The following is purely fictitious and intended solely for the personal use of those over the legal age of adulthood, in communities accepting the graphic portrayal of themes that might elsewhere be unacceptable.

F.

The Final Battle

War cries of many in pursuit of their captured princess dwindled vastly overcome as they were by a superior force. The caravan continued its southerly direction. Battle sounds faded to be obscured in the dusty fog trailing the cart bearing the wooden cage and the leashed Princess Sheria. Creaking wood of the cart and cage, the stomp of the flanking enemy’s boots –their idle comments and slapping uniforms, the occasional squawk from a bird flying overhead - all soon replaced the familiar clang of weaponry. Shouts from her well-intended, though futile saviors, quickly died away to be replaced by the more mundane of the rocky passage.

The invading force overwhelmed, but not before Sheria and her retinue killed or maimed many before retreating to nearby hilly terrain only to meet an enemy ambush in a boxed canyon. Those with her were rapidly dispatched. Only she was saved, her resisting leadership not unknown to the opposing army. Stripped of her armor, the unclothed princess was collared and by leash pulled back to the cage in which she now rode.

In her late twenties, Princess Sheria grew to be the eldest, prettiest and fittest of her younger sisters - a formidable leader in previous battles and acknowledged first in line to one day become queen. Lacking her fighting skills, her sisters quickly fell to the invaders’ blades. Sheria wept quietly as the cart rocked from side to side at the memory of her lost siblings, her lost people and all she had earlier defended. Long chestnut tresses, released when her helmet was yanked off, brushed away much of the tears. Fingers dabbed dry cheeks just below the azure eyes.

By light of the following day, Sheria could tell they remained headed south, though the ride was much rougher across a road-less plain. During the first night of encampment, she remained leashed inside the cage, a somewhat nourishing meal of soup and bread offered through the bars of her confinement. Heat from the afternoon sun beat down upon her bare skin. The rough collar leashing her to the cart chafed her neck more used to ornaments than the coarse hide. In the early evening, flocks of animals and shepherds appeared. Sheep continued grazing, though the shepherds glanced away at their charges to curiously watch the caravan’s progress. Most riveting became the plodding horse and cart bearing the wooden cage with the nude inside.

The fourth day brought Sheria a taste of freedom. Stretching her cramped limbs as she stood outside of the cage actually felt good. The leash and collar remained, as did her nudity. Within eyeshot rose walls of a great city. Sightseeing proved brief as a tug on her leash pulled her forward. Unsteady from days of confinement in the jostling tight space, her feet stumbled. Eventually, she was able to more or less able to gain balance and follow the leash. Past standing soldiers and mounted officers she went, to be dragged behind the lead horse. Atop it rode her nemesis – the enemy general. An older man, he had changed from battle dress to a gilded uniform. Atop his partially balding head sat a golden laurel.

Turing around in his saddle, he looked down on her and spoke. “You may have been the warrior named Princess Sheria, but that is all now history. Today you will follow my steed as my defeated foe as we enter the city. After that…who knows?” He turned back around.

Sheria winced at the thickly accented growl heard above, back-lit as it were by the rising sun. She wanted to utter an insulting remark to this imbecile, but the leashed jerked her forward. Her shoulders shrugged to mover her long hair forward covering as much of her body as possible and gritted her teeth in preparation for what was to come…

In the shadow of the main entrance ran a river-bed. Her tethering leash was switched from the rear of the general’s saddle. Other’s guided her down the river’s bank to a sandy strip next to the flowing waters. On the other side stood archers. She wryly noted their arrows knocked and aimed at her.

Three female slaves joined the small party at the river’s edge. Each carried small boxes and towels. Sheria was allowed to bathe, sitting on the slippery moss-covered rocks in the shallows. Gently manipulating her limbs, the slaves applied cool dollops of cream to her legs and underarms. They carefully shaved the standing princess’s body. Sheria slightly cringed as more suds were applied between her legs. She felt the razors removing her dark pubic hairs and the brisk air wafting over her bald vulva. It was, she surmised, to be expected.

Completing their task, the slaves used the towels they carried to wipe clear any trace of the procedure. Fingers then applied oils designed to eliminate any traces of shaving and highlight the best of the prisoner’s form.

