The torment of Casey

XXII

Casey looked up as she heard the steel plate slide and some light streamed in through the grate. She opened her mouth, expecting something to eat or drink. A trickle of water came through, poured from a cup. She let it splash into her mouth. She swallowed as the water came. She wanted more but the plate slid shut, locking her in darkness once again. She was on her knees, her head was almost touching the top of the compartment. Her head had been shaved again. Her hands were secured tightly behind her back, almost at the middle of her back. Her ankles had thick, heavy cuffs on them but no ankle-chain connecting them. She was hungry and tired. It was hard to sleep in this place. It was hot and stuffy.

She felt the urge to relieve herself. She managed to get into a squatting position, leaning against one wall, which she had designated as her “toilet wall”. She passed two or three hard balls of poop as they hit the ground below her. She moved away from the spot and took up refuge along the opposite wall.

When the steel plate opened again, a few pieces of dry bread and raw carrots came down. Casey leaned over and ate them off the floor.

XXIII

This time it wasn’t a dream. Casey was under a shower, the lukewarm water running all over her body. She scrubbed herself from head to toe with the fresh bar of soap. She used up almost half the soap in the process. The soapy water that flowed into the drain took with it weeks of dirt and grime that had fused to her skin, finding its way into every fold and nook. Her hair, still short, now felt smooth again. She stood under the shower until the water ran out, or somebody switched it off, which was the more likely outcome.

She grabbed the towel and dried herself. She wished there was a mirror in this bathroom. She hadn’t seen herself since she had been “convicted”. She wrapped the towel around her waist and walked over to the sink. There she brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash. Feeling the cleanest in months, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the room where her former neighbor was waiting.

“You will wear this. And here is the paper and pen the Pastor asked me to give you. You will write your statement to the congregation. A confession and repentance, we hope for your sake. Think carefully about what you will say. I’ll be back in an hour to get you,” she said.

It was day 300 and after a few days in the underground box, Casey was informed that she was going to face the congregation and they would vote on her fate, based on her statement.

Casey pulled on the black gown, which was long-sleeve and buttoned to her neck and reached her feet. The cloth felt weird, she hadn’t worn clothes all this time. But today she had to. She sat down on the chair and stared at the paper and pen. She ate the banana and apple and drank half a jug of water. She stared some more. Finally she started to write.

XXIV

“The gathering shall come to order,” the Pastor roared into the microphone. He was seated on the stage, with two elders on either side of him. Casey took her seat on the other side of the stage. People sat down, glaring at her, whispering to each other. Casey ignored them.

“We have gathered today to decide, as a community, the fate of this poor woman, who, after 300 days in penance, has yet to repent. In fact, she has drawn immense pleasure from her punishment, to the point where a new course may be necessary to rehabilitate her,” the Pastor spoke.

“Today she will read her statement. She has been advised properly. After hearing her speak, the floor shall be opened to motions and there will be votes. You will use your clicker to cast a secret ballot. Casey, please read your statement.”

Casey got up and slowly walked over to the microphone. She looked at her paper and then at the audience. Some were shaking their heads. Others looked expressionless. Some were praying.

Casey took a few sips of water and a deep breath. She began, “I did what you all do. Except that I did it outside my house. You may not have curtains on your windows but you have covers on your bed. When the lights go out, do you not commit the same acts I am being persecuted for acting?”

Shouts of “whore”, “liar”, “slut”, “sodomite” rang out. The Pastor yelled into his microphone, “let her speak!”

Casey continued, “For the past 300 days I have been humiliated, degraded, tortured and worse. The Pastor himself has supervised my punishment, taking wanton pleasure and advantage of me, forcing his own daughter into a lesbian tryst with me.”

More chaos. The Pastor was turning red in the face.

“He and his cronies have routinely gained pleasure from my broken body. I have been held in tiny spaces, shackled, stretched at times, tasered and penetrated, fed scraps and so on. But I am not complaining. I am exposing the hypocrisy of this Church and this community. So I will not repent. I have no regrets. If you wish to make me suffer more, bring it on. I love sodomy and so do you.” Casey walked back to her seat and sat down.

