PLEASE NOTE: The following work of total fiction is for your personal enjoyment only if you are of legal age and your local community standards permit material dealing with extreme sex that includes torture and crucifixion. It is not meant in any way to encourage such aberrant behavior, but is offered as a work of fiction for those who enjoy such themes. If you are in any way offended by such fictional depictions and are neither of legal age or live in a community that does not permit such fictional depictions you are strongly encouraged not to read further. The author finally requests that you not in any way distribute this material without first receiving his express permission for further dissemination. Thank you. F.
The (Latin) Summer Winds A gust of warm air billowed the tall drapes curtaining the one domus office window, hems of which rustled across the mosaic floor. From the street below the usual city sounds were temporarily overcome as another fire brigade rattled past fast on its way to extinguish some new blaze. Within the dim interior of the room came heated sounds of a human sort: muted slurping, wet heavy breathing, exertions. Bridgid's mind took in the sultry sounds as she knelt with her back to the office and facing the sunlit atrium. The atmosphere blew tricks that confused. Her body rocked with every thrust made by Gaius. With each surge from behind he rammed deeper inside. Bridgid tried to distract herself and took in the frescoes and lavish furnishings in the bright airy room she faced before closing her eyelids, allowing her body to open more to Gaius and his persistent advance. It was all wrong, of course, to feel the way she did. Gaius was a Roman and she a Briton. On the threat of mistreating her people he had demanded that she be his slave. She acquiesced only to now be raped by a foreign conqueror, satisfying his lust at the price of her honor. Why he had chosen her almost exclusively these past weeks, she could only guess. But the really troubling part bothering Bridgid was her own attitude. She had changed since first being made captive. The heated air now luxuriated. As Gaius thrust deeper inside, Bridgid softly moaned. Her own breathing hastened. Despite allowing the enemy between her legs, Bridgid had to confess to herself that the Roman was not all that unattractive. As a lover, he certainly was gifted. She even enjoyed having her wrists tied to the columns at the office entrance. Her neck arched back and hair reached down lower. Bridgid moaned more as she felt his hands glide over the V formed by her extended arms and then his fingers caress her proud breasts. A new voice said, "So this is the little one..." "Murdia! I, ah, you're back so soon from the markets in the forum!" Bridgid abruptly straightened her posture. Eyes wide, she saw the tall figure of Murdia standing before her. At the same instant, she felt Gaius leave her. Her cheeks flashed hot. Thick blond tresses fell forward to cover as much nudity as they could. "Yes my husband," said the beautiful matrona, sarcasm dripping from her ruby lips, "but I see that the "melons" are much riper here." Gaius stammered and rushed to greet his wife, leaving Bridgid in her kneeling position. Murdid brushed him aside, but did notice the protruding linen poking out from his ivory toga. She thinly smiled and grasp the protrusion and said, "The "zucchini" as well. We musn't allow all of this to go to waste." Bridgid watched the powerful woman pull her husband behind her and lift up her linen tunica. Bridgid forgot all about Gaius as she saw the olive-skinned thighs reveal the dark mossy triangle before her. She felt Murdia's fingers press the back of her head. The world went dark as her face plunged into the pungent mossy depths. "You will be able to breathe much easier slave," Murdia said as she tore Bridgid's reddened face from her and looked down, "if you use that tongue of yours. NOW." Murdia relaxed her grip and closed her eyes in ecstasy as she felt both her husband and his slave pleasure her. Bridgid was further confused by the plan Murdia whispered to her husband once their love-making finally ended. Here she was, the next day as a result of that plan, standing in the dark underground caverns of what Gaius liked to call his own Coliseum, or Coliseum Minimus. From somewhere else in the caverns she heard the sounds of wild animals growling and tussling. A female slave attended to her hair while another applied makeup around her nipples. The same makeup was applied to her lips. A fine golden mesh loincloth was secured over her shaven pubic area, a thin chain holding up two corners of the small patch as the rest of the chain encircled her hips. Thick golden rope, fashioned like two massive hands cupped her breasts. A thin cord wrapped around her back held the "hands" in place. Bridgid started, but was held, as a plug entered her from behind. She looked back and saw ribbons trailing down past the backs of her calves. The shiny color matched that of the mesh and the hands. Finally, one of the attendants scooped up much of her hair into a pile and held it in place by a feathery headdress that also matched the other accessories in color. Shiny golden manacles clasped her wrists and were connected behind her by a light chain. Similarly, her feet were hobbled. Bridgid looked behind her, but the other slaves ignored her as a soldier led her from the room. Ahead lay a thin tunnel. Bridgid had no choice but to enter. The chain connected her ankle shackles hobbling her feet exaggerated the natural sway of her hips. The golden ribbons trailing behind swung from side to side as she made her way deeper into the tunnel, at last coming to the open door of a large cage. Bridgid realized then that it was a form of an elevator. A male slave stood outside of the cage and arranged pulleys to lift her up to the surface of the coliseum. Standing on the floor of the arena stunned. Tiers jammed