Sheria did not wish to hurt the caring slaves – her agenda lay with the general and his men. With one arm and elbow, she shoved the woman next to her off balance. Ignoring the squeal and subsequent splash of water as the slave fell, Sheria swung the leash with her cuffed wrists high above her head. Two soldiers were caught unawares, and hit. Whistling arrows sliced through the water. Sheria swung the cable as fast as she could, creating a whirring shield and snapping away many more arrows aimed at her. Keeping the wind-milling leash in front of her, she ran through the shallow water, her feet splashing and slipping to get downstream, and hopefully escape. On the banks above each side archers and soldiers cursed as they ran, shouting directions and orders.

Not from tired muscles, nor from being winded, Sheria stopped short, and let the leash slow and fall. Ahead stood a phalanx of enemy – too many to overcome. The princess again faced surrender to the foe. She allowed herself to be taken up the bank closet to the city, her wrists locked behind her head to the collar, and watched resignedly as the loose end of her leash was reattached to the rear of the general’s saddle.

II

“Look at that slut’s jutting tits! Has she no shame?” The toothless hag croaked to her mate from the shadows of the town market Slumping his bent frame more, his rheumy eyes did not leave the sight of the young nude as she was dragged past, silently comparing the one he bedded with at night to the ravishing female before him.

But, he did answer his wife and said, “Just wait and see what they do tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll see someone entirely different.” His leering gaze put aside the scoff issued in response.

The old lady grumbled beneath her breath and said, “You may be right, for once. Seems as though they are leading her to the governor…”

Sheria looked up the steps leading to the stage. Seated there appeared someone with more authority than her captor. For a moment the notion of a reprieve came to mind until she heard the weak voice speak. Official though he may seem, he appeared to be having lunch – at her expense, of course.

“You were the leader of what is now the conquered. As you are here,” he said between bites of grapes, “And responsible for all resistance, it is within my power to sentence you to die on the cross. Spare yourself such indignity and express to me your loyalty…”

Sheria paused for a moment, twisted and buckled the leash that held her, waved her long hair and spat on the steps leading to were her latest accuser sat.

“Very well, then. You have not only refused my token of…peace, but also, expressed insult against your new master.” He sat straighter on his throne, pushing away proffered lunch delicacies and said, “Take her down to be tortured. Tomorrow, she will hang!”

III

Two of the earlier slaves attended to the princess in the cell in which she was placed. The leash was removed and her cuffed wrists unlocked from her collar. They brought a long gown for her to wear. The hem was a little ragged and the cloth a bit worn, but the cover fit. With her arms free, she was cautiously given a small bowl of soup and some bread which she eagerly ate.

With no forewarning, the cell door banged open. Three burly soldiers burst in, took her by her arms, leashed her collar and dragged her away from the two slaves and into the rocky hallway. Tugging on the leash, they pulled her deeper into the depths, down wet stone steps until reaching a larger room Sheria recognized as what must be the torture den. Lit only by torches along the rock walls, shadowy figures of other soldiers could be seen. Rude pushes from behind forced her toward a wooden upright slightly taller than she. Near the top of the wood ran a cross bar. Her wrists were linked to the bar. Someone gathered her hair and dividing its length around the upright knotted the two tightly until her forehead pressed against the rough wood. Sheria felt her ankles shackled, brought back behind her, and then chained to the stone floor. She secretly cursed her helplessness.

A voiced in the gloom spoke and said quietly, “We now begin…

Winged insects buzzing around the wall torches started as the first lash whistled and smacked as it hit across shoulder blades. Sheria’s fingers bunched and her teeth gritted at the stinging impact. The second whiplash crossed the first and knocked wind from her lungs. She gasped and coughed. A third strike crossed her covered calves. A fourth and fifth rang out. By now, the insects resumed their interest in the firelights.

A stirring amongst the solder’s lining the walls prompted one who said, “These aren’t even tearing her gown.” The plaintive comment expressed the thoughts of many assembled to watch. “Don’t we get to see more?”

“Just wait. The show is yet to begin…”

Sheria’s brow wet with sweat and slid across the wooden upright until her knotted hair held her face in place. The lashes across her back burned. Her breathing became more rapid with every lash. Her heart pounded. After twenty or thirty hits, she was gasping for air. The expected next lash never came, though. She felt her hair being untied and wrist cuffs released. Her ankles also were freed. Hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around. She faced more of the room and leaned back against the upright.

