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The Rebel Woman’s Passion
The agent was sick and tired of being treated like dirt. After all, if it hadn’t been for him, that cow would have gone through life waiting tables, or turning tricks. He made her what she was and she owed him some respect if nothing else. After all, he had only suggested the changes in her pictures and video clips as a way to re-energize her career and couldn’t understand why she had gotten so offended. People were getting tired of seeing the same shots and wanted something different. If she didn’t want to fuck in front of the camera, BDSM was simply another possibility.
She exploded at that suggestion and had even threatened to fire and blacklist him. And ever since that day, her attitude toward him had gotten worse. She seemed to go out of her way to embarrass and humiliate him. He needed the money, though, and just swallowed the shit she gave him. Inside though, he began to hate her.
A serendipitous call from an old college roommate offered him the chance to get even. As it turned out, the roommate worked for an incredibly wealthy man with some rather unusual desires. The way the roommate described it, his employer was completely fascinated with the Roman Empire, especially the Romans’ rule in ancient Palestine. So much so, as a matter of fact, that he had actually re-created the ancient city of Jerusalem in his adopted country and populated it with his servants. He was so rich and powerful that he was able to rule over his “empire” with complete autonomy and the protection of the country’s leaders.
Now he wanted to indulge his ultimate fantasy. He wanted to preside over the execution of the rebel from Nazareth. He wanted things as realistic as possible with only one major difference. The rebel would be a woman. Not just any woman would do, though. It had to be a voluptuous celebrity. And of course her entire passion would be filmed from multiple angles by hidden cameras.
The roommate had heard that the agent was the business manager for Petra Verkaik and when he showed his employer pictures of her and told him about his connection to her business manager, she became the object of the employer’s fantasy.
The agent drove a hard bargain but not so hard as to cause the roommate to look elsewhere. When the deal was struck and the funds in his account, the agent set about drawing up a plan to get Petra to cooperate.
The agent knew her biggest goal in life was to break into the mainstream cinema and land a significant role. So he used her dream of fame as bait for his trap, convincing her he had arranged a co-starring role in a biblical epic of Cecil B. DeMille proportions. It would be the part of a lifetime and there was no telling where it could lead. She would play Jesus’ woman, the prostitute, Mary Magdalene. There would probably be some nudity, the agent told her, but he didn’t think that would be a problem for her.
Petra was so excited she could hardly control herself. This sounded exactly like what she had been dreaming about. Three days later, she was on an airplane heading for her big break.
She was met at the airport and taken to a Mercedes Benz limousine. When they were about a mile from the “set,” the driver told her she’d have to go the rest of the way without the car. The director, he told her, didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere with tire tracks and gas fumes.
Near where they stood, a donkey was hitched to a post. Because of the distance and heat, the driver suggested that Petra change into her costume and ride into town on the animal. As she rode through the city gate into the crowded street, people turned to her waving and cheering. Petra was surprised and flattered by the friendliness of the other actors and actresses and was also pleased that so many seemed to recognize her. She didn’t realize the filming had already begun.
That evening the main cast ate together and Petra met the most attractive man she had ever seen. He was kind and solicitous, funny and incredibly handsome; everything she looked for in a man. By the time the evening ended, she could think of nothing else. He was Judas in the movie, but Petra wished he had been cast as Jesus. They walked together back to the inn, but the accommodations were poor and there was no place for them to be alone. She got ready for bed but couldn’t sleep and tossed and turned most of the night.
Petra didn’t realize it but her business agent had been actively involved in casting the Judas character. He knew what a slut Petra could be and he knew exactly what kind of man made her wet. He was confident the man they chose would drive her wild.
About two hours before sunrise, a visitor crept to Petra’s bed. It was Judas. He told her he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t get her out of his mind. She rose up to kiss him but he stopped her, saying they would wake the others in the room. If she was interested, though, he knew a place where they could be alone.
By the time they reached the garden, Petra was so wet she could hardly stand it. She quickly stripped him, and then herself. Then she knelt and sucked his cock.
Her hands were on his ass and her head bobbed as her tongue and lips rubbed the thick knotty shaft. He was well endowed and his organ went deep into her throat each time she took it all. When she licked and nibbled on the head, the man actually moaned out loud. She ate him until the thing started to dribble and he put his hand on the back of her head and began to push into her mouth.
