****** Slingshots and the Crucified ****** Provided By: BDSM_Library www.bdsmlibrary.com Synopsis: Yet another example of how the use of slingshots can lead to trouble. SLINGSHOTS AND THE CRUCIFIED. Please note that the following contains graphic scenes of violence for ADULT ONLY readership. If you are in any way offended by such themes read no further. Should you decide to continue, make certain that your local community standards permit such material. This is written for personal consumption. Do not use this story elsewhere without the author’s express permission. Thank you. Faibhar.        An ancient form of Chamber of Commerce long ago lobbied that the sign of a cross perched on a hill alongside the main road to the city was sufficient deterrent and that rotting corpses on said cross might possibly repulse potential boosts to the local economy by visiting mercans, or merchants. Their measure, readily approved by the politically sensitive administration, decreed that the condemned should be taken down, dead or alive, on their second day and cast over the opposite side of the chalky rise to rot on the scavenged bones of their predecessors. Out of sight and therefore out of mind, the execution site remained available to those intent on meting out the most extreme form of justice while at the same time the local business community was appeased.        True, this crucified had lasted into the second day, but clearly the last hours differed from the first. For one thing, crowds of spectators had evaporated. Secondly, dryness wrapped skin tighter around the muscular form. Dehydration evaporated just like the crowds. Scarce liquids remained. No longer did her nude body shine luxuriant in its own wetness. Congealed wounds cracked more blackly than former rivers of red. Stamina proved to be a double-edged sword for this shamed warrior. She endured through the night through strength more of will than physical attributes. An occasional flutter from her sunken belly were all that indicated life yet remained. Gone were the mad gyrations during yesterday’s nailing, replaced by a repose broken only by increasingly infrequent stirrings. Tangled and matted hair no longer shown of gold, but limply clung in dank disarray around a countenance once used to a beautific command. Abject sorrow now replaced that former confidant look.        Stamina certainly was assisted by the cornu, or small saddle she rode. Firmly affixed to the upright, its phallic tongue deeply imbedded inside, it provided support, allowing weight to somewhat ease from spikes piercing her now swollen wrists and feet. Aligned with prolonging her torment, she was able to breathe more easily because of the tiny support.        Too far away to be identified by the two sentries posted near the base of the crucifix, two diminutive figures emerged from the towering walls of the city. They moved along the main road and at first appeared to be headed in the direction of the site until an abrupt turn into a nearby vineyard hid them from sight.   SLINGSHOTS AND THE CRUCIFIED PT. 2 Please note that the following contains graphic scenes of violence for ADULT ONLY readership. If you are in any way offended by such themes read no further. Should you decide to continue, make certain that your local community standards permit such material. This is written for personal consumption. Do not use this story elsewhere without the author’s express permission. Thank you. Faibhar. Closer this time, the two returned to the main road. The taller of the two sentries nudged his colleague alert. He recognized one as the eldest son of the local magistrate, and with him appeared to be his personal slave. The more observant of the guards was not about to have critical remarks make it back to his boss. Whispering an aside regarding who it was that approached, he urged his fellow sentry to look smart. The boys detoured off of the road and clambered up the side of the hill. In sacks they carried grapes just picked from the nearby vineyard. They also brought Y-shaped branches; the Y’s connected with strips of animal innards. Once atop the rise, they looked up and appraised the hanging nude. Ignoring his father’s minions, the patrician’s son inserted a grape in the middle of the strip and urged his slave to do like wise. Aiming the ancient slingshot upward, he pulled back on the grape and fired. Fruit skin burst as it hit just below her left breast. Juice from the grape glistened as it erupted, a flow immediately beginning down over lashed ribs. Another grape hit, this time atop a breast and rattled dangling chains hooked to her nipples. More juice flowed over drying flesh. The guard who had to at first be reminded of the VIP guest’s approach chuckled at this mischievous stunt. His more stoic counterpart merely smirked. Any activity prolonging the inevitable was fine with him. Both silently stood by and watched this latest action unfold. It was, after all, not in their job descriptions to interfere. Besides, this latest development provided a new distraction. One of newcomers shot a grape close to her parched lips. The crucified showed more alertness as her tongue sought out the fresh juice frantically attempting to lick it all. Another shot landed squarely between her two lips. She lapped at the welcome refreshment, gratefully wetting her parched mouth with its moistness. She even hungrily ate the broken grape skin splattered around her mouth. The one in wearing the royal tunic grinned maliciously and extended a brown arm around the more humbly dressed slave, turning him around so that the two showed their backs to the crucified. The two conspired as behind them hung the no longer parched, but once again glistening form. As they huddled she begged for more juice, ignoring the attracted winged insects and the curious trail of ants ascending up her right calf. Whispering so as not to be heard, the patrician’s son ordered the slave to dump the rest of his gathered grapes. Molding dirt around a small pebble, so that it was roughly the size of a grape, he handed the lump to the slave to use instead of the juicy fruit. Taking a similarly sized lump for him, they both turned back around to face the crucified. Both sentries cringed as they saw first one clod, then the other smack. Quickly recovering from the initial shock, chuckles consumed even the stoic one. Dirt covered wetly shining lips. The crucified recoiled and tried to turn her head away, but of course, she could not. The soil dried then turned to mud. A rivulet of blood sprang from where a lip had been split, flowing like lava atop a miniature volcano. The slingshot shooters bent to reload when one of the sentries noted to the other that the afternoon had gotten really late. Shadows had lengthened and evening was almost upon them. Upper class privilege or no, official decrees took priority. It was time for all to go. Orders were to leave no condemned on the cross for more than two days, and orders must be obeyed. One of the sentries spoke and told the two shooters to head back. Upset at having their fun interrupted, the two complied with great petulance. With bars they freed her and lifted her off of the saddle’s prong. She lay face up on the ground, nails still in her hands and feet. Placing a hobnail sole on her breastbone for leverage, one of the men tugged free the hooked chains. Scabs ruptured as they came free. He handed the links with their bloody ends to his partner, and then removing his foot from her chest he kicked her so that she rolled closer to the far edge of the hill. One final nudge with his boot and they both watched as she rolled parallel down the craggy hillside to crunch to a landing atop scattered remains below. Satisfied that their job was at last complete, the two guards turned back for the city. She hit hard, facedown into a pile of bones. Gasping in horror, she agonizingly turned over and stared up at the darkening sky. A few evening stars began to show. Her eyes closed for a night that would never end. Fini   Review_This_Story || Email Author: Faibhar ****** MORE_BDSM_STORIES_@_SEX_STORIES_POST ******