“Now things change a bit…”

Her wrist were pulled behind her and pulled over the cross bar. Coarse hemp was added and tied her elbows closer together. Her shining chestnut hair was again used to secure the back of her head tightly to the post. This time, her ankles were allowed to be free and her long legs stretched out before her.

“You may recognize this,” the voice said, recognizable from the earlier ambush, “as a scourge. Each hemp tip is imbedded with metal shards from our blacksmith. But, lacking much heft you would agree it is far from effective, yes?” Sheria’s flesh tingled as the tipped ropes slid across her front. “However…add these small weights and it becomes much more serious. Let me show you.”

Cheers and applause resounded within the cavern as the first stroke ripped the front of her gown. Threads flew in all directions through the resounding noise. Firelight showed bare skin and scarlet traces. Crimson bubbles appeared along the red lines. The captive stifled a cry and stiffened her body as if begging for more, a request all too quickly honored. A second wave of the scourge tore open the front of her gown. Magnificent bare breasts jutted out, almost in defiance of the beating. One metal shard caught the left nipple, tearing it. Her screams lingered long after the offended breast stilled its quivering. What started as lines and bubbles turned to bloody rain flowing down her torn front. The weighted scourge blasted away more cloth. As her shaven pubis was revealed, attention was paid to it and soon the upper thighs also ran with streams of blood.

The soldiers snapped to attention as their general appeared in the chamber. Having changed from his victory uniform to a more comfortable purple toga, the superior went over to inspect his captive. He untied her hair, allowing her chin to fall to her chest. Moving behind, he undid her wrists and elbows, supporting her lest she fall. Parting some men away from a wall, he leaned her up against it…stepped back, and with a yell drove his fist into her slack stomach.

Sheria grunted in pain from the blow, doubled forward at the waist falling to her knees. Dry heaves racked her body. She felt herself being pulled back up to her feet by the roots of her hair. No energy could be found to resist. She felt herself slammed back into the stone wall. Looking down at her foe she saw madness in his dark eyes. A rough hand slapped her check, whipping her head to the left. Knuckles punched her head the other way. Another force bruised her ribcage and she again fell to her knees. Dizzy and bleary-eyed, she felt rough hands this time yank her to her feet by her wrists. Her entire body swung by her wrists and she felt herself hurling toward the stone. She braced for the impact at the last second, using her freed arms as cushions. In tatters, she fell in a heap.

“Now…watch and learn.” The general removed his toga. As it so happened, that was all he was wearing save for golden sandals and a determined scowl. The sandals and face staid. The balding general’s naked body was stout and hairy. Most noticeable to those present was the enormous member extended from his loins – fully erect. Below it swung a pair of heavy-looking testicles. He reached down, gripping his calloused hands under Sheria’s arm pits, lifted her up and swung her in one motion to rest her forearms on a short wooden table. She leaned over the sturdy wood as the general stepped between her legs, the tip of his shaft nudging the entrance to her vagina. She groaned and continued to pant from the previous smack-down. A true visionary, he wrapped fingers around her hair at the base of her neck and motioned to the nearest soldier for his dagger “This we must recycle!” The blade cut the lengthy chestnut tresses where his fingers gripped the locks. Holding up the waist-long hair, now shorn from its owner, he said to an intermediary, “Have this cleaned and dried. It should fetch a fine price on the market when properly sold to many.”

His fingertips glided over the muscled back, no longer covered by hair. They lingered over the reddened ridges erupted by welts. Furiously, he tore what remained of cloth from her. “Her ass feels firm, but let’s just see…” Sheria tossed her head up and screeched as the fist slammed into her bowels. Cramps threatened to rip her apart. Her eyes bulged and she choked. She felt on the verge of fainting just as the fist exited her rectum. “Firm it is, tight as well.”