She backed off saying, “I don’t want you to cum yet. I’m not done with you.”
He knelt down in front of her and began to kiss her neck and throat while his hands explored her body. Every nerve fiber in Petra’s body was aroused and she quivered with excitement. She loved the way she felt whenever she had a new man. It always felt like her first time. But this one was no 16 year old virgin. He knew exactly what to do.
He lowered her to her back and slowly worked his mouth down to her breasts, to her belly, and finally to her clitoris. As he dabbed at it with his tongue, Petra went out of her mind. She moaned and squirmed and dug at his shoulders. But he, also, knew precisely when to stop.
“I’m not done with you yet, either,” he told her as he pushed himself back, took her right leg and let his tongue trail down her inner thigh.
His tongue drew a maddening, meandering line on her thigh until he reached the knee. Then he knelt back, lifted her leg and nibbled behind her knee before continuing down the back of her calf to the foot.
After playing with her foot, he switched legs and worked his way back up her left leg. He continued up her stomach to her breasts, where he lingered to suck each one thoroughly. Then they became one.
They wrestled passionately in various positions until the sun began to color the eastern sky. Petra experienced several explosive orgasms during their passion in the garden but the man had managed to let his lust build.
They were in the dog position, with him reaching around playing with her breasts when he lost control. He straightened up and moaned. He held her by the hips and pushed hard and deep. His fast, deep thrusts told Petra that it would only be seconds before she got it. Suddenly, he thrust it in and held it, moaning again as his throbbing penis expended its load and satisfied his lust.
In the distance a crowd approached and they quickly dressed. She had been on the verge of another orgasm when he went wild and filled her with sperm and she was still flush with the passion of their lovemaking. She had the itch bad. Another couple of strokes and she’d have climaxed a fourth time. All she could think about was sex.
They had hardly gotten their clothes back on when they were surrounded by the unruly mob. Judas kissed her open-mouthed, his tongue probing deep. She kissed him back, first sucking his tongue then waggling hers in his mouth for a moment before they separated. She stared into his face, breathing heavily. She hoped desperately that they could get together again before long to continue what they started.
“So this is the one!” One of the men said as Petra was grabbed, spun around and her hands tied behind her back. He handed Judas thirty pieces of silver.
“You’re under arrest, you bitch!”
Judas watched as the group of men led her away. He would have liked to nail her again, but knew he wouldn’t get the chance. Before the day was through he knew Petra Verkaik would be on a cross.
They took her to the fortress to stand before the governor. Petra’s knowledge of the details was somewhat limited, but she didn’t think Mary Magdalene had ever been arrested for her involvement with the man from Galilee. Regardless, she decided to play her part convincingly.
“What have we here?” Pilate asked as the centurion led the woman into his chamber.
“Her people brought her to us. They claim she’s guilty of blasphemy and sedition. They said she’s even claiming to be the queen of the Jews!” The centurion answered scornfully.
Pilate questioned the woman at length. She was confused. Jesus wasn’t mentioned. She thought she had been arrested for being his woman but the governor kept talking about her as though she were some kind of revolutionary. Her answers were vague and evasive, but with a hint of tease, and she always insisted she was no rebel, just a simple prostitute who knew little of politics and cared even less.
Finally, in seeming exasperation, Pilate asked the woman bluntly, “Is it true? Are you the queen of the Jews?”
The well-endowed woman looked at him with an expression of self-righteous indignation and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I told you, I’m just a whore! And what makes you think I’d admit to anything else? Even if it were true!”
Her insolent tone both angered and tantalized him and he shouted, “Listen, you cunt, who do you think you’re talking to? I’m not some ignorant fisherman! You’d better watch your tone and give me straight answers! Don’t be coy with me! Are you the queen of the Jews?”
Petra looked away and said nothing.
Pilate turned to the centurion. “This bitch insists on playing games. You take her and teach her some manners. Maybe some time on the whipping post will loosen her tongue!
The centurion was only too happy to oblige. He had known the plan for weeks and had been waiting impatiently for the woman’s arrival. When he finally saw her ride into town on that donkey the day before with an air of self-confidence that bordered on conceit, his impatience grew into an aching need and he was grateful that things were finally picking up speed.
