CruxNico

After seemingly endless cycles of standing on the cross, screaming, hanging from it, Sam found himself slumped down again, worn out from the strain, all his muscles burning, sweat dripping from his feet, cock, chin and nose.

"Isn't that the guy Tullius sent to the cross?" It took Sam some effort, but when he finally managed to lift his head, he saw two men on horseback who had stopped in front of his cross. They looked wealthy, both probably in their late thirties or early forties. They both wore tunics of the finest kind, the type the wealthy wore when togas were impractical. They seemed to be returning to the city, undoubtedly having visited estates in the countryside. The one who looked a bit younger and fitter was looking straight at Sam while the other, more round-faced one, seemed mostly bored. "He looks great!"

"Yeah, just your type. Come one Gaius, I've things to do."

"I mean, I saw him a few weeks back at that dinner we had over at Tullius'. Great cock too, when in action, as far as I remember."

"Of course, you'd remember a random slave's cock you saw weeks ago," the other guy muttered under his breath, but still loud enough for even Sam to hear.

"Don't be a dick. I'm just a connoisseur when it comes to these kinds of things. And he kind of... stood out. Literally."

"Yeah, yeah. I prefer to keep away from erect cocks which are not mine if at all possible, thank you very much. Luckily this guy's days of sporting boners seem to be very much over."

"We'll see about that." Gaius flagged down Andros. Seeing an obviously rich and important citizen wave at him, the soldier hurried over, bowing his head a little in greeting. "That guy," Gaius waved in Sam's direction, "How much do you want for him?"

"Uh..." Andros looked confused for a moment. "Alive?"

"Yes, alive of course. What'd I do with a dead slave?"

"Uhm..." Andros looked embarrassed now. "That one's done for, sir." At Gaius annoyed look, he hastened to add. "I'm terribly sorry. Really, I am, but this is a magisterial execution, I can't sell him."

"I'm good friends with the magistrate, he'll understand." Gaius waved off Andros argument.

"But still, sir. And with all due respect. It's not possible to get a slave off the cross once he's nailed. Can't pry out the nails without smashing the feet to bits. Would kill him anyways, sir."

"Nonsense." Gaius sighed and looked directly at Andros now. "I really do appreciate you trying to make sure that slave gets his just sentence, but don't try to fob me off with some bullshit or I'm going to have words with your commander. I have sent enough slaves to the cross to know that you can get them off even after you nailed their feet." At Andros' surprised expression, the man continued as if lecturing a small child. "You just need to insert a pole or narrow board between lower calf and the upright and then push it outward to get enough leverage to pull the nail out with the foot. It's not that hard with the right technique. Brutally painful for the slave if you go by the screams, but in the end it's just basic carpentering with flesh and bones instead of wood." The patrician smirked. "Forgave a kitchen slave half a day after I had him crucified. Man's still around, can barely use his hands, but he's the most docile slave I have. Still serviceable enough, though if the smashes another plate, I'm gonna have him put back up."

"It'd probably still kill him. He's been lashed a fair bit." Andros muttered, a bit hopelessly now.

"I'll take that risk."

Sam's heart was racing. This Gaius guy was talking as if it was possible to take him down from the cross. There was a chance they'd stop his crucifixion! Stop this madness, this horror! Stop his agony! He locked eyes with the man, trying to convey with his eyes that he was prepared to do anything if only he'd take him off the cross.

"Gaius, don't be silly now. Look at those gashes. They scourged him good. He won't see the end of the week, cross or not." Round-face chimed in and Sam would've cursed him, if he had any breath left to do it.

Gaius gaze dropped a bit, studying the red streaks criss-crossing Sam's chest, forehead set in a frown.

"You're probably right. Chances are he is not going to make it." He looked annoyed. "Shame though. That is such a nice cock. And a very fine body to complement it." He chewed his lower lip.

Round-face pinched his nose in a gesture of mild-mannered annoyance. "Friend, I get that you like the looks of," here he waved a hand in Sam's general direction, "that, but be sensible. You buy a few hundred male slaves for your mines each year, right? Just send your foreman here to have a look at this one and tell him to make sure to send any who resemble him to you for inspection. I guarantee you, you'll have something equal or better in your bed within a few weeks. And whoever you get can still walk properly and won't need special coddling because he can't grab a spoon anymore."

