Warrior of The Chevaan

Conine

"Cruci fied fucked"

One of the men came over carrying the bucket of nails and the large, well used wooden mallet. Conine struggled afresh and men strained to hold her in place. When he was standing over her, the men holding her arms moved suddenly, hauling Conine off her back just enough for another soldier to shove the wooden beam she had been lashed to back under her. Then the men slammed the Celtic woman back down hard, jarring her shoulder blades against the timber as they planted her arms along the length of the beam on either side. The men holding her legs grunted as she tried to use those long limbs to get leverage to push up with.

'Right,' said the centurion. 'There are only six of us, and it seems our guest is feeling uppity again.' He rubbed his chin. 'Hmmm.'

'We could rape her a bit, sir,' one of the men holding her arms offered. Conine stared heavenward and closed her eyes. 'That might take some of the fight out of her.'

'Good idea, Rufio; but we don't want her worn out when the real fun starts. I've another suggestion.'

'You, boy,' the centurion barked at the man holding the bucket and mallet. 'What's your name?'

'Quintus, sir,' said the young soldier, coming to attention fro his open mouthed appraisal of the woman on the ground. He was younger than any other in the detail, about twenty years old with a fresh, unscarred face with high cheekbones and a strong chin. Stripped to the waist his body was well muscled but leaner than the bulkier frames of his fellows. His hair beneath his helm showed curly black and his eyes were deep brown.

'Ever seen a woman like this up close, Quintus?' asked the centurion.

'Only in the pens in the keep, sir,' answered the boy. 'My family could not afford slaves back outside Capernaum – that's one reason I joined the legions, sir, to see the world outside Italy.'

'Well, you'll see some interesting parts of it today,' guffawed the centurion. 'Now see here, lad – we need to keep this murderess of Roman men pinned while we get her spiked down. Reckon you're up to it alone?'

'Alone?' said the youth. 'I'm not the strongest here, sir…but if you order it, of course.'

'Good lad!' said the older man, slapping his back. 'Put those down and kneel down over the prisoner, legs astride her hips.'

A little uncertainly the youth did as he was told, settling down so that her squatted over the Celtic woman, legs either side of her narrow waist, the lower curve of his buttocks resting on her quadriceps, which he could feel squirming like two pythons as she struggled with her legs. He looked down at the prisoner, who glared back at him but remained tight lipped. The young soldier hands twitched a little as he watched the woman's spectacular breasts rise and fall but he kept his hands by his side, waiting for orders.

From below Conine looked up at the young troopers face staring down at her with a young man's frank lust, a sight she had seen many a time in the villages as she walked past in her armour but never before had experienced as a helpless victim. In her twenty six years she had often had to gently rebuke the young men of her kin for their unintended insult to her warrior pride, though some she had actually warmed to later and condescended to take into her bed, instructing them in the art of love and in return enjoying their youthful passion and fire. The helmeted stripling straddling her could have been any of those with his handsome looks, but instead of her deciding on his sexual fate she was the method of his education; not in love, but in rape and torture. She struggled afresh, trying to lever him off, but in vain, and the men chuckled anew. This was another aspect of her humiliation, she understood – she was to used like a broken mare to give experience to this dry mouthed young Roman, his first taste in sexually violating a free woman. Conine could see the eagerness mixed with nervousness in his brown eyes and knew the soldier sting on her would blanch form no order the centurion gave. He saw her with a little humanity as he would a deer in trap – a trophy to be had.

'Now Quintus,' said the centurion. Strip of your garb. Don't be ashamed. Show this proud young harlot what she has to look forward to.'

Quintus nodded and complied, removing the lower part of his tunic a little awkwardly, then unwrapping the loincloth beneath. All the while he kept his eyes fixed on Conine's, who returned his uncertain look with one of contempt.

Finally the loin cloth came free and Quintus member literally sprang loose, forged by the sight and feel of the woman under him into a shaft just over six inches in length and impressively erect, rearing a better than 60 degrees from his body. Below the pink shaft, pulsing with energy and of a not inconsiderable girth, the youth's balls hung down with a covering of soft brown hair. His pubis, like his tight, well defined chest was bald and smooth.

