The Messiah

Part 3

by Pontius Pilate

Petra was led back to Pilate. She stumbled and weaved, half stupefied from the scourging. She still wore the moth-eaten purple cloak and the crown of thorns the soldiers had placed on her in their sadistic play. Her hands were once again tied behind her back and she was bare-chested. A narrow rag-of-a-loincloth dangled low on her abdomen. It was about the width and length of her hand and hung from a thin leather thong tied loosely around her hips.

Pilate’s eyes widened and a cruel smile creased his face when he caught sight of the battered woman. Her jugs wobbled sloppily as she came closer. When she was within five or six steps of the prelate, the centurion jerked her to a stop and knocked her to her knees. “Kneel before the Roman governor, you bitch.” He commanded.

Petra landed hard on her knees and nearly fell over onto her face. Her tits swayed and bounced as she struggled to maintain her balance. When she had she sat back on her haunches and glared up at Pilate defiantly.

“I present to you the Jews’ queen, Petra of Nazareth.” Pilate smiled back at her malevolently and looked her up and down. The crown of thorns had ripped her forehead and scalp and rivulets of blood streaked down her face. Her face was more battered and misshapen than when she was led away, but she was still recognizable. Her skinny, flat belly wore the marks of men’s fists, but except for a few whip marks along the outsides, where the oversized melons had gotten in the way as her back was laid open, her breasts were surprisingly unmarked.

Pilate walked behind her and lifted the cloak. Her ass and back - especially her back - were striped with scourge wounds. Her back had taken the brunt of the beating and in spots ribbon-like strips of flesh hung loosely, partially separated from the underlying tissue. He lifted the cloak higher and called Caiaphas over. He came over, staring at her breasts until he was fully behind her.

“She’s been disciplined. This should satisfy even you” Pilate said without taking his eyes off the scourge wounds.

“She’s a rebel. She deserves to be crucified.” Caiaphas spat back.

“Crucified!” Pilate blurted. “I find her not guilty! I’ve had her scourged and now will set her free. If you want her dead, you’ll have to kill her yourselves.”

“If you set this bitch free, you’re no friend of Caesar’s” Caiaphas retorted.

The vailed threat was not lost on Pilate. He was already held in some distain in Rome and he didn’t want more trouble.

“I find her not guilty, but I am willing to let the people decide. Every year I have released one prisoner as a sign of Roman mercy. This year I will let the people of Jerusalem choose.” Pilate announced smugly.

He sent for a despised murderer and then had the murderer and Petra led out onto the balcony where the gathered crowd could see them. Pilate felt sure that the people would never release Barabbas back into their midst, but the members of the Sanhedrin had circulated through the crowd telling everyone that Petra was a blasphemer, claiming to be the daughter of God.

“Before you stand two criminals. On my right stands the murderer and thief, Barabbas. On my left,” he says while gesturing toward the woman, “is your queen, Petra of Nazareth. As a show of mercy, I will set one of these prisoners free. I will allow you to decide which one. Shall it be Barabbus, or Petra?”

The crowd inspects each of the prisoners, some of the men staring hungrily at Petra’s full, heavy, oversized breasts. A murmur goes through the crowd but no one speaks out. Pilate gestures toward Barabbas. “Who will it be? Barabbas, or your queen?”

Someone in the crowd shouts, “She’s a fraud! We have no queen!”

Someone else shouts, “Caesar is our king”

Then a third shouts, “Free Barabbas!”

Soon others are calling for Barabbas’ release.

Frustrated, Pilate shouts, “But if I free Barabbas, what am I to do with the woman?”

“Crucify!” Someone shouts.

“Yea, crucify that slut!” another voice cries out.

“What, crucify your queen!” Pilate shouts. “Are you telling me you want to see Petra of Nazareth on a cross? Why? What crime has she committed?”

But there is no reasoning with the crowd, and they begin to chant: “Crucify! Crucify! Crucify!”

In a showy gesture, Pilate sends for a bowl and a pitcher of water, and then washes his hands. “I wash my hands of this woman. Her blood is on your hands now.”

He then orders Barabbas released and orders his men to take Petra out and crucify her.

Petra could not believe her ears. She knew that Pilate realized Caiaphas had framed her, but despite her innocence Pontius Pilate cavalierly condemned her to death! Crucified! The word rang in her ears. The very thought terrified and sickened her. Only rebellious slaves and the most despicable criminals were dealt with in this fashion. Decent people did not go to the cross! The cross was a hideous why to die, and to the Jews it had even fouler connotations. To the Jews, to be hung on a tree, even a Roman “tree,” was a sure sign of damnation. It announced to the world that the dead would spend an eternity in Hell, and in the case of the Roman “tree of shame,” it announced that the condemned were worthless and deserving of no mercy or compassion.

