Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)


By Esso

Three young dancers are lured to a mansion in the country with the promise of important roles in a modern ballet. Mercedes is in her bedroom when the door is pushed open.


Powerless to move, she stood gripping the bed as the door swung open to reveal a masked man clad in skin tight suit of shimmering red. Although a heavy cowl covered his head and his cruel eyes glinted at her from behind a mask, Mercedes recognized the garishly costumed creature as Lattimore.

His heavy bulk moved into the room, inexorably closing the distance between him and the terrified girl.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mercedes managed to gasp.

A malicious sneer twisted Lattimore's lips. He was close enough for Mercedes to smell the cheap liquor on his breath. His clawing hand reached out and touched her shoulder. Mercedes recoiled in horror.

Then she felt the cold steel of a gun digging into her breast. Lattimore grunted as he twisted the barrel in her soft flesh, bring an outcry of pain.

"The Master awaits below!" the big man hissed.

Hysteria gripped Mercedes. She laughed and wept at the same time. It was so outlandish that despite her peril she found it almost impossible to take Lattimore's costume and archaic use of the language seriously.

Mercedes flew at the large man, her sharp fingernails raking his face. His arm shot out, imprisoning her wrist. With a quick turn of his own body he twisted her around. Her tiny feet kicked backward at her brutal captor. She felt herself being shoved into the corridor. Everything went red and black as Lattimore swept her up into his arms.


Mercedes felt herself being carried by rough hands. Slowly her eyes opened. She was still in Lattimore's arms. They had just passed the main hall and Lattimore was descending another flight of steps.

From below a pungent odor wafted toward her. Glowing red lights danced before her eyes. She struggled wildly in Lattimore's arms. But the man tightened his grip bringing an new onslaught of pain.

Other figures surrounded her, their bodies a blurred vision of red. She felt their horny hands roving over her soft body, pinching and bruising her. They lifted her trembling body over their heads and bore her toward a raised dais.

Swiftly she was lowered onto the rough stone flooring. The visions of imps and demons swirled around her. Once again she found herself refusing to believe in the reality of the scene. This was some kind of mad joke. The whole thing was designed to lend a sense of authenticity to Duval's Mephisto Ballet. He'd gone to all these pains to create the illusion and have his protegees become a part of it.

She found herself screaming with the madness of it all. But it wasn't from fear alone. Pain jabbed her side. She looked up to see the prongs of a pitchfork digging into her, turning her over on her stomach. A heavy weight pressed into her shoulders as a knee pinioned them. All the time the violins continued their discordant dirge.

The fiends were binding her arms behind her. She could feel the hard knots digging into her wrists. Her body was being dragged across the dais and turned onto her back. Her ankles were forced wide apart and bound to twin rings in the floor.

Through dazed eyes she saw the pitchfork coming at her again. Its prongs caught in the bodice of her dress, ripping the cloth from her trembling bosom. Even the imps paused long enough in their satanic mischief to savor the trapped beauty of their victim as Mercedes writhed in her bonds.

Other hands reached for her, tearing away what remained of her dress. She shrank against the cold stone, but they sought her out, clawing the bra from her heaving breasts. Now her silk briefs were being tugged down her flanks and ripped from her loins. The burning brimstone stung her naked flesh.

Figures of goats, cats and toads twisted and wriggled around the dais to which Mercedes was bound. As she watched hypnotized by the fiendishness of the scene, the demons approached again. This time they carried Gretchen, kicking and squirming, above their heads. Gretchen's hands had already been bound and she was powerless to protect herself from the vicious jabs of the pitchforks. Her dress was ripped in a hundred places and her healthy young body showed through.

Gretchen thrashed futilely as she was placed beside Mercedes and shackled to the dais. Both girls screamed their horror as the demons stripped Gretchen's clothes from her.

Now they were left alone, helplessly bound and naked, as the crowd moved toward a huge curtain.

