The Crucifixion of Annia

THE CRUCIFIXION OF ANNIA

The First Day

Annia could not stop trembling. She could hear the soldiers approaching the locked door to the room where she sat huddled in the arms of her supervisor, Tertia. The older woman, head mistress of the household slaves, tried to comfort her, stroking her head, gently hushing her, suppressing her own fear in the face of the unfolding disaster.

"What will they do with us?" the frightened girl kept asking.

But she already knew the dreadful answer. Even as news reached her that her Master had been murdered by a slave boy, the house had been erupting with wails of despair. The older slaves who knew the law wasted no time spreading the word that they were all doomed. Those slaves had witnessed the terrible consequences for such a crime sixteen years before when Annia was still suckling at her mother's breast. Every slave in the region, including Annia's mother, had been forced every day for seven days to walk past the dozens of dead and dying slaves hanging from crucifixes all around the perimeter of the farm they had worked. They were forced to see what happens when one witless and angry slave murders his owner, how it affects every last slave of the deceased.

In this case, the family had moved fast to contain the rising panic and prevent escapes. By the time a contingent of soldiers had arrived from the nearby barracks, all but a few of the field hands had been herded into one of the barns with the doors bolted shut. Likewise, the household slaves had been crowded into two storage rooms of the main house — males in one, females and small children in the other — and locked up for safekeeping.

The few who escaped had run off as their Master was bleeding to death, including Tullipor, the wretched young hothead who had wielded the pitchfork. But where would they run? No slave in the region would dare give them shelter and certainly no free person would show them any mercy. They would soon be caught and dragged back to a fate even worse than that which awaited Annia and all the other slaves. Roman soldiers were extremely talented at conducting punitive executions, and the law specifically demanded they lavish their most terrible skills on wayward slaves.

The reason, of course, was that over the centuries Rome had engorged itself with slaves torn from the peoples it had subdued all over the known world, from Britannica to Persia to Africa. And since the children of slaves were also slaves, by now fully one third of Rome's population was slave. The danger was obvious, so the Senate had passed laws which deliberately ignored individual innocence in order to achieve the strongest deterrence against even the tiniest slave uprising. Obviously, the worst possibility was that a slave might strike out at his owner, so that particular crime merited the most brutal possible punishment, the very punishment which was about to be imposed on the human property of the slain Marcus Tullius Fortunatus.

He had been killed in mid morning. Before a quarter of an hour had passed, one of his sons had ridden off to alert the local authorities while the rest of the family began rounding up the slaves. By midday nearly a hundred soldiers from the nearby barracks had descended upon the late land-owner's estate to investigate and take charge. It didn't take long to learn the identity of the guilty party and dispatch a squadron of soldiers to hunt him down, along with the other fugitives. Another officer was sent to the nearest prosecutor to apply for an official verdict of murder. Since the murderer was a slave, no trial was required. By late afternoon a judge had delivered an ad hoc order to crucify every slave belonging to the victim, and to do it as publically and quickly as possible, according to law.

All this time the slaves had remained boxed up in the barn and the two rooms of the house. The tension and anxiety were extreme. Communal pots were provided from which they could scoop water, but they were given no food. As the hours dragged by, the air in Annia's room became foul from the overflowing waste bucket behind the curtain in the corner. No one came to empty it. The room was windowless and little light seeped through the cracks around the bolted door, so other than knowing it was still daylight there was no way to tell how many hours had passed.

Then came the dreaded tramp of soldiers' feet.

The bolt was slammed aside and the door thrown open. Five burly soldiers stood outside the doorway. At the sight before them, all five broke into smiles. What luck! Most of the slaves on this estate, as everywhere, were males, but these soldiers, thanks to some beneficent god, had been directed to the females, most of them young and some of them exceptionally beautiful. One does not reject such a gift from the gods; it would be a sacrilege.

"Well, look what we have here," the tallest, most muscular and most finely uniformed of the three said. "All the bitch slaves in one place. How convenient."

The others laughed, more heartily than necessary. The tall centurion looked directly at Annia.

"I see the one I want." He pointed. "She's right there. The one with the big blue eyes and golden hair. You men pick out anyone you want, but leave that little morsel for me."

The tall soldier stood in the doorway with his sword in hand as the other four stepped into the room and made a quick survey of the quivering females. The first two chosen were the dead man's two lovely concubines. They were immediately dragged out into the vestibule and out of sight. While the other two soldiers continued their search, squeezing breasts to check size and firmness, Annia used the temporary reprieve to study the back-lighted figure of the man who would soon get to her.