'Quintus has been touched by Bacchus,' laughed one of the men holding Conine's arms, and the others joined him in mirth. Quintus looked a little uncertain having his member examined by his fellows, but the centurion squeezed his shoulder. 'No secrets among brothers, Quintus. These eunuchs do but envy your pilum there. Now listen carefully, young stallion. Get yourself ready at the entrance to this Celtic whore's crevice, and balance yourself over her with your arms.'

With eager haste Quintus responded, wiggling around with his hips as his young cock-head sought the meeting of Conine's nether lips while she squirmed indignantly, trying to stymie him. She could see him staring down the length of his body at the space between her legs as he jockeyed for the right spot, and the men holding her legs pulled them wider to help him, straining against the might of the warrior woman's formidable thighs. Finally he announced that he could feel his prick nuzzling against the entrance to her outer temple, a fact Conine could feel for herself. His knob was moist with the excitement of having her against her will and she could feel him trembling with anticipation. She tried to keep her breathing even and to fight down the churning emotions within her with the discipline of her training.

Satisfied with his prodigy's progress, the centurion had Quintus take hold of Conine's arms just above the elbows, using the weight and strength of his upper body to keep her forced down against the wood, while still hovering outside her essence. The men on her arms eased their grips a little, and straight away the young man atop the prisoner had to exert more force to old her down.

'That's it Quintus, one called,' as his hands grasped the iron like swell of her biceps. Her back arched up a little to try and throw him off as both prisoner and soldier began to seat with their efforts.

'Now, young Quintus,' called the centurion hoarsely. 'Start to push into her.'

Quintus sough to obey with an awkward job that skewed off Conine's tight clenched entry. He cursed and repositioned himself, trying again.

On the ground Conine fought with increasing desperation to keep the young man outside of her body. With each attempt she could feel him pushing a little deeper and she closed her eyes as she concentrated on fighting with all her strength. The youth looming over her sickened her with his vulgar excitement, his handsome face and body yet another mockery of her as he proceeded to violate her, to use her against her will. She pursed her lips and groaned as she fought, heaving and shaking but unable to overcome the strength of all the men holding her. They would have her, but not without a fight.

Quintus gave a little shout as at last he felt his prick penetrate the outer gates, and he pushed harder to make his foothold certain. He was breathing hard and fast and his face was flushed with excitement – he had had women before, some very beautiful, but he had never experienced the thrill of having such a magnificent piece of female flesh against the will of its owner. He felt powerful, invincible. The look of anger twisting the face below that midnight back fringe fired his blood, and he smiled from ear to ear, egged on by his companions.

'Good, good, now hold her Quintus, don't breach the temple yet.' With a quick order he had one of the men helping with the prisoners arms grab the mallet and a nail while the youth kept her pinned. 'Now boy, in you go.'

Lacking sophistication of any king the youth surged forward, gasping a little as the resistance of Conine's dry tunnel pushed back against his cock shaft. Conine felt him making headway and snarled like a trapped beast, struggling mightily but only slowing the process. Quintus pushed a gain, pulled back, pushed forward. Each time he sank a little deeper. With a few thrusts he was halfway into Conine, his face a sheen of perspiration while she groaned and strained with every muscle of her young form, lifting her head to stare down at his penis pushing into her and trying everything in her feminine power to resist.

'Hold there, my lad,' said the centurion when his pupil was three quarter embedded. The leader knew that the struggle had taken something out of the prisoner, and that the young soldier's weight and position were pinning her upper body now while her legs were held fast. 'Now, Polinus.' He said

Conine glanced to her left and saw the man there had let go her forearm to position one of the steel spikes just at her wrist, the other hand raising the mallet into position. His knee had moved to help pin her arm at the elbow beside Quintus grasping fingers, now deeply embedded in her flesh despite the hardened muscle beneath. She could se him raising the mallet; fee the steel tip against her skin at the gap in the arm greave. Goddess give me courage , she thought desperately, closing her eyes.