From somewhere above a gong sounded. The curtain slid back, the folds making a slithering sound. Gretchen and Mercedes screamed in unison at the tableau revealed by the parted curtain. Roseanne Lennon lay on a velvet draped altar, her arms and legs chained to its sides, stretching her so taut she could barely writhe. Her nude body had been anointed with some shining substance.

Over her stood Rhona Duval, her eyes mad with lust, a huge ceremonial knife poised over the trembling girl's breast. "Come, oh Prince of Darkness," the hag intoned. "Come and reveal thyself to thy willing servants!"

The others gathered around the altar, tormenting Roseanne with lurid descriptions of her fate while their sharp pronged pitchforks drew blood from her defenseless body. Then the music faded and a sinister silence gripped the scene. Slowly the sacrificial knife swung upward. Roseanne couldn't believe the demented woman would go through with this. Her wide eyes locked with Rhona's.

For a moment Roseanne felt an eerie calm about her. She seemed to be floating in air above the scene. She saw herself spread-eagled naked and helpless on the alter. Saw the knife descending. Roseanne screamed.

Death did not come quickly to Roseanne. Rhona made slow work of her sacrifice to Satan, ignoring the screams and pleas for mercy while the tortured girl writhed in her chains. She made six long slashes along Roseanne's breasts, deep enough to draw plentiful amounts of blood but not deep enough to kill her. Then the process was repeated on her belly and finally on the insides of her thighs. Finally the blade was inserted in Roseanne's groin and pulled upward through her stomach as the demons fell upon her and lapped up her blood.

In horror Mercedes realized that the ceremony had served only to whet their depraved passions. There was a great restlessness about them. They seemed to be waiting for some new development. Gretchen moaned beside her. The girl's arms and legs were blood flecked from her struggles with the ropes which bound her.

Mercedes closed her own eyes to blot out the horrid scene. A great weariness came over her like a protective cloak. Perhaps the rites which were unfolding in the cellar were a gigantic hoax. Any other explanation would be too diabolical to conceive.

A cold shadow hovered over her. Cruel finger pinched her bare breasts, hurting her and arousing her from her malignant lethargy. Rhona Davis crouched over her, her face twisted into a mask of hate.

"You will die," the hag-like woman intoned. You will die horribly, shrieking in agony. It will not be easy for you. Not like the other one. You will suffer most because you are the most beautiful of them all."

"You're insane," Mercedes whispered.

"No my love. I am a genius. Perhaps poor demented Antoine is insane, but not me. The Mephisto Ballet is the product of a lunatic. But there are other lunatics who will pay vast sums of money to take part in these rites. There are still others who will spare no expense to obtain pictures of what we do here. Let poor Antoine think he is creating a work of art. I will spare Antoine from an old age of poverty. And for this you shall die."

The crone's dry cackle rent the air. Her fetid breath oozed around Mercedes.

"Poor Antoine. He is such a fool. Without me he would be nothing. I am his brains, his salvation. It was I who first designed the Mephisto Ballet. It was I who insisted on bringing you beautiful young women to the estate. It was I who lured you here."

Mercedes struggled futilely against the ropes that bound her wrists behind the small of her back and her slim ankles to the iron rings.

"And do you know what is going to happen to you? Naked, you will be chained to a spit. You will be lowered over a hot fire, the spit revolving over and over so that no part of your magnificent young body will be spared the blistering heat of the flames. My clients will revel in your torments. Their pitchforks will probe you. It will be the climax of the Mephisto Ballet."

Already the blood red curtain had parted. Where the sacrificial altar had been before, an inferno now sizzled. Above the crackling flames stood a device complete with wheels and spit with three crosspieces of iron. It was to this Mercedes would be chained for her slow torture by fire.

But first it would be Gretchen who would be slowly roasted alive. Lattimore approached her and freed her ankles from the rings. She felt her sweat-soaked body being lifted and carried toward the niche. She kicked her bare feet feebly in Lattimore's grip. The hellish procession fell in behind her, chanting its diabolical incantations as she was carried toward the fire.