This could not be happening! She thought as the centurion hustled her along. But her fate was sealed. For a Jew, there was no higher recourse. Pilate’s word was supreme and she knew that within the hour she would be on a Roman tree. She had witnessed such executions before, and always felt smug contempt for the struggling, dying prisoners. Sometimes she even taunted the damned as they suffered. Never in her wildest nightmares, however, did she ever think that one day she would be crucified!

The centurion cut her wrists free. Two soldiers loaded a well-used crossbeam onto her shoulders. Two others jerked her arms back, up and over the timber and tied her arms into place at the elbows. Another looped a thin rope around her neck. Attached to its ends was a crudely lettered signboard that announced her name and crime in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. The rope went between her breasts and the titulus dangled in front of her quivering belly. The awkward patibulum across her shoulders was heavy and bowed her forward somewhat, so that her tits hung away slightly from her chest. They swayed with every breath and wobbled obscenely whenever she moved.

While some of the soldiers worked on Petra, others readied two other prisoners - two habitual thieves. Neither could have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old. When all three were ready, the fortress gates were swung open and the three prisoners were led into the street. A centurion on horseback led the procession, followed by the two thieves and their lectors. Petra was at the rear. A contingent of soldiers lined the flanks of the procession.

A large crowd greeted the procession as they entered the street. Word had spread like wildfire that Petra of Nazareth had been condemned by the Romans, and many rushed to crowd around the fortress and line the streets between the fortress and Golgotha. Others raced to Golgotha to claim choice spots were they could watch the humiliated woman suffer.

When the woman staggered into view, the crowd erupted with shouted insults and taunts. they quickly saw that she was topless and that her big, fat breasts wobbled like an unmilked cow. It had only been several short days since Petra rode into the city in glory. Great throngs lined the streets that day, too, cheering and hailing the woman as their messiah. But her fall from favor had been far and fast, and now she was being led out of the city to be tortured to death outside the city gate. The procession moved slowly through the crowd and Petra saw many of the same faces who had welcomed her only days before. Now, though, they were twisted, cruel masks, with a sadistic gleam in the eyes and mocking, laughing mouths.

Several times the queen of the Jews stumbled and fell on her way to Golgotha and the procession had to stop while the failed messiah was manhandled back onto her feet. After a seeming eternity, the procession reached its destination. As she approached, Petra caught sight of the three stipes that had been readied and a fresh wave of terror washed over her. She stopped in her tracks and started to back away, muttering “No. No…” Her fear brought forth more mockery from the mob and her lictor shoved her forward again.

As they took their last few steps, the procession split apart. One thief was led to the left stipes, the other to the right. Petra would hang between them. One of the soldiers tore the purple cloak and threw it to the ground. Approving murmurs rose from the mob as people got a look at the back that had been torn to ribbons on the whipping post. Petra looked over at a small group that was especially taunting, but before she could speak, she was knocked to the ground and flipped onto her back. The weight of the patibulum pressed into her arms. Her tortured back arched instinctively as it came into contact with the stony ground. Her head rolled backward to stare upside-down at the leering faces behind the stipes. Both tits sagged to the sides of her chest and bounced as she writhed in the dirt.

The two thieves were done first. Each had his arms pulled back over the top of the patibulum and lashed into place. Once they were hoisted into place, their ankles were tied into place on either side of the stipes.

Then the soldiers turned their attention to the woman. They cut her arms free and moved the patibulum to the base of the center stipes. Two took her by the wrists and dragged her the short distance to the waiting crossbeam. They bent her hands back over the timber so that the exposed wrists were centered over the wood. each placed a knee in the crook of her elbows to hold her in place. Petra struggled to free herself, but couldn’t. A hush fell over the crowd as they waited for the main event to begin. A burly, bare-chested soldier approached with a maul and four thick, big-headed nails. When Petra saw the man, she knew immediately what he intended and began to protest and struggle wildly. Both legs kicked and twitched. Both tits wobbled and jiggled sloppily as she tried to jerk her arms free. A buzz of excitement shot through the crowd as word was passed back that Petra was about to be nailed to the cross. Those farther back pushed and strained for a glimpse of the woman on the ground at the base of the center stipes.

Suddenly the sound of metal on metal rang out, followed immediately by a wild, agonized scream. The crucifixion had begun. More hammer blows rang out in quick succession. The loud screaming was non-stop. Those in the front of the crowd watched wide-eyed as Petra thrashed and bucked wildly. Her full, heavy jugs flopped from side to side. Her feet kicked spastically. Her hips humped. Her back arched almost to the breaking point and she rose onto the top of her head.