Gaius still looked undecided and Sam hoped against hope that he'd command Andros to take him down anyway. The other patrician must've seen it too, because he spoke up again. "Besides, if they take him down, he won't be able to train properly with crippled hands. How long do you think this body will last if he's not being exercised properly. Stick a fork in him, this guy's done. Let the plebs enjoy the spectacle of his death, it's gonna entertain them for a few days and it will be a good deterrent to other slaves."

Sam saw the change in Gaius expression. "Yeah, I need to be reasonable, you're right. And we're late anyway." He yanked on the bridle and made his horse trot slowly forward.

Round-face looked at Sam with a dark expression and waved Andros forward. Speaking in a low voice so that the retreating Gaius couldn't hear him, he handed over a few coins. "I lost almost ten minutes because of that guy. When you castrate him, do me a favor and burn off his balls. Make it slow."

Andros smiled and nodded happily as he took the money. "Sure thing, with pleasure, sir!" With that, the patrician set his own horse in motion, quickly following his peer towards the city. 

The guard watched the two receding men on horseback for a while, then shifted his attention back to Sam, whose mind was reeling with horror at the patrician's request. "You should stop making these kinds of 'friends', slave. It doesn't do you any favors."

"Cai-" Sam gasped, barely able to form coherent speech, "Caius... he said- said..."

Andros nodded. "Yeah, I heard. Well, I didn't promise the guy you'd be alive when we torch your balls, so if you're lucky..." He shrugged. "Though, to be honest. If Caius is planning what I think he is, I doubt you can perform to his satisfaction." He studied Sam again. "But then... I also have never seen a guy shoot a load on the cross, so there's a first time for everything." He looked up at the sky where the sun stood. "Marcellus should be back in a few anyways and we'll find out then."

The guard was being cryptic and if Sam had been able to actually form proper speech, he might've tried to ask more about what Caius was 'planning', but as it was, his lungs cried out for air and he was forced to stand up on the cross, mind swept up in the pain of having to lift himself again, screams making talking impossible. Sam danced on the cross, again and again, his screams, his cries, the sight of his body moving and bucking on the cross entertaining the watching men. His throat hurt more with every scream, the abuse of it making his howls of pain diminish to moans of anguish for periods of time, even though the underlying agony never dulled.

Crucifixion was worse, so much worse than anything he had imagined. The pain was leagues beyond anything he could've possibly have conceived off. But the shame of being put to death nailed naked to the cross was even worse. The humiliation of being whipped in front of the gaol had been brutal, the march to the cross even more demeaning. Walking naked, the crossbeam on his shoulders, a coarse rope tied too tight around his cock and balls as the executioner walking in front of him yanked on it to drag him along, it had seemed like the apex of indignity at the time. But it didn't hold a candle to the pure abasement he suffered on the cross. Not just put on display to have his torture and agony seen by all men, not just being made a spectacle but made to suffer for the pure sport of it, stripped not just of clothes but of any last shred of dignity. And the endless insults pelting him made it clear that the men watching him knew how shameful his execution was, how helpless he was to stop it. And knowing that they enjoyed watching him suffer, even wanted him to suffer and to suffer more, made it all the more humiliating.

To make matters worse, not content with just watching one of the spectators approached him, a guy in his early thirties with jet-black hair, and ran a hand over Sam's bare front, probing his muscles, pinching his nipples. It wasn't really usual for a slave as tall as Sam to be crucified on a shorter cross like this, but it had of course been necessary so his executioners could fuck him on it. Now it also had the side effect that essentially all of him was within easy reach of the average man. And if at the start of the day, he had no way of evading someone fondling him, with his feet now nailed into place he was even more helpless.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we, slave," the guy said while running a single finger down between Sam's pecs and down over his heaving abdomen towards his crotch. Sam was exhausted, tired, in pain and it took him a few seconds to recognize the man in front of him. It was one of the merchants down from the market. Sam remembered now that the man had made fairly obvious overtures quite a few times and since he was not Sam's type and a bit pudgy to boot, Sam hadn't given the guy the time of day and shut his advances down with a few more than cutting comments. The guy was a mere freedman without clout, hardly in a social position to commandeer the slave of a powerful patrician or even to afford to damage one. But Sam wasn't a patrician's slave anymore, just some low-life condemned to a slow and brutal death on the cross and even this guy could practically do with him as he wished - provided he did not hurry along Sam's death. The man's hand finally found its obvious destination, first cupping, then wrapping around Sam's balls. Sam wasn't really surprised when the other man suddenly squeezed down hard, but he couldn't help scream anyway as his testicles were crushed together and pain shot through his abdomen. He tried to wriggle free by standing up on the cross, renewed agony shooting through him as his body weight shifted, but his tormentor simply used his other hand to grab the top of one of Sam's thighs near the hip and push him down. Sam yelled and shouted as the man began to twist the ballsack in his hands, pain levels soaring and stars exploding behind Sam's eyelids. The torture went on for a bit until the guy suddenly released Sam and took a step back, looking satisfied.