He slipped his hand under Petra’s arm and yanked her forward. “A whore, huh?” He said with a sadistic grin as he led the woman away.
The centurion took the woman into the bowels of the fortress to the cellblock where prisoners were housed and tortured.
“Look what I’ve got!” The centurion shouted to his men as he came through the door with the woman in tow. “Pilate’s having trouble getting a straight answer from this slut and he wants us to convince her to cooperate.”
The men quickly gathered around and the centurion pushed her into the center of the circle. Immediately, they started shoving her from one to the other, each man in turn reaching up under her garment to squeeze her breasts and run his fingers through the hairy tangle, rubbing and stroking the lips of her vagina and her clitoris.
“Be gentle,” the centurion said. “She is royalty, after all. Her people refer to her as a queen!”
In no time the woman was stripped naked and one of the soldiers stood behind her, pinning her arms behind her back while another sucked sloppily on her breasts.
Petra was furious. This is not what she had bargained for. She didn’t come here to be raped for the camera like some triple-X piece of trash! She started to say something but someone hit her in the mouth.
Another soldier pushed his way in saying, “I’ve never fucked a queen before! I wonder what it’s like!”
He had already freed his engorged cock and quickly pulled the woman to the floor, crawling on top and pinning her in place. His arms were around her waist and he sucked on her throat as he reared up and tried to stick it in. The man had used his arms to pin hers to her sides and resistance was difficult but Petra bucked and squirmed, trying to throw her attacker off. Her movements kept his first thrust from entering her but her resistance also excited him. He shifted his weight slightly until her shoulders were pinned down and pulled his knees up and out to better spread her legs. He reached under her with his left hand until he could grab the crook of her left arm. With his freed right hand he reached down and guided himself into the woman’s belly.
Petra moaned as the shaft slid into her. She was sure this was being photographed and it made her sick. He held himself still for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of the woman’s pussy around his penis, then began to hump her forcefully. Petra struggled at first but soon realized resistance was pointless. She finally just lay there with her feet up over his back and let him have his fun. After several minutes of hard fucking, Petra felt a change in the man’s breathing and a quickening of his rhythm. Suddenly, he jammed it in and held it, his body rigid. He moaned and she felt a huge stream squirt into her. His body convulsed and he sank his shaft to the hilt again, spraying another jet of semen into her belly. She felt him pump three or four more streams of sticky goo into her before finally collapsing on top of her.
He dismounted and stood up. He was no sooner off than another man was on her. Each of the ten men took a turn and several came back for seconds. When they were finished, Petra felt as though her vagina had been on fire.
As the men stood around her, looking down, one of them said, “She doesn’t look like much of a queen to me. I think she’s just a slut with big tits and a tight pussy!”
“She’d look like a queen if she had a crown,” the centurion said as he held up a wicked-looking thing he had fashioned from some nearby branches of a thorn bush after he had temporarily expended his lust. “Bring her over here so her majesty can have a proper coronation.”
The men manhandled her to her feet and brought her to the centurion. Then they forced her to kneel before him. One man steadied her head while two others held her arms. She resisted but it only made her breasts wobble and excited those watching even more.
The centurion held the crown up and shouted in mocking sincerity, “I hereby proclaim you to be Petra of Nazareth, Queen of the Jews!”
Petra looked up at the evil crown with hundreds of thick, half-inch thorns. She tried to shake her head free but the soldier had her by the hair and she couldn’t break his hold. The centurion lowered the crown to the top of her head then forced it down onto her forehead. The thorns punctured her scalp and ripped at her forehead as the centurion pushed and twisted it into place. Then he forced it down farther on the back of her head.
Petra moaned loudly and fought the best she could but the soldiers held her in place. She twisted and pulled at her arms, making her heavy chest wobble and jiggle for the leering men.
When the thing was down to her eyebrows and ears the centurion gestured to the men on her arms to lift her to her feet and turn her to face the others.
“All hail the queen of the Jews!” The centurion shouted as the humiliated woman stood before the lecherous men, her head down, wearing nothing but a crown of thorns. “This woman has dared to challenge the power of Rome! Come and pay her the respect she deserves!”
