The torment of Casey

XLIII

Casey crouched in the middle of the cell and chewed on her nails. Her hair was long and almost reached her lower back. It was stringy and full of split ends. She loved playing with it, she even tried to braid it at times but the braids would fall apart.  She managed to tie it up in a ponytail.

She stared at the floor beneath her and caught a glimpse of her bush, once again thick and flourishing. She rolled some of the coarse hair around her finger and smiled.

She thought she heard footsteps. She spring to her feet and looked out the bars. “Anybody there? Anybody? Where’s my food?” she called out. But there was no one. She slammed her fists against the padded door and slumped to the floor. She crawled away and took refuge in the corner and waited. After a while she went over to the tap and drank water, lowering her mouth to the tap and drinking directly. That way she got more and wasted less than if she collected it in her hands.

A few minutes later the footsteps were real and got louder. But the door didn’t open. A slot at the base did and a steel bowl with a chain attached to it was pushed in. The contents splashed around. Casey rushed over and slurped it up. It was a broth-like liquid filled with random stuff: some bread ends, carrot peels, banana slices. On the outside of the bowl was a wad of toothpaste. Casey rubbed it over her teeth after eating, spitting into bowl and pushing the bowl towards the door. She drank more water.

No one had entered her cell in months. She had managed to regain full control of her bladder in the interim. She was definitely lonely and tired easily. She tried to take care of herself by washing as best as she could at the tap. But it was difficult. There was no soap and the water came in a trickle. She spent her time lying down or crouching in the corner. Sometimes she paced the tiny cell. She even took to doing exercises whenever her body permitted.

They were trying to drive her insane. They weren’t succeeding.

XLIV

They came in when she was sleeping. Roughly grabbing her, one of them snipped off her long hair, which by now had gone past her butt. He chopped it off at the shoulder and threw her down to the floor. Casey let out a scream, “Not my hair,” she begged but it was too late. They were gone. Casey curled up and sobbed uncontrollably, grabbing what was left of her hair, pounding her fists on the floor.

Then the visits resumed. Many times a day. Casey never resisted. She lacked the will to resist. They started turning the hose on her to wash her every now and then. She didn’t bother to look at who it was. She just lay there or got on all fours, doing as she was told. They never said more than a few words. Sometimes there was just one person, sometimes there were as many as four or five, in which case they dragged her out into the corridor. One after the other, or three at a time, taking turns, moving from one part of her body to another. It was almost like the time with the eight men. Casey had some memory of those days. But now, in the darkness, in the sub-basement, in her own little space, they had her at their mercy as always, but they weren’t succeeding in driving her insane or getting her to confess. In fact, they no longer asked her to confess.

XLV

“It’s been three years. How is she?” asked the Pastor, fresh from his massive re-election victory.

“Still holding on. Still taking care of herself as best as she can given the arrangements we have down there,” came the reply from the Director of the institute.

“All that treatment, this prolonged confinement, and she’s still sane?” the Pastor was incredulous.

“You couldn’t break her after all that you put her through. Modern medicine can only go so far. It’s hard to make someone insane with the drugs at our disposal. The shockwaves only did so much. The effects come undone over time.”

“And you won’t do anything more than IV and shock therapy, right?”

“Who will take care of her if we did something drastic? We can’t have her be a burden to the community or to any particular facility. There are others who really need help. We can’t manufacture cases for your pleasure.”

“You realize that God wants her punished. Not me.”

“Yes, I do. But I’m also doing God’s work by helping those who need help.”

“Very well. What kind of cell do you have her in?”

“It’s padded. The only light comes in through the bars on the door. Meals are served through a slot. There’s a hole and a tap inside. We give her some toothpaste and that’s about it. Broth and scraps, twice a day, that’s what she eats. We’ve got her on camera at all times as well. Other than some screaming and bouts of frustration, she’s largely docile.”

“Any sexual urges?”

“Not really. But we’ve got folks visiting her lately. She’s quite passive and submissive. It might take a few more years before she truly breaks.”

“Is there any way you can shut the water off for a while?”

The Director stared at his desk and thought hard. “She gets visitors, you know. They have some standards.”

“Stop the visits.”

“But she’s our best catch. Quite desirable, in spite of what she’s been through.”

“Maybe a hose down can precede each visit. Targeted hosing.”

“Well, she undertakes targeted washing anyway.”

“Look, I have risked everything to get a confession out of her. I was just re-elected having asked my congregation for patience. I need her to break soon. I need her to repent.”

“Would you like some time with her?”

“No. Is there another cell you could move her to? One that’s not padded and not as comfortable as this one? Can you put her in shackles?”