Sam hung in the cross, sweating, panting, looking at the man in front of him from beneath the bangs hanging into his eyes.

"Doesn't surprise me one bit that you ended up on a cross, slave. Should've sucked my cock when I offered it, instead of being an arrogant prick."

Sam's attention shifted to Andros who stood a bit to the side, an eyebrow raised. Seemed the executioner had decided that the man wasn't going to inflict serious damage on Sam and let him do as he liked. The merchant took another step back and then looked at Andros, grabbing a coin from a leather pouch hung on his belt and handing it to the soldier. "Here. I want to see hooks or nails through this bastard's balls before you cut them off. That possible?"

Andros eyebrow rose even further as he reached out a hand to take the coin. "Sure thing. Tomorrow at the earliest though."

The merchant nodded and then turned to melt back into the excited crowd.

"Seems my warning to stop making these kinds of 'friends' came a bit too late, didn't it?" Even through his pain Sam managed to glower at Andros who was manifestly amused at that. "There, there. No need to be angry with me, slave. I'm just doing my job here and the man paid good coin to have your balls skewered. Can't deny a freedman his right to paid entertainment! No harm, no foul, right?" He paused for a moment before he amended. "Well, no harm to anyone who counts, anyways."

Sam was too beat, too tired, too dejected to answer and simply hung his head again.

Unfortunately the merchants blatant fondling of Sam had broken the ice for many of the other onlookers and soon several stood directly at the cross, countless hands running over Sam's naked body, prodding, probing, groping. Sam lost count of how many times his nipples got squeezed and twisted, his asscheeks pinched or slapped. A few guys got completely carried away and licked sweat from his pecs and armpits. With the first few men licking at him, others quickly shed their inhibitions, more and more fingers and tongues joining on his skin, the blonde slave from earlier, Liam, had suddenly reappeared and delved between Sam's thighs to wrap his lips once again around Sam's limp cock. Sam gritted his teeth and looked up in the sky, knowing full well that only the fact that his head was slightly above the men fondling him and his ass was shielded by the upright, saved him from being face- and ass-fucked by at least half a dozen guys. Even as it was, he felt someone's moist fingers slide between his asscheeks, rubbing insistently at his puckered entrance. He looked down to confirm that indeed Liam had slid his hand underneath his scrotum to his ass. The other slave was grinning up at him and Sam suddenly felt a finger pushed into him and he cried out at the flash of pain. The whole ordeal was starting to devolve into an outright orgy and a few other spectators were beginning to look scandalized when Andros finally broke the whole thing up, laughing.

"Alright, alright, guys! Cool it!" He began to shoo back the men. "Come on guys! Sun's still up for a few hours!" There were murmurs of annoyance. "Hey, come on now, everyone! I mean this is a crucifixion and all and this guy sure looks like sex on a stick..." He paused and eyed Sam for a brief moment, mumbling "literally" under his breath, "but we still need to maintain some semblance of order during the day, right?" He waved the spectators back a few meters. "Go home, jerk off, come back at night." He seemed to spot Liam now. "And don't think I didn't see you there, Liam! I am going to have a talk with your foreman, you know. Caius warned you often enough!"

Sam would probably have felt a faint flash of satisfaction that one of the men abusing his helplessness would face some reprimand, but unfortunately for him, his body decided just in that moment to give in to the impulse of coming up for air again. His biceps' flexed and he pushed with his thighs to raise himself on the cross, inflicting a new wave of pain on himself. His head slammed back against the upright as he straightened, droplets of sweat spraying outward as strands of his wet hair were flung backwards.

Helpless to prevent it, Sam opened his mouth to scream his pain into the sky above him.

If any of his executioners bothered to track them, they would have accumulated an entire catalogue of different kinds of screams Sam could make just over the course of this day. The desperate, panicked, open-mouthed howls of agony as his feet had been nailed to complete his crucifixion would probably have easily topped that list. But even a young man with Sam's physique and his pair of lungs could not sustain screams of that volume, frequency and shrillness for long before going hoarse. But there were a myriad of different sounds of pain Sam had already produced and would continue to produce as long as his executioners could make him last. There were the cries of pain he had just roared as he lifted himself on the cross, almost matching those initial shrieks in despair and rising to their volume, but lacking slightly in the surprised horror and despair of a guy feeling the full pain of crucifixion for the first time. Then there were those singular screams of agony which broke up periods of simply hanging or standing on the cross, when a random flash of pain blinded Sam. Then came the grunts of pain, small labored gasps of distress and hurt which were a constant when he hung from his cross. 