There was a momentary lull when the nail was fully seated and the lictor crossed to the other arm. Petra’s body writhed, her head rolled from side to side, and she babbled unintelligibly in between loud moans. Then the process was repeated. The lictor placed the second nail against her other wrist and pounded it through her flesh and into the wood beyond. Again Petra lost her mind when the lightning boltlike agony shot up her arm and exploded in her brain. When both wrists were securely anchored, the men attached ropes to iron rings in the top of the patibulum and began to pull. The crossbeam raised and then Petra followed. Her head fell backward and she screamed again, as the nails stretched and pulled at the holes in her wrists. The men jerked the ropes again and Petra was pulled higher, her ass leaving the ground. Petra screamed insanely and toppled from side to side as she tried to get her feet under her. The men pulled her into a standing position and stopped. Petra leaned drunkenly against the stipes. Her upraised and outstretched arms over her head. Her head was down and her chin was on her chest. She cried and babbled as the centurion stepped next to her. As Petra sobbed and moaned, the centurion read the execution order to the crowd, and when he was finished, he signaled to the men behind the stipes with the ropes. With a quick pull the patibulum rose another eighteen inches and Petra was jerked into the air. She hung there for a second, her feet kicking spastically in search of support. Again and again, the men jerked the rope and the queen of the Jews mounted the “throne“ that Rome had provided her. With each jerk, the woman’s head bobbed down and snapped back up as Petra screamed in terror and agony. With each jerk, her tits sagged down, then sprang back to wobble and sway. Just before it was beyond reach, the centurion reached up and tore the skimpy loincloth away, shouting, “Behold your queen!”

The patibulum quickly rose to the full hight of the stipes and the two pieces of the cross were fitted together. As the crossbeam slipped into place over the tapered top of the stipes, it fell a foot or so until it bottomed out and stopped with a sudden jerk. The woman fell too, and when the patibulum stopped the holes in Petra’s wrists stretched maddeningly against the nails. A short, deep, hroaty cry gushed from Petra’s mouth, and then she lost consciousness.

She awoke quickly, but at first didn’t know where she was. She looked up at the nails in her wrists and gave a short, panicked cry, then quickly looked left and right at the two teenagers on either side of her. She hung there panting quickly and tried to focus. The crowd was going wild. She looked out at the mob in front of her, hearing some of the lewd taunts and curses. The mob was huge. It looked to her like half the city had come to see her die.

She looked over at one of the thieves. He was struggling and moaning, trying to shift his position. He, too, was nude and Petra saw that he was lean and muscular, and extremely well-endowed. Someone called her name and she looked down as the wretch told her how much he would like to fuck her breasts. She looked up at the heavens and began to prey. She felt the men pulling at her feet, positioning them. She looked down between her tits as she panted out her prayer, “…forgive… them father… for… they know… not what they… do…”

Before she could finish, another lightning bolt hit her. The men were nailing one of her feet to the cross. They praying stopped abruptly, replaced by a loud scream. Her body bowed away from the cross as her upturned face screamed toward the heavens. She slammed back against the stipes. The whole cross shook. She threw her head violently from side to side gasping to fill her empty lungs while still trying to scream. Her body twisted violently, making her tits flop wildly.

The mob roared its approval. When her wrists were nailed into place most could only hear her reaction. But when they did her feet, she was on a high cross in plain view and everyone got to see the show. No one had ever seen a show quite like this!

As soon as her right foot was securely in place, the soldiers brought her left foot around and positioned it next to the right. Petra tried to jerk her foot away, but the men were too strong. The lictor looked up at her and smiled. He placed the nail against the top of her foot and looked up at her again. She stared down at him wild-eyed. Her nostrils were flared and her mouth was clamped rigidly closed. While he watched her face, he began to push the nail through her foot. Her foot shook and her hips humped. Her head rolled back and forth slowly as she tried to stifle a scream. The sole of her foot bulged slightly, then ripped as the nail tore through in a spray of blood. He finished her off by pounding the nail deep into the stipes while Petra put on another show for the crowd.

Petra writhed in agony, unable to come to terms with the overwhelming pain. A soldier props a ladder against the patibulum and climbs up. Petra’s titulus is under his arm. When he is high enough, he nails the signboard to the cross above her head. He climbs back down until his face is even with the woman’s breasts. He takes the right nipple in his mouth and begins to suck. some of the men in the crowd shout encouragement while Petra can do nothing but look away. When he finishes, he drops the nipple and rubs his mouth to the outside of her breast. He takes another mouthful a little below and about two inches to the outside of the nipple and begins to suck the meat. When he’s done he climbs down the rest of the way, leaving the woman with a dark, irregular-shaped passion mark on her tit.

The reign of the queen of the Jews has begun.