“We have a regular cell, stone and concrete. Four walls, quite light tight. A hole for waste. There’s a slot under the door and a sliding window on the door to look in. Will that do?”

“Move her there.” The Pastor got up and left.

XLVI

Casey ran her fingers along the edge of the wall. She hummed to herself. She slowly moved her fingers up and down, as though she was caressing the concrete. Her other hand was on her breast, just cupping it. She closed her eyes, and tried to concentrate. She didn’t know what to focus on. It was dark. Very dark. She sucked on her fingers. Her stomach growled. She brought her wet fingers down to her bush and played with the hair, curling it and tugging it. She ran her fingers over her pussy, barely touching her lips as the thick layer of hair covered them. She kept her hand there and moved over to the hole. She let the warm piss flow out onto her cupped hands. She collected what she could and brought her hands to her mouth so that she could drink the warm liquid, quenching her thirst in the process. She let out a yell of satisfaction.

Just then she heard the sound of keys. She crawled over to the door. The food bowl came in. The slot remained open, allowing some light into her cell. She felt the outer edge of the bowl and found the toothpaste. She quickly rubbed it on her teeth. Then she drank the warm broth, swallowing the bits of solid food along the way. She put the empty bowl down. It was pulled out and filled with water. She drank most of it and dripped the last bit onto her eyes and face.

Casey, who was 26 when she was first confined, was now 31. Five years had passed. She didn’t know it.

She found herself talking in the darkness to make time pass. She described random incidents, many of them sexual. She described her tenure as a beast of burden. Her memory was back. She led animated conversations, each ending with the words, “I’m not crazy yet.”

Sometimes she would lose it, yelling and sobbing. She’d scream, “I love sodomy and so do you. Now let me out of here.” She never resorted to hurting herself. She’d roll around on the floor, jump up and down, even took to vigorous exercising, push ups and crunches as a way to kill time.

Occasionally there would be a visitor. Or two. Or three. But these encounters were rare. The only bonus would be a blast of cold water between her legs and onto her face.

She rediscovered masturbation. She found that her pussy was getting very wet whenever she talked. She’d shove two or three fingers in and bring them out all sticky and wet. She’d touch herself until she climaxed and fall asleep from exhaustion. She went from being dirt and sweat covered to dirt, sweat and cum covered in no time. Sex was her escape.

The Pastor checked in with the director and grew increasingly frustrated. “Stop the visits!” he roared.

XLVII

“Happy Birthday Casey. You are 32 years old today, did you know that?” the Pastor said, staring down at her. “Look at you. Still resisting.”

Casey was on her hands and knees, not quite on all fours. She was looking down at the ground to avoid the glare of the corridor light. Her hair was long again. She hadn’t bothered with it in a while. She was just about getting by each day and thanks to the kindness of the guards, who went against the explicit wishes of the Pastor, she had access to some water to stay clean. But she was mostly dirt covered and had lost all the weight she had gained during her initial treatment at the Institute. The waxing was a thing of the past as well.

“Six years ago you came to use for help. Or we brought you in for help. All the while you resisted, were stubborn, behaved badly and broke every rule in the book. Nothing has worked for you. But I am not one to give up. You will face the congregation tomorrow.”

He turned to the waiting guards, “shackle her and load her into the van. Blindfold her as well.”

They did as they were told. Casey had irons locked around her wrists and ankles as well as a collar. They placed a hood on her and dragged her to the elevator. For a brief moment she felt the warm breeze on her skin but then she was stuffed into a small space under one of the seats, curled up and unable to move. The Pastor drove off, leaving her in complete darkness.

She remained in the space for several hours even though the van had stopped long ago. She was thirsty and struggling to stay calm. Finally, she was let out and escorted into the Church. It wasn’t until she was painfully secured to a frame, her arms stretched behind her and locked to a chain that was dangling from the frame, that the hood was removed. She was offered a drink of water from a bowl. She didn’t have the heart to say no. She was trying to catch her breath. She stared at a giant curtain in front of her. She could here many voices on the other side. People were coming in and taking their seats. Then the Pastor called the gathering to order.

He went into his usual rant about sins and repentance and then began to talk about Casey.

“It’s been six years since we charged her. She is yet to repent in spite of all of our good intentions. The girl is brave and resilient but sadly, misguided. I have brought her before you, in her most primal and animalistic state, with the hope of getting her to repent so that we can put this sad chapter behind us and set her free.”

The curtain was opened and a gasp followed. There was silence for a while. Then the chants of “whore”, “slut” and “sodomite” began. The Pastor let the crowd vent.

After the chanting and chaos died down the Pastor continued, “she will be whipped front and back until she repents. Her screams will be heard for miles. Most importantly, you will all hear it.”

