CruxNico

"Doesn't look like your dick's gonna work anymore, does it now, slave?" Caius stepped back close to Sam and grabbed his chin again with his left hand, his fingers digging back into the sides of Sam's mouth to force his jaws apart. Sam wouldn't have found the strength to even try and resist if Caius hadn't at the same time brought the skin he had torn off to Sam's opened mouth. He began to struggle and try to shake off the guard's hand. "Now, now, bitch. You need a little meal, don't you think? Your third day on the cross deserves a little treat. Come on, open wide." Despite Sam trying to turn his head away, Caius quickly managed to stuff the skin into his victim's mouth. Sam tried to spit it out again, his eyes going wide with horror as he tasted what was being fed to him, but Caius now wrenched his mouth shut, pressing against the underside of his jaw. "Now chew it, slave! Eat what you are given!"

Sam resisted desperately until Caius grabbed his skinned cock and squeezed down hard. Sam tried to scream, but the executioner kept his mouth forcibly shut and Sam just bucked uselessly on the cross to cheers and laughter from the onlookers. "Chew it, godsdamnit or I'm gonna squeeze what's left of your dick right off!" Sam had no choice. He suffered at the whim of his torturer and he could only submit or suffer even worse. Trying not to gag, he slowly began to grind his teeth together, feeling what had been the skin of his cock being torn apart. He was being forced to eat himself to the cheers, hoots and insults of the watching men. His executioner was abasing Sam even further by making him an instrument of his own emasculation.

His eyes found the executioners' as he chewed, the man grinning wide as he watched Sam's jaws work, visibly enjoying the humiliation he was inflicting on his victim. Sam had to look away and squeezing his eyes shut, he finally swallowed what he had been fed. Satisfied, Caius released his jaw and stepped back. Sam felt the man waiting and when he finally found the nerve to look back at his torturer, he found Caius' sadistic grin widen even further.

"I've got good news for you and bad news, slave. Good news is, that I'm gonna remove that sedile and pull it out of your ass. Bad news - for you at least - is that I'm gonna turn you into a proper bitch right after. You are going to dance for us on that cross when I burn off the rest of your cock." 

With that he started working on the sedile between Sam's legs, until it came loose. Sam felt it come off the upright and then yelled out in pain as the guard pulled it downwards, the wooden peg Sam was impaled on being ripped brutally out of his asshole. Sam felt the peg pull out some of his hole's lining, the prolapse squeezed in between his asscheeks. He suddenly hung free again on the cross, his body weight shifting back fully to the nails in his wrists and he cried out as agony flooded back and almost blinded him. Screaming he flexed his thighs to take some of his weight off the nails grinding against wrist bones, but only succeeded in redoubling his pain as the nails in his heel bones flamed with new agony. After being robbed of the support of the sedile, it was as if he had been crucified anew, pain and despair magnifying with every passing second as he resumed the involuntary dance of a young man nailed naked to his cross. He barely noticed the sting as Caius smeared some sticky paste onto the raw flesh of his skinned cock and onto his balls, but the sight of Marcellus passing a burning torch to the other executioner pierced even the veil of agony he was in. There was no doubt as to what was about to happen.

"NO! NO! PLEASE! AAH! DON'T! PLEASE!" Sam was shouting, begging, pleading, but the excitement and malice gleaming in Caius' eyes left no sliver of hope that Sam would be spared the brutal pain and humiliation his executioner was about to inflict on him. Desperate to escape the torch as Caius extended his arm and brought it between Sam's thighs, Sam stood up on the cross, ignoring the pain flashing through him as he did so, but there was only so much space he could gain. Caius pushed the blazing torch into Sam's crotch, pressed it hard against the mutilated cock and balls. The fluid they were coated in caught fire immediately. There was a fraction of a second where Sam just looked down at his junk, watching horrified as fire enveloped it.

Then the pain set in. It was hard to believe, but the pain was worse than anything he had felt until now during his crucifixion. It was abject, monstrous, all-encompassing. Sam threw back his head and roared, roared in agony as hard as he was able, his mouth open, his neck muscles bulging, his back and ass arching away from the upright, he stood on his cross, effectively exposing his burning cock and balls to the leering eyes of the men watching him. Sweat and blood sprayed in all directions as pure instinct took over and Sam bucked screaming on the cross, twisting and jerking against the nails keeping him in his place of pain. Men around him were cheering and hooting, celebrating and enjoying as they watched the brutal and merciless destruction of Sam's manhood.

Sam howled, his cries of pain increasing in volume as the seconds dragged on, their pitch climbing ever higher, as the flames did their cruel work on him. Sam twisted this way, then that, pulled on his arms and pushed with his legs, shifting frantically on the cross, adding both to his pain and his humiliation and to the spectacle of his execution. 

