Mary's Summer Camp Adventures
This marks the final installment of a story that I began nearly ten
months ago. It was originally inspired by a very short story I once read. How
that seed produced this twisting and turning tale is another example of the
power and mystery of the creative process. I cannot begin to describe the
feeling that overwhelmed me as I typed the last paragraph, moving at something
approaching warp speed and having a great deal of difficulty drawing breath.
This is one of those moments that make writing such a joy and a privilege.
Enough said on that matter.
This story received two widely diverging reviews at its inception. I
frankly didn't agree with either for different reasons. During the entire nine
months and a few weeks after, it received two, count them, two additional
reviews. They say that writing is sometimes a very lonely profession or in my
case, hobby. The only thing that kept me going on this effort was my need to
finish what I had started, and do it in some logical way if such a thing as
logic can be presumed for an effort that turned into a ghost story before my
very eyes. It is spooky what happens when one is preoccupied by a puzzle that
seems to have no ending.
It would have been helpful if a few of the intelligentsia that spend
their time pontificating on the various forums had taken the required few
minutes to let me know if they liked or hated my story. The silence was
deafening and once more supports my stated view that the review process on this
site means very little, it is the hits that count.
Chapter 18
A great deal was going on while Mary remained in her pain-induced coma.
Mistress J who had left to seek help from those in Camp Animus had become lost
in the forest. What would normally have taken her less than a half-day had
turned into a day of walking aimlessly and finally being found by members of the
very camp she was seeking. By the time she had a chance to talk to Equus and his
mysterious companion, Aurora, night was upon them.
There were some very serious discussions going on among the movers and
shakers of Camp St. Sebastian as well. As long as Mary remained unconscious, not
reponding to smelling salts or other methods of reviving her, Father Flogg was
frustrated in his cause. The old priest had at last faced up to the fact that
Mary must not only publically confess her allegiance to the Dark One, she must
be purified in the flames that would consume the stake to which she must be
bound. This was the crux of the discussions, that also included some of the more
influential church dignitaries that still remained at the camp.
It was agreed that nothing was out of bounds as far as forcing Mary to
see the wisdom of confessing and asking for god's mercy. Everything possible was
to be done to break her free of the trance that obviously was the work of her
possessor who may be lurking somewhere in the camp. The moment she was conscious
she would be taken to the special chamber now being set up to finish her
interrogation. This would be a private trial open only to a select group of
participants and witnesses.
Although Mary was in a deep sleep, part of her mind was quite active.
She was struggling to understand why she must submit herself to this terrible
trial. It was not of her own making, there was an outside force controlling her
in this matter. She began to suffer from doubt, perhaps she was possessed by
some evil spirit. Why should she trust Equus and his new companion despite the
evidence that the serene young girl had enormous power? They had returned her to
St. Sebastian for a purpose, but what was it? Was Mary just a pawn in a battle
between two forces much mightier than mere humans? She had no answers, just fear
of what the future would have in store for her once she regained consciousness.
At almost the same exact moment as Equus, Aurora and a few members of
the sect began making their way towards Camp St. Sebastian, Mary opened her eyes
and returned to the land of the living. Father Flogg was notified minutes
afterwards. Mary was quickly taken to the torture chamber where she would remain
until she either confessed or died.
The teen blanched at the array of fiendish devices and apparatus that
waited to turn her body into a beaten, battered, blistered hunk of twitching
flesh. There were seven people huddled together in quiet discussion; Mary knew
that she was the subject of their conversation. Of the seven she knew five; the
other two were strangers to her. She surmised correctly that they were people
who watched her ordeal from the audience that had surrounded the stage.
Mistress I came toward her and with one hand tore the rough covering
from her. Mary stood there naked, her body covered with the evidence of what she
had already been through. One of the stangers pointed and said, "Put the bitch
on the horse and let's get started on her."
Father Morecock assisted Mistress I in raising the girl and placing her
on the coarse wooden triangle that was the horse. Mary offered no resistance as
her captors placed manacles around her wrists and ankles. Soon she was
straddling the horse with her tender vulva being neatly split by its sharp edge.
Her legs were now stretched tight by weights that had been attached to her
manacled ankles, forcing her body to sink further down onto the splintery
material. Her arms were pulled up over her head by the chain to which her
manacled hands was attached.
Mary moaned in fear as another figure detached itself from the group; it
was the torturer who assisted Father Flogg in her interrogation on that horrible
stage. He was carrying a vicious implement composed of many strips of leather
and in his other hand a bucket. It sloshed when he put it down a few feet from
Mary, naked and oh so vulnerable, who was beginning to appreciate the fiendish
nature of this "horse" upon which she rode. Then she spied Mistress I wheeling a
brazier filled with glowing coals toward where she sat. There were a number of
irons and a set of pinchers almost the same color as the coals surrounding them.
Mary shuddered as she realized their intent.