The general removed his fist and motioned for two of his men. “Lay her back on the floor-up against that wall. Raise her legs and stretch them, widely. Be sure and secure her ankles, too, as I am not entirely sure what this bitch intends…”Waiting for the men to follow his orders, he idly stroked his aroused cock making it seem thicker and longer than ever. He stepped over the woman as her legs tautly spread, held by cables and a pulley system connected to the opposite corners of the wall. Her eyes turned a deeper shade of purple, a departure from their normal azure. Then again, lying on her back, her legs spread out along a torture den’s wall and seeing above the hairy legs of her enemy was no normal occasion. Her darkened eyes focused on the looming cock with its swinging balls and felt, as soon as she saw, its tip further part her lips…

Like a mad man the senior officer pumped and drove his cock deeper down, furthering his victory over his foe. Glistening in the dimly-lit chamber, his shaft thrust more urgently. Sweat running down his solid chest, he ordered his soldiers to pull the cables more, feeling the bitch beneath him open wider. He braced himself using his left hand over her shin. Just as he felt himself about to burst, he used his other hand to guide his cock out. Time for a quick glance at the gaping orifice he just filled and then…

The other men in the room cheered as gushes of white shot from their general’s engorged cock. Bulbous clouds of seamen splattered down onto the scourged belly. The fat splatters quickly evolved into streams that slid along her ribs, breasts and alongside her neck, following gravity as their salty progress reached the final destination of the stone floor. Cheers continued with the mighty out-pouring of manhood by their superior.

It was his turn to gasp. Checking to verify the soldier’s dagger he borrowed and slipped under burning coals was suitably heating, he turned back, winded by his own unbridled passions. “But wait,” he swallowed and said, “There is more to learn when one faces an enemy such as this…”

“Loop the rope from the ceiling around her neck. We will see something of an audition for tomorrow. Set her squatting up on the table.” His men did as they were ordered. Sheria faced one side, noosed and knees bent mid-way. “Watch as she dances. It will also demonstrate her renown strength…”

The men facing the captive’s front clearly saw the abuse inflicted and her gaping genitals. Hands widened her parted thighs more, further revealing her body. The marked torso heaved as the rope tightened around her neck. As her leg muscles bunched with strain, chest and belly fluttered with increasing urgency. Slowly, her thigh and calf muscles yielded, lowering her to her haunches. Once down, the rope around her neck strangled. Unable to breathe, her face turned red, then lavender. Grimacing, she inched her legs back up taking hurried gasps of air into her lungs until the pain in her lower extremities once more taxed their strength and she sank back down to be further strangled. The process continued to the point where she was no longer able to flex her legs back up to breathe.

“Okay. Untie the rope from her neck. Let her rest on her back on the table.” Sheria welcomed the release from her stretched legs. The rough wood of the short table was hardly significant given what she just went through. The new position did remind her, however, of the brutal sodomy. She ached for many reasons. Her hips lay across the far end of the table and her long legs dangled freely. Nightmarish memories of her rape remain all too fresh. She shivered with fright of more to come.

“I said this would be an opportunity for you to learn. Be sure and pass the word of your leader’s maleness.” He addressed those present and feeling more energy, strode back to where the captive lay. Looking down into her eyes, he lasciviously said, “For tonight we party and yet tomorrow is another day altogether different. That is, for you, at least!” A muscular arm shot down and pinned her shoulder to the wood. Gloving his other hand, he motioned for the heated dagger to be brought. Gripping its handle and said to the purple eyes staring back at him, “Now this might hurt, but we all do wish to be recognized!” Turning the blade sideways, he pressed its heated flat tip into the flesh above her left tit.

Thrashing and squirming, Sheria could not free herself from being held down. The burning blade seared two crossing lines. She felt its heat scour her very core. Screaming she looked down. Wisps of smoke from burned skin arose. A cross branded her chest, violent red waves encircled the darker red lines across a pale plain. Sheria’s vision clouded and then blackness covered all.

“Our brave opponent has apparently passed out. And things were going so well,” he said, handing over the dagger. “Heat this up more and someone splash her face with water – that should bring her around…” He walked around the head of the table, avoiding the thrown water, and pinned down her other shoulder in much the same way as he had the first.

“Good! I see you are back with us.” She stirred and moaned below him. Taking the re-heated knife, he began a similar brand. As before, she fought his efforts, screeching and squirming, but his strength in holding her down prevailed.

Sheria fainted again. She lay motionless, arms limply dangling off the table, much like her legs. Across each breast now emblazoned a cross, both brands nearly equal and each ending just above nipples.