With a sweep the mallet arced over the mans head and came down with a dull thud against the head of the spike.

Instantly the metal pierced the soft flesh, rupturing the skin in a small shower of crimson blood and pushing though to the far side of the arm limb, where it was stopped by the wood of the beam. Small bones splintered as it force its passage and stopped with a shock.

'NNNNNeeeaaaaarrrrrrhhhhh!' grunted Conine, a sound of pain beyond any she had uttered on the battle field. Her young body spasmed and she reared against the wood, fighting for freedom from the pain and finding none. Quintus gasped again as the force of her writhing pushed her against him, burying herself deeper on his own spike as she sought to twist free of the other.

'Great Jupiter!' exclaimed the lad, and the centurion laughed. He had never felt a woman's pussy wrapped about him with the same fire as that of the Celtic prisoner, and he could feel her breasts mashed against him as she struggled. He watched Polonius swing again and smiled.

THWAK!

'AAAAAARRRRRRHHH!' came Conine's scream, a loud, bestial explosion. The metal had pierced her wrist entire now and was pushing into the wood. The pain was beyond description – her whole body seemed to be drawn into the acid fire in her forearm, where her body was being mutilated by her captors. She thrashed about, the men having to wrestle with her strength now doubled by the extremity of her pain. Tears flowed freely. She fought for breath.

THWACK!

'AAAAAIIIIIEEEarrrrrr!'

THWACK!

'YeeEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH….goddess…goddess…aaaa…'

THWACK!

AAAAAaaaaAAAAARRRRHHHHHHHHEEEEEAaaaaa….huh...huhh…'

On the last strike a new cry had mingled with Conine's that of the young man diligently raping her as she was nailed to the wood. Feeling the pain twisting every muscle in the young Amazon's body clenching his rock hard shaft, the young Roman could no longer control his body and felt his seed thunder into the prisoner. He pumped powerfully, shooting his load deep inside her athletic body as their abdomens smashed together, feeling the iron tightness of her flat abdomen squirming deliciously against his own abs, and those huge impossibly firm tits with their bright red crowns hammering against his chest as she sucked air into her lungs to scream.

With the nail firmly in place the man with the mallet cast it and a fresh spike over to his friend on the other side, while he began to warp fresh rope around Conine's forearm to help hold it flat against the wood, for strong captives had been known to thrash strongly enough to shatter their arms while being nailed, and the soldier wanted this victim to last a long time. Quintis, meanwhile, remained at his post with his now flagging member still deep inside his victim, drawing breath and smiling. He looked down at the prisoners sweat soaked face with those enticing, pain filled eyes and smiled. 'I hope that wasn't too bad?' he said quietly to the amusement of the other soldiers.

Conine blinked to clear her eyes, fighting hard to focus. She could feel the second nail being moved into position and she swallowed. Staring up at the youth resting on her expansive chest she muttered scornfully, 'I'm… sorry. Are you…in…yet?'

The men actually paused in their work, and Quintus looked down at the Celt as if she had just defamed his parentage on the floor of the Senate. One of the soldiers made a face to reflect the young mans embarrassment, smiling and getting some guffaws from the rest of the detail. Even the centurion had to wipe his mouth to hide a sudden flash mirth – she was a rare hellcat, this one.

Quintus, after a heartbeat of looking down at her id horror, grew livid, his face darkening with the kind of rage reserved for young men who, sure of their glory who suddenly find the woman of their desire has loftier standards.

'You filthy Celtic whore – we'll see how many times you can scream before you die!' He turned his head to face the men ready with the second nail, who quickly his their amusement. 'Pound that spike into the bitch – I want to feel her screaming like a stuck pig again!'

The men looked at their centurion, who had taken of his helm to wipe his face; the day was growing hot early. He sympathised with the young rapist, and decided to let go the matter of military etiquette this time. 'You heard the man,' he said to the soldier waiting for his order. 'Have to!'

