My Roman Crucifixion (Part 1) - Broken, Nailed, and Displayed

Scourging of the Intimate area

They should have stopped. 

But they didn’t.

The crowd wanted more. They shouted to the senate to give me more. They said I should be ruined, that I had raped a young girl - he relented. 

The senate had directed the soldiers to add more as I seemed young enough and strong enough to take it. After all I had stolen from the chief magistrate and raped a young girl - although I knew it was not true. 

The soldier suggested a normal braided whip without the bone or metal weights. He said I was bloodied enough already and would likely die on the post if they continued with the previous whip. The senate agreed. 

I watched as he picked up a large leather whip, much broader and heavier with a single large braided thong. This would cause more bruising and less cutting and skin breakage. 

My arms were useless. My legs barely held. My entire body trembled like an animal left to die in the sun.

They spread my legs far, tying rope to my ankles, then held by two assisting guards. 

I understood what was coming.

Strike 31 – Inner right thigh, upper edge

The lash came low and angled, striking high up the thigh, just below the groin.

It wrapped around, tearing at already cut skin already bruised from earlier blows.

I cried out. Not loud. My voice was hoarse, raw from screaming. The pain shot upward into my stomach.

Strike 32 – Inner left thigh, mirrored

The second mirrored the first, into the left inner thigh, so close to the center that I felt the edge of the thong graze my scrotum.

My legs twitched. A nerve jumped. I gasped as hot blood began to run down both thighs now.

Strike 33 – Directly across the genitals

This one was intentional. The lash came from below, arcing up between my legs and snapping into the scrotum and base of the penis.

I screamed; not words, just sound, broken and desperate. A high, ragged howl.

My stomach convulsed. I nearly vomited again. My vision blurred.

Strike 34 – Across upper thighs, both sides

A wide horizontal stroke, from hip to hip. The weight of the thongs hit the tops of both thighs, right beneath the crease of the pelvis.

Flesh tore in multiple places. My knees buckled completely, and the guards hauled me upright.

Strike 35 – Scrotum again, from the side

A cruel strike. The whip came from the left and wrapped into the groin, striking the testicles with the heavy thick single thong.

It was like being crushed from the inside. I coughed blood.

I sobbed aloud; not from pain, but from the knowledge that my body would never be whole again.

The crowd applauded, congratulating the soldier. One man shouted “his balls are so swollen, there the size of a normals man’s now”, a reply came “they are still small, and more ugly now”. 

“Strike that maggot between his leg” shouted a bystander close by. 

Strike 36 – Inner thigh, deep and angled

This one felt surgical. It landed where the thigh meets the pelvis, high and deep, striking a cluster of nerves.

My right leg went numb. I could still feel the wetness - blood - but nothing else.

I shook violently, the pain beyond understanding.

Strike 37 – Underside of both thighs

They aimed low and swept upward, striking the underside of both thighs where the flesh is softest. It made a wet slap, followed by an explosion of agony.

Again this caught my anus as my legs had been spread apart. 

The skin burst in welts that immediately began to leak blood.

Strike 38 – Genitals again, straight on

A full-on lash. This one was vicious. It hit with the flat of the whip directly on the penis and scrotum.

I could feel my penis bounce a few times. The leather thong had struck the head where the pee slit is located. The most sensitive part of a man. 

My whole body spasmed. I think I bit my tongue. Blood filled my mouth.

I couldn’t scream anymore. I just shuddered, like something giving up.

Seeing the effect, the crowd roared with laughter and clapping. 

Strike 39 – Inner thighs, both sides

The soldier moved quickly now. A double snap—one thong hitting each inner thigh at once.

Fresh lacerations opened over old ones. Blood ran freely down my legs, pooling at my feet.

I barely registered it. The pain was starting to float—not dull, but distant.

Strike 40 – Final lash, straight upward into the groin

He waited for a breath, then sent the final lash straight up, from below. It struck between my legs, and the thong slammed into the testicles and base again, lifting them briefly, crushing them.

I let out a sound that was not human.

They untied the rope binds now. 

My body collapsed, finally and fully. I lay in the dirt, legs twitching, blood soaking the ground, vision flashing white and red.

I wanted to die.

And the whip finally stopped.

I don’t know how long I lay there.

I only know the sky turned red, then gray.

I don’t remember what happened next.

Only that the dust beneath my cheek was warm. That my breath came in shallow gulps. That I could no longer feel what parts of me were bleeding and what were only burning.

My body was no longer mine. It belonged to the pain, to the punishment. The flagrum had written the sentence into my flesh, line by line, stroke by stroke.

I lay there, naked, bleeding, my mouth pressed to the dirt that smelled of blood, piss and dung.

The crowd began to disperse, murmuring like they’d just left the theater. I was just another morning’s entertainment. Just another body broken by Rome.

People were speaking about the violence, that it was the best scourging they had seen, how good the soldiers were, best entertainment in the Roman Empire.  

Someone said “I hope he lasts for the crucifixion, I am too excited to see it”, another said I hope they take the long route to the crux hill, he should be shown”, one said “I want all of Rome to see his little tinkle bounce and shake as he walks the walk of shame, it’s so cute”. 

The words cut deep into my soul, perhaps deeper than the whip, they hated me and were enjoying my pain. 

They continued, perhaps they knew I heard, “that pain must have been extreme, especially to his boy bits, his pride and joy”, a response soon came “that was better than a gelding and I expect more painful”, “I hope they still geld him though, I want to see his cherries cut at the cross”. They laughed. 

They would crucify me later.

But I knew, even then, that I had already been destroyed. 

I don’t know how long I lay in the dirt after the flogging; minutes? An hour? Time had already begun to bend in pain. My world was heat, blood, and shame.