Chapter 45: Crucifixion Picnic, Crux
The winch on the Jeep had pulled Peggy’s near naked body so that she was in a perfect position; perfect to be crucified at least. Her arms were pulled almost to the eye-bolts through which the cables ran and that put her arms at about a V with a 45% angle. Peggy was immediately surprised at how much strain this put on her shoulders. She should have grabbed the wood dowels built into the suspension wrists cuffs before they started to lift her, but she was too surprised. Her ankles were bound together with a leather strip, so she bent her knees and felt for the small, sloped platform with her feet. She found it, but when she tried to stand up, her feet slipped off. The platform sloped down at about 45% and her feet were sweating and dirty. Trying again, she got her heels dug into the very narrow ledge at the back of the platform and she was able to push up with her legs enough to reach the dowels in the cuffs for a little relief.
While Peggy was struggling to find anything resembling a comfortable position, she was aware of Dr. MacDougal, at the base of the cross, checking baseline readings on her tablet. From the heart monitor and its sensors stuck on Peggy’s chest and the blood oxygen sensor on her toe, the Doctor could monitor Peggy’s health and stress level.
“That gag is going to restrict her breathing before long, you can wait a bit,” she instructed the Centurions, “but climb the ladder and remove it in the next half hour. Also, make sure you give her water every hour.”
Two of Mrs. Wainwright’s submissives brought folding chairs for Juan and John and they took up positions on either side of the cross where they could watch Peggy. The rest of the trial participants watched for a few minutes as Peggy tried to get comfortable. But after a few minutes, everyone but the centurions drifted away to help get the picnic organized.
John was fascinated with watching Peggy. Juan appeared to be checking his e-mail, the image of a Roman Centurion with a smart phone making the scene even more bizarre. But Mrs. Wainwright didn’t allow her subs to have smart phones, just pagers so she could summon them when needed, so John watched Peggy. In preparation for today he had read a lot about crucifixion. Not only had he found historical references, but he had found several websites and a forum dedicated to this form of BDSM. As he watched, he could clearly see Peggy starting ‘the dance.’
Juan regularly looked up from his phone to check on Peggy. Unlike John, he was surprised to see Peggy moving around so much.
“Why is she fidgeting so much? I think I would want to be as still as possible,” Juan asked.
“It’s called ‘the dance’,” John explained. “Her shoulders and wrists get tired and painful, so she straightens her knees to push up and relieve the tension on her arms. But the platform she’s standing on keeps her ankles bent so she can’t quite lock her knees. It’s like doing a partial knee bend all the time, your leg muscles have to hold you up. In just a few minutes, your legs start to quiver, so you drop back on your arms.”
“Have you ever been crucified by your dom?” Juan asked fascinated, “You sound like an expert.”
“Don’t even mention that around Mrs. Wainwright,” John whispered, “don’t give her any ideas! No, I just did some reading and internet research for today.”
“So will she keep moving all day?” Juan asked.
“I imagine her movements will get more and more creative,” John replied, “as her muscles tire, she’ll try all kinds of positions, within the limitations of her bondage, to use different muscles. For example, she’ll arch her back, she’ll stick her hips to one side or the other, she’ll try hanging from one hand more than the other.”
Peggy was hanging in slowly increasing agony, listening to this exchange.
“Don’t they know I’m right here, listening?” she thought, “It’s like I’m just a hanging piece of meat.”
For that matter, the reaction of the picnickers was starting to annoy her as well. Somewhere, in her fantasy about today, she pictured people standing around staring at her all day. That wasn’t happening at all, people seemed much more interested in beer and food and talking with each other, glancing up at her only briefly from time to time. In fact, they were having way too much fun given the pain that was starting to stab through every muscle in Peggy’s body.
The 10-foot ladder was still propped against the side of the cross, not that Peggy could reach it with her ankles bound.
“I guess we ought to get that gag out,” Juan said.
“I’ll get it, hand me a water bottle.” John replied.
