The following fantasy fiction is intended solely for ADULT ONLY personal enjoyment and only where local standards permit such content. Should you be in any way troubled by themes dealing with extreme torture and abuse please do not read any further.

Use of the "Faibhar" name any or all posted works for uses other than personal without the author's expressed permission is strongly discouraged.

Thank you.

Faibhar

Layla's Judge Jury

And

Crucifixion

The one good eye Brocchus had left glinted with something akin to self-satisfaction as the three first fingers of his right hand formed a gnarled wedge and easily slipped between the flared lips dividing the mossy hairs. The prisoner proved much more docile following the rapes and being abused as a punching bag of sorts. Scale armor, stubbornly worn though his fight days were long past, rustled as the dungeon assistant knelt over the nude. Semen from various donors squished free from the intruding digits. Once inside Brocchus hooked the fingers up, grunted and got to his feet. The prisoner moaned as her pelvis was lifted. Long arms trailed along her sides as she was dragged to another end of the dungeon.

"Time to stand, bitch. There's someone here you should meet."

Oppius Gellius Sorae nonchalantly waited for the defendant's wobbling to cease. The female before him did excite. He took great pains not to show his lustful ardor and thereby show any human weakness to his minions. He was, after all a great governor. Stroking a well-maintained beard he indifferently sipped more excellent wine from the gilded chalice. Absently examining the five gaudy rings on one hand he conceded that while good taste might dictate only one ring to be worn by respectable males such decorum was not for him. He was style, glam, bling-bling and so what? Besides she already was steadying herself, no one the wiser to his insouciant pose.

Gellius at last spoke. "As an enemy of Caesar, I sentence you to death by crucifixion." Clearing his throat more for drama than for any malady, the silver-haired governor continued. "But as an acclaimed leader of your…barbarous people you will first be tortured." He leaned purposefully forward from his chair for emphasis. Concerned that his words seemingly had little effect on the restored countenance of the female before him, he further menaced his baritone and sternly said, "Consider the rapes and beatings you have already received just the beginning of more to come. All leading to your execution on the cross." Looking at the overweight dungeon assistant with his silly armor bracing the prisoner he puzzled. "Despite the split lip and other bruises she does look fine, but what about those?"

Layla fought to keep her own balance. She was hurt and in the enemy's' hands but otherwise her head was clearing. What she saw seated before her disgusted. Her fate was to be decided by this flagrant violator of every code held dear by the fashion police. In defiance she shook back fallen strands of dark hair and glared at the one they called Gellius.

Eager to please as a lap dog is for his dinner bowl Brocchus hoped to gain what favor he could by directly being of service and anticipating his leader's every wish. "You mean those?" He indicated the prisoner's large pink aureoles.

"Yes those! Or more exactly those…those…whatever they are called. Where are those things at the tips of her tits?" Consternation mingled with impatience colored Gellius' bark.

Layla held her gaze. What she saw was a much-agitated old man ludicrously attired. The earrings and rings lent a bad name to accessorizing. "Are you referring," she calmly said, "To my inverted nipples?"

Relieved that rescue had come from such an unexpected source Brocchus attempted to further placate Gellius and said, "Oh those. They're there. All it takes is a little fixing…"

"Then do it and make it quick. I wish to see."

The tone of the command left little time to contemplate. Grabbing her shoulder Brocchus drew the prisoner away. To the far wall he chained her arms up and out. Looping thick rope around an ankle he passed an end through an iron loop set into the stone floor and used his back for added force as he pulled. Quickly the naked prisoner was stretched across the wall. Wiping a brow sweating from such speedy and tedious work, Brocchus reached for his small dagger.

Layla tested the bonds, but could not move. She looked down her chest to see stained fingers wrap around a breast and then squeeze. Sucking in her breath she turned her head up and shut her eyes. She felt a sharp tip prick her right breast followed by excruciating pain that blinded her senses.

The dagger clattered on the stone as it fell from his hand. Brocchus needed to catch his breath. Sitting on the floor he wearily looked up. Sweat covered him. The prisoner's bowed head did not move. Only the slight beat of her stomach showed him that life remained. Twin rivers of blood cascaded down each flank. Amongst the shiny crimson Brocchus knew there stood two nipples that he himself had dug out. Blood seemed to coat the floor, his hands, and armor everywhere.

"Well wash her down so that I can see," the bark sneered.