Unable to watch as her friend was prepared for torture, Mercedes closed her eyes and turned her head as Gretchen was bound to the spit. But she could not escape the sound of Gretchen's sobs and pleas for mercy.

She heard Rhona Davis's voice in her ear, "No my dear, you must watch."

Mercedes' ankles were untied from the rings and she was lifted to her feet. With her arms still bound behind her back she was pulled close enough to the fire that the heat beat upon her naked body and the flames shone in the gloss of her sweat. Her eyes remained tightly shut until she heard Gretchen's first scream, then they flew open in alarm.

What she saw was Gretchen being slowly rotated on the spit six feet above the fire. The flames danced crazily well below her body but the heat rose to torment her exposed flesh. Gretchen shrieked in pain once again. The spit turned her back to the fire and then began its revolution once again. Gretchen screamed out her pleas for mercy, begging her torturers to stop, the words dissolving into mindless howls as her breasts and belly once again felt the incessant heat.

Through a haze of pain Gretchen saw Mercedes standing close by the pyre, and in her desperation, she ignored the fact that her friend was bound naked and helpless and being held by two burly brutes. "Help me Merce, help me. Oh God make them stop...Oh God the pain...the pain...I can't stand anymore."

"For the love of God stop!" Mercedes shrieked at Rhona Davis.

The old hag took Mercedes face in her hand. "If I were you, my pretty, I'd be worried about my own skin. Soon it will be you chained to the spit screaming to me for mercy." She moved behind her beautiful young captive and pressed against her back. Mercedes twisted and struggled as the horrible woman's hands fondled her breasts and ran down her belly. Rhona Davis's eyes never left Gretchen, drinking in her agony. She pulled Mercedes tight to her, her hand between the girl's thighs grasping her sex...

"" Mercedes sobbed, "Let us go...please...let us go..."

Rhona's fingers found the young beauty's clit. "" She squeezed hard, pinching the delicate flesh between her nails. Mercedes arched her back and screamed in pain.

Rhona Davis grasped Mercedes under the chin with her free hand and pulled her head back. "I have special plans for you little one. What you see here is nothing compared to how you will suffer."

Try as she might not to watch, Mercedes could not tear her eyes from Gretchen's ceaseless torment. The fire had diminished somewhat and Gretchen's screams had changed to long moans and gasps of pain as the acolytes continued to rotate her tightly bound body over the flames. Then a pitchfork would stab into her breast or a flare of flame reach toward her belly and Gretchen would howl in pain.

"Lower!" Rhona Davis ordered, and the spit was lifted from the frame and Gretchen lowered closer to the fire.

The heat beat at Gretchen with new ferocity. Wood was added to the fire and the flames reached higher, licking at her breasts and belly "No!" she screamed, "No! Help! Somebody help me!"

Mercedes watched in horror as Gretchen's torture intensified. Her skin turned an angry red and she was now screaming nonstop at the top of her lungs. Her pubic hair smoldered then burst into flames and Gretchen's mouth gaped open silently, the pain seemingly reaching a level where even screaming was impossible. Finally Gretchen's nude body convulsed violently and the crazed struggling against her bonds halted. For the first time since her torture had started she was silent.

They did not even bother to untie Gretchen from the spit, simply removing the device with the inert girl still bound to it and laying it on the ground. In a terror induced stupor Mercedes was pulled forward toward the fiery pit. She was forced to her knees and then, squirming and twisting feebly in the grasp of the acolytes that fell upon her, pressed face down onto the stone floor.

Their hands seemed to be everywhere on her naked flesh, groping and probing. The ropes that bound her wrists were cut and her arms were stretched over her head. Strong hands grasped her wrists and ankles, spread-eagling her on the floor. She gasped as a cold viscous liquid splashed on her back and a host of fingers began spreading the creamy substance over her exposed flesh.