“Only quitters would end now, especially with one so…worthy. Revive her again. I have another idea.” The general stroked his cock. It impressively hardened. From his strewn toga he gingerly retrieved a leather sheath made to his own specifications. Encircling the leather were tiny copper barbs. Slipping his penis inside the sheath he commanded those awakening the princess and said, “Hold her down by the shoulders. I’ll get her legs.” Bending down he raised each female leg so that her feet rested flat on the table’s edge. Parting her thighs at the knees, he looked back into her eyes and said, “Just wanted to be sure you don’t miss this fun part…” Sheria’s chin pressed her collarbone and she saw the general standing between her parted thighs. She ignored her sweaty, bloody and burned torso and saw only him and the huge black shaft protruding from him. “The “Fun” part you may argue, but considering tomorrow’s events, how crucial is it to now to be really concerned about your motherhood-making abilities? Hmmm? You see, I intend to ruin that potential just like this!”

Her chest shot out and her head slammed back as he thrust in. But it was when he deliberately pulled out that she really went wild. The tiny barbs scraped her inner walls, carrying away bits of vaginal flesh. Blood flowed freely from her violated womanhood. Another thrust consumed her. His hands tightly gripped her open thighs and slowly exited. His testicles felt wet with must be her blood. She cried out for help, her hips pounding against the wood tearing out more flesh stopped only until she lay still. He let her legs drop. Bloody fingerprints stained her white flesh.

“I am tired of this one,” he said as with one hand he rolled her off of the table. She crashed onto the floor below. Water doused with her landing. Shivering, she curled into a ball. Wiping clean his genitals, he returned to the toga. Slipping into it, he addressed the men in the chamber and said, “Big day tomorrow. I shall now retire, but do think it is,” he looked down at the huddled figure and said, “Time for the rest of you to have a, uhm, taste of…royal blood.” Smiling, he left.

       

IV

       The night continued unabated. Sheria could not remember the number of rapes, sodomies, bites, or much else inflicted on her in the torture chamber. Her recollection vaguely recalled being ministered at times by the two slaves she had earlier met. Many of her wounds were attended to by their gentle touches. Later that night, or earlier the next morning – she could not be sure - she remembered one of them whispering her name. “Carlita”, the soft voice said. The same voice explained the other was called “Noma”. When it was all over, Sheria remembered her eyes being bandaged. She felt more wrappings applied around her pelvis. Soothing salve delicately covered torn skin from the scourge, brands, bite marks and other wounds. Little could be done for the exhaustion she felt. The last she recalled before sleep was some sort of vestment put over her, and the taste of nourishment. She could not hold down the latter, retching what remained before drifting off to slumber.

       One at each end lifted up the sleeping body. Struggling out the chamber door, the two carried their burden down the torch-lit hallway, past the cell she was supposed to be placed in, and into a secret alcove. Pressing a hidden release, a door to a smaller hallway opened. They had given the warrior princess what they could. A dress Carlita had was too short, as she was much smaller and younger than their charge. At least, it covered most of her. The small hallway led to their own living quarters. Sheria stirred, mumbling in her sleep as she was gently laid down upon the narrow bed. Still hazy, she later recalled feeling the warmth of two naked and soft bodies on either side. She lightly touched rounded female hips. Warm fingers softly brushed back hair over one of her ears. It was tenderly kissed.

Her last memories faded back into sleep, only to be awakened by the sounds of a smashing door. She heard screams and rustling along her sides. Stiff and sore, with a groan, Sheria painfully and blindly sat up in the bed, gauze still covering her eyes.

“So there you three are!” A male’s voice, one Sheria dimly recognized from the night before as belonging to one of the enemy officers. “I would have thought so…Welcome to the party, slaves.” Rough hands shook her head. The band so carefully wrapped around her head and across her eyes was ripped away. Sheria blinked in the bright light. Her fingers felt her face. The puffiness from swollen eyes much improved-as was her vision. She saw angry-looking soldiers holding two very scared females – one shorter and younger than she, the other about her age, though not as tall.

