Escape from Buggery Read online

  Escape From Buggery

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter I

  Sharon and Tracey were two very close friends. They danced to the same music. They liked the same kinds of films. They both bleached their hair and dyed it the same outrageous blonde shades. They even dressed much the same: very tight short skirts; tee-shirts or tank-tops that clung tightly to their chests; and teetering stilettos that threatened to throw them off balance. And neither of them ever ever wore knickers.

  They weren’t the two prettiest girls you could ever have hoped to meet, but they may well have been the randiest. Every Friday and Saturday Night (and other nights besides) was a night to score. And if they didn’t score much more than once, they were terribly disappointed.

  What were the girls’ attractions to the boys who came inside them perhaps once or maybe twice in their acquaintance? Well, they weren’t fat. In fact, they might be considered skinny. This was might have been because of the exercise the girls got. Or the cigarettes they always smoked. Or because they were always on one diet or another. Certainly all the sperm they swallowed can’t have been that fattening. Their skin wasn’t tanned at all: it was very pale. Nearly white. But of course they didn’t necessarily wait until they were out in the sun till they took their clothes off. And when they did, it would be mostly in the heat of the action. Their breasts weren’t especially large either. Sharon’s were the largest: shaped like apples with rosy pink nipples. Tracey’s were more pointed and she probably had almost as much nipple as breast to support them.

  However the girls were pretty much always available. They didn’t cost you anything, though you would probably worry about what illnesses you’d picked up (not that that ever bothered the girls!)

  The best fun Sharon could imagine was having two pricks up her - one in her cunt and the other up her arse - and another prick in her mouth. She loved the taste and sensation of a throbbing warm sperm-secreting prick as she took it from the tip of her lips and eased it towards the back of her throat. The extra sensation in the other two orifices just added to the pleasure.

  Tracey preferred just one man after another. That way, she would say, you get through more men in an evening. And they didn’t get worn out so soon.

  In whatever way, they got their hearts’ desires most weekends. They didn’t care if it was early in the evening or late. Whether it was in the night club, at the back of the bar, on a bed or amongst the rubbish down an alleyway. A good fuck was always welcome, and if you were too fussed about where you had it, well, then who knows what fun you might have missed.

  They found out about the existence of Sex Holidays in the Sun in Buggery during an evening back at the home of a married man who’d just picked the pair of them up. Buggery, as they were to find out, was a small country squeezed between the two republics of Sodom and Gomorrah. Their host was just getting into action. His trousers and underpants were thrown off and lying somewhere near the scattered parts of a motorcycle. His prick was fully erect and straining in anticipation of fucking Tracey, who’d volunteered to go first. Sharon was still shagged out after her earlier fuck against the toilet cubicle door at the night club they’d just been to. She still had traces of urine streaks down her legs from when her drunk lover had somehow confused the activities of pissing and fucking. Tracey had eagerly tugged up her tight boob tube and the folds of her cunt throbbed with the same eagerness as the veins of her host’s penis. She wedged her arse on the seat of the ragged armchair and curled her legs on either side of the armrests.

  The room was in a fairly dingy state. The rugs were worn, the ceiling was yellow with cigarette stains, and the television supported a weight of magazines and ash trays. Not even the dusty film posters on the wall and the clutter of cheap china ornaments on the cupboards added any real relief to the drabness of the place. There was no evidence that the place had been vacuum cleaned or dusted for at least a year. Not that either Sharon or Tracey would have thought it at all unusual. They didn’t bother cleaning up their own flat much more often than that themselves.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” cried a little girl in a stained night-gown clutching a threadbare teddy bear. She was standing by the living room door rubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. “Where’s Mummy?”

  “How the fuck should I know!” her father replied angrily, his penis still sticking out and twitching with desire. “Probably out fucking drunk again.”

  “I can’t get to sleep!” moaned the girl. “Take me to bed, Daddy!”

  “What the fuck! What do you fucking take me for?” shouted her father. Then remembering the two girls and perhaps wanting to retain some semblance of gallantry, he said: “OK! OK! Let’s go upstairs!” He wandered over to his daughter with his erection slowly drooping away. “I’ll be back in a second, girls.”

  “What the fuck!” echoed Tracey. “My twat’s as itchy as pepper!” She lifted herself up on the armchair and pulled her boob tube back down over her crotch. She gazed around the room in boredom and frustration and noticed that Sharon was reading a tabloid. “Oi! Sharon! What’s with you! You got all fucking literate or something?”

  Sharon looked up. “Ever heard of Buggery?” she asked.

  “Fucking hell, Sharon! What are arses for, ’cept for shitting and fucking?”

  “No, you pillock! The country called Buggery. This article here’s all about it. There’s great holidays you can have there. Sex holidays. Loads of hunky men all ready and waiting. It’s true! It’s like a fucking fuckathon. And look at the fucking price. It’s cheap! It’s fucking cheap!”