Pandemonium broke out. Two men tried to rush the stage but the guards tackled them. Finally, the Pastor rose and calmed the gathering down.

“We have heard her speak. We have heard her lie. She should consider herself lucky that she is still a part of this community. Is there a motion of any sort from the floor?”

A burly man in his 40s rose, “I move that this whore be punished twice as severely as before!”

Screams of “second!” rang out.

“Please vote,” said the Pastor. Everyone picked up their clickers and voted.

“Results please,” ordered the Pastor. The results flashed on the screen, “86% Yes 14% No”. The crowd cheered and chanted “Praise the Lord!” and “Sodomites will repent or die!”

Casey sat still in her chair. The two women who had been in charge of her for most of the past 300 days walked up to her and took her away. Once in the basement, the took the black gown from her and pushed her into the concrete cell where she sat on the concrete bunk, hands clasped and head bowed, tears streaming down her face.

The speakers were on. She could here the service. The Pastor ranted about her and those who voted no, “the Lord knows who you are!”

Then the debate about her punishment began. The speakers went silent.

Casey curled up on the bunk, clasping her knees, and sobbed. She cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, she found the Pastor sitting outside the bars of her cell. She got up and rubbed her tear-streaked face. “What now?” she asked him, sitting up, holding the edge of the bunk and leaning forward, her breasts sagging in front of her.

“We had a healthy discussion about your future. There were many motions, many votes. I will read the final motion to you,” he said, sounding hoarse.

“Casey must bear the burdens of her sin. She must toil like never before, day and night. She must feel the hot sun and the crack of the whip. She must be fed peels and scraps but given lots of water. Her labor will end when she repents. Should 300 more days pass and she hasn’t repented, we will revisit this case.”

“And this was the original motion,” said the Pastor.

“Casey must bear the burdens of her sin. She must toil like never before. She must feel the hot sun and the crack of the whip. She must be fed only bread and water. Her labor will end when she repents. Should 100 more days pass and she hasn’t repented, we will revisit this case.”

“So where am I going?” Casey asked. The thought of being outdoors sounded appealing but she could already picture herself on a farm, trudging through mud and manure, filthy and hungry.

“There is a plantation a hundred miles south of here. It’s within our jurisdiction. The owners attend a sister Church and are familiar with your kind. It turns out you’ll have company there. They’ve got two lesbians toiling there. I’ve been there. They treat their slaves better than they should. We will take you there tomorrow, early in the morning. Once there you will be put to work. Let’s see how long you last!” He got up and walked away. Casey could see him talking to the two women at the end of the hall. She got up and went over to the hole and squatted. She peed a river into the hole. She grabbed her water bottle and poured some water into her hand. She rubbed it on her pussy, washing off the pee drops. She figured since she had been allowed to shower that day, why not stay as clean as possible for as long as possible.

XXV

Casey paused to catch her breath. She straightened her back and looked ahead. She could see the warehouses in the distance. The heat was brutal. The sun was right above her. She felt like she was being cooked. Her skin was bronzed from the constant exposure. She was sticky all over thanks to the mist they sprayed on her each morning, to prevent sunburn or worse. By now she was covered in dirt as well.

She was thirsty and hungry. The bridle in her mouth was fixed tightly. There was a thick steel collar with a bell around her neck. There was a chain around her waist and at the back there was another chain attached that linked her to the cart she was pulling. Her hands were in fists and stuffed into mitts. They were also cuffed with a foot long chain. There were pads around her knees and an ankle chain connected her ankles.

She had been this way since four in the morning. At night, only the bridle and knee pads came off and her hands were allowed out of the mitts. She remained shackled nonetheless.