It wasn't the rape that she feared. She had been used sexually by her Master and others since puberty. Her mother had also been quite beautiful (before she contracted the wasting disease that eventually killed her) and had been a favorite of Fortunatus; Annia had watched him having sex with her many times. After her mother died, Fortunatus turned to Annia who by then was developing into an even more stunning beauty. The first few times he simply seized her in a room she was cleaning, forced her over a chair and entered her from behind, pumping vigorously until his hot seed spurted into her. Later, as his infatuation with her grew, he would usher her into a private room and lay her on a proper couch or bed. Or he would order her to meet him in a certain grove, or some place on the estate where his wife would not see them and give him grief.

Nor was he the only one to enjoy her body without the need to ask. On many occasions his sons, both Primus and Secundus, had their way with her. Fortunatus himself sometimes offered her to a guest to show special gratitude for some favor or other. Having been taught by her mother to obey her owner, no matter what, she never offered the least objection. These continuing injections of semen had their inevitable consequence. She had missed her last two periods and had been vomiting in the mornings. She thought little of it; after all, most free girls her age were already married and bearing children. As to who might have put her in this condition, there were several possibilities; but she was fairly sure the seed had come from Fortunatus. In any event, it hadn't really mattered because the child would have simply been another of his slaves.

Since her body was about to be used again by yet another man, she began mentally comparing Fortunatus (who was pudgy and mostly bald) to the tall centurion. It did not escape her notice that he was exceedingly good looking. Black hair, dark brown eyes, rugged build (an impression enhanced by the metal breastplate on his leather shirt with its godlike musculature) — a far more attractive specimen than any of the others who had fondled and fucked her. It even excited her, for some perverse reason, that he had in his hands the power to spare her life or let her die. In spite of her fear, she found she was actually looking forward for her turn to be ravished.

With that realization, another thought began to form. If she had so easily captivated old Fortunatus and his sons and friends, why could she not win over this handsome officer and maybe save her own life?

The other two soldiers had made their selections. One chose a pretty brunette from Britannia with a delicate sprinkle of freckles and a pouty mouth. He made her stand up right there in the crowded storage room and bend over with her hands on the floor, then took her from behind. The other selected a black-haired Macedonian beauty, ordered her to take off her robe, pulled her out into the vestibule and humped her right there on the floor behind the tall centurian.

"All right, men," the centurion chuckled when the fourth soldier had finished his turn at fornication,"tuck it back in and make sure these sluts don't go anywhere. I'm taking Goldenhair here to a more pleasant location to give her one last treat."

He grabbed Annia by her left arm and dragged her to her feet, pushing her to the door and propelling her through it. In spite of the dismaying implication in his words and his rough treatment, she still felt (or, at least, wanted to believe) she might be able to win him over. Her only hope of survival was to convince him to separate her from the others and keep her as his own slave. She had to try.

"Sir, I know a room with a nice soft bed," she murmured.

"Do you now?" he laughed. "So show me."

She led him to the Master's bedroom, but when he opened the door she was shocked to see the murdered man's widow standing there.

The centurion was unfazed. "My lady Claudia," he said cooly, "With your permission I need to use this room for a short while to interrogate this slave."

"You mean you want to screw her in privacy," she snapped. "Fine. Why not? The little bitch was ‘interviewed' by my husband every chance he got. Might as well give her fetid little hole one last reaming before she gets what she so richly deserves. Just make sure you enjoy it more than she does." She turned to the trembling girl and spat, "Annia! Strip that bed! I don't want the linen soiled by dirt from this officer's sandals, and I certainly don't want it stained with your filthy juices. Or your blood," she added with a hopeful glance at the centurion.

Out of habit and training Annia started forward to do as she was told, but was stopped short by the iron grip of the officer. She looked up fearfully, her eyes darting between the two. She had never deliberately disobeyed her mistress before, having been whipped mercilessly the few times she hesitated. On the other hand, this Roman commander remained her only hope to remain among the living.

He resolved the situation by throwing her toward the bed.

"Do it!" he barked. "You owe your mistress one last service."

"Oh she owes me a lot more than that," Claudia said through gritted teeth as Annia hurried to pull the linen coverings off the bed and fold them up.

"I'll bet!" he snorted. "And you'll have a chance to collect your due before she's dead. But first I must attend to that ‘interrogation.' I don't often get to ‘interrogate' so stimulating a subject."

"Interrogate her well, then. I plan to do so myself when she's properly prepared. On a cross."

Claudia glided from the room, keeping her head high, dark resentments boiling in her mind.

When the door was closed, the centurion laughed. "So you and old Fortunatus were playing squeeze-the-zucchini! How quaint. An inspiration for poets. Perhaps I should compose an ode. Something like:

A rustic Roman loved to ride

his randy house-slave's handy hide."