“Tend to her now as best you can. I suspect you will have other things on your mind, later…”

       Sheria did not move as she watched the two approaches. They lifted up the hem of her sleeveless dress – so small and short it barely reached her upper thighs. Noma reached under and removed the bloody wrappings from her groin. Carlita adjusted freshly padded cloth in its place. She also dabbed ointment over Sheria’s cut lower lip, and smoothed salve around her still sensitive eyes. They offered Sheria another cup of liquid, and then knelt at the officer’s feet, heads lowered.

       “Come now. We have no time for the two of you like we spent with her last night,” he chortled and gestured at Sheria still sitting up on the narrow bed. You three must now go with us.” Soldiers from either side behind him came into the small room. Two of them lifted the kneeling slaves to their feet. Two others pointed spears at Sheria. “But first, wait!” He said and approached the bed. “I think you are a bit overdressed for the day…” Before she could react, his fingers slipped under one of the dress’s shoulder straps and yanked. Instead of pulling off the entire dress, as was his intention, his act merely broke the strap. Part of the material fell, exposing the top of one of Sheria’s brands. Pale skin replaced the redness encircling the burn, but the visibly upright line had changed from scarlet to encrusted black. The contrast in colors proved provocative. “So, okay. I am not a fashion designer.” He said, relinquishing his attempt at removing the dress completely. “That will just have to do. All of you! Let’s go.”

       In the garrison courtyard, confusion at first met the party. “You planned for just one, plan now for two more. Bring ropes for them. She still gets nails.” The executioner nodded and sharply called out for rope and two more crossbeams. “The condemned still leads, the other two will follow.”

       Sheria tried to ignore the weeping pleas from the other two. A male’s hand shoved her down. She knelt in the dirt. The same hand tore away more of her dress. Morning breeze told her cloth covering her branded and scourged breasts now was gone. She did not have to look. A crude voice above her said, “Now that’s better. Not as pretty as they used to be, but we can now at least see both shining in the sun.” The pleas behind her grew louder. A heavy log bowed her shoulders. She would have fallen forward had not hands stopped her progress; the same hands pulled her arms out and behind the wood. Rough rope lashed her wrists to the timber.

       “Let’s go! All of you up!” The male voice said. Sheria strained to lift with her legs, but the weight was too great. A strap slapped her shoulder blades. It startled her to one knee. Another slap crossed her lower back, and this time, she rose to both feet. The weighty wood beam caused her to face the ground, but at least she stood. Despite the coolness of the early morning, the strain from lifting caused sweat on her brow and beating in her chest. Salty rivulets stung her eyes though there was nothing to do except pant and wait for more. From the sounds of other slapping, cursing and crying, Carlita and Noma were fairing little better. Shuffling forward, the garrison gates slowly swung open. The day was just beginning…

V

       

“Did I not tell you yesterday she would look different once they had her for the night?” The old man asked his wife. Gloating, he tossed down a handful of drying sardines and with renewed lust at the sight said, “Cummon, let’s follow. Looks as though they’re headed for the far end of town…”

“If you say so,” said the hag, grumbling her assent while secretly wishing to watch the haughty princess further suffer. Together, though with differing hidden agendas, both left the covering of the market square to go watch more.

To Be Continued

The following is purely fictitious and intended solely for the personal use of those over the legal age of adulthood, in communities accepting the graphic portrayal of themes that might elsewhere be unacceptable.

F.

The Final Battle

Part 2

       Sharia fell for the third time that mid-morning. They had taken an easterly route over the back road away from the city. Slaps from the strap pummeled her naked back, but she could not move. She sat on her haunches as an elderly doctor was summoned for a closer inspection of the warrior princess. After briefly checking her, he consulted with military superiors and the executioner. A consensus was reached. Despite the warming sun, the doctor’s inspection found her skin to be cold, clammy – no doubt from the previous night’s tortures. It was decided that she could hardly stand the strain of the continuing road, much less, the crucifixion before her. Another simple horse-drawn cart was called. The timber across her reddened back was lifted off. She was laid back first onto the cart, her wrists chained to each corner of the wooden bed, legs trailing at the knees.

       “How come she gets to ride and we walk?” Noma shouted from the rear. “We tried to save her ass, and look what that got us!” Another slap sounded and with it came a stifled female cry. Sheria bitterly grinned at the envy-driven yell. The procession resumed. Free of clouds, the sky above rocked with the rough road and her own shivers.. Her new position had to be better than the pain of carrying that crossbeam. Nonetheless, chills filled her as the heat of the day increased.