  “There must be a catch…”

  “It says here that there’s cock every-fucking-where! And it’s always gagging!”

  “Yeah! But there’s cock here! What do we need to go to fucking Buggery for?”

  “Yeh, right! But look at the cock on the hunks in these pictures in here. Just fucking look at them! You don’t get that at the Kaleidoscope on a Saturday night!”

  Tracey lifted herself out of her seat and leaned over Sharon’s shoulder to look at the article. It featured pictures of fairly ordinary girls like themselves in the company of some lush naked men with great looking cock. And there were some average looking blokes with the kind of women you didn’t normally see except in calendars.

  “Yeah! You’re right! It looks fucking great!”

  “Well, Tray. What d’you think? Sounds like a fucking laugh!”

  “Yeah, Shar. Fucking great!” Tracey smiled. She looked up as their host returned with a limp dick and a cheesy grin. “Well, here’s lover boy back!”

  The subject of Buggery frequently returned to their conversations in the following days, and the girls soon found themselves planning a holiday there in earnest. Their jobs were winding up at the call centre, and they felt like a good break before looking for the next ones. They took some glossy brochures out from the travel centre, and with the aid of the travel centre staff, they started examining all the options.

  Buggery was advertised in the many different brochures as variously ‘Sperm in the Sun’, ‘Cunts in the Country’ and ‘Specialist Tastes Catered For’. The brochures featured tasteful pictures of hotels, beaches and fucking. Some of the fucking was fairly standard. Some wasn’t
even fucking at all: masturbation, fellatio and voyeurism featured highly. The brochures made great play of the variety of sexual pleasure widely available (particularly homosexual) and the constant reminders that underage sex was strictly illegal only made it seem that much more prevalent.

  The holidays did seem really cheap, although there didn’t seem to be much that would be free when they got there. The enormous hotels were equipped with swimming pools, night clubs and bars. And the brochures had hardly a picture which didn’t feature a naked man or woman: and the men! Tracey felt hot just looking at the pictures. “I want that cock in me!” she announced, pointing at the attributes of one smooth chested man daintily carrying a drinks tray, and wearing a welcoming grin and nothing else.

  ‘Don’t bother to bring any underwear’, said the blurb for the 18 to 30 Centimetres Holiday that Sharon and Tracey opted for. This was in Buggery’s most developed resort. Night Clubs, Sex Bars, Hard Core Porn Theatre and Cinemas on every street. A glorious sun-drenched sandy beach. Sexual Couriers and Sex Guides promised. The name of the resort was Throb. This sounded very promising.

  The girls’ normal fucks in the car parks, toilets and broom cupboards just lost their lustre. They became humdrum and routine, if not even dull and characterless. As also did the men who did the fucking. They just couldn’t compare with what Buggery promised. And the homes they normally visited, whose fag-end, beer-stained floors Sharon stared at between her fore-arms while being fucked from behind, were just no comparison to the swanky classy hotels of Buggery. Instead of the grime and mess with which the girls were mostly acquainted, they offered twin double beds, balconies facing the sea, and the promise of constant sex. All this with the bonus of style, grace and massive pricks. Tracey grew increasingly sick of the sight of stubbled chins, beer-guts and drunken boorishness. She wanted to be fucked like a lady. And Sharon didn’t care if she’d never got the imprint of a damp brick wall on her arse again.

  There wasn’t that much severance pay, and the girls hadn’t saved that much. Night clubs and booze didn’t come that cheap. But they had credit cards and from the sums they did it it all seemed affordable at a pinch. The girls didn’t bother packing any underwear. Well, they wouldn’t have done so anyway. It was tempting not to bother bringing any clothes at all, because no one in the brochure pictures ever wore very many of them. But, of course, they needed clothes just to get to the Airport.

  Which was where they joined other people on the morning of their departure. Sharon was feeling slightly sick from lost sleep and the booze from their last celebratory night out. Tracey had already puked up noisily and messily before leaving home. Most of the other holiday-makers were men and women somewhat older than them and seemed generally rather less wasted; but in their current state, Sharon or Tracey were really not bothered what their companions were like. Many of the men were quite clearly gay, which would normally have bothered them. No opportunities for them there. And some of the women were just as clearly lesbian, which although both Sharon and Tracey were occasionally game, (even, on particularly bad nights, with each other), this wasn’t really what they were after. It was the local talent that they were after; or at least that which was like what the brochures promised.

  There were two Couriers: a very young girl and a hunk who the girls were most keen on. He was much more like what they were looking for. Both Couriers were from Buggery and seemed quite game for anything. Big John, the male Courier, flirted with almost all the women and many of the men. Tracey and Sharon took every opportunity to get close to him and revel in his sexual aura.

  The other Courier wore a very short skirt from which her buttocks were perpetually just about to pop out as she moved. Her breasts probably would have done much the same if she’d been better endowed in that department, but she didn’t have very much on top (or nothing to speak of). She wore ineptly applied make-up and her hair was tied in a curiously childish pair of plaits with bright yellow ribbons tied to each. She was very friendly with many of the men and some of the women. One apparently wealthy woman in her forties indulged in tongue-to-tongue kissing with the girl for what seemed liked ages.