He chuckled at his own wit, and at the look on Annia's face. "Or even better:

Fortunatus, although wed,

liked to fill his marriage bed

with pretty strumpets, but instead

ate a pitchfork. Now he's dead.

That has more possibilities, don't you think?"

"But it wasn't like that!" Annia protested. "He loved me. He said he was going to make me an official concubine. I'm carrying his baby!"

"Are you, now? Let's see! Pull up your gown."

Annia gathered up the front of her coarse garment and pulled it up to just below her breasts.

"You don't look pregnant to me."

"It's only two months."

"Is it? Well, that's yet another slave for the dung heap. Maybe we'll pull it out and nail it to it's own little cross. Don't you think that would be cute?"

"Please, Sir," she whispered, "look at me." She raised the robe to her shoulders. "Am I not beautiful? Everyone says I am. Would I not make you a fine slave? Wouldn't you like to . . ."

"Wouldn't I like to hustle you off and hide you away for my own personal use?"

"Yes! Yes, Sir!" Annia felt the stirring of hope. "I can do things for you that you'll really like. Master could never get enough of me. I'm really very good at . . ."

"And when you swell all up with your dead Master's baby? Am I supposed to put up with that?"

"Oh no, Sir! No!" Annia felt hope beginning to slip away again. She had to convince him she was worth saving. "Please, Sir! You can do what you wish about the baby. Any midwife knows how to . . . how to get rid of it. If that's what you want. Sir, I'm very, very good at pleasing a man. I can make you . . ."

"You can make me dead, little Goldenhair. Do you think the Widow Claudia would not notice your absence among the crucifixes? Take off your robe."

She unwrapped the robe, still pleading with him. "Please, Sir! I can do things with my mouth that . . ."

"With your mouth! Well, now. Get yourself naked and let's see what you can do with your mouth."

As she dropped the robe to the floor she drew herself up before him and watched his eyes gleam at what he saw. A lovely, delicately shaped face atop a shapely and graceful figure; smooth, pale, flawless skin; ample breasts, firm and upright with temptingly rigid nipples; golden curls that fell to the middle of her back and the matching patch of golden fleece at the junction of slender legs. She had seen that look often enough, the look of male entrancement. This was the moment to seize. She approached him and framed soft hands gently around his face.

"Please, Sir, let me make love to you. Let me . . ."

"Oh, I intend to," he assured her. "Get on your knees!"

She dropped quickly to her knees and awaited him, knowing what was expected of her, intending to give him pleasure such as he had never known before.

He unbuckled his sword and threw it on a side chair. Between the leather strips of his outer uniform Annia could see his manhood poking at his tunic. He removed the breastplate and leather shirt. She lifted the edge of the tunic. The pinkness of his genital area was in stark contrast to his sun-bronzed face, arms and knees. She had never seen such an imposing penis. It was nearly twice the size of her deceased Master's or any of his sons. It was even larger than that of the stable boy, Chrysogonus. A tingling desire to feel it inside her emboldened her to ply him with flattery.

"Oh Sir! You are huge! I don't know if you can fit inside me."

"No? Then let's start with your mouth. You claim you do wonderful things with your mouth. Surely it will fit in there."

He grabbed her hair and shoved himself in her open mouth. She did her best to service him as she had done so successfully with Fortunatus, but his grip on her hair made it difficult to apply the delicate tongue strokes to the sensitive flange at the head of his member that had driven her Master wild. Worst of all he kept ramming it deep into her throat, making her gag. Before she could accomplish any of the magic that had bewitched other men, he pulled out of her mouth.

"I'm not impressed," he said. "Get on the bed!"

She scrambled to obey, panic rising in her belly at the possibility of failure. In a moment he had mounted her, inserting himself painfully into her, driving into her. The hands crushing her breasts were large and calloused, especially the sword hand. How many people had died by that hand? He gripped her fiercely, twisting the nipples, the metal grieves on his shins cold against her calves. Yet she found herself moaning as an irresistible thrill surged from the button between her legs to every point on her body. She cried out in her ecstacy, amazed that she should come so easily with this bearer of death. She shivered and cried out again as his hot seed burst into her. By the time she had regained her senses, he had pulled out of her and was standing beside the bed shrugging into his uniform.

"Get up!" he demanded.

"Please, Sir . . . " she began, catching her breath.

He back-handed her across the mouth.

"Get up, you little whore! Or would you like me to ram my sword up your ass?"

She crawled out of the bed without further complaint, licking away the blood collecting at the corner of her mouth.