The girl was still focused on the brazier so she didn't notice that the
heavy set torturer had unfurled the whip. She heard the whooshing sound a moment
before her back seemed to burst into flame. The blow took her breath away; this
was followed by shattering pain caused mostly by the metal parts that were
attached to each strand of the whip. Once the shock wore off she was aware that
she was bleeding from numerous places in the area that had been struck. She
looked over her shoulder and saw him placing the whip into the bucket. She
looked away and tried to overcome the fear that was crawling throughout her
trembling body. Again there was that terrible sound and this time the pain was
worse and lasted much longer. Now the brine soaked strands of the whip were even
more effective at causing tremendous pain in her bleeding back.
The teenager now faced a new horror. Mistress I was approaching her with
a glowing metal poker held in her gloved hand. She made a feint toward Mary's
breast and she recoiled, bringing new pain from the abrasion of her sore crotch
by the cruel edge of the triangle upon which she sat. Then Mistress I jabbed the
poker into Mary's exposed armpit. For a second there was no feeling as the brand
ate away the first layer of tender flesh, then the tidal wave of pain
accompanied by the sickening smell of her charring flesh arrived to tear her
mind and body apart anew. There was a feral look on the face of the girl as she
watched Mary suffering the torments of the damned.
Now it was the torturer's turn once more and this time he faced her, his
face impassive. Mary watched in disbelief as the multistranded whip arced toward
her, then covered her breasts in a coating of sheer agony, tearing away at the
sensitive mounds and creating trails of blood that trickled down the curves of
her flesh as she shreiked to the heavens, her mind beginning to crack from the
terrible pain that infiltrated every corner of her body. The second strike
finished her off; Mary made a wavering eerie squeal that abruptly ceased when
she passed out, her body slumping over the horse, blood from her wounded crotch
dripping onto the floor.
The torturer splashed the contents of the bucket over the girl's body
and the brine ate away at her wounds, rousing her so that she could absorb new
pain. A second stroke of the whip to her breasts produced another wavering wail
of agony, but Mary remained awake. Once more it was Mistress I's turn.
This time she raised Mary's left breast by the nipple, exposing its
tender underside, quickly slid the heated iron against the girl's chest wall and
let the breast fall. The stench was horrible as Mary's breast meat began to be
cooked by that hot iron lodged between it and her chest. Mary's body shivered
and thrashed mindlessly against her bonds. So great was the pain that her body
acted as if it were a tuning fork, spasming and shaking as she wailed and
screamed until her voice finally cracked. The smell had gotten so strong that
the torturer finally had to pull the iron from Mary's roasting flesh, taking a
quantity of seared skin and flesh with it as it dislodged. There was no way
that the tortured teen could be revived to suffer more.
Father Flogg nearly had apoplexy, a vein in his head bulging as he raved
that Mistress I was in league with the very demon that they were fighting
against. Why else had she deliberately sent Mary away once again into that deep
trance which had already proven invulnerable to their efforts to revive her. He
pointed a shaking finger at the cowering teen and ordered the torturer to
replace Mary with "this companion of the demon".
The babbling counselor struggled fruitlessly against his strength and
soon found herself naked and secured to another of the many instruments of
torture that occupied the chamber. In the meantime Mary had been taken from the
horse and now lay on a pallet of straw, eyes closed, face dead white, lips
bluish, her naked, mutilated body coated with a sheen of sweat.
The tall, buxom blonde was tied to the ladder, a simple construction at
first glance, but one capable of providing an incredible number of options for
the torturer to use on the poor wretch occupying this apparatus. The teen was
naked, her wrists bound to a rung well above her head. Her ankles were roped to
the sides of the ladder, opening her genitals to the not so tender mercies of
her inquisitors. Once her genitals had been tortured to the satisfaction of the
overseerer, Father Flogg, then her ankles could be roped to a winch arrangement
located at the base of the ladder, allowing her body to be racked.
Father Flogg licked his lips at the sight of Ilsa's shaven mons,
revealng her thin lipped cunt with its fat clitoris peeking from its hood. The
good priest also noticed the dark birthmark decorating the inside of her thigh.
To him it looked like a pair of horns, the mark of Satan himself. He approached
the naked blonde and poked at her birthmark as he said, " The mark of the Dark
One, prepare to examine this heretic."
It was Sister Stigmata who skewered the dark blotch on Ilsa's thigh,
bringing a sharp gasp from the girl, but no blood was observed. The priest
stepped closer and pinched the blonde's nipple, driving his rough nails into the
yielding flesh. "Test this one again; she seems to be possessed, let us be
certain."he said as the girl writhed in pain.
This time the needle that probed her flesh had been heated until it
glowed orange. Unfortunately for poor Ilsa the hot needle immediately cauterized
the flesh as it penetrated, thus preventing any blood from issuing from the
wound. She was now clearly doomed to live in agony until she offered up her body
to the priest or whoever wanted it in exchange for freeing her from the ultimate
punishment. It seemed that Father Flogg would be the winnner no matter what
transpired here this day.