With that, the men crowded around and took turns slapping and beating her. After they had had some fun, the centurion ordered her to the whipping post.
“Pilate wants her scourged and brought back to him,” the centurion told his men. “Let’s give her a taste of Roman justice.”
Petra faced the post with her wrists tied to an iron ring near the top. It held her arms up so that she couldn’t protect her sides or breasts. She looked over her shoulder at the lictor as he took his position. She shivered uncontrollably with fear. She saw the tangle of leather straps and could only imagine what they’d do to her back.
The lictor wasted no time. The first stroke landed across her shoulder blades and slammed her against the pole. The sudden force of the blow knocked the wind out of her and she gasped noisily as she tried to recover. Before she could regain her balance and composure, though, another stroke ripped across her ass, leaving a series of red, swelling welts. Petra cried out, her legs buckled and she fell forward, her tits and stomach pressed against the pole. The lictor whipped her ass again. This time the thongs drew blood. Petra’s face grimaced and she moaned loudly as her head flew backward. The lictor worked his way up her back as the frantic woman hung by her wrists, twisting and squirming. She clawed at the rope that held her in place and screamed as the flagellum tore at her flesh. Her breathing was fast and heavy and she was covered in sweat. At one point, the hapless woman twisted around until her back was against the post. The lictor used the opportunity to bloody her breasts and belly.
Petra hung against the pole only half conscious. She had been whipped front and back from her shoulders to her knees. The centurion cut her loose and she crumbled to the floor on her knees and elbows, her ass in the air and her tits touching the floor. One of the soldiers threw a bucket of water on her to revive her.
The centurion ordered, “Get her to her feet and get some clothes back on her. I need to get her back to Pilate.”
Pilate looked up as the centurion led the woman back in. His heart quickened when he saw what his soldiers had done to her. She walked stoop-shouldered with her hands tied behind her back and her head down. Her once beautiful face was battered, with one side swollen and bruised, one eye blackened and half-closed and her lower lip split wide open and three times its normal size. Her head, crowned with three interwoven branches from a thorn bush, had dozens of deep, angry punctures and scratches that sent rivulets of blood streaking down her face. Her hair, wet from perspiration and blood, hung limply around her shoulders and her sweat-soaked garment clung to her body in spots, highlighting the heavy fullness of her breasts and the erotic curve of her hips. He could see the faint outline of her large oval nipples every time she took a deep breath, as well as traces of blood that had begun to soak through the material from the scourge wounds. The soldiers had ripped the neck hole of her garment larger so her crowned head could easily fit through and now Pilate could see a hint of cleavage as she stood before him.
“Here’s your prisoner. I think she’ll be more cooperative now,” the centurion said.
“Thank you. Let us hope. Would you mind leaving us for awhile?” Pilate said as he got up from his chair.
He slowly walked around the woman drinking in the sight of her voluptuousness. The power to have her tortured by simply saying the word excited him and the sight of her convinced him there was nothing he couldn’t do to this woman. He was confident, too, that the men had taken the opportunity to rape her, intensifying her humiliation. She was his - expensive, but worth every cent - and he could do anything he wanted with her.
“God she was sexy!” he thought. Even with the beating she had taken she still had an air of beauty about her. And she almost oozed sexuality from every pore. Even her feet were sexy! She was perfect for his plans.
He stood in front of her and lifted her chin with his fingertips until he could stare directly into her face. Her expression filled him with lust. It combined pain, hatred, fear and defeat and was nothing short of incredible. He hoped the camera was getting a close-up.
“I ask you again, Petra, are you the queen of the Jews?” Pilate asked in measured tones that masked his growing excitement.
Petra groaned pathetically and stared back at the floor, saying nothing. Fear welled in her belly. She knew what was expected but didn’t want to say it. Yet she didn’t want to endure the whip again either. She hated her business manager for this. He knew how she felt about making a torture video, but he had done it to her anyway. She knew now what her part was, and it wasn’t Jesus’ woman. How could he have done this to her? And a crucifixion no less! He couldn’t have picked a fouler, more despicable, more humiliating ordeal. She wondered what it would feel like hanging on a cross, a female Jesus of Nazareth. How would she ever be able to show her face in public again?