Now it was close to noon. Casey got back on all fours and began to pull the heavy cart. They always threw in some rocks below the morning’s harvest, or whatever else she had to cart across the huge plantation, all day, every day, without complaint. Her breasts dangled below her as she moved slowly. The bell jingled as well. Sweat poured into her eyes, stinging them as she moved closer to her destination. When she finally got there, she collapsed onto the ground, exhausted. The cart was emptied and her bridle was removed. She sat up and the naked woman who had just unloaded the cart unstrapped her mitts and freed her hands. She placed a jug of water on the ground, along with a bowl of scraps: carrot peels, bread ends, a piece of celery and a half-eaten banana. Casey muttered thanks and proceeded to guzzle the water and eat her food. The woman began loading the cart with some empty sacks. “Take these to the house when you’re done eating,” she said, wiping her brow. Casey looked at her and nodded, nibbling on the banana. The woman was tall and chubby. She wasn’t all that hairy, in fact, she had no bush to speak of and her underarm merely had a few curls, unlike Casey.

Casey finished eating and asked for more water. The woman obliged. Casey splashed the last bit onto her eyes, washing the sweat and dirt out. Then she presented her hands and they were secured in the mitts again. She thanked the woman and returned to work, slowly crawling away, pulling a slightly lighter cart behind her. Along the way she stopped and squatted to empty her bladder. Then she resumed.

By nightfall, Casey was exhausted and sore everywhere. She looked forward to the few hours of sleep she would be getting before it all would start over again at four in the morning.

Waiting for her in her stall would be a trough of water and a trough of raw oats with some potato and carrot peels mixed in. Her stall was narrow, maybe three feet wide at the most, and six feet long. The door didn’t reach the floor of the ceiling. There was a pile of hay on the floor she could lay on. Her waist-chain, which was connected to the cart during the day, was now attached to the wall, limiting her movements even within that tiny space.

At the end of the day she would be desperate for a wash. On some days they would pour a bucket of water over her. But today wasn’t such a day.

She trudged into her stall. The man escorting her then gave her a cup of mouthwash. She rinsed her mouth and spit the stuff back into the cup. He secured her to the wall and left, locking the stall. The light was still on. Casey reached over to the trough of water and picked it up, drinking most of the water, before proceeding to eat her “dinner”. Then she curled up on the hay and fell asleep. The light burned all night but she was used to sleeping with it on.

When it was time to get up, the stall door opened and water was hosed into the through. Casey crawled over and drank the water while the woman from the warehouse, looking very groggy herself unhooked the chain from the wall and escorted Casey out into the early morning breeze. Casey was mitted and bridled for the morning run. She listened to the instructions, and crawled away, pulling the empty cart behind her.

Sometimes she hauled useful things back and forth. At other times, it was just rocks. Along the way, whenever nature called, she’d stop and squat. If it was poop time she’d pull herself close to a tree and pass some hard balls and then move on.

In some ways it was nice being outside, especially in the early morning. Casey hadn’t seen the sun or the moon in nearly 10 months but her euphoria at seeing the sun rise each morning quickly evaporated when she got sprayed around 8 with the sticky mist.

She received breakfast around 6, after two hours of toiling. It was nothing more than hard balls of grits and a jug of water. A special powder was mixed into the grits which provided her with all the necessary nutrients and vitamins to keep her healthy. She needed all the strength she could get.

The rules were simple, keep moving.

XXVI

Casey was counting the days. Eighteen so far. Each evening she was asked if she was ready to repent. She’d say nothing.

Then the Pastor paid a visit.

At first, he said nothing when he saw her hauling the cart on all fours, bell jingling along the way. He stood on the porch with the owner of the plantation who said to him, “stubborn one, this whore. Won’t repent.”

The Pastor replied, “I tried for 300 days. Nothing got her to crack. Have you tried anything new yet?”

“No. I tend to withhold her hosedown and on some days toss a bucket of water on her. I didn’t do that last night.”

“Where are the lesbians?”

“The fat one stocks the warehouse on the west end, the other one is digging irrigation ditches at the north end. Why do you ask?”

“Has the digger made her acquaintance?”

“Not yet. I haven’t had her go out that far yet.”

“You have to get creative. That’s why I sent her here. Catch her in some illegal behavior and make her pay dearly. This mundane stuff isn’t going to work. Have you whipped her yet?”

“Hasn’t been necessary.”

“Make it necessary.” The Pastor, clearly displeased, went inside the house. The owner stood on the porch and stared at Casey. He pulled out his Blackberry and pressed 1. A voice crackled on the other end, “Yes?”