He was already strapping on his sword. "Put on your robe!"

She obeyed quickly and fearfully, her hope dissolving, trying to think of a way to regain his interest. "Sir, if you would give me a little more time . . ."

"You've had as much time as you'll get. Move!"

He shoved her toward the door as he drew his sword. "You give shitty fellatio, although you do have a nice tight cunt, I'll give you that. But there's plenty of those around, plenty of legs willing to open up for a Captain of the Army. Yours is not nearly good enough for me to die for. Not good enough to keep you off a cross, either. Get moving!" He put the point of his sword in her back and prodded her down the hallway, back to the room she had come from. She felt the wetness of his semen leaking down the inside of her thighs, adding insult to her dread.

A number of other soldiers had arrived outside the storage room and were in the process of tying the hands of the women and children behind their backs. One of them seized Annia and in a moment her wrists, too, were bound behind her with rough hemp rope.

"Captain!" one of the men yelled. "Now that you've had your fun with Goldie here, how about sharing the meat? I ain't never fucked anything so sweet as that!"

"Sure, help yourself. But make it quick. We've got to move this lot to the barn before dark. She claims she's good with her mouth."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. In fact, let's make a wager. If she doesn't make you come in her mouth and swallow it by the time I count to sixty, we'll tear out her tongue."

"But I wanna fuck her!"

"You'll have time for that later. Come on! Get out your weapon and lets see if she can bring you off fast enough to keep her tongue."

Annia was shoved to her knees as the soldier came toward her, raising the hem of his tunic and pushing aside the leather panels of his shirt to expose his manhood. It was only partly aroused as he pushed it into her mouth and it reeked with the pungent taste of another woman. She recognized that taste from the times she had serviced her Master right after he had been with one of his concubines. A new apprehension gripped her bowels because she remembered how long it had taken him to recover before he was able to perform again. Often the better part of an hour! Annia had no clear idea of what it would be like to be crucified, but she could definitely imagine what it would be like to have her tongue ripped out, having seen it done to three slaves accused of lying. She struggled to subdue her fear and concentrate on the skills she had perfected with Fortunatus. It was difficult with her hands tied behind her, but she took his cock gently into her mouth and slid back and forth on its entire length, wetting it, stroking the sensitive flanges around its head with the tip of her tongue, enclosing his testicles in the warmth of her mouth, licking around and around the shaft. She could hear the Captain counting behind her, but he had passed "ten" which was as far as she had learned to count, so the metrical droning told her only that she was getting closer to losing her tongue. To her surprise, however, the soldier had become really hard and was beginning to go into those little spasms she had come to recognize as the prelude to a man's eruption. Spurred by desperation and hope, she concentrated on the most sensuous area behind the flange, sucking on it, kneading it with her lips. And suddenly there it came! The grunting soldier pumped a thick load into the back of her throat which she swallowed in a series of gulps, milking the last of it out of his root and licking him clean, just as her Master had taught her.

She looked up at the Captain tenuously.

"Well done," he laughed. "Lucky for you that Ignatius here is a horny bastard. I'd been looking forward to yanking that chattering little tongue of yours out of your pretty little mouth. Oh well. Now we'll be able to enjoy your pleas for mercy when we nail you up."

So much for her earlier plan to win him over, Annia thought. It was hopeless from the start. His heart is as cold and hard as his breastplate.

"Take them all to the barn and lock them up with the others," the Captain ordered. "If you or any of the guards want to play with them during the night, you may. But only two of you at a time. The rest of you are to remain alert. If any prisoner attempts to escape, crush his feet. Or hers. Now get them out of here!"

Annia was herded with all others out of the house and across a field to the small windowless storage barn where the field slaves were confined. The females were stopped outside the door briefly while the guards selected which ones they wanted for their "play." Eleven were chosen, including Annia. These eleven were tied to a hitching rail; the others, their hands unbound, were pushed inside and the door bolted shut.

Dusk was rapidly turning to darkness, and the guards had built a bonfire to keep themselves warm and provide light for the front area of the barn, which they called their "holding pen." Guards with torches had been stationed all around the building in case a clever slave managed to dig his way out. Now and then Annia heard a shrill scream from inside — probably one of the females being raped. One last gratification for a condemned field hand. But she had her own rapes to worry about. As the night hours went by, she was "played with" by more than half the soldiers on guard duty. She stopped counting after she had passed ten three times. Her thighs were encrusted with a mixture of semen and blood, the tender lining of her vagina so torn and sore she could barely walk.

Some time before dawn she had finally been thrown into the holding pen with the others where she was able to sleep for a few unmolested hours before being roused again.

It was time to prepare the slaves for execution.