When Sam wasn't screaming, he was roaring. When he wasn't roaring, he was howling. His throat was bloody from screaming and he tasted iron in his mouth. He was being turned into a eunuch as several dozen men watched. No, less than a eunuch. He was a slave who had forfeited his life. He was being turned into nothing, he was being destroyed, he was being put to death. His cock and balls were of no use anymore to his masters, to his guards or even to the spectators. So the executioners parted him from them in the most brutal and humiliating way they could devise.

Unable to control himself, Sam stood again on the cross, helpless to get away from the pain, unable to get away from the fire burning him. Desperate to quench the flames, to do anything about what was happening to him, Sam tried to squeeze his thighs together, but with his feet nailed to opposing sides of the upright, he couldn't even manage that, succeeding only on badly singing the skin on his inner thighs. His hips jerked backwards and forwards while he uselessly tried to bring his legs together, but he barely heard the laughter and insults this action elicited from the onlookers. 

Unbelievably the pain continued to grow as time ticked by, passing all agonies he had experienced up until this point and his screams turned into guttural shrieks, unnatural, deafening sounds of a young man being mercilessly tortured to death. And even those shrieks increased as Sam felt the fire finally burn through his ballsack and his testicles dropped out with a pop.

He thrashed and bucked for another few horrible, painful minutes that seemed to stretch endlessly as the fire finally began to peter out, having burnt through the paste his executioner had used and through remaining skin and meat.

When he finally hung again from the cross he was reduced to a blubbering, sobbing mess. He didn't know how long it took his eyes to focus again and when they did he wished for blindness. He was looking down at himself, looking down at his scorched crotch, at the burnt out husk of what had once been his cock and balls. Precious little but bloodied, blackened skin flaps remained. What was left of his cock looked like nothing more than a small sausage which had been left too long in the fire. Almost nothing was left of his balls, the emptied sack having almost entirely been consumed by the fire, his testicles, which must've dropped out when the heat made his balls pop, nowhere to be seen.

He had ceased to be a man.

Sam cried out again, this time in utter despair. Despair at his final humiliation.

"No! No! Gods... help... help me..."

"Nah, boy. No god's gonna help some rotten slave. You insulted the whole lot of them when you ran away, after all. But..." The executioner looked at Sam as if considering something. Sam, panting, still crying, was barely able to raise his head to look pleadingly at the man who was master of his life, death and suffering.

"Marcellus!" Caius called out suddenly. "Bring the stake!"

"No, no, no! Dominus! PLEASE!" There was no pretense of defiance left in Sam's sobbing voice as he begged Caius for mercy and watched the dark-skinned guard approach with the roughly-hewn stake he had seen already that first night. He pleaded for mercy in unthinking reflex, he knew already that they's spare him neither pain nor shame even now.

"Impale him, Marcellus. No need to take any extra care, but I want him alive 'til evening, understood?"

"Sure thing, boss." Marcellus nodded then turned to Sam, grin on his lips and stake in hand. He took the stake and leaned it against Sam's front, against his chest, as if measuring its height. The blunted tip of the wooden pole almost reached to Sam's Adam's apple as he hung on his cross. With a satisfied grunt, Marcellus put the stake to the side and began to dig a narrow hole just in front of the cross' upright, below Sam's hanging torso. Again Marcellus leaned the stake against Sam, but this time the pole only reached just below his sternum. Its base must've been sunk into the hole Marcellus had dug.

"Right!" He grinned up at Sam as he pulled back the stake and angled it forward against the upright, the raw wood of its tip already brushing against Sam's asscheeks. "This might hurt a little, slave!"

Sam cried out as Marcellus used one hand to guide the stake's sharpened tip to his already violated asshole and then pushed the lower end of the stake towards the cross' upright, which caused the tip to push upward and into Sam. Sam hissed and grimaced in pain as he felt the raw wood shove roughly into his ass. The tip broadened quickly and Sam felt his hole stretch beyond its limits. He cried out as another flash of pain ran through him and he pulled on his arms to stand up on the cross and get away from the stake. But he could only raise himself one or two foot on the cross. The stake however rose further, mercilessly pushing him upwards beyond where Sam could pull himself up on the cross and even as it did so it pushed deeper into him. Sam yelled and screamed as he was lifted by the stake impaling him, as the raw wood of the beam penetrating him shredded his asshole and his legs extended as far as his nailed feet allowed until the base of the stake must've slipped into the hole Marcellus had made in front of the upright and suddenly dropped down a foot. Sam cried out yet again as gravity forced his body to follow the stake and he slammed down on it. It took minutes for Sam's howl of pain to morph into a despairing moan as he was obscenely propped up by it on the cross, arms still level with the crossbeam. 