“What’s the status of the digging dyke?” the owner asked.

“Doing her thing. Nothing out of the ordinary,” came the reply.

“I’m sending a cart over. It’s time to transport the earth and rocks off the property.”

“Roger that. What should I look out for?”

“The sodomy chick, on all fours. Out.”

The owner walked over to Casey. “After you deposit this load I want you to pull the cart to the North end of the plantation. Further instructions will follow once you get there. Stop by the porch for water before you go.”

Casey did as she was ordered and after quenching her thirst she began the two mile crawl to the North end. She stopped several times along the way. It took her nearly two hours to get there. When she finally arrived she collapsed onto the ground, exhausted. The overseer decided to give her a few minutes as he watched from his perch atop a tree branch. Twenty minutes later, Casey slowly got up. He came down and offered her water, removing her bridle, “Master said you’d be coming,” he said with a smile. Just then his Blackberry beeped. He looked at it. It was a message from the house.

The overseer looked at Casey and ordered her to go towards the edge of the ditch. Casey obliged. When she got to the clearing she saw the poorly dug ditch that was several feet long but not very deep. Piles of earth lay on either side and in the distance she could see a slim, naked woman, shackled and dirt-covered, walking towards her with a shovel. She figured it was the other lesbian. She didn’t make eye contact as the woman filled her cart with as much earth as it could hold, compacting it with her hands and piling on more. Finally, she stopped adding to the cart and walked away. Casey slowly crawled away, with bits of earth falling out of the cart as she made her way over the uneven ground. She slowly crawled back to the house, stopping just once to pee. Waiting on the steps of the porch was the Pastor.

“Nice to see you again, Casey,” he said, walking over to the cart. He looked at his Blackberry and again at the cart. “It looks as though you lost a bit of your load along the way.”

Casey couldn’t speak because of the bridle. She knew the Pastor was going to stir trouble for her. She knelt on the ground as he unhooked the cart from her.

“On all fours,” he ordered her. Casey did as she was told. Off came his belt and down rained the blows on her back and butt. One lash after another followed in the searing afternoon heat. Casey whimpered. Tears dropped from her eyes onto the ground below as the Pastor relentlessly flogged her with his belt. Then, as she had expected, her dropped his pants and entered her sweat, piss and dirt-covered pussy, from behind as she remained on all fours. He didn’t last very long, pulling himself out just as he was about to climax and squirted all over along her butt crack. “My kind of sodomy,” he said, pulling his pants up and walking away. Then he suddenly came back and tipped the cart so that the load of loose earth, dirt and gravel fell over Casey, almost burying her as she scurried away in a cloud of dust.

XXVII

Casey had never been this filthy before. She was caked in dirt and mud and her own sweat, all mixed in with the mist. She was making multiple, timed runs to and from the irrigation ditch, as many as eight per day, from dawn until dusk, and at the end of it all, she was too exhausted to do anything but crash on the floor of her stall. She drank as much water as she could and ate whatever they put before her. But no one was hosing her down or throwing a bucket at her. Her hands were the cleanest part of her body as they were in mitts all day. But the constant fist holding brought on painful cramps. Her knees and back were sore as ever. Her arms hurt. Every part of her hurt.

A week had past since the Pastor’s visit. Once again, per his orders, she was asked at the end of the day if she had anything to say. She said nothing. Not this day. Or the next. Or the next.

She got up in the morning and drank whatever water remained in the trough. She slowly stood up, stretching her legs and arms. She scraped some of the dried up muck off her body.

The stall door opened and she was led out. Once out in the yard she was fitted for the day, after getting a drink of water. Then off she went towards the irrigation ditch. When she got there the lesbian was asleep by the ditch, her shovel by her side. She was cleaner than Casey, but only by so much. Her legs were caked with dirt. Casey shook her head, ringing her bell to make her presence known. The woman slowly got up. Casey crawled over to her. The woman stroked Casey’s face and smiled. It was the most compassion anyone had shown her. Casey’s eyes teared up. The woman shoveled the dug up earth into the cart. She then unbuckled the bridle from Casey’s mouth and offered her water. Casey gladly drank it all.