And then there were the desperate, aborted cries of agony when he was stood up on the cross as he was now, interrupted again and again as he panted and tried to gulp down as much air as possible in as little time as needed. Sam's thighs were shaking, but he was determined to hold out a little while longer, despite the pain. If he gave up too early, he'd have to come back up in a matter of minutes, but if instead he prolonged the time standing up, he might be able to stretch out the period of simply hanging on the cross. Unfortunately for Sam, his weakening thigh muscles thwarted that plan. His left thigh spasmed suddenly, a painful cramp making it fail and he slid down on the cross, his arms extending until he was stopped by the nails in his wrists. Sam howled in renewed pain again and again, until his head finally lolled forward, his breaths coming in exhausted, constricted hiccups.

Blinking away sweat, Sam's eyes followed a few retreating men in the direction of the city when he suddenly saw Marcellus return from there. He was carrying something and Sam felt a new spike of fear as he watched the guard approach. Caius went to meet the man, waving in greeting.

"You got it?"

Marcellus nodded, holding up the implement he was holding in a hand. "Yeah, I got it." Meeting up with Caius he handed it over. "Carpenter looked at me like I'm crazy, when I tried to convince him that it was for magistrate business. Still not sure he believed me."

Cause grinned at him. "Everybody thinks you're a pervert anyway, Marcellus, us included."

Marcellus pursed his lips. "This better be worth it, Caius, otherwise I'm going to have your hide next time we train."

Caius just waved him off dismissively. "No worries, I'm sure our little slave here will put on a good show for us. Won't you, slave?"

Sam glared at the soldier. "Shove... shove it..." Sam took a deep breath, trying to gather enough strength. "... up yours..." 

Caius just seemed amused. "You just don't really learn, do you? I can cut that living hell you are in short or I can prolong it for days and days. But instead of being a servile submissive, like anyone with half a brain would be, you still insist on being a saucy little bitch..." He looked at Sam for a bit. "Still... you know, that little deal we discussed earlier..." Caius now held up the implement Marcellus had handed to him. It was a small wooden block with one large phallic peg protruding from it. "I had Marcellus get this custom sedile, just for you. We'll nail it to your upright, right about were your ass is now." He paused, studying Sam's shivering body. "I suppose you can guess which side we'll have pointing up, right?" Sam continued to glare at Caius, even though his heartbeat was speeding up. The soldier smirked, obviously enjoying Sam's continued little theatre of defiance. And theatre was all it was and they both knew it. A crucified man would do anything in the hope of shortening his suffering. "Anyway, you're going to ride this thing. I want to see you hard and moaning. I want to see you literally fucking yourself on it. If - but only IF - you give us a spectacle to remember and IF you manage to blow your load, I'll give you that quick death I promised you. Otherwise you are going to have a very fun day on the cross tomorrow. Are we clear?" Sam was panting. His eyes shifting from Caius face to the sedile in his hands and back again. He licked his upper lip nervously, tasting the salty sweat accumulated there. He knew his pretend defiance was already visibly melting away as Caius' smirk grew into a wide grin. Sam wasn't stupid. He knew his chances for an easy out even if he did as asked were slim and he was almost tempted to curse out Caius again. That would not spare him the sedile though anyway, he was sure, and even a slim chance of a quick death was better than none. So instead, he ground his teeth together and nodded. "Yes, Dominus."

"Alright. Now, stand up on your cross, so we can install this thing."

Sam had little choice but to submit and screaming again, he heaved himself upward as Marcellus and Caius approached. Marcellus positioned himself to the side, taking the sedile from Caius and though Sam couldn't see it from his position, and, quite frankly, was busy struggling to keep his position, he assumed that Marcellus was pressing it against the upright. Caius was holding the same mallet he had used to crucify Sam and was aiming a nail between Sam's legs. With a few expert blows, he nailed the sedile in place and then stepped back. Marcellus joined him looking at Sam and they both had a glint of amusement in their eyes. "Oh, that will do, that will do."