He recognized the voice of Gellius and started. It sounded just behind him. Twisting around he saw that Opius Gellius Sorae had left his seat and now stood almost on top of him. Brocchus grabbed a bucket of water and threw it at the hanging figure.

Slowly making long strokes of his beard Gellius smiled and said, "You have done well" Two red dots appeared in the center of pink pools set high on each full tit. "Give her three days to recover in a cell, but first dress her in this gown."

Layla felt her arms being lowered and feet freed. She still could not raise her head and cringed as the light gown was passed over her head and across her raw chest. She did not protest as she was led away. Each waft of air hurt the now extracted nipples. Diaphanous though the material may be it still felt like lead. The silky fabric rubbed as sand and glass shards across freshly exposed nerves. Layla stumbled, hoping that the journey through the dim hall to her cell would be short.

It was too tight. What must have been some sort of decoration along the scoop neckline had been torn away. The sleeves barely reached to her elbows. Transparency of the material hid nothing. Bleeding stopped, replaced by a darkening of the entire area. Layla's chest throbbed in agony, the rest of her body one massive bruise. The dress she had been given would prove no help-a bitter commentary on the price some had to pay for fashion. Shifting position in the cramp cell proved a challenge.

She spent most of her confined time imaging the forest steppes of her childhood dodging around the many hiding places amongst the craggy ravines and tall oaks, feeling her body grow victorious as she scaled the mountains. Unfortunately such dreams too often were interrupted by the recent ambush, the capture of the hunting party she led, and the merciless dispatch of everyone, save for her.

They came on the third day with a signal that further tortures were on the way…

To be continued…

The following fantasy fiction is intended solely for ADULT ONLY personal enjoyment and only where local standards permit such content. Should you be in any way troubled by themes dealing with extreme torture and abuse leading to crucifixion and death please do not read any further.

Use of the "Faibhar" name any or all posted works for uses other than personal without the author's expressed permission is strongly discouraged.

Thank you.

Faibhar

Layla's Judge Jury

And

Crucifixion

Trim

Rising from the temporary stage arose a timber taller than any. Brocchus stood respectfully behind his boss, the dungeon master. Two armed soldiers, one of whom untied Layla's hands secured behind her back, joined them. Despite the early hour many jostled at the edge of the stage, vying for prime positions in which to view the scourging of the barbarian prisoner. Sun heated rooftops of surrounding apartments as if it too were seeking a good view from the lofty heights. Into the shadows of an opposing building moved a litter bearing Oppius Gellius Sorum and his hair-dyed mistress, her yellowish tunic clashing with his purple garb. A soldier pushed Layla against the tall timber as her arms were freed. Brocchus took hold of the soiled pale blue gown she wore and lifted. Applause greeted Layla's undressing. She stood nude before them, the still cool morning air causing goose-bumps on the taut skin.

Fasting for the past three days in that horrible cell had sapped much of her strength. Layla knew that she would not be scourged before the enemy without one last fight. Violently her right leg flew out impacting directly into the dungeon master's groin. Side-stepping she smacked the nearest soldier with her elbow. Stepping over the fallen dungeon master she flew at Brocchus from his blind side. Grabbing an edge of his scale armor she flung him into the post.

The assembled crowd cheered the courageous nude fighter as she battled with her hands and feet men on the stage with her. Brunette hair flew as she expertly kicked and punched. All the men were on the knees when she yelled and leapt high off the stage, landing on the porch of a store. More soldiers came. Pots and baskets exploded in the melee.

Layla fought as hard as she could, but experience taught her that the battle was futile. Two more guards jumped her, and then a third and fourth. She soon was at the bottom of a pile, ropes tightly securing her wrists and ankles. Consciousness of pains renewed in her chest, pain she had had to ignore during the scuffle. Darkness unveiled itself as more and more Romans got off of her. The sky seemed bright. She winced as hands lifted her up and she was carried back to the stage.

Brocchus recovered faster than his boss who had to be led away to seek further treatment. In his stead Brocchus assumed command. He ordered that the prisoner be stood upright. Taking her tied wrists, he attached a hook from the top of the scourging post and pulled. Her body fell into the timber, full tits wobbled to either side, arms secured high. He untied, and then retied her ankles to posts set in the stage, spreading her legs slightly outward.

