Torture Porn by John Putignano

Author:John Putignano
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Entheogenic Lab
Published: 2014-03-11T14:00:00+00:00

The Odd Tale of Isabella and Lady Bellamy

The story I tell is of utmost importance and it must be told now. You must understand that my ability to recollect has been eroding from my brain these last years. It is an ailment which has been turning me into a forgetful and confused shell. Nevertheless this story is one which needs to be heard for I am alive by no stroke of luck but by the will of the Alabama gods.

1854 was the year my tale begins. My name is Fantine Bellamy and I am a descendent of a wealthy French family that migrated to the Americas in 1803. My father, Jacques Bellamy, turned quite a profit from selling garments he had sewn together. They were beautiful things; gowns which one swore cost fortunes but were mere pennies.

My mother was Isabella Bellamy. She was a nurse, however she had passed during my birth. Father never did re-marry. This isn’t to say he didn’t bring home an occasional lady friend, for he did, but he never settled. When I asked why he shrugged and said that my mother was irreplaceable.

We lived on the shore of a lake. My, this lake was beautiful I say. Sure we would be confronted from time to time with the horrid face of a scaly alligator, but for the most part the atmosphere was an intoxicating blend of exotic birds and frogs. Ever enchanting was this that I often found myself by the water and lost in it. Tranquility is something I once took for granted.

Anyhow, my tale begins one summer’s eve. I had trotted along a well-worn path used by locals headed to the lake to fish. I cannot stress enough that these were leisure times full of relaxation. A great many days I spent snoozing away the hours beneath an old tree. How I long for those carefree days again.

It was down this trail I heard a woman crying. I was struck with curiosity at first but my curiosity turned to grave concern when I turned a bend to find a battered woman in the nude. She lay on the dirt with her arms shielding her head from invisible assailants. I rushed down to her aid.

“Miss, are you ok? Can I help?” I asked her. She looked up at me and my heart began to swell. It was obvious what had happened to her. Some of the local men had their way with her and beaten her nearly to death. The savage monsters even scratched her skin and bit into her. Like a wounded animal she reached out a hand which I took into mine. I helped her to her feet and assisted her back to the house.

My father saw us outside and rushed to aid. We carried her inside and laid her down on a bed in a room we used for visitors. No sooner had her head hit the pillow had she passed out from exhaustion.

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