       A command halted their progress. Sheria was unchained and allowed to sit on the back of the cart, facing the West and across the road stood two uprights. Carlita was lifted and the crossbar she carried was roped to it in a traditional manner. Short, but comely, she bravely endured the first moments of crucifixion. Her single braid of blond had been severed, to be “recycled”, and her petite body highlighted every curve with sweat.

       Sheria stood. The remaining fabric encircling her hips ripped away, revealing all save for the healing wrap earlier applied. Its condition was not nearly as sodden with the dark stains as before, giving testimony to the healing powers included in the compress. Taken from her, her shaved pubic region remained red and slightly swollen, but no longer dripped blood. Standing nude, she watched Noma across the road being crucified, although in an inverted position, her legs tied to a cross bar raised high up the upright and her forehead resting on the ground. A narrow purplish and pink division parted dark brown pubic hair.

       “The slaves who attempted to save you, Warrior Princess,” said the officer next to her as he gestured across the road at the two nudes. “Watch what happens as a result of their misguided intentions…And as a former leader, you know you have only yourself to blame, of course.” Sheria tried to ignore his lascivious glance at her own nudity and focused on the two directly across the road.

       Archers assembled on her other side. They aimed at the struggling Carlita. The officer ordered them and said, “Start slowly, and with half power…” An arrow wobbled through the air. Carlita screamed louder as it struck her left thigh. She twisted as if attempting to escape its pain, but the ropes held her fast to the cross. Scarlet rivers below the arrow coated her knee and shin.

       Sheria grimly lowered her head as further arrows hit. More screams followed by an eerie silence.. She looked back up and across the road. Carlita’s body hung still – pierced by many arrows.

       Attention turned to the upside-down crucified Noma. Piles of dirt covered her face. Her stomach heaved and puffs of dirt flew from her mouth. More dirt was added where her breath had attempted to blow it free. A box was spilled over the dirt. Sheria looked closely and saw swarms of fire ants in the dirt. Noma’s body twisted violently. Muffled screams stirred the pile of dirt as swarms of the nasty insects invaded her nostrils, mouth, hairline and eyes. Her body jerked and bucked. Legs spasmodically climbed into the air until they also stilled.

       “Of course! We saved something special for you…” She saw the general closely watching from his horse across the road. Surrounding him stood many townspeople and military. Her arm was taken and she was lead to where the bar she once carried lie on the ground. Underneath it ran a long wooden upright. “Down!” A shove followed the order. Hands quickly grabbed her arms and stretched behind her and along the horizontal beam. A hard knee pressed down her right elbow. Her heart racing, she tried to pull free, but could not. Looking up to her right she gasped as she saw in the executioner’s eyes one of those who raped her the night before. In his thick arm he raised a dark mallet. It flew through the air as if in slow motion, but when it contacted the head of the pike placed in her wrist, it clanged. The shock burst like the closest lightening strike. The back of her head struck against the upright. Her chest rose and hips crashed. She screamed. Stiffened nipples shot toward the sky, her backbone twisted and the whites of her eyes enlarged around sparkling blue irises. The spike forged deeper.

“Two down, two more to go,” said a voice above her. Both arms stretched behind, fastened to wood. The panic of being nailed so overwhelmed, she cared little that a newer, shorter cross bar had appeared, one on which her feet were placed heel to heel. Hands held them fast. Two more spikes were hammered into her feet, smashing small bones and nailing soles to the beam. Sheria slammed her spine into the upright again.

With ropes soldiers strained to raise the upright. Slowly it came off of the ground carrying Sheria with it. One of the men hammered a small sign above her head reading, “Enemy”. She loudly yelled as its base sunk into the assigned hole. Streams of blood ran down her forearms, dripping fat drops from elbows onto the dirt below. Her face contorted in agony, swinging from side to side in pain. Panic again seized her face as her lungs attempted to exhale. Arms below raised the narrow cross beam with her nailed feet. It climbed up in front of the upright. The beam with her wrists attached was firmly affixed behind the upright, forcing her head and upper body to face the ground. As the beam with her feet rose higher, she could breathe more and for a moment the panic ruled by the threat of suffocation diminished. Much of her body leaned out, she saw soldiers lift the beam, bending her legs outward and almost parallel to the ground. Satisfied they had the correct height, they used two thinner nails to hammer the center of the beam to the upright.