Two men, armed with belts took their positions. One behind her and one in front. Then the whipping began.

Casey remained defiant, even counting the lashes while fighting back tears and choking on her screams. The whips left no marks but really hurt. Her voice began to grow faint after 25 lashes. She managed to mutter up to 32 when the whipping stopped.

“Repent Casey,” the Pastor ordered her. Casey lifted her head and looked at her and said nothing.

The crowd began to chant, “Repent! Repent!”

The whipping resumed. Casey began to drift in and out of consciousness after 50 lashes. After 60, the whipping stopped. The Pastor got nothing.

He decided to take a break from Casey’s troubles and continued to speak on another topic. After about 20 minutes, when Casey seemed more conscious, he asked her to repent. When he got nothing, the whipping resumed, with the crowd whipped up into a frenzy.

Casey remembered nothing after the 95th lash. She had bravely counted loudly from 61 to 87.

For the next several days she didn’t remember much. It was an orgy of whipping, hosing and fucking. She was presented to the congregation again the following week. They got nothing.

She spent the next week suspended from the ceiling by her wrists and lashed by anyone who wished to lash her. There were several volunteers who came forward to lash her dangling body, day and night. She was fed nothing more than a sludge-like concoction and water.

The Pastor tried everything for the next month. All tried and failed techniques: dunking, the rack, the taser and of course lots of fucking. Casey didn’t say a word.

XLVIII

“Enough Pastor. The game is over,” one of the elders said to him at the Church Elders meeting, “I mean look at her. She is absolutely broken and helpless. She won’t repent and I think we should call off this whole charade.”

“Absolutely not!” the Pastor roared back, “she will repent even if it takes me another 10 years. I have time!”

“No you don’t,” came the reply, “your role in her penance is known to all. You don’t practice what you preach.”

“I’m doing my job!”

“Not for long. This committee will recommend an impeachment hearing at this week’s service. There will be a vote. You either set her free now or risk losing your post and the next Pastor will set her free.”

“Do what you want. I will stay on Pastor and Casey will remain in penance until she repents.” He got up and walked out.

“Committee votes 7-2 to recommend an impeachment hearing.” The Pastor ignored the statement.

By the time they wrapped up the meeting, Casey was locked under the seat of the van and the Pastor drove off with her.

IL
Casey was so weak and exhausted that she didn’t feel like moving from her spot. He had her chained by the neck to a pipe than ran along the back of the house. The chain was about four feet long, giving her some freedom of movement but for the most part she either lay on the grass or sat grabbing her knees.

She was at the Pastor’s remote cabin. Tucked away in the forest, there was no one else in sight. The only sounds she heard were those of birds or of the leaves rustling in the breeze.

He hadn’t said anything since he brought her out here, having whisked her away from the church basement after the most intense whipping she had experienced. Her entire body still ached from the suspension and the hundreds of lashes. But there were no lasting scars beyond a few bruises here and there.

He’d come out onto the balcony to check on her. Twice a day he’d leave her a plate of food and fill her water jug. The food was much better. In the morning he’d bring her two boiled eggs, two slices of bread and a banana. She’d save one slice of bread and the banana for later. In the late-afternoon he’d bring her a bowl of grits with boiled carrots and green beans.

But not much else had changed. She was still naked, she still slept on the ground and she used a deep drain nearby as a toilet. She could reach the tap next to the porch to wash but he gave her a toothbrush. She started brushing her teeth twice a day again.

She didn’t know what his plans were. She didn’t dare ask. He seemed awfully calm and relaxed. She’d hear him drive away every now and then but he’d always come back. He hadn’t touched her in any way since he chained her to the pipe.

Casey’s strength slowly returned. Eating well helped. She began to feel better, more refreshed. The weather always seemed nice. She hoped that things wouldn’t take a turn for the worse again.

After almost 10 days, the Pastor spoke of his intentions. He made her an offer, “I am withdrawing from the community, taking leave from my position as Pastor. I am offering myself to finish God’s work, free from other distractions.

“Since you refuse to repent and the Church has lost patience, you will marry me and serve as my obedient slave. That will count as repentance.”

Casey looked stunned. Was this guy out of his mind? “What about you own wife?” she asked him.

“I am allowed multiple wives. But I will focus on you for now.”

“What makes you think I want to marry you? What will I gain? Clothes? A bed?”

“You will serve in whatever way I wish. Marriage won’t change who you are or how you think. But I hope it will. You cannot bear any more children but you can at least serve your Master.”

“But you can do whatever you want without marrying me.”

“Of course. So Casey, will you marry me?” He leaned against the porch railing and looked down at her. She stood up.

“Take off this chain, get me some clothes and let me take a proper shower and I will give you an answer.”