Finally, after a seeming eternity she looked up at him and said, “Yes, it is as you say.”
Pilate’s cock stiffened. Things were falling into place. He was one step closer.
“Say it. Say it all, you bitch. I want to hear the words come out of your mouth.” Pilate commanded.
Petra swallowed hard, took a deep breath and uttered, “Yes, I am the queen of the Jews.”
Pilate was so excited he could hardly stand. The woman had admitted her guilt; just as Jesus of Nazareth had done! His fantasy was coming true. He called for the centurion and ordered him to bring the murderer. When the centurion returned, Pilate ordered the murderer and the woman to his balcony. A crowd was gathered below and Pilate called to them.
“Before you stand two criminals. One is Barrabus, a murderer and thief,” Pilate said with a sweep of the arm toward the man, “the other is Petra, an admitted rebel,” he said as he gestured toward the woman. “Both are guilty of heinous crimes and are deserving of the most severe of punishments, but as a show of Roman mercy, I will release one of them to you. It will be up to you to decide which one.”
Shall it be Barrabus,” he said gesturing again toward the man, “or Petra, your queen,” he said, pointing to the woman.
A murmur rose from the crowd as they looked up at the two prisoners.
Someone shouted, “She’s a fraud! She’s no queen!”
Others began to shout their agreement and before long they were shouting, “Give us Barrabus! We want Barrabus!”
“But if I free Barrabus, what am I to do with the woman?” Pilate shouted back.
“Crucify her!” one of the men shouted.
“Yea, crucify that slut!” a woman hollered.
“What, crucify your queen?” Pilate shouted in mock horror. “Is that what you want? To see the queen of the Jews on a cross?”
“We have no queen! She’s a blasphemer!” The crowd shouted. “Punish her!”
“Do you really want to see this woman struggling on the tree of shame? Are you sure that’s what you want? To see her suffer the agony of the cross?”
By this time the crowd’s bloodlust was boiling and they began to chant, “CRUCIFY HER! CRUCIFY HER! CRUCIFY HER!”
Pilate reached out to the railing to steady himself. He was so excited he was dizzy. Fantasy had become reality. He was about to condemn a big-breasted celebrity to the cross. He had dreamed about this for years and soon voluptuous Petra Verkaik would be outside the city gate hanging on a cross feeling the full weight of Roman justice, just like Jesus of Nazareth and countless other slaves and troublemakers.
Pilate turned to the woman and said, “Your people have betrayed you, Petra. They made their choice and I intend to honor their wishes. You will be crucified this day for the crime of sedition – a crime to which you yourself confessed. May your agony be unbearable and long-lasting. I am confident yours will be an erotic spectacle not soon forgotten.”
Petra let out a pathetic moan of fear and pleading. “Not the cross! I’ll do anything! Please!”
Pilate looked at her and smiled. “Save your breath for Golgotha, woman, you’re going to need it.”
Then he turned to the centurion and said, “Take this cow out and nail her to the tree. I want her ordeal to be as painful and humiliating as possible.
Pilate watched as the centurion led the woman away. Within the hour, his newest purchase would be struggling on a cross in the hot sun demonstrating for all the erotic horror that is crucifixion. He wondered how many women like her had suffered the same fate. He knew the Romans crucified often, and they hadn’t spared women. Over the years there surely must have been thousands of leggy, big-breasted criminals who spent their last hours by the side of some road entertaining passers-by and sadistic townspeople. And so it would be with Petra Verkaik. The only difference is that he would have a photographic record of every second, from multiple angles.
Petra was led back to the cellblock. Her hands were no sooner cut free than a crossbeam was slammed across her shoulders. She groaned and staggered under its weight. It pressed her head down and soldiers roughly pulled her arms up and over the thick piece of timber. They tied her outstretched arms at the elbows and hung a sign around her neck announcing:
This bitch is
Petra of Nazareth
Queen of the Jews
Then the woman and two athletic eighteen-year-old boys were led into the street.
It was less than a half mile to Golgotha but the going was slow. People crowded the busy streets and the soldiers had to force a path through the mass of shouting, jeering bodies. Excitement ran high. There was no doubt that one of the prisoners was a woman. With one look, even those unable to read could tell by the way the lead prisoner bounced beneath the sweaty rag that passed for clothing.