  In fact, most of the girls’ fellow travellers seemed to be wealthier than either Sharon or Tracey. They hung around aimlessly in the international lounge feeling out of place amongst the expensive shops and restaurants. They tottered on their white stilettos, flicking ash from their ciggies and stroking down their skin-tight skirts as they rode up their thighs. They knew they had to kill some time, so they headed for one of the many cafés spread about the concourse. They were not even too sure what all the types of coffee on sale might be. They plumped for something that turned out to look like oil dripping out from under a car and tasted like shit.

  When the two girls got on the plane, just from the appearances of the airline hostesses, they knew they were on a very different type of holiday. In fact, half the airline hostesses were men, but neither gender dressed much differently from each other. All the men wore was a little ribbon in the design of the Buggery National Flag (a very boring tricolour) tied to their penises. The women, who were similarly naked, had their pubic hairs cut into the shape of the official national emblem of Buggery: which was a fairly undistinguished leaf, probably ivy or oak. They did wear make-up however, not just on their face but on key parts of their anatomy. The nipples were made more aureate by the use of lipstick, and the vulvas seemed unnaturally red.

  The couriers continued to be very attentive to their guests on the flight. They both took their clothes off in a very public gesture which involved them actually physically tearing them to pieces. They then made love which each other in a very frenzied way. Big John’s penis was quite unnaturally large and it had difficulty entering little Pussy’s cunt, but he persevered and made a lot of noise while doing so. At the climax, Big John withdrew his penis and showed everyone all the semen shooting out in a quite beautiful arch. At this stage, one of the male hostesses came along and licked the remaining stains off his still twitching prick. Another hostess cleaned off the traces of come off Pussy’s face and breasts. She was a woman with very large breasts who had earlier rubbed them in the face of several passengers on their request,.

  After this entertainment, Big John announced that a film would be shown. The lights went off and a very explicit sex film was shown. The story concerned a young boy who seemed to always succeed in getting raped whatever he did or wherever he was. He started off going to school in school clothes, but first his mother and then his father seduced him and he was persuaded to have sex with both of them. Then on the way to school, a girl who seemed younger than him (possibly younger than Pussy) started talking with him. This led to full explicit sex, involving things that surely such young people wouldn’t know about. Even if they were as the credits declared well over legal age. This sexual encounter was joined in by a passing policeman. The film continued through more scenes of either rape and seduction at school and elsewhere, and finally ended with quite a long orgy sequence where most of the characters reappeared (from where and why it was never explained) and indulged in as explicit action as was physically possible.

  After the on-flight entertainment was over, Sharon and Tracey could only congratulate themselves for their choice of holiday and steel themselves for the pleasures to come.

  Chapter II

  When the tour arrived at the King Richard the Sixteenth Airport at Throb, they were carefully segregated from any local passengers who were arriving. They saw very little of the Airport, in fact, but felt cheated by having to pay Entry Taxes they hadn’t anticipated. They were then bundled with all the other tourists onto a coach which drove them from the Airport to their hotel, the Second Honeymoon. On the journey they could see through the coach windows what Throb had to offer. This was a tempting array of long sandy beaches, towering marble hotels, ornamental parks and billboard advertisements for night clubs and cinemas. The people they glimpsed had also, like the girls, left their underwear behind. And almost everythi
ng else from what they could tell. It would have been difficult to determine who was a tourist and who was a resident in most cases, except that the tourists had the tell-tale sign of white patches of skin which hadn’t got properly sun-tanned yet.

  The Second Honeymoon was a grand institution in marble which slightly intimidated a couple of girls like Sharon and Tracey who weren’t at all used to luxury. Or anything really approximating to it. Without exception though, the staff there were naked except for little paper hats pinned to the women’s hair and little tricolour ribbons tied to the men’s penises. They were met by a young female receptionist who had very tanned skin and little rings pierced through her pert little nipples. She asked them if they wanted two double beds or an extra large double bed - “for foursomes”. Being essentially conventional girls, Sharon and Tracey opted for two double beds.

  “All the staff are at your disposal, including myself,” smiled the receptionist, “and we all swing both ways.”

  “Thank you” assured Sharon who wasn’t sure she wanted to take up the offer, but was very attracted to the cute little bum of the porter who carried their bags to their room.

  “Let’s try him out”, suggested Tracey as they walked behind him.

  When the porter had put their bags on the shelf, Tracey offered him a tip. “No thank you”, he said. “We’re not allowed to accept gratuities. On the other hand,” he smiled, “if you want sex I am fully at your disposal.”

  “Well, of course!” giggled Tracey. “But what about Sharon?”

  “Oh, I can manage the two of you, but you can always call room-service if you think you need more.”