Gasping and panting, Sam looked down at himself, his gut clenching as he saw the crude stake between his legs, extending to the base of the upright. It was simply placed into the hole there and for a brief moment Sam wondered whether one of his executioners would still fill that in to fix it there, but then realized that this wasn't needed. Nailed in place as he was, Sam couldn't move horizontally, so with the stake about half a foot in the hole and about another foot in Sam's guts, Sam wasn't able to tip the wooden pole over. Even just wedged in, Sam wouldn't be able to free himself of this new instrument of torture.

Sam yelled out again, as he felt a sharp pang in his insides and a flash of pain ran through his groin. Panicked, he realized that he was beginning to slowly slide downwards, even if only by fractions of an inch. Something in him must've given way to the sharpened wooden tip of the stake, reducing the friction of raw wood against his insides enough to allow gravity to pull him down. Sam started to scream in earnest again now, as he began to slowly slide downwards and felt the stake penetrate him deeper and deeper, his guts being pushed aside or tearing as he was being brutally impaled. Again and again he flexed his biceps or pushed with his legs and stopped the descent for seconds, sometimes even minutes at a time, but his muscles were spent, spasming and cramping and he was only delaying the inevitable. He was howling and roaring open-mouthed into the sky above, as he sunk down on the stake.

It took a long time for his arms to fully extend, an hour or more until the stake was fully inside him, probably by about two feet and Sam hung his head, feeling the thick wood inside him push this way and that as his rump swayed minutely on the cross. Blood was coating the insides of his thighs and trickling down his calves until it dripped from the toes of his feet and stained the ground below him.

His mouth opening and closing again and again as he struggled for breath, Sam tilted his head back. His whole body shuddered with shock and pain at being brutally impaled. He had been stripped naked, flogged, scourged, marched to the cross. They had nailed him stark naked to the wood, to dance exposed before any men who wanted to ogle him. His executioners had raped him, tortured him, forced him to fuck and abase himself. They had skinned his cock, castrated and unmanned him by burning the rest. They were putting him to death, had done everything in their power to break, shame and torture him. Ramming a fat, thick wooden stake up his ass was yet another way of fucking Sam of emasculating him.

It had to end. He needed it to end. Now!

"Kill... KILL ME!" Sam shouted. "PLEASE! ANYBODY!" Sam drew a deep breath. "PLEASE KILL ME! KILL ME! I... I BEG YOU!"

He heard Caius' familiar chuckle, low and malicious. "You want to die, slave?"

"Please... Dominus!" Sam tried his best puppy dog eyes, pleading, all pretenses of dignity cast to the wind. "I... I did all that you asked. Please..."

"Well, there's no guarantees... but I guess, if we left you alone... stake in your ass is gonna make it hard for you to come up for air, but... I'd wager you'd still last 'til tomorrow morning up there."

"No, no, no! Please... Dominus!"

"Well, if you want to die before then... that might be arranged. But you'd have to beg."

"Please Dominus! I'm begging you!"

"Do you really mean that, slave? I'm not gonna stop even if you change your mind, you understand that?"

Sam nodded as emphatically as he was still able, looking at Caius. "Yes, Dominus... yes!"

"And you understand that I am going to put you to death in whichever way I please? And that it may be quicker than just suffocating on your cross, but that it'll probably be even more painful? You get that, boy? You still want me to kill you?"

Sam didn't really think, didn't really consider what his executioner said, he just wanted this to be over, he needed this to be over, now! He gasped in pain as his torso shifted and the stake stirred in his guts, but he managed to answer. "Yes, Dominus! YES! PLEASE!"

"You heard the slave, men! He wants it, so let's get to it! Don't let anyone claim the condemned don't get good service here!" Snickers rang around the gaggle of spectators surrounding them. Caius looked back towards the tree where the other executioners were lounging about and whistled. Marcellus walked over to them.

"Get me the brushwood and the pitch, Marcellus. A few ropes too."

"Already, chief?" The dark-skinned man seemed confused, as he looked Sam up and down. "He'll keep for a few more hours, surely?"

"Yeah, but I'm feeling generous. And, hey, he begged for it nicely."

"He did?" Marcellus eyebrows rose, before the expression on his face faded into a smirk. "Oh. You didn't tell him..."

Caius just chuckled and shook his head. "Now, go fetch my stuff."

The soldier turned back to Sam while Marcellus jogged back to the tree where Andros seemed to be assembling something. Sam couldn't help the pained whimpering noises he was making, his pleading eyes finding Caius again who stood in front of the cross, arms crossed and scrutinizing him. Sam was wheezing, breathing was becoming harder, he needed to come up for air, but he wouldn't be able to stand up on the cross with the stake buried this deep inside him. He tried it once, out of sheer desperation, but the friction of raw wood made it impossible to lift himself, to slide up on the stake. Without the mercy-killing Caius had just promised him, he'd suffocate slowly over the next few hours, he knew as much. "Thank..." he swallowed, but he had to. "Thank, you... Dominus."