The men complied, and again the hammer came down with the dull crunch of wood on metal. Conine twisted on the ground like a writhing beast, all her muscles flexing beneath the tight tanned skin, and her head was cast back so that her she faced backwards, neck barred to the blue sky. Sound of wordless agony came form her throat, but she held back her cry behind gritted teeth.

At the same time as the hammer struck Quintus drove forward again, his half-soft member beginning to stiffen again with the combination of youthful stamina and the unequalled situation – and woman - in which he found himself. By the time he felt the shock of the second blow coursing through the barbarian goddess underneath him he was almost fully hard again, and he began to fuck the tortured woman with enthusiasm born of revenge.

At the third blow Conine again screamed, despite all her efforts, a piercing cry that echoed in the air until it was followed by another as the nail was driven further into the heavy wood, it's broadening girth battering though flesh and bone and sinew while she convulsed in pain. Quintus rode that pain, drinking in the feel of her body as it shook and contorted against his won in a perverse mockery of lovemaking. In his young mind her thrashing was due to the power of his mighty phallus rampaging between her leg, her cries those of mingles agony and ecstasy as he plundered her innermost womanhood, granting her most secret wish. He could feel every twitch of that powerfully sculpted body as her legs twisted, hips undulated, and chest heaved and shook against him. With a grunt he came again, his pumping rhythm jerking his cock free mid thrust and spattering the Celt's rippling belly with his seed as he shook he head to clear it and the anger and excitement began to fade from his brown eyes.

'Well done lad,' called the centurion, grasping him by the shoulder and helping him up off the Amazon warrior now nailed firmly though both wrists to the crossbar. Time you rested a bit – take yourself down to the stream near the gates and clean off a bit – wipe that noble Roman siege engine of yours free of heathen fluids, and fill our skins while your there.

Quintis nodded, the enormity of his action slowly beginning to days in his young mind as she puled on his lower tunic. He looked down at the woman on the ground; the most beautiful he had ever seen, now pinned by steel spike through both arms, blood oozing form the sounds and her eyes closed against the horror of her situation. He had wanted something from her, something beside the use of her body, but what. Submission? Respect? It seemed absurd. She was an enemy of Rome, and he needed nothing form her, except her surrender or her death. So why was he suddenly troubled?

'Good job, Quintus,' said Polinus, the soldier with the hammer, and the others echoed he praise. 'I hope you didn't fill her up yet – the gods of lust owe me a few blessings before the days out.'

Quintis laughed at the older man's gentle teasing and took up the water skins. Slinging them across his shoulder he gave one last glance at the woman slowly recovering on the ground, then headed back down the hill.

The centurion watched the young man depart, and then turned back to his charge. The men on Conine's legs had been busy hammering a series of wooding spikes into the ground either side of her spread legs, and now were lashing those booted ankles to them. The other men meanwhile used wooden wedges to brace the crossbar init position of the ground sop that it could move no more than a few inches either forward or back.

He wandered over to look down at how the prisoner was faring. Her skin was grimed with sweat and dirt, and her chest rose up and down magnificently as she dragged air into her lovely lungs. Her arms and shoulder muscles stood out rigidly as they were wracked by the pain shooting up from the nail wounds, accentuate , he knew, by the vibration of the wood as the wedges were put in place. Any vibration of movement would be enough to send fresh messages of agony from those punctures; a fact she would rapidly come to appreciate. Her face wore a mask of pain that she tried, and almost succeeded, in hiding, but those large exotic blue eyes could not conceal the hurt they were doing to her.

'Comfortable?' he asked innocently, and she gave no reply. 'No? And her I heard Amazon's liked piercings?'

The men laughed. Conine tried to swallow and watched them through half lidded eyes, her lashes fluttering. The pain of the wounds was terrible, a continuous burning throb that promised to grow worse, not better. She had no need to ask why the men had tied her spread legs to the spikes near her feet.

'Ah, youth,' chuckled the Centurion, then squatted down to address his prisoner. Conine's raven hair was dishevelled from the twisting and turning as the nails were being hammered in and he reached over and brushed a strand from her cheek, causing her to twitch away with a hiss. 'My thanks for helping with the boy's education. In return, we will begin your own instruction, my proud warrior. You probably thought we'd leave the pleasure of having you until you were properly hoisted up – usually we would, but you obviously strong enough for some sport beforehand, so no need to keep good men waiting.'