with people circled high above. Bridgid stood awe-struck in the bright sun. Awnings circling the Coliseum flapped in the breeze, but served their purpose: shading selected spectators. High above Bridgid saw the dull silhouettes of legionaries ringing the top. Below them sat male and female slaves. Under the first awning sat shaded female citizens. Brigid could feel the din thunder beneath her feet. She shaded her eyes as tiny twisters swirled grit and sand across the arena floor. Trumpets sounded. Peering to the shadows on the opposite side, Bridgid made out the shape of a single horse. Behind it stood a chariot. The crowd cheered as more of the horse and chariot came into view. Bridgid took her hand from over her eyes as she clearly saw the driver, Murdia, dressed in a white toga with sparkling silver armor. The white horse snorted as it surged forward. Flashing alongside each of the two wheels protruded hub spears. Bridgid ran as fast as her hobbled legs could move away from Murdia. She heard the horse galloping closer. She turned and faced the onslaught. The hub spears looked about knee-high and Bridgid knew her legs would not survive their cutting blades. She stumbled to her right, but Murdia also changed course and came straight at her. She timed her leap and bent her knees to cushion her landing. Bridgid felt the whoosh of the speeding chariot pass. She looked down at her chained legs. At least she could bring her arms in front of her and that might help. From the corner of her eyes she saw Murdia reign in the horse and begin to turn it around for another attack. Bridgid fell to the ground, landing on the plug. She winced, but pulled her linked wrists over her hobbled feet and stood, her wrists now in front. She had only a second to see it uncoil. Murdia's raven curls blew from under the shiny helmet, her features raged. Bridgid jumped again to avoid the spinning spear, but this time Murdia was ready. The bullwhip snaked out and whipped. Bridgid's hands burned with fire as her palms caught the leather. She hung on even after the chariot passed and she was thrown to the ground. She watched Murdia race away, blurred by a huge cloud of dust. Only then did she see the syrupy blood seeping from between her fingers. Spectators cheered the opening act. They yelled encouragement as they saw Murdia, the governor's wife, resplendent as she was in her sparkling outfit, dismount and accept a new whip from the carnifex. This differed from the single snake used before as it came with many strands, each tipped with barbs. Those in the coliseum tiers became frenzied with anticipation as they watched her stalk the Briton. Bridgid achingly got back to her feet and turned just in time to avoid another gust of wind-driven grit. Feathers from her headdress scattered. Through the dust, Murdia appeared, walking this time. As she got closer, Bridgid saw the scourge in her hand. Like an avenging she-devil, eyes glowered on a face mad with fury. Bridgid's arms protectively rose as she saw Murdia launch a swing. Her forearms took the brunt. Bridgid spun to her left. A strand from the scourge caught the inner top of her proffered breasts. She ignored the pain. Small white teeth flashed with Murdia's snarl. She yelled and charged, swinging again. The bloody forearms of the slave would no longer offer much protection. This she knew and would take advantage. The slave would not last for long. The second blow stunned her chest. Bridgid looked down. Fingers from the fashioned golden hand cupping her right breast shredded. She spun and fell to one knee. Before Bridgid could rise, streaks seared across her back. A planted boot kicked her forward. She sprawled, face-down. The headdress ripped from her head. Another volley scored. Bridgid desperately clawed the arena sand in an attempt to escape. Her hair screamed at its roots as her head was lifted higher. She saw Murdia towering above. The other woman's knee flashed. The side of her head absorbed the force as she rolled onto her back. "These don't look exactly fit to wear," Murdia said. She planted a boot on the slave's breastbone and yanked away the mock fingers accessory. "There now. Those pretties are free to be hit." She whipped the scourge. Bridgid gasped and spun in the dirt. Mindlessly, she tried inching her way across the hot sand when another blow slashed across the backs of her thighs. She felt the plug with the ribbons torn free, and then felt more fires burn into her. Gusts of sand stung her eyes. A blurred view of Murdia's boots seemed within view. Bridgid cried out as another hit score across her shoulders. She would have to reach the boots. Bridgid summoned her remaining strength and lurched forward. Both hands, connected by the chain attached to her manacles, flew out. Her fingers clutched around Murdia's ankles. Bridgid held on and yanked them back. Shaded and un-shaded, plebians and patricians, men and women coliseum spectators all rose as one. The governor's wife now lay on the sand, the bleeding slave scrambling on top of her and then straddling the prostrate matrona. Bridgid pulled herself on top and paused to look down at Murdia's eyes now coal-black with hate. She hesitated only a moment before doing what she knew she had to do. Bridgid's shiny manacles pressed forward. The chain connecting them sank into the startled Murdia's neck. She pressed down more Murdia's eyes lost their glare, her face changed from red to purple. With a yell Bridgid put all of her weight forward, letting up only until she saw the whites of Murdia's eyes and the wife of Gaius lay still. Soldiers rushed in first, and then Gaius himself. Hands shoved Bridgid off. Gaius tried to resuscitate his wife until accepting the inevitable. He glowered at Bridgid once before standing. With arms raised he shouted to the crowd. "Murderess! The slave murdered my wife before you all. Death to the murder of my wife!" Another blowing gust hit those on the