“How long have you been at this?” Casey asked her in a whisper.

“Almost a year,” came the reply, “I’ve been right here the entire time. I sleep here. I eat here.”

“Do you miss your partner?”

“Yes I do,” she said, her voice choking up, “I know she’s at the other end of the plantation but I haven’t seen her. Have you?”

“Yes I have. She looks well. I’m sure you’ll be together again.”

“Thanks for the kind words but I doubt it.”

“They leave you here alone at night?”

“Yeah, where will I go? There’s the guy who hangs out during the day and whips me at any pretense. Fucks me for good measure as well. I don’t know what he sees in me. I’m tired and dirty,” she squatted a few feet from Casey and continued, “and loathe men.” She began to pee onto the ground. Casey watched. The woman continued, “ever been with a woman?”

“Yes,” said Casey, “one of the reasons I’m here. I spent 300 days in the church cellar and I refused to repent.”

“I love sodomy,” the woman said with a smile, a final two squirts of pee coming out of her. She stood up and walked over to Casey. She looked down at her and said, “come, give me a quick lick.”

Casey looked at her and said, “what if they catch us?”

“No one’s coming for another hour. Now come,” she went on all fours and moved towards Casey, her butt close to Casey’s face. Casey brought her mouth to her dark wet curls and flicked her tongue, tasting fresh drops of piss. She moved in closer and tighter and began to find the pussy lips behind the tangled mass of hair. “Nice,” the woman said, “very nice.” Casey kept licking and probing with her tongue. The woman moaned softly and then shuddered. Her juices gushed and covered Casey’s lips. She crawled away and turned, “thanks. You’re good. Let me see what you’ve got. Sit on your butt and pull your legs up.” Casey did as she was told. She pulled her knees to her chest and spread her legs as far as the ankle chain would allow. The woman saw Casey’s tangled pussy hair and went down on her, licking past the sweat and dirt that and finding her clit. Casey moaned as the woman licked her vigorously.

“The early bird catches the worm,” said a stern voice. The overseer was here. Earlier than usual. The woman sprung up and scurried away. Casey, barely catching her breath, got on all fours and was ready to crawl away with her load when the man pushed her to the ground with the flat of his boots against her ribs. He pinned her down and punched something into his Blackberry. He waited for a response. It came. He took his foot off Casey’s ribcage and walked over to the lesbian. He pulled her by her collar chain and dragged her over to Casey. “On your knees! Both of you! Face each other!” he barked.

The roar of an ATV got louder. The owner arrived with a sack. He threw the sack down and the loud clanging of steel filled the morning air. Dawn was breaking in the distance as the two men towered over the hapless slaves.

“Repent now or face the consequences,” said the owner of the plantation. Casey was terrified but she remained silent. The other woman was trembling but she was defiant as well.

“Very well. Productivity be damned. We are about to put you through such torment that you will regret ever having come to this earth.” He pulled the two up by their collars. He unhooked Casey from the cart. “You are toiling in God’s name and you practice your sins on my property?”

The two had their hands locked tightly behind their backs. Then they were secured to tree limbs by pulleys that were already in place. Their arms were pulled behind them. They were hunched forward. It was painful. Neither screamed.

The overseer held a plastic jug between Casey’s legs, “piss now.” Casey obliged. She would’ve gone anyway if he hadn’t asked her to. She filled half the jug. He walked over to the lesbian and held the jug up to her face. “Drink it all,” he said with a sneer. She looked him in the eye and opened her mouth. She guzzled it down without complaint. “She tastes good,” she said. He slapped her and walked away.

For the rest of that day it was a game for the overseer. He plied the two with water initially and made them drink each others piss, jug after jug. By nightfall, he had had enough. He released their arms and shackled them together, with Casey’s face in the lesbian’s crotch and vice versa. They lay on their sides, faces resting on the other person’s inner thigh, breathing the heavy aroma of each other’s pussy. They got to licking one another. Many orgasms followed, along with gushes of piss that they drank.