'I see no good men,' snarled Conine, her throat somewhat hoarse from thirst and screaming. 'Only Roman vermin who are so limp from sucking each other that they can only bed a women when she is tied and beaten.'

The Centurion lashed out unexpectedly, backhanding Conine so that her head snapped to the side and she tasted blood in the corner of her mouth. 'That's for foolishness girl,' he said grimly. 'You should know that I could butt-fuck every man standing her and still have some left over for your little Celtic asshole. ' The men laughed appreciatively. Conine brought her head back around slowly, keeping her eyes on the man nest to her. She rolled her tongue in her mouth where it was numb form his blow and spat some bloodstained saliva onto the ground beside her.

'That's better,' said the Centurion. 'Since your such a big, strong, feisty bitch we're going to have some fun with you now, then some more when we finished nailing you up. I, of course, intend to fuck you both ways.'

He reached down between Conine's legs and wiped her pubic mound with a coarse piece of dirty cloth, cleaning away some of Quintus cum that had spattered her love crack. Conine managed not to wince at the feel of the rough cloth on her oil-tender and now freshly raped womanhood. When he was satisfied, the over man reached down underneath his leather greaves around his waste and tugged loose his loin cloth, laying it on the ground beside the prisoner as she moved to sit astride her. She could feel his erection on her belly and closed her eyes, seeking calm. It seemed the Roman's desire to dehumanise her would never end.

With his breastplate still on the leader levered himself up as Quintis had done and moved his phallus into position. Her channel was more accessible now, and the Centurion considerably more skilled than the young legionary at finding his target. It took the older man only o few experimental jabs with his pelvis to lodge his prick between Conine outer lips, then he eased forward, sliding himself inside.

'Yes!' he exclaimed softly, 'a fine fit for a Roman sword, me, even if the scabbard is Barbarian make. She's as hot as the sands of Libya inside. Or should I say labia, eh, pretty.' He smiled down with grim affection as he eased a little further inside her and Conine gasped, finding herself trying to hold her breath. The Roman was big, and his armour made him heavy. His hips pushed against her inner thighs and forced them a little wider as she rocked atop her. Soon he had built to a steady rhythm that his men could clap to.

Below the rutting Centurion Conine was forced by his thrusting hips to move jerkily to the beat of his movements, her breasts bounding softly as she was pushed up and back over and over. The motion sent fresh waves of pain though he spiked forearms as the metal nails ground within her wounds, and she bit her lip and felt more tears coming. She tried to use the pain to keep her anger strong and bright, but she was tiring now, even her remarkable stamina waning under days of running, whipping, stretching and repeated sexual assault. The young Warrior woman felt her control slipping, and try as she might she seemed powerless to prevent it. She deduced that his is how her sisters on the cross before must have felt, as their pride was chipped sadistically away by humiliation, by violation of their bodies, and by slow, merciless pain. Death would be welcome when it came for her, but that would not be for some time, days perhaps, unless she lowered herself to beg for the mercy of the animals who now owned her body.

My body, yes, but not my soul. I am still a Chevaan, and Amazon, a warrior. If I must die, I can still die with my pride. The thoughts gave her new strength, but in the back of her mind she wondered bleakly if that would always be the case, if sometime during her suffering, the pain would be too much, the way of release to easy. She batted her eyes against the tears – she had never thought thus before, and knew it was a sign of something inside that was slowly breaking under the Roman cruelty.

The Centurion could sense the change as well, keen eyed for the signs that would betray his prisoners final surrender. Her eyes were less proud now, the set of her chin less haughty. Taking his cue he moved, sitting up and using his hands to reach under and cup her strong flanks, kneading the hard muscles with his fingers. With deft precision he kept himself inside her while he hauled up her ass, sliding his legs under her so that as he knelt on the ground she was sifted slightly to rest on his knees and quads. Her torso angled up off the ground while her legs were pulled tight against the ropes. Her upper back still rested in the dirt, her breasts made slightly rounder as the effect of gravity and the incline of her body pushed them back up towards her shoulders, making them seem even fuller.