"Animal fat," Rhona cackled, "It will protect your skin...prolong your agony. Pain. Pain. Endless pain. You will suffer beyond belief..." Rhona's voice broke into an insane laugh and she clapped her hands in glee.

Mercedes struggled madly against the hands that held her down and were now slathering her buttocks with grease. She heard a moan. She twisted her head in its direction. It was Gretchen. They were taking her down from the spit. She was still alive, still suffering.

The spit was lifted and positioned on Mercedes' back and the work of chaining her to the infernal device began.

It was not easy work but the devil worshipers relished it. Mercedes was young and strong, and she was fighting for her life. Two of the acolytes held her by the wrists and ankles, while it took another two to keep the iron spit atop her while she bucked and arched desperately trying to free herself from their grasp. Mercedes' wrists were manacled to the top of the spit and her long black hair wrapped around the center pole and tied off so it would not fall and catch fire as Mercedes was being slowly roasted. Lengths of chain were run around her elbows, waist and hips and below her breasts, binding them tightly to the spit. Only after her supple young legs had been pulled apart and her ankles shackled to the bottom crosspiece, did they fasten the chains high up on her thighs and below her knees.

Still she fought, gasping and groaning with the effort. But now that she was helpless and her struggles reduced to a frantic squirming, they easily turned her face up and began to spread the grease over the front of her body.

They worked methodically, their fingers caressing Mercedes' firm young flesh, making sure that not an inch of her nudity went uncovered, that even the flesh under the chains was accounted for. It was Rhona that covered her heaving breasts. Other hands coated her hair. Mercedes moaned and wept. The witch laughed in reply.

Mercedes felt the old hag's fingers high up on the inside of her thighs, moving toward her groin. Mercedes gave a cry and arched her back against her bonds. Her hair came free of the pole and her head snapped up. She stared down the length of her spread-eagled body, at her legs stretched wide, at the boney fingers inching toward her sex.

"Stop, please stop," she sobbed. "Please...I beg you...don't do this to me..."

Her pleas were cut short by a rope pulled between her lips that drew her head back to the spit where it too was fastened tight. Blood seeped from the corners of her mouth where the cord cut into her. Rhona's fingers were spreading the grease on her labia, then moving inside her, playing with her, hurting her. They were oiling her face.

Mercedes screamed as she felt herself lifted in the air. Even the rope sawing at her lips could not still her shrieks for mercy. Endless cries of "NO! NO! NO!" echoed throughout the chamber.

The first touch of the heat caressed her defenseless young body bringing indescribable agony. She hung above the licking flames, suspended in a position of eternal suffering.

Rhona Duval stood below her, taunting her, cursing her, calling on the master demon to make his appearance. The spit began to turn slowly.

Wave after wave of searing pain washed over Mercedes. She prayed for unconsciousness but it would not come. A spark exploded against her thigh, causing her flesh to smolder. Her screams were no longer for mercy but shrieks of pure pain. The pain spread over her entire body and there was nothing she could do to stop it, or to ease it even for a second. Then her torment was punctuated by new anguish as her pubic hair began to sparkle with tiny flames and then burn steadily, heating the grease until it began to bubble, adding even more pain. Mercedes screamed herself unconscious.

When she came to she had been removed from over the fire pit. She was still bound to the spit and now hung face down between two supports. She could still feel the heat from the flames off to her side, no longer broiling her flesh but serving as a looming threat of torture still to come. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to send electrical discharges of pain to her brain. Immediately upon regaining consciousness she began moaning and sobbing, then wailing in agony.

The face of Rhona appeared in front of her, grinning and cackling. Mercedes managed to stammer through the unimaginable pain, "Why...why...why?" As an answer the hag reached between Mercedes's thighs and raked her sex with her nails.

"Wait till I go to work on your pussy," she cooed at Mercedes, then to her minions, "Put her back over the fire, this time a foot higher. I want to make this one's pain last forever." But Rhona's words were drowned out by Mercedes's screams of horror.

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