Ilsa's buttocks were rubbed with oil and then the ladder was lowered so
that she was stretched out at roughly a forty-five degree angle, allowing almost
total access to her front side. A large brazier of flaming coals was installed
below her exposed bottom, and the teen immediately felt the first touches of
heat. It would be some time before the oil covering her rounded cheeks began to
sizzle and start the cooking process.
In the interim Sister Stigmata began to plunge needles into the helpless
girl's big breasts. The torturer concentrated on Ilsa's plump pubic mound,
whipping it into a bloody froth with a scourge of metal tipped strands, while
the nun turned the teen's udders into a pair of pin cushions. All that time the
glowing bed of coals beneath her became more and more of a source of pain as her
skin began to blister and then crack.
When the bellows were used to feed the flames, she started to scream as
her buttocks felt as if they were on fire. Sister Stigmata burned the
counselor's armpits with a glowing metal rod that had been heating in a smaller
brazier. Ilsa thrashed against her bonds, her head snapping from side to side as
her body was overwhelmed with pain. The assistant laid a blazing length of metal
down into that trench between her thin lips creating a burst of steam as her
cunt juices were vaporized in the instant before her flesh began to char. The
girl bellowed like a wounded animal and then fainted dead away.
Ilsa awoke screaming from the horrible pain that radiated from her big
toe. The torturer had just hammered a beveled strip of metal under the nail,
causing it to pop from the girl's toe. While she was unconscious they had retied
her ankles to allow the winch to be brought into play. The man had taken
advantage of this to begin crippling her feet.
Ilsa began to curse and sob as she looked down to see the man preparing
to hammer another metal shim under the nail of her other big toe. Her plea for
mercy was cut off and immediately replaced by a hoarse shreik of agony as she
once more experienced the excruciating agony of losing another toe nail. Again
the bellows were used to stir the coals into flames, the intense heat now
turning her raw blistered cheeks into loaves of cooked meat. Ilsa began to beat
her head against the suporting rung, so great was her pain and distress. Father
Flogg took this moment to seal her fate.
He had them move the brazier now cooking her bottom, back for a time so
that she could be questioned. "Do you confess to being possessed by the Dark
One? Answer now or the trial will begin anew." the priest asked, knowing full
well she was being given Hobson's choice; there could be but one answer to his
question.
"I confess and beg for mercy and forgiveness. Please help me to save my
soul, I am lost otherwise." Ilsa said with the last of her strength.
Flogg decided to seal her fate, so he waited while the winch was given a
few turns and her body was now taut as a violin string. Then he gave her his
answer, condemning her to a life of servitude in exchange for freedom from this
terrible pain that was moving her toward madness.
"I can offer you mercy and some modicum of forgiveness, but you have a
long path to traverse before the holy spirit that once dwelt in you returns. Do
you accept the offer of the holy church? Answer now or your trial will continue
to its ultimate conclusion."
Ilsa accepted immediately and burst into tears as she realized what kind
of future she would have under his iron rule of discipline. Father Flogg had
already begun to plan for the addition of this tall, buxom blonde to his
personal inner circle. He was sure that Father Morecock and Sister Stigmata
would be thrilled to have the opportunity of using this young woman for the
church's and their own purposes. He had often thought that Ilsa had the
capability of satisfying both sexes when it came to matters of the flesh. As for
his own needs, they were still with him, a gift from his master in heaven.
If memory served him correct, she had just reached her majority which
meant there were no nasty legal obstacles to overcome if he chose to employ her
as his personal assistant for a modest stipend that obviously she would turn
over to the church in appreciation for all the good things he had done for her.
As for her current rather debilitated physical condition, it too would pass
within a few months. In fact the scars would act as a constant reminder to her
of how close she came to losing her immortal soul.
His reveries were abruptly ended by the sound of the door to the chamber
being opened. The door that he had personally locked before Mary's trial had
been continued. He could not believe his eyes when the two figures entered.
Everyone in the chamber had drawn back at their entrance. He could not be
completely sure, but the man may have been his old friend Father Fangcutter, now
come to pay him a visit. The young girl in white was a total stranger to him. He
raised his hand in greeting and prepared to challenge their intrusion into a
sacred church rite.
The confrontation was brief and quite one-sided. There was a flash that
lit up the dark room as if it were day. The good priest, his inner circle and
the others who had participated one way or another in this terrible deed
disappeared. Where they had gone was not a subject that was ever discussed,
since the only potential witness to this remarkable event had already fainted
dead away immediately upon their entry into the room. Her mind would never be
the same, and no one would ever take seriously her description of what took
place during that summer at Camp St. Sebastian.
Moments later Mary Katherine Gallagher awoke from a troubled sleep and
wondered how she had come to be in this strange dark chamber of horrors. She
rose and frowned at the sight of the badly injured Mistress I, slumped against
the bonds that held her to the ladder. It took but a few minutes to free the
injured girl and bring her around. As soon as her eyes opened she gasped and
began to sob as if she had just seen a ghost. "Now how could that be?", thought
Mary, looking down at her pale, pudgy body still not yet done molding itself
into a woman's shape, but there was always next summer.
THE END