Climbing the ladder while Juan steadied the base, he rose till his face was level with Peggy’s.
“I don’t have to take your gag out yet, and if you start any smart talk I’ll just shove it back in for a while, understand?” he asked.
Peggy nodded, watching him carefully and hanging still from her wrists. John carefully reached around the pole to steady himself and reach the buckle then pulled the gag out. Having no desire to stand on this ladder longer than needed he fished the bottle of water from where he had stuffed it in his rope belt and opened it.
“Open up.” He instructed Peggy and let her drink most of the bottle.
Glad to have the gag out and some water, Peggy kept her mouth in check until, right before he started climbing down. John dropped the near empty water bottle to the ground then, holding on to the ladder with one hand, pinched her right nipple with his other hand. It wasn’t hard or particularly painful but the added indignity pissed her off.
“Bastard!” she shouted.
He reached across and pinched the other nipple, harder, all the while glaring at her, daring her to say something else. She didn’t.
By the time the potluck lunch was ready and people started down a line of folding tables filling their plates, Peggy had indeed tried every position her bondage allowed. She was increasingly desperate to find any relief to the growing agony in her shoulders, her legs, hell, her whole body. Even her toes hurt because she had tried twisting around and getting her toes on the small, flat part of the footrest near the post. That experiment had only resulted in scraping some skin off her toes. She did try arching her back and pushing her stomach out away from the pole just to give her legs some relief and use different muscles.
What was starting to scare her was how fast her diaphragm muscles were tiring. She knew this was the ultimate cause of death for those crucified, but she thought, as a runner, she could last a lot longer. Now, when she tried to stand on her footrest, it wasn’t so much for the pain in her shoulders, or to let blood flow to her hands, it was to breathe. Her diaphragm was increasingly unable to overcome the pressure on her rib-cage from hanging from her arms.
Dr. MacDougal came over and suggested the centurions give her some more water. She was right on the edge of begging, knowing that Dr. MacDougal was the only person at the picnic with the power to end her agony. But she held her tongue, begging wouldn’t have helped anyway as she knew her Consensual, NonConsensual (CnC) agreement for this ‘play’ was that only when her oxygen level fell, would Dr. MacDougal have her taken down.
“How ironic,” Peggy thought, “that this is called BDSM ‘play.’ Nothing about this felt playful.
Peggy could smell the fried chicken and beer but those were the only smells she could identify from her perch. But Peggy wasn’t hungry, in fact, she felt nauseous and worried if she would choke if she threw up in her current position. She was increasingly having trouble seeing. The temperature was steadily rising as the day wore on and sweat was dripping into her eyes making them sting and clouding her vision. And, she realized when Juan climbed the ladder to offer her water, she needed to pee. She thought about waiting until he climbed back down then trying to hit him with a stream. Revengeful thoughts like these were her only pleasure up on the cross but dangerous when dependent upon these people for your very life.
Peggy let her bladder loose while Juan was still up on the ladder. Her loincloth caught most of it and it just dribbled down her leg and dripped off the platform. Worried John might get a shower Juan yelled, “Incoming.” Causing John to look up and most of the other picnickers to look over. Peggy would have been mortified but she was just in too much pain to care.
“Thanks for the warning!” John said. “Can you take that piece of cloth off, it’s going to smell something awful after a few hours in the sun.”
The only thing Peggy heard was “few hours.” Hours more of this agony. Peggy moaned and she slumped down as Juan started pulling on her loincloth, trying not to get his hands on the parts soaked with urine.
“I think I can get it without upsetting the monitor hardware. There. Look out below!” he said as he dropped it.
Everyone was done eating and lunch had been cleaned up. Music was playing on someone’s Bluetooth speaker and the beer was still cold. Most people had moved their lawn chairs, blankets or whatever they were sitting on to form a semi-circle in front of Peggy’s cross. Everyone was chatting, snacking on chips and other post lunch fare, and only occasionally looking up to see what Peggy was doing. But from the position of their semi-circle, they clearly expected something. It wasn’t long before Peggy obliged them.
