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Piggie Plumpkins encounters the Femcan Convent. Episode 16
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Piggie Plumpkins encounters the Femcan Convent. Episode 16

Piggie Plumpkins encounters the Femcan Convent.
Episode 16

Trapped securely within the embrace of the Cookery Truss, Plumpkins’ arms and legs were implacably held by it’s unyielding metal framework. The gastronomic gear’s rigid exoskeleton held his torso level  while clamping all four limbs in the downward position with joints bent to the horizontal.

His taunting tormentresses were dangling him directly above two torrid tubs precisely positioned  under each side’s extremities, and separated by a wide gap in between for his torso. The snapping, popping flames beneath each were being expertly sustained to keep the agitated aqua within them at the perfect scalding simmer.

The Head Sister Chef addressed her tittering students. “You’ll notice that only his limbs will be being cooked at this point--we’re saving the rest of him for later. That helps prolong the sinner's life (and suffering) during the cooking and consumption processes.”

The youngest bully girl enthusiastically raised a hand and eagerly asked “Can I be the one to lower Plumpo in?”               
“Of course!” the Head Sister Chef nodded approvingly “In fact, each of you shall have a turn--a proper parboiling always takes several dire dunks!”

The hand chain of the hoist suspending Plumpkins was avidly grasped by the youngest bully girl. She gleefully began pulling on the clanking contraption’s control to lower the load chain hooked to the Cookery Truss.

Downward Plumpkins descended until she halted him just barely above the pair of Parboiling Tubs--so close that the searing steam billowing off them caused him to bellow with distress as the flesh of his arms and legs, helplessly imprisoned within the Cookery Truss, blenched reflexively.

“Come now Plumpo--that’s no way for a proper Penitent to act!” the youngest bully girl chided derisively “What would the Saintress think?” She suddenly plunged Plumpkins in to just above the knees and elbows, then ever so slowly lowered him the rest of the way until the limbs were completely submerged.                     

“WOWOWOW--OWOWOWOWO--HOWOWCHYO!WCH--OWOWOWOWOW!!!!!!” was Plumpkins’ only reply.

After a minute or so of such carryings on, the Head Sister Chef signaled for him to be raised out of the tubs of torment and the youngest bully girl reluctantly obliged.

“Very nice coloring…” the Head Sister Chef remarked as she attentively inspected the redness of Plumpkins’ scalded flesh. Reaching over to his thigh, she gave a vigorous pinch and declared “You are going to make a most excellent meal, Mr. Plumpkins! I am certain the Saintress will be very much pleased!”

She then turned to the gathered cooking academy students and asked “Alright then, who is next on the chain hoist?” The young ladies all raised up hands.

After an order for proceeding was determined, a line was formed and each got a turn at dunking poor Plumpkins. It soon became a raucous game to see who could make the best sport out of his predicament. They each vied for timing his submersions the most teasingly, and who’s bantering wordplay and taunts at him were the wittiest. Soon the entire kitchen crew were partaking in the rowdy fun.

All the while, the Head Sister Chef remained ever diligent in her duties. She was quite punctilious regarding the proper preparation of this sinner's meat. It wouldn’t do at all to have flesh as scrumptiously succulent and teethsinkingly tender as Plumpkins’ be toughened from overcooking!

After each partial parboilment , she meticulously monitored his progress toward mouthwatering meathood with an assiduous inspection of any and all appetizing aspects. At last, after his flesh achieved a bright red florid flush, she declared to be Plumpkins ready for the next phase. “Move him to the Battering Tubs…”

Two tubs arranged similarly to the Parboiling Tubs, but filled with a cool viscous white liquid of blended flour and eggs, were located at the next station of the torture kitchen. Plumpkins was rolled along the overhead track into position above them.

“A proper battering requires an expert’s touch…” Head Sister Chef opined sagely “So, it's best that I handle this step myself.” She signaled to her kitchen staff members, who poured several large pitchers of beer into both tubs. They stirred vigorously with large paddles until the amber effervescent liquid was thoroughly mixed in.

“The beer always should be added to the batter at just the very last moment--to ensure a deep-fry that’s light, fluffy and has a palate pleasing crunch!” She blithely advised her disciples.

Grasping the hoist's hand chain, the Head Sister Chef lowered Plumpkins into the tubs to immerse his arms and legs completely just as before. In contrast to the blisterous boiling contents of the previous pair of tubs, the fizzy concoction contained within these actually felt soothing to him as it adhered to his afflicted flesh. But this brief sojourn of soaking was not done for succor…     

All too soon Plumpkins was raised out from the batter, which clung to his limbs like gloppy glue. He was then quickly trollied along to one of the torture kitchen’s most popular positions of pain--the deep fryer! Once again there were two parallel tubs, each heated by carefully tended crackling flames. Within them boiling olive oil sizzled--spattering and sputtering eagerly as he helplessly hung suspended above.
Plumpkins whimpered with terror when the chain hoist began lowering him down with clanks and clinks as the Head Sister Chef cheerfully tugged on the hand chain… 
To be continued…

Fated to be Femcan fodder...

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