Caius laughed. "Oh! You will thank me, alright!"

Sam hung his head again, he was beginning to feel dazed from the loss of blood, pain and not least because of sheer exhaustion. He was finally coming to the end of his rope and he knew it. They would probably break his legs now, make him slide further down the stake. It would pierce his lungs, kill him. He was shaken from his delirium when he suddenly felt something brush against his legs, Marcellus tying something to it.

Sam's mind was slowing, so it took him a full minute to understand. Marcellus was tying bundles of brushwood, dripping with pitch to each of Sam's calves. Why was he doing that? He could just use a mallet to break Sam's thigh bones. Why would he...?

Sam's eyes widened as he looked at Caius again. The soldier stood before Sam, a burning torch in one hand. The gears suddenly clicked in place, and Sam screamed.

"NonononoNONONO! PLEASE DOMINUS! NO! THAT'S NOT..."

"No backsies, slave! We talked about this." Caius chided. He took a step closer, the torch lowering towards one of the bundles of brushwood. "You're going to scream for me one last time now, slave. I want to hear you roar in pain as I burn you alive!"

With that he touched the torch to the brushwood and stepped back again. And Sam fulfilled his executioner's   wish one last time, bucking and thrashing on the cross he was nailed to, the stake shredding his insides as in his desperation to escape the fire burning him, he danced on it. Howling at the top of his lungs until his voice failed.

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CODA

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Caius watched the slave scream himself senseless one last time while the fire burned the man's calves and thighs. The spectacle took no more than a quarter of an hour, but the image of the young muscular buck roaring in agony and dancing one last final time on his cross would certainly be a staple of Caius' fantasies for months to come. He enjoyed his work, he really did, and rarely did he have this kind of material to work with on the cross. He studied his victim, enjoying the bulging muscles, flexing neck, the horrified, agonized screams as the blazing bundles of brushwood tied to each leg burned and roasted the slave's calves and thighs. Flames licked along the strong legs and flickered around the slave's ass and crotch, his lungs rewarding the spectators with shrieks of a deafening volume.

The slave broke then, finally. Every crucified slave broke at some point, some earlier than others. And Caius did not mean being momentarily driven insane by the pain - that happened to all men when they were being nailed down and felt the true agony of the cross for the first time. But there came a point when their sanity finally took leave, when a slave turned into nothing more than a suffering piece of meat on the cross. Maybe not quite dead yet, but losing reason permanently, unable to process anything but the pain ge was in. This buck had been able to hold on to his rational mind longer than most, still able to plead and beg, but Caius saw it happen now as the fire ate at the slave and burned skin from legs and ass. The pleading look fading into the animalistic agony of a dumb beast.

The fire did not burn long enough to reduce the man or even just his legs to ashes, of course, far from it. But it lasted long enough to cook the muscles in his legs through and reduce them to uselessness. With the ropes burnt, the remains of brushwood fell away, leaving just the quivering, crucified husk.

He was still pretty enough, if you ignored the mess his body had become below the navel.

The slave's breathing was shallow, irregular now. Unable to lift or even readjust himself on the cross, his body shutting down after the shock of being burnt, he would expire within half an hour.

Caius was quite satisfied with the spectacle the buck had provided, but there was one last thing he wanted to do.

"Marcellus! Hold his head still." The other guard did as told, stepping foreward to grab the dying slave by chin and forehead to prevent him from moving his head.

The slave's eyelids fluttered open to reveal unfocused, pain-filled eyes looking hopelessly and uncomprehendingly at Caius. Caius rummaged through one of the leather pouches on his belt to produce a smaller nail from it and unhooked the mallet. "I don't think the ferryman takes crucified slaves, but I want to make sure you can't even find him." With that, he aimed the nail at the slave's left eye, Marcellus now using one hand to keep it open. Caius pushed the nail into they eyeball until he felt resistance, a garbled cry and a full-body twitch all the resistance this generated. With one, two taps of the mallet he secured the nail piercing the eyeball in the buck's eyesocket, the man's torso jerking again as he moaned in pain. Caius repeated the process on the other eye, permanently blinding his victim.

The slave was making whimpering moans of pain as both Caius and Marcellus stepped back to admire their handiwork. As he looked at the blinded young man moan pitifully and feebly try to to move on the cross, his muscles and body failing, Caius considered the boy's dire fate. It was certainly a cruel one, to be executed at that age and in this public and brutal manner. But, in Caius mind, disobedient slaves certainly did not deserve any better and at least in this way, the buck had served both his masters and the public one last time.

It took another handful of minutes until the pained moans finally stopped, one last shuddering breath and then stillness announcing the end of the execution. They'd leave the corpse on display until it rotted out and fell off. Whatever remained they'd throw onto one of the bone heaps here, to be carried off or devoured by vermin and scavengers.

Caius grinned. He couldn't wait for the next slave to crucify.