Sam was panting, grunting, clenching and baring his teeth while he stayed in his position, hovering somewhere between hanging and standing on the cross. He was well aware that he would have to come down again in a matter of minutes as his thighs were trembling again violently and would not hold him up for long, but he also knew what was now waiting for him just below his ass.

It was no use. With a gasping cry aimed upwards, Sam began to lower himself. Almost immediately he felt the wooden peg of the sedile brush between his asscheeks. Crap, the sedile's peg must've been longer than he had thought or, if he was lucky, they had nailed the sedile somewhat higher to the upright than he had anticipated. There was only one way to find out. Sam dropped his head to look at the men watching him with leering gazes and, for a brief moment, Sam was tempted to just try and shift his hips further forward and simply avoid the sedile altogether. It would certainly disappoint his spectators, if he denied them the spectacle of fucking himself on the cross. But he didn't have a choice. He would have to submit sooner or later, he knew that. Foregoing the support the sedile could provide him was simply not an option now that all his muscles were positively shaking with exhaustion. If he didn't do it this time around, he'd impale himself during one of the next few cycles of his dance on the cross and he'd probably have even less stamina left to control his descent onto the peg.

Grunting and panting, he resumed lowering himself, feeling the phallic peg slide between his asscheeks and guiding it. He hissed as it brushed against the rim of his violated hole, then opened his mouth to let out a cry when it pushed into him. Another low, long, howl followed as he continued to sink down on the wooden phallus. The men around the cross were watching seemingly mesmerized, though a good few of them were snickering and talking amongst themselves. Furtive hand movements below tunics also made it clear that Sam was providing the entertainment they wanted. Sam had to stop his descent several times. The peg was thicker than any of the dicks he had gotten shoved into him and though it felt slicked up in some kind of sticky paste, getting penetrated by it would have been horribly painful no matter the circumstances, never mind while he had to suspend himself on nailed wrists while his muscle strength waned. Sam had to stop his descent several times when the pain shooting through his gut became to severe. The damn peg hadn't even looked that long when it had been shown to him, fuck. It seemed to take forever, but it was probably not even a minute until Sam felt the base of the sedile make contact with the insides of his thighs and finally he felt it press against the underside of his scrotum. He straddled the sedile now, some of his body weight supported by it and he leaned back his head, wet mop of hair falling backwards and let out a scream.

His head lolled forward again. Breathing was slightly easier in his now more elevated position and the strain on his arms was still painful and agonizing but minutely less jarring than before. Of course it was all for the price of getting impaled on a thick wooden cock for all intents and purposes, but Sam took what little relief was to be had, humiliating as it might be. Looking down he saw his cock and balls splayed out on the front part of the sedile, sweat staining the wood dark. He panted heavily but remained in his position, trying to gather his strength. He still had to fuck himself like Caius wished. And he didn't just have to fuck himself, he also had to cum if he wanted a chance at a quick death. How to do that, Sam had no idea. Sure he had somehow managed to shoot a load when he had been fucked by the executioners, but he hadn't yet been crucified fully. And in as much pain as he had been then, it hadn't even been remotely comparable to the pain he was in now. His cock had not made more than a twitch ever since they had nailed his feet to the cross. Not to mention that almost a full day had passed since then - one day of unrelenting, unmitigated agony, inhuman physical exertion, all of which had burned through his reserves. Still, he had to try. Somehow.

At first, Sam tried to go with the obvious approach: heaving himself up as if he tried to stand up on the cross, then descending again. The pain almost blinded him as he tried again and again. Even as he screamed and struggled, much to the audible entertainment of the crowd, he realized that there was no way he could even get a hard-on this way, let alone cum. After having screamed himself hoarse again in just a matter of minutes he had literally nothing to show for the pain he had just inflicted on himself. Panting and exhausted he hung his head. How could he make himself cum, he wondered. Was it even possible or just another sadistic game by his executioners. He raised his head with some effort to look around at the men watching. He saw glee, lechery in those eyes and on those faces. But as he looked at Caius he also saw something else behind the cruel smirk the man was wearing. Curiosity. His executioner didn't know either whether a guy in Sam's position was even able to cum, Sam was positive now. That was probably the reason why he had offered the deal to Sam in the first place: to find out. Well, one of the reasons. Sam didn't doubt that most of Caius reasons revolved around getting to watch Sam scream, suffer, howl and dance on the cross, something he would get out of his little experiment, whether Sam succeeded or not.