arena floor and elsewhere. Tunics whipped. In the seats above awnings flapped. Bridgid got more sand in her eyes. She did little to resist as she was led back to the underground caverns. The wind continued to bluster. She was not taken back to where she was prepared for the coliseum, but marched instead to the military garrison. By the time they had reached the barracks Bridgid regained much of her wind, lost in the fight. She still bled, but at least she could breathe. She craned her neck up at the two levels of wooden and brick walls, taking note of the number of posted sentries with their sports helmets and dull uniforms. In a barracks hall, the slave was used numerously and in a variety of ways. On arriving, chains connecting her shackles and manacles were removed. They sat her on a table, and then connected her wrists to her ankles. The military then began their rapes, drunkenly laughing as each took his turn. The rapes continued even after the slave had lost consciousness. A centurion entered, glanced at the obscenely positioned slave and ordered that she be revived and strung up. He placed a standard in a lit brazier, insuring that the fired coals heated the metal letters. "SPQR" glowed red-hot. He led it close to the slave's torso. Her slick ribcage arched over the radiated heat. She frantically protested, shaking her blond hair. The letters moved closer, spreading over her abdominal tunnel to occipitals lining each flank. The Romans laughed at her shallow panting and attempts to escape the heat. The centurion holding the standard pole with the heated letters tilted so that they faced into the slave pressed forward. Plumes of branded flesh arose. The slave screamed as she was burned. Her chin dropped and she hung limply. He let the brand sear more into the stomach before finally pulling it away. Bridgid awoke. She lay on a cell floor. Her shackles and manacles were gone. She ached and hurt all over. No longer nude, she now wore a coarse cloak. The rough material scraped her wounds. High on the cell wall above was a barred window. Through it Bridgid could tell that a new day had dawned. Her head turned toward the creaking cell door as it opened. "It's time slave. Let's go," said the gruff voice. The de facto executioner adjusted the leather binding encircling his wide girth and left. She hardly had time to react before two younger soldiers came in and lifted her up. They guided Bridgid toward the door and out into a dimly lit corridor. Wall torches lit the way as they headed toward another room. The men and Bridgid stopped as they entered the space. On the ground before them lay a complete structure made of wood. Bridgid knew the Romans like crucifixion, but never witnessed one. She certainly never thought of herself on the cross. Her feet stopped close to an edge of the upright that looked to be about ten feet long. Towards one end was a shorter length of wood forming the crossbeam. The whole thing look enormous, and heavy. "Here you go," it was the gruff voice again. "Let's lift this up and on you." One shoulder fit where the crossbeam met the upright. Bridgid staggered under its weight. Her back bent forward. From under her tangled bangs she saw male hands tying her chafed wrists around the beam. "Not so frisky as you were last night, eh?" The jibe brought another round of guffaws. "This way slave..." She fell. How many times Bridgid no longer cared. All she knew was that she made the trip through the city streets with their shouting crowds and out the walls to this small hill. The cross finally was lifted from her and dumped on the ground. Wearily she saw Gaius approach. "Strip her!" The breeze actually was a relief as the cloak was torn away. Bridgid was indifferent now to the many catcalls from those making light of her marked and branded body. Her head hung, the disarray of once-proud blonde hair now serving as a lank, but effective, frame for her face. Her nipples stiffened in the cool air. Gaius spoke to the gathered and said, "This will be for all of you good people. Each day you will be able to see this small summit from every part of the city. Whichever way the cross is pointed will tell you." He turned back to the appointed executioner and nodded. Bridgid saw a few white clouds above as she was laid upon the cross. Her arms were extended outwards. She felt heavy knees press down on both her legs and arms. A pain pricked her right wrist. Her head rolled in its direction. Past the hulk with his knee forced down on her forearm she saw a black iron spike being positioned just below her upturned palm. Bridgid felt fresh sweat and her heart beat faster. She looked away from her arm and concentrated on the clouds. With a crash, the sky shattered. A shriek escaped from her depths as the spike penetrated. Her torso rose up and crashed back down. Bridgid screamed and shook her head from side to side. Another crash of the iron contorted her face. She yelled as the pounding continued. No sky would ever remain placid. Much amazed witnesses to the crucifixion. Almost silently they watched as military raised up the crucifix with the screaming blond. Soldiers oiled its constructed base. One of them tested the cross by slowly spinning it. The wood moved freely around its lubricated base. It was time to see what nature would do. Many of the civilians present covered their heads as the winds blew. The cross shifted directions. The Briton on it continued her painful cries. The scourged full breasts and long legs bent at the knees finally stopped. The cross pointed as the wind came from the West. Most there had to agree. Were it not for the fact that Gaius was who he was, he could easily become a Roman meteorologist. At least, one who could predict which way the wind blows. They agreed as they left to return back to their city, occasionally looking back at the amazing wind vane on top of the small hill.
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