for free!" The crowd hesitated, suspicious that this might be another joke perpetrated by the Roman military. A snare in which to trap the naive. Mutters simmered, then grew louder until first one, then another stepped forward, closer to the fallen barbarian. She flinched at first, and then relaxed. A cool cloth gently removed the grime and caked blood from her face. She blinked her eyes and saw a young female slave kneeling next to her head holding the cloth. The slave trickled sweet water into her parched mouth. Eagerly, she gulped the refreshment and strained to lift her head higher for more as the slave continued to clean her smeared face. She felt her numbed legs being slightly moved, but ignored whatever was moving them in a fervent hope for more relief. The respite proved all too brief. She screamed as the first nail was removed. Fresh sweat poured from pores just cleansed. More nails were freed. She could not see as she lay, the beam solidly running across the middle of her scourged back, her chest thrust upward and neck bending so that the back of her head could only brush against the dirt. The Roman's closed lips formed a wide smile as he watched fresh blood appear as nails were dug out from the barbarian's feet. True, his idea. Also his idea, the mass rape. From the looks of the line forming, it was about to begin. In the background he noticed that final nails affixed the shorter crossbeam to the upright. Turning his attention back to the barbarian, it looked as though the final nail was removed. One of the merchants kneeled down to position himself; spread apart the barbarian's knees, eager to be one of the day's first freebies. The Roman folded his arms, saw the slave scurry away, and then the merchant thrust. The barbarian must have still been tight there, for the man grunted with difficulty. Finally, his cock when in and the thrust became more rhythmic. He quickly came, and just as quickly was replaced by another. Pleased, the Roman saw that the line had now grown. He waved for all to enjoy at once. They swarmed like flies, soon covering her. Flashes showed dark hands pawing the pale tits with their richly circled nipples. The bloody feet were raised as another plunged between her legs. Dark hair showed as it was pulled. Ruddy faces covered the barbarian's face, licking and kissing. As one further parted the raised legs, another sunk his cock down into the barbarian's gaping jaws, rapidly coming, to then be replaced by another man's cock. The Roman unfolded his thick arms and cleared his throat as he said, "Alright now. Let's leave enough of the bitch alive for the cross." His loud voice and authoritative manner subdued the near-riot until all left the barbarian. Pools of cum streamed from the bitch's cunt. Dollops of white drooled from the corners of her mouth as she lay still. It seemed as though one of the freeloaders had not been content with merely raping the bitch, cleaving away her pubic hair as well for some sort of hirsute souvenir. She wasn't sure and hardly cared anymore if they used nails, or not. An end to this misery could not come too soon. Tortures and rapes overwhelmed and she only wished that it all could somehow end, the sooner the better. Bystanders applauded the Roman's ingenuity. Few understood at first the low-set crossbeam, but when the barbarian's feet rested on it, gingerly at first given the nature of the wounds in their soles, they saw its use as a step for her to use in extending her agony. From where they stood they could not see her face, upturned to the sun as it was from the top of the upright. The barbarian's tits, however, also pointed upward, her sleek stomach marked as it was by the abrasions left by the stalactite stretched, ribs pressing out from under the thin flesh. Ropes were used, securing her wrists and ankles to the wood. She hardly had the strength left to support herself up by placing her hands flat on the patibulum nailed atop the upright and lifting with her upper arms. Mostly, she hung low on the cross, knees bent, thighs shamefully opened wide, drying come still dripping from her swollen cunt. Later that afternoon many made their way back to the city, the mournful pleas still coming from the crucified. The day had been memorable and some of the most generous also recalled that the innovative Roman generated much of the day's entertainments. Many of the generous agreed that the soldier justly deserved his.
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