The woman slowly staggered along and fell several times. Each time, the procession stopped while the soldiers lifted her back to her feet. After the third time, the centurion cut her loose from her burden and enlisted a man from the crowd to carry her patibulum the rest of the way.
After about twenty minutes, the procession reached the city gate. As she came through, Petra got a good look at the three torture stakes jutting out of the small hill by the side of the road. Fear and revulsion rose in her stomach and she stopped in her tracks. She knew that it was only a matter of minutes until she was suspended on one of them and she wanted to run. But soldiers and the jeering mob surrounded her. When one of the soldiers jabbed the point of his javelin into the small of her back she moved out into the bright sunlight.
When they reached the hill, the centurion directed Petra’s helper to lay her crossbeam in front of the center pole. The soldiers split into groups, attaching ropes to the patibuli and getting things into position. When everything was ready, the prisoners were stripped.
The crucifixion had begun.
Throughout the Empire, prisoners were often executed in the nude. It added immeasurably to the erotic, sexual nature of the execution and was used by the Romans to heighten the spectacle. In ancient Palestine, though, the local leaders had convinced the prelate to protect the modesty of women and children by sparing them the obscene sight of nude crucifixions. Pilate generally bowed to their wishes and ordered his men to cover the fronts of male prisoners with skimpy loincloths. Women were afforded small rags in the front and the back. However, when a prisoner were particularly well-known, Pilate often waived his standing order and allowed his men to hang the prisoner naked on the cross.
As added humiliation, Jesus of Nazareth had been hung naked between two common criminals and so it would be with Petra.
While others worked on the two men, one of the younger soldiers readied the woman. He quickly removed the signboard from around her neck, then started on her clothing. He had participated in her rape earlier but was fully aroused again as he hiked her garment up her legs, around her hips and finally over her head. He threw the sweaty rag to the side and looked at her. She just stood there looking back at him, not even trying to cover herself. He had fucked her twice already but felt like doing her again right in front of everybody. Before he had a chance to even touch her, though, two other soldiers grabbed her arms and forced her backward to the ground.
The young soldier stood watching the two men wrestle with the big-chested woman as the centurion walked up and told him, “Grab hold of her ankles so she can’t kick.”
The soldier did as he was told, making sure though, that her legs were spread enough for him to see the hairy hole that had given him so much pleasure.
He leaned onto her ankles, pinning her heels to the ground and watched as she fought the two men positioning her arms on the patibulum. She looked over and saw other soldiers tying one of the boys to his crossbeam. But when she turned back she saw the mallet and nails and absolutely lost her mind. The adrenaline surge made her half-sick to her stomach but gave her great energy and strength. She struggled with the fury of a trapped animal while the three soldiers tried to hold her down.
The executioner probed her wrist with his fingers until he found the spot he wanted. Then he placed the nail and swung the hammer. The first strike drove the thumb-thick spike through the woman’s wrist and into the wood. Petra’s whole body convulsed savagely and an agonized scream filled the air. Her back arched and she rose up onto the top of her head. Her knees flexed and spread as lightening-like bolts of pain flashed through her entire body. She gasped raggedly and babbled incoherently in-between full-throated screams as both her wrists were nailed to the timber.
The people in the front of the crowd watched spellbound as the woman was nailed to the crossbeam. Those farther back couldn’t see, but the pounding of the hammer and the screaming left no doubt what was happening and they waited hungrily for the condemned woman to be hoisted into view. They didn’t have to wait long. Her wrists were no sooner anchored to the wood than the soldiers picked up the timber and dragged the woman over to her stipes.
As the soldiers prepared to lift her off the ground, the centurion stepped up close and said, “It’s time for you to mount the throne Rome has prepared! Let your subjects gaze upon you in all your splendor!”
She looked at him, breathing heavily and tried to speak. But before she could utter the words, the soldiers jerked the woman off the ground. Her full 126 pounds were suspended by the two nails in her wrists. Petra’s face grimaced in agony and animal-like sounds came out of her mouth as her body twisted and bucked. The centurion watched as the naked, squirming woman was pulled higher up the main pole of the cross.
As the two pieces of her tree were fitted together, the voluptuous slut hung by the wrists bouncing and undulating erotically, her feet almost five feet above the ground.