Brocchus reached up and ran his fingers through her long locks, hair that reached to the small of her back. He would soon take care of that…"Who amongst you wishes a strand or two of hair from our lovely victim? Do keep in mind, such a keepsake of one to be crucified just might favor you with good luck." Brocchus bent down and rummaged around the inside of his workman's bag until he found what he was after. Pulling out heavy shears, he selected a portion of her hair and then cut.

Her chin set into the rough wood. Stretching high above ran her muscled arms. Layla heard Brocchus exhort the crowd and then felt as the first snip was made. She shut her eyes as more of her brunette hair was shorn. There was little she could do.

The crowd approached hysteria as Brocchus threw the cut hair into the air and it flew over their heads. People jumped and clawed with their hands. Those lucky enough to make a catch cherished their good fortune. Too soon the trimming ceased. Brocchus cut everything hanging down, using the top of the prisoner's neck as his guide. They quieted somewhat as they saw the old dungeon assistant lay down his tools and waited for what was next to come. The strung up prisoner's back now looked more naked that before. Only moments ago they had cheered this same person for her courageous fighting bravery. They began to boo their impatience.

Furiae enjoyed imagining herself as some myth incarnate; one with brass wings and talons. Sorum's mistress of several years by now knew well of her lover's quirks. Without turning her coiffed head and looking directly at him, she placed her hand over his lap. Already a bulge was growing. The mere sight of the helpless female was enough to capture his fancy. This could be turned to her advantage. Besides, the bitch with her hard body was asking for it. Brushing a red-gold ringlet from her face, she quietly smiled and with her one hand fondled Sorum's protruding evidence of his manhood. At least, she mused, it was cool where they were…

No longer were they pink. Brocchus inspected his handiwork. The nipples he had the other day so laboriously freed remained erect. Scabrous to be sure, but no longer hidden away by their invertedness. Bruising colored the rest of the surrounding area, but that was to be expected. He lightly ran the tipped barbs of the scourge around the fine tits, pleased that he noticed the prisoner flinch. The surrounding town folk reminded him of his foremost duty and that somewhere out there must be Sorum. He stepped behind the prisoner and aimed his first swing.

All viewing areas around the stage provided something. The opposing side, e.g., showed off plenty. There were the extended legs with their shiny definition; sides of the beating rib cage, the magnificent though bruised breasts, upper shoulders, clipped hair and so forth. And of course there was the sound: The scourge cracking as it sailed through the air, the sharp intake of breath from the victim, her muted sobs. Those on the sides of the stage were treated to a profile view every bit as satisfying as those early arrivals who had staked out positions behind the prisoner.

Sorum and his mistress Furiae had the best view, of course. Despite the swirling wind increasing and somewhat lowering the temperature of what had seemed to be another hot weather day, Sorum noted that the barbarian's fine body glistened-and not just from streaming blood caused by the scourge. He surmised her sweat was probably caused by the drama of the moment. At least, he and Furiae had good seats.

Brocchus halted the lashings. Taking a breather, he used his current position of authority and ordered soldiers to free her legs. Tip-toes scratched over the wood. He turned her around. Reddish skin down her breast-bone marked where she had repeatedly slammed into the whipping post. Her reddened chin, also scraped by the timber, fell to her chest. Brocchus stepped back to continue the scourging when he heard Sorum's baritone call out from the shadows. "She has endured much. Save her strength for what is to come."

Winking to the side at his perceived new fans Brocchus ordered and received a cup of hot wax. Inside the clay cup containing the melted wax was a brush that he then used to liberally coat the prisoner's dark triangle of curls. Brocchus then smoothed over the coating of wax three narrow rectangular strips of cloth. He allowed the wax to soak into the strips and then taking the corner of one ripped.

Layla moaned and her head raised and fell back against the timber. Brocchus threw the strip, with the attached hairs into the crowd at one side of the stage. Another cheer arose. He ripped another strip, and threw that hair-covered cloth to the other side. The middle strip he ripped away, but instead of throwing it to the crowd, brought it up to his nose, inhaled deeply, grinned and stuffed the rag into his belt. Looking back at his victim he bent forward and exaggeratedly inspected her now bald vaginal lips.

To be continued…

The following fantasy fiction is intended solely for ADULT ONLY personal enjoyment and only where local standards permit such content. Should you be in any way troubled by themes dealing with extreme torture and abuse leading to crucifixion and death please do not read any further.