With her body settle the Centurion began to fuck in earnest, using now not just the pushing of his pelvis but also his strong arms to move her on his shaft. Setting his hands just below her deliciously narrow waist he rocked her back and forth on his gorged member, and thrilled to the groans from her lips as his efforts increased the pain felt in her pierced wrists. He wet his lips and quickened the tempo, their pubis' slapping loudly together and her whole wonderful form shining with sweat, a statue to the gods of sex etched in living bronze, hard and hot and marvellous. He set one of his broad hand o her belly, rubbing it, feeling its smooth tightness, the spectacular abdominals undulating in unwanted response to his cock-thrusts.

The rapist moved his hand to cup one of those breasts, those miraculous, divinely crafted breasts, firm yet pliant, the best he had ever felt. He squeezed harder, pinching the nipple, twisting it, hearing her choke as he hurt her. He wanted to hurt her – he enjoyed making her hurt. He liked that her pussy would be raw, that his cock would be source of pain, not pleasure. Her pain was his pleasure. He hated this bitch, and he loved that he hated her, because it meant he could do anything to her – there were no limits. He would destroy her for his pleasure, but slowly, slowly…and with as much pain as he could.

Conine's pain was indeed terrible, pain that wracked her soul as well as her body. With her hips elevated blood rushed down to her head, and it ached. Much worse, her inclined position made the strain on her arms, and especially her skewered wrists, an agony she could not escape, and she flexed the muscles in her upper body to try and steady herself against the jarring movement of the rape. Her back hurt, but she had no power left in her limbs to resist, only to endure. She kept her eyes closed against the sight of the legionaries looming over her, looking down at her while their leader worked his fleshy tool in and out of her.

Small whimpers broke form her drying lips and she made herself stop. They will not hear me weeping! They will not! She rolled her head to the side and forced herself to look down the length of her muscular arm, to wear she could see the steel nail driven into her flesh. She felt the pain of it and concentrated on that pain. They were breaking her body, but not her heart. They were hurting her, raping her, but all on the outside. Pain hammered at her, but she drank it in, trying not to choke on it. She wanted the pain to stop, but on her terms, not theirs never theirs. She could endure anything they did to her, she wanted to be strong – but what she wanted most was for it to stop.

When the Centurion came it was quickly and suddenly, giving a great yell and jerking her savagely onto his phallus, making sure every drop of his Roman seed gushed into her womb. The girl under him gave her own little cry as his rough handling made her wrists bleed afresh, and he showed his appreciation for her effort by slapping her soundly o her sculpted arse. With a grunt he pushed himself back out of her and stood up, adjusting his helm and smoothing down his uniform.

Conine lay prone on the ground, not moving until one of the other soldiers, the next in command, moved to take his superiors place. His dick was hard form watching the two previous rapes and he had no trouble getting inside the helpless beauty's ravaged quim. Quintus cam labouring back up the hill and passed the Centurion a water skin. The Centurion took a swig and smiled at the young man. Quintus smiled back.

On the ground behind them the raping continued. When one man finished in her, Conine felt another start. He arms hurt. He head hurt. Her pussy hurt. She bit her lip and tasted blood. She could endure the hurt. They mauled her breasts, twisted them, bit them. Their teeth drew blood sometimes. The space between her legs was like a fiery wound – like they were scorching her with the oil again, but endlessly, endlessly.

She squirmed and she suffered. They laughed, and she tried to close out the noise. More time, more bodies, pounding her, in and out, over an over. All she could do was endure.

She felt a splash of water cleaning her pubis, then a man's tongue. She felt sick. His teeth bit one of her lips, and she groaned and ground her own teeth. Filthy. When he tired of her taste she felt his cock go into her. He wasn't the last.

She endured. She had to. She could do nothing to make them stop.

But she wanted it to stop. Wanted it so badly.

It was what she wanted that kept the tears flowing from those shining blue eyes.