Everyone could see her now as the men prepared to nail her feet to the stipes. They bent her knees and forced her feet another foot higher up the cross, wanting to make sure she had plenty of room to move. The entire crowd watched the woman twist and buck in an agony-driven frenzy when the spikes were driven through her feet. The spikes ripped huge holes and anchored both to the rough wood of the cross as she threw herself around in a spastic display. Her breasts wobbled and bounced out of sync with her other movements.
She hung on uplifted and outstretched arms, her head rolling from side to side in stuporous disbelief as one of the soldiers nailed her signboard above her head. Her ribs bulged above her flat belly. Her huge, 37DD breasts bulged past her sides. Her knees were bent and her legs spread, lewdly displaying a thick, unruly crop of curly black hair. Her feet were nailed side-by-side on the stipes and those standing behind her could clearly see the dirty, callused bottoms of her feet and the shafts of the thick spikes that had torn through the soles and pinned the bare feet to the pole. As the soldier climbed back down, he stopped long enough to spit in the crucified woman’s face. Petra Verkaik, one-time playmate of the year, was crucified.
Three prisoners hung before the crowd paying the ultimate price for their crimes against the Empire. The two muscular, teenage men were tied to the outer crosses and struggled in their awkward positions. They were the lucky ones. The fear of their ultimate fate was the same for all three, but their pain from the ropes was nothing compared to what it might have been. They moved constantly and shouted at the crowd.
For the naked woman hanging on the center “tree,” though, it was a different story. She had been crucified in a way reserved for only the foulest, most despised criminals. The four huge nails that held her in place made her pain unbearable. After hanging on outstretched arms for a short while, the woman pulled herself high by flexing her arms and stared out over the heads of the crowd. Her body was rigid and she shook from the strain. Her head pressed back hard against the stipes, driving the thorns of her crown to the bone. Her jaw was set in place and she panted quickly, her chest rising and falling with the filling and emptying of her lungs. The crowd was shouting at her but she seemed not to hear. Suddenly, the muscles in her arms knotted with great cramps. Petra’s back arched, jutting her breasts out at the crowd as her face grimaced and several loud moans escaped her now wide-open mouth before she slid down the cross into a hanging position. The contrast between the naked woman being tortured on the center cross and the two, hard-bodied studs on either side was indescribably exciting.
She hung there for a few moments then came alive and began to struggle wildly! The crowd’s excitement rose to the highest level yet and vicious shouts and insults filled the air. The early, frantic stages of the execution had begun. Petra threw herself from side to side, twisting and pulling at the nails. Her pelvis bucked in sexual thrusts as she tried to lift her legs.
Invariably, crucified prisoners put on an erotic display soon after they’re suspended. It is especially intense for those who have been nailed to the cross. The overwhelming pain of the nails, the instinctive fear of dying and adrenaline-fed strength all combine to make an unforgettable spectacle. It doesn’t matter how much self-control the prisoner has, either. Man or woman, they all loose their minds and behave the same. Orgasm even grips some of the prisoners as they struggle foolishly on the tree of shame! It happened to Jesus of Nazareth two thousand years ago and it was happening to Petra Verkaik now. And the crowd loved it.
The queen of the Jews twisted back and forth, her large breasts flopping from side to side as she continued to struggle. She flexed her arms and pulled herself higher up the cross until the top of her head was even with the bottom of the patibulum. Her back was arched and her head turned skyward. Her chest rapidly rose and fell as she gasped in the hot morning air. Frantic screams and loud moans were interspersed with clenched-jawed curses as the naked woman put on a show for the on-lookers and the cameras.
While she held herself on flexed arms, Petra tried again to pull her feet free from the nails. The large heads on the nails, of course, kept her feet in place and she only succeeded in stretching the holes, increasing her agony and making the wounds bleed more. But that didn’t stop her. She was panicking and couldn’t control herself. Her legs spread and her hips bucked as she continued to try.
When her arms cramped, Petra slid back down into the hanging position. She took a breath and looked out at the crowd. There were hundreds of people watching her and all seemed to take delight in her ordeal. Her body was spread out for them to enjoy. She was every man’s fantasy and she hung naked before them. They could see everything. Even her thumb-sized clit was exposed. A slow-moving glob of whitish slime from her earlier abuse trailed down her inner thigh.