Use of the "Faibhar" name any or all posted works for uses other than personal without the author's expressed permission is strongly discouraged.

Thank you.

Faibhar

Layla's Judge Jury

And Crucifixion

The

Amazing Lightening Rod

A troublesome gnat hampered Sorum's view as the roly-poly dungeon assistant ripped away the final strip of pubic hair-cum-hardened wax-cum-cloth but he clearly heard the female moan and then saw the dolt sniffing his cherished trophy.

Sorum craftily mused that things would soon get even better than what had already transpired. That knowledge plus Furiae's hand on his crotch made the morning very fine indeed. He shifted his bulk on the plush sedan, moving closer to his mistress in a silent request for more.

Five rings-no TEN rings if you counted both hands! Furiae cursed to herself. That plus all the garbage that went with it…Surely she really deserved better? Still, she was after the gold and the bastard whose cock she presently stroked currently seemed to have the most. She would do what she needed to do in order to insure her intimate position.

Another red-gold curl was brushed aside as Furiae reached with her other hand for the small sack containing what she planned for this very moment. She turned back to Sorum, who was so intent on the stage activities, and upended the bag into his palm. Two rings fell out, along with a slender and short chain.

He didn't know what to think. Furiae's actions diverted his attention from the stage just like the gnat before. He looked down at his open palm and saw two rather dull and odd rings. With them was a small chain.

"For me?"

Furiae stifled a giggle. All men seemed to go dumb whenever she had them by the balls. She increased her talon-like grip and whispered an explanation that the rings were meant for the bitch, not him. So was the chain…

A perplexed expression further wrinkled his brow and then Sorum seemed to at last get it. The rings were not complete circles but instead tapered to small points where they opened. The slender chain had clips at each end.

"They are designed to keep those freshly extracted nipples from hiding again. Every step will cause a shift in her big boobs and with the chain pulling the two rings together the points will…well, you know."

The meticulously groomed beard crinkled as he smiled. Sorum leaned closer and kissed Furiae his approval. He signaled the dungeon assistant to come over to his litter. He had something of interest to give the knave.

Furiae relaxed back into the sedan. Upon learning of the initial inverted nipples correction by the dungeon assistant had made her a bit queasy, but this latest invention seemed to further cement her relationship with Big Daddy. A girl could do worse…

A bucket of water upended over her head. Those on the other side of the stage were treated to more cross-hatching left by the scourge. Many of the red lines remained open wounds. Brocchus delicately slipped the specially crafted rings onto nipples. The points bit into the sides of the no longer scabrous flesh. The attached chain, left slightly less than taut, pulled both tits together. Lowering the prisoner's arms the dungeon assistant slipped the gauzy gown over her wet head. Material stuck to the wet body, making its transparency all the more evident. Given the fullness of her mammaries when pulled together as they were they made for a deep cleavage above the torn scoop neckline.

Layla gasped. The crossbeam laid across her shoulders was bad enough. With strength in her legs learned from years in the Steppes she was able to shoulder the heavy weight. Making matters worse were her chained breasts, the rings in her hurt nipples digging deeper. And then there was the scourging. All of her hurt. One step forward shot pangs of agony.

Sorum and his mistress watched with the others as the prisoner's arms were tied to the patibulum, a tow rope looped around her waist, and then led toward the city gates. Deciding that this moment required some form of closure, Sorum stuck his wet tongue into Furiae's ear. Ignoring her initial rebuff, he thumbed toward the departing procession and asked, "Shall we?"

Cumulus build-ups covered the horizon. Winds gusted stronger as the clouds approached. The first of the approaching rain fell in heavy droplets over the procession and its onlookers. Sorum eyed the heavens and reminded himself that this was one game that would not be called on account of rain. He wrapped his woolen cape tighter around he and Furiae as their sedan was hoisted and followed the procession.

Just outside of the city gates had stood a tall milestone. What was left lay in a pile of rubble. Furiae protested to Sorum as they passed the destroyed milestone and said, "Please. We've seen enough. Let's go back?" From his set bearded jaw and eyes focused ahead to where the prisoner was Furiae knew that any protesting was futile.

By now rain pelted patrician, plebeians, slaves and prisoner alike. Ominous skies announced that the storm would get worse before things got better. Many drew their cloaks tighter about them for protection and continued along the muddy road. As long as their leader was staying for the crucifixion, so would they.