The general spoke to the crowd from across the road. He walked his mount toward Sheria’s side. “Come have a closer look at our angel,”he mockingly said, “See how she spreads her wings…”

“Why, you can see right up her!”

The hag’s husband and she stood near the base of the tall cross. “Yup”, was all he said as both mouth breathers gaped at the looming figure. He notice much, including the thin trail of blood from her left arm slowly winding its way past her elbow, across the stretched bicep and sliding around the side of one large tit before crossing over an upper rib and dropping to the ground.

Sheria yelled and gritted her teeth. Grimacing, she tightened her back. Using the major muscles in her bent legs, she inched herself upward, relieving pressure on her wrists and shoulders. Working her legs to climb higher, her chest thrust up. Fast, rapid intakes and exhales of air aided her lungs until tremors in her legs and the wrenching agony in her nailed feet caused her slide back down, almost squatting as her upper body fell forward. Drool fell from her parted mouth, but could easily be ignored as other concerns proved more worrisome.

In his saddle, the general nearly reached her midsection. He gazed into her tortured eyes and said, “Very impressive leg work. Something we expected of one such as you. However,” he paused to wipe some dust from his lips and then said, “You probably did not notice, what with everything else happening, but my men secured your footrest with just two small nails…Everytime you use those legs of yours to lift, you loosen the nails.”

Sheria tried to follow the general’s words, but her shoulders screamed for relief. She prepared for another lift, eyeing each thigh pointing in opposite directions. Gritting her teeth again she winced and pressured her feet, flexed her calves and thighs, and slowly felt herself rising up. Quickly gasping for breath, her body began reversing itself. Shock hit. Excruciating pain radiated. One side slipped.

“So you see. Your feet and legs apply pressure to the lower bar so that you can raise up for air. But…and this is a crucial But!...the bar is loosely nailed. One side might give – as just happened, but eventually, the entire bar will fall from the upright. With your feet still nailed! When that happens, you become your own executioner, so need I say care should be exercised?”

“Jumpin’ bullfrogs. Did you see that?!” With the others gathered close by to watch, the old man and his wife started as the lower beam slanted. The crucified frantically writhed. Scabourous brands swayed. The shiny thin line detoured its red course and crossed just under one torn nipple.        

Sheria counter-balanced her descent. She heard part of what the general was saying, but the point of his message was obvious. The bar her feet were nailed to was loose. If it came free, she would either have to use her stretched upper limbs to pull up – or die. Another need to lift with her legs could no longer be put off. More or less balanced, she once more, though this time gingerly, used her thigh and calve muscles to bend her legs and raise her body.

More pressure loosened her support. She hung to one side – over-corrected and leaned to the other side. Madly panting her chin rested on her beating chest. Through grimy eyelashes she saw her sweating breasts, the scrourges, stark brands and torso, punished pudendum and splayed thighs. She balanced as best she could, yet her pounding brain knew another test of the bar and her own stability was fast approaching. “She does have power, I’ll give her that,” said the hag. “Look’s as though she’s loosing it, though.”

The tall beam shuddered as the nude female on it once more used her body to rise. A single nail – one of two sprang free from the lower crossbeam, just as she almost straightened her legs. Her body bent heavily forward, long arms trailing behind. With just one nail in place, she cried out in agony and swayed from side to side, the beam under her bloodied feet rising and falling at each end. She steadied. Gleaming breasts pointed down, blackened brands across their tops marked their victim.

Sheria dimly saw the general calmly sitting on his horse watching her suffering. Her croaking voice said,, “…What……do…you…wwwant?” Her eyes shut and head hung lower with the effort.

The general looked up, and then lower at the loosened beam holding her feet and said, “Only The Final Battle.” He turned the reins back toward the city and did not bother to look back even as the crowd roared. Somewhere in the commotion, he thought he heard the sound of a nail and wood falling free from more wood. Contently allowing the horse to trot back, he savored the rewards of another victory.

-30-