Petra tried to exhale but found that while she could fill her lungs, emptying them was seemingly impossible and all she could manage were quick shallow pants. It was totally inadequate and she soon began to feel the twinges of renewed panic as the thought of suffocation entered her head.
The prisoner to her right called her name and she turned her head toward him. She was hanging by the wrists, low on the cross with knees spread. The way his arms were draped over the top of the patibulum positioned him much higher on the cross than her and her face was about even with his belly. The skin stretched tight over his washboard-like abdominals and glistened with sweat as he squirmed around on his cross. Despite his having been crucified, he was turned-on by the sight of the tortured woman and began to taunt her. She could see behind his loincloth and noticed that his half-engorged dick hung halfway to his knees. Petra heard him saying something about sticking it down her throat until she choked. Her ears were ringing and she had trouble paying attention but she knew that dick and those testicles were the biggest she had ever seen. His manhood had to be 12 inches long and as thick as her wrist. Despite her suffering, Petra wondered how many girls had become women stretched around that thing.
When the panic of near suffocation overwhelmed her, Petra began to twist and lunge on the cross in a desperate attempt to get air. Her face grimaced as she pushed down on the nails in her feet and forced her way up the tree. The punk next to her mistook her struggle for a reaction to his hounding and became fully aroused as he watched her fight. His hips even began to move as he described the different ways he’d violate her if he had the chance.
Slowly, she rose up the cross until she could breathe and sucked in rapid lungs-full of air. She held the position as long as she could stand the pain in her feet and them collapsed back into the hanging position to await the suffocation and the next panic-driven struggle it would force upon her. Petra was learning the full meaning of what it meant to be crucified. She would be forced to struggle like that until she was exhausted.
The crowd couldn’t get enough! Seeing the once-arrogant slut fighting for every breath was the most erotic thing many of them had ever seen. The way she moved - the noises she made – it was almost like watching her have sex. Even those not normally excited by sadism couldn’t turn away. Her display made it clear to all why the Romans had crucified so often.
Petra hung in the hot sun for hours wiggling and squirming, constantly being taunted by the men and women who had come to watch her suffer on the cross.
“Look at that conceited bitch! Those big tits aren’t much good on a cross, are they Petra?”
“All your followers are gone now! They’re going to let you die up there on that cross like a worthless dog!
“You look good on your throne, your heinous!”
At first, Petra tried to argue with them but breathing was too difficult and speaking more than a word or two almost impossible. The taunts were relentless and grew more vicious with every passing hour.
Eventually the torture exhausted her. As the sixth hour approached, Petra cried out in a loud voice, “Oh God, help… me! Please… somebody help… me… please!”
No one did. Her begging was simply met with more curses and insults.
Several minutes later, the dying woman cried out again, but the words were slurred and unintelligible. Then she convulsed violently and began to quiver. Finally, she hung still with her head down, her mouth open and her knees apart.
About an hour before sundown, Pilate sent two men to finish off the prisoners and remove the bodies from the crosses. They broke the legs of the two terrified thieves and let their own weight asphyxiate them. When they approached the woman on the center cross to do the same, though, they found her to be dead already. They joked about her weakness, pointing out to each other that men could sometimes live for days on a cross. To make sure she was truly dead, one of them pressed his spear against the woman’s left breast. He flopped the tit back and forth several times with the flat of the blade before finally placing the point about an inch below and two inches to the outside of the nipple. He jammed the entire blade up into the meat, twisting the shaft back-and-forth and tearing the inside of the breast to ribbons before pulling it back out, leaving a huge gaping hole in the side of her chest. Petra’s didn’t react.
The two men quickly removed the three dead prisoners and dragged them away to be burned.
Three months later, new video clips began to appear on the Internet. Taken together, they chronicled in graphic detail the torture and execution by Roman soldiers of a large-breasted rebel woman and two thieves. In total, over 12 hours of footage were available and demand was overwhelming.
Petra’s x-business manager sat back and laughed. “Too bad the star isn’t available for a sequel,” he thought. “Maybe Jennifer Love Hewitt would like to star in a biblical epic!”
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