She slid to her knees as the beam was lifted. Alongside of the main road lay the dark, longer stipes, or upright, that was to be her cross. Layla dully watched the soldiers place the crossbeam in the upright's notch and then hammer it in place. Rain chilled her almost as seeing the cross. This time she did not fight as she was lifted to her feet and the wet gown ripped from her body.

Chin on her chest, she idly wondered if they would remove the chain connecting the nipple rings. By now each ring had sunk deeply into her. Despite the downpour, the chain was stained red. It was now taut. Sensation in both had nipples deadened. The darkened nubs were pulled toward each other. Rain washed over the rest of her soaking what was left of her hair, her bruised and beaten shoulders, over her breasts and her feet stood in watery sand.

"Just pitiful," Sorum said as the sedan was pulled near to the side. "Doesn't she look bad? We will wait until the cross is raised and then head back. Okay?" Furiae only fumed-her hair and clothes a mess. It certainly would be payback time when they got back to the palace. Despite her ire, she had to look at the forlorn prisoner. Standing nude in the rain, her body tortured in so many ways and yet about to get more. Furiae had a fleeting moment of pity for the creature and then her anger with Sorum's obstinacy returned.

Brocchus wiped more rain from out of his eyes and summoning his most commanding voice ordered soldiers to lay the prisoner down and spread out her arms on the cross. Taking a flat-headed nail and heavy hammer from his pouch he placed a hairy knee closest to her outstretched hand. Not wishing to prolong matters more in this nasty weather, he placed the nail point where he thought best over her wrist, raised the hammer and swung it down hard.

All of Layla wanted to leap but was held fast. The chain holding both wet breasts together snapped, one ring slicing through the right nipple as her torso rose. Blood spurted from the nail now lodged in her wrist, opened wounds on her back and the sliced nipple. She bucked again as another hammer blow drove the nail into the wood. Ignoring the rain pouring over her eyes her mouth opened, the water pouring into her throat. She sputtered a scream.

Her fingers reflexively clawed the air as Brocchus pounded. He grabbed the wrist and pulled. It was secure. Taking a second nail, he went to her other wrist and did the same. Standing and stretching an aching back, he ordered the waiting soldiers to pull up the stipes. Making sure the upright fell into the arrange hole, Brocchus moved to the side and grabbed for a flailing ankle. Placing the muddied foot flat on the side of the wood the dungeon assistant took another nail and pounded it true.

Layla cried out as her body shifted with the raising of the cross, and yelled when it fell into the whole, jerking her pinned body downward. She cried out again as her feet were nailed to the sides of the upright, hardly conscious of the fact that her legs were now spread open, genitals gaping.

"Now watch this," Sorum said with what approached glee to Furiae. "She is a strong girl and will use her legs and arms to raise up-she has to just to breath. But…because of the nails, she'll have to slide back down. Truly this form of execution is torturous."

Furiae had covered her eyes with her fingers as soon as she heard the first strike of the hammer. The sounds that followed made even her wince. But at the sound of Sorum's voice, she parted those fingers and looked. Up on the cross hung the rain-soaked bitch, bleeding, legs opened, muscles bulging, ribs expanding and contracting. Much as she wanted to, Furiae shut her fingers over her eyes again-she could not look.

He had one last chore to perform. The dungeon assistant brought forth a mounted elephant tusk. With the help of another soldier, he hammered the tusk point up between the prisoner's legs. She would use this cornu to sit on for the rest of her days.

At first the point stabbed, but when Layla realized that it was her only hope for any rest, she sat lower on the point, feeling it go deeper inside her ass. Shame no longer was an issue. She hung and sat atop her cross.

Many of the rabble turned to go back to the city as they saw Sorum's sedan pull away and then they crouched as there came a loud roar from the heavens. A thunderclap made most shudder. They looked back at the crucifix.

Plumes of smoke trailed upward from her shaggy mane. Layla's chin hung silently on her chest. The gyrations many had fought not to watch stilled. The nude's body hung in an agonizing state of repose. The thin chain dangled from a tit. Wood of the upright and crossbeam stood charred. The few soldiers left behind to guard turned to join the others heading back to the city, their task completed.

Days later Layla's avenging army would come across the corpse as they traveled along the road. Before attacking the city their leaders respectfully took down the body. A short burial and memorial followed. As if they needed more motivation, seeing the crucifixion gave further impetus. Revenge would be theirs-swift and sweet.