“Still stubborn after all these years. I’ll take that as a no.” He went inside the house.

“You think marrying you will make life better for me?” Casey screamed out, “you’re still the perverted pig. You’ll continue to torment me!” She pulled at the chain, clanging it against the pipe.

The Pastor came outside and said, “Of course I will. That’s what you deserve. I can change your living conditions in an instant. You remember what it was like at the Institution. Or in the ditch that you had diligently dug. Or at the plantation. Or back in the Church cellar. You think you’ve experienced it all. Well, you are wrong.”

“What’s left now? You can withhold food and water and just let me wither away. That’s all that I have left to experience. I’ve seen it all,” Casey thundered.

“What fun would that be?”

“Look at me! You know I have nothing to repent for and I won’t marry you. Why not let me go. Set me free. Or just kill me!”

“That would be too easy. I’m not ready to let you go yet. I have made special plans for you. We will travel together. Now rest up. We have an early start tomorrow.”

The Pastor walked towards the door and then turned and said to Casey, who had sat back down, “As long as I live, you will be with me. You will never wear any clothes again. You will never experience any comfort or convenience again.”

Casey ignored him and closed her eyes. She sighed and swore under her breath.

L

“Faster whore,” the Pastor thundered, cracking the whip against her back. Casey kept moving as best as she could. Her back hurt and each crack of the whip made it worse. Sweat poured out of every part of her body. She kept her head down to keep the sweat out of her eyes. She moved along the muddy path, splattering herself along the way.

She was, once again, a beast of burden. Her fists were locked in leather mitts, a chain was tied around her back and was connected to a carriage where the Pastor was sitting with two bags of supplies. Her ankles and wrists were also shackled and her collar was attached to her wrists. Her hair had been cut short again. A plug had been inserted into her ass and a tail dangled from it. She had knee pads on as well.

They had left at the crack of dawn. It was close to noon and they had stopped just once and Casey was given water and a cup of dry oats. She was hauling a heavy load and hadn’t made much progress.

They stopped at sunset. Casey was amazed that she had made it through the day without passing out. She was covered in mud and sweat. He chained her to a tree and freed her hands. He pulled the plug out of her ass. That gave her a chance to relieve herself a few feet away. He left her with a bowl of oats and dry cornmeal and a bottle of water. He set up a tent for himself in the distance and went inside.

For seven days they traveled, through the woods, along paths both muddy and dry. In the end, they were back at the house. Casey was in wretched shape, sore and bruised and of course, muddy and filthy.

LI

Casey was still sleeping even though the sun had been up for over an hour. She’d probably sleep all day, the Pastor thought when he came out with her breakfast. He poked her in the ribcage with his boots, “wake up whore!” he shouted. Casey stirred and grumbled. He jabbed her again, “Ow, don’t,” she begged slowly pulling herself up.

“Clean yourself up and eat. We’ll talk later,” he said, putting down a plate of the pre-trip fare and a jug of water.

“Clean myself for what? So you can drag me through the mud again,” Casey said, annoyed.

“Maybe. I’ll be back.” The Pastor walked around to the front of the house and drove off.

Casey was hungry. She ate her food, saving the banana for later. She drank all the water and crawled over to the drain. Crouching, she pissed for the first time in over 12 hours. The pee flowed and flowed and finally slowed to a trickle. Casey sighed and got up. She turned on the tap and filled her water jug. She found the remnants of the small bar of soap she had been given on the second day. Slowly she got to work, cleaning her hands and arms, then her face and neck, scrubbing the dirt off, a little at a time. She worked her way down her breasts, scrubbing her hairy armpits and then her bush. She rinsed her pussy directly at the tap and washed her ass. Then she washed her legs and feet, which were in worst shape. Finally, after an hour of effort, she was satisfied, feeling clean and fresh. She brushed her teeth and walked over to the porch and leaned against it. That’s as far as she could go with the chain attached.

Later that morning the Pastor returned. Casey was nibbling on the banana. He stood on the porch and looked at her.

“Nice job getting cleaned up,” he said with a smirk, “so what will it be? Repentance or marriage?”

“Either way you’ll treat me like an animal,” Casey said, not even looking at him.

“Well, repentance means freedom. I’ll drive you to the county line and leave you by the side of the road. Naked, of course. No one will believe your story. They’ll take you in for a psych evaluation and maybe lock you up. They’ll call you a danger to yourself and a menace to society. On the plus side, you’ll wear clothes again and maybe even get a soft bed to sleep in. If you’re good, they’ll give you access to a toilet. Or they’ll strap a diaper on you and put you in a strait jacket.”

“See, what’s the point? Plus, I have nothing to repent for.”