Peggy had been on the cross for over four hours now. She had already been exhausted from her night in the cage, her truck ride, and her trial before they ever hung her on the cross. She was now in a daze of pain. The pain was everywhere but it increased in intensity depending on what position she was trying. As she shifted from hanging to trying to push up with her legs, the cycles were getting shorter and shorter. Even when she hung from her wrists, her leg muscles continued to quiver and spasm. Pushing up was agony, but so was hanging. But the worst was the feeling of drowning. She simply couldn’t breathe, and her brain was fighting down panic. Would she be able to inhale the next time? Every time she started to take another breath the panic rose.
Peggy had been very quiet on her cross, breathing was hard enough, talking was a waste of breath. But now the panic started to overcome her. She knew the conditions of her Crucifixion, but none of that mattered to her pain-fogged brain.
“Pleeeaaaasssss.” She tried to say. It barely came out and no one at the picnic heard it above the music.
“ARRGGGGG!” She croaked, an animalistic sound that, although forced out with all the effort she could manage, was only heard by Juan and John.
“Doctor!” Juan called.
And the music was shut off. And everyone got quiet as Dr. MacDougal made her way, with her pad, to the cross.
Peggy pushed up with her legs, only managing to partially relieve the pressure on her ribcage, took as much breath as she could manage and said, “Down please?” in a weak feeble voice.
Dr. MacDougal looked at the readout of the blood oxygen meter on her pad. In spite of only being able to take small breaths, Peggy was in athletic shape. Her Oxygen saturation was still just above 90%. And her heart monitor was showing normal rhythm.
Dr. MacDougal decided it was safe to play this out for a few more minutes.
“You haven’t suffered near enough, Cock Teaser!” she shouted up at Peggy. “A few more hours should do it.”
But to Juan and John she whispered, “stand by the winch and be ready to let her down soon.”
Peggy’s brain wanted to shout, to swear, to cuss, but she didn’t have the energy or the breath. She mumbled “please” weakly a few more times then she gave up. She just mentally and physically gave up, hung by her arms and waited for her diaphragm to fail.
Within seconds her blood oxygen level dropped to 92, 91, then 90.
“Take her down.” Dr. MacDougal commanded while signaling her nurse to bring the cart they had prepared.
John engaged the winch and within 10 seconds her feet were on the ground. Several other men had come to help and together they laid her on a blanket and Dr. MacDougal had an oxygen mask on her in seconds. John and Juan took the wrist cuffs off where someone untied her ankles.
The crowd was completely silent.
Dr. MacDougal was stroking the hair out of Peggy’s face and watching her closely.
Noticing all the worried faces around her, and her brain starting to process again, Peggy raised one hand and gave a thumbs up signal.
The picnic erupted in applause.
Peggy fell into an exhausted sleep while everyone else packed up and cleaned up. She woke up briefly at one point to realize that Juan was gently washing the dried urine and dirt off her. She woke up a little later to realize her head was laying in his lap.
Almost twelve hours later, Peggy woke up on a couch at Schwartz Iron Works still naked. Juan was sitting in a chair beside her and stirred when he realized she was awake.
“What can I get you!” He asked.
Peggy had to let her brain finish waking up to answer but quickly realized that the answer was “a bathroom!”
As she started to stand up, every muscle in her body protested. Juan had to catch her to keep her from falling to the ground. He helped her to the bathroom, then turned his back, which amused Peggy given what they had been through.
As they walked back to the couch, Juan supporting her, Peggy felt the strange need to explain herself in spite of it hurting just to breathe, much less talk.
“You know, Juan, I never…”
Juan stopped her, “It was a game Peggy, a role play, a fantasy, not real. I don’t want you to be my girlfriend, honest. I want you to be my sister. I played the role for you.”
“Thank you, Juan, You’re the best brother a lesbian could have. That was the most amazing experience. It was just perfect. Can I have something to eat now?!”