While Sam was still lost in his pain and thoughts, he reflexively scooted front back with his hips. It was a very minor movement, the peg in Sam's ass preventing anything major. But when it happened, Sam felt the wood press against something inside him and his cock twitched. Grunting, he repeated the movement, this time consciously. Yes, there was definitely something happening when he did that. He had felt something similar while he had been mounted on Caius' cock the night before. Sam began to scoot back and forth, back and forth, again and again, small movements to try and minimize the pain flaring in his wrists and feet whenever his body shifted. He was still inflicting agony on himself, but whatever stimulation he was buying with it was working, his cock slowly growing tumescent as he continued to shift his hips backwards and forwards, panting, licking sweat from his lips. Grunts pressed out through clenched teeth began to morph into small pain-filled moans escaping from a slack mouth as warmth began to pool somewhere in Sam's guts.

The murmuring of the crowd grew louder, the men becoming more excited as they watched him. Sam heard Andros guffaw. "Ha! You're going to lose that bet, Marcellus! That needy bitch is going to cum even on the cross!" Looking down at himself, Sam saw that he was indeed hard. Well, almost hard, harder at least than anytime he had tried it with a girl. But still, it was unlikely that he could get himself off. Even though he couldn't help the loud moans he now made every time he rocked his hips, they were still sounds of pain. He felt the stimulation by the wooden phallus inside his ass, but he was crucified, exhausted and in agony. The only thing the erection between his thighs proved was that his cock and ass still worked. But there was no helping it, he had to try, so he continued. He evolved the mindless back and forth, instead trying left to right, but finding the sensation lacking until he began to move his hips in a slightly circular fashion. He leaned back his head and let out a mix of scream and moan as the wooden cock in him hit his spot in just the right way. He felt his cock grow harder, so he repeated the motion again and again. It caused more pain than simple back and forth, but it stimulated him far more potently at the same time. He dropped his head forward to look at himself after a minute and saw that he was already leaking pre-cum. His moans grew louder every time he moved now, whether from the pain or the approaching orgasm was not entirely clear. Maybe he could speed it up if he added a slight up and down motion to his routine. Just a little, tiny bit.

A flash of pain shot through him on the first attempt and Sam howled, his erection wilting almost immediately. Laughter and chuckles rang out from the crowd around him, along with selected insults.

Sam resumed his previous motions, desperate to get to the climax and end this nightmare. It took him longer this time to get his cock hard again and he realized that with his muscles growing more tired by the minute and the pain of crucifixion increasing every second, the window to get himself off one last time was closing quickly. Still, his boner was going strong again and Sam had to thank the gods for his body's stamina under extreme duress. Moaning he hung his head back, panting open-mouthed as he continued to rock back and forth on the sedile, warmth slowly pooling in his gut as he felt an orgasm gather. After a few minutes he looked back out at the spectators, not stopping his movements as he was getting closer to his climax. He certainly wasn't the only one close to cumming, quite a few men giving themselves a hand while watching Sam squirm and moan on the cross, many fairly circumspect, but some showing a bit of an exhibitionistic streak, probably emboldened by the slowly faltering light of day. He locked eyes with a particularly shameless dark-haired guy who was letting his gaze rake up and down Sam's exposed body and grinned broadly at him. He was standing close to Sam's cross, his cock exposed as he had the lower flap of his tunic turned up and tucked into his belt, one hand working it as he watched Sam ride the sedile. Broad-chested, muscular and ruggedly handsome, he'd certainly be the type Sam'd found attractive under different circumstances but knowing that the man was turned on by Sam's pain and humiliation only made him feel shame. He was forced to put on a show for these lechers, to inflict unimaginable pain on himself, just to make a spectacle of his own brutal suffering for these men. For a brief moment he stopped rocking on the sedile inside him, tempted to deny them their entertainment, but a glare from Caius and the sight of the whip unhooking from the executioners belt quickly made him resume his sweaty, breathless self-fuck on the cross. If he got whipped now, he'd lose his hard-on and there was no way he'd be able to bring it back, killing his chances for a quick death. So he pushed against the sedile again and again, stretching his asshole, his cheeks burning red with shame. He locked eyes with the dark-haired guy again who had approached closer to Sam's cross, his hard cock pointed at Sam and he was moaning, licking his lips as he stared at Sam fucking himself. When Sam came moments later, he felt not only his own spunk splatter onto his chest, but also the other man's cum spray onto his legs and feet.

The men watching were hooting and jeering. Insults and catcalls raining down on Sam as he hung naked, drenched in cum, sweat and blood, panting on his cross, wooden dildo in ass, too exhausted even to lift himself off it.