Escape from Buggery Page 11

  The woman looked at the girls. “Well! Are you coming with me or you going to stay in the fucking woods forever? And is any one of you going to help me carry these fucking twigs?”

  Sharon nodded and reluctantly stepped forward. “Yeah! We’ll come. At least you’re not police!”

  The woman smiled grimly. “And you can call me Joy by the way. That’s what I’m called, but that doesn’t necessarily describe me.”

  She picked up the bundle that lay on the ground, which was tied together by more flexible branches, and lunged it over to Sharon. She gasped as she took the weight off Joy. Fuck! They were heavy! She swang them over her shoulder, feeling the rough branches against her skin through the blouse, and followed Joy as she hobbled ahead of them through the woods. Fortunately, Tracey and Buttercup took turns in helping her carry the bundle, so it wasn’t so bad. But even five minutes at a time was more weight than she’d ever carried before. They walked in single line through a tortuous route that seemed to follow no obvious paths, stepping over fallen logs and ducking under tangled bracken. Now that Tracey was carrying the bundle and cursing every fucking twig while she did so, Sharon now noticed for the first time that Joy had a bit of a limp, and that half of one of her buttocks was missing.

  Also for the first time, as they stumbled along, the girls began to appreciate just how close they must be to the war zone. They passed the rotting hull of a crashed aeroplane, parts of which were still hanging from the branches of the trees. And they passed a few holes that Tracey at first thought had been dug, but which Buttercup pointed out were more likely to be craters caused by falling bombs.

  And then, for the first time in days, they were out of the woods and found themselves on a road which stretched away from the wood across open fields into the distance. The three girls paused in the unfamiliar, open space. They could see more than several yards ahead. And the bright rays of the sun in the open air was overwhelming after the speckled light and dark shadows they’d become accustomed to.

  Joy did not appreciate their pause. “Fuck’s sake!” She yelled. “It’s fucking dangerous here. You don’t want to get shot, do you? And don’t wander around randomly. There are mines, unexploded bombs and all things round here. So just follow where I go and don’t even think of making a fucking detour.” She turned round with a grimace, and hobbled on as the unforgiving sun beat down on her and on the girls. Sharon’s skin burnt in the bright light and the sharp pain of the heat became indistinguishable form the sharp pain of the branches she was carrying. But, from the advice she had been given, she was able to see the landscape in a new light. The many holes which dotted the uncultivated fields had definitely not been dug. They were too shallow and too strangely smooth. And the rusted hulks she could see in the distance were almost certainly not the tractors and cars like you’d expect to see in the country back home. They almost certainly served some military purpose.

  After a mile or so of trudging through the desolate fields, Joy led them to what looked like some kind of a settlement. It was in fact the bombed remains of a tinned fruit factory, with a large commercial sign pointing to the foreman’s office and industrial machinery scattered about.

  As they approached, they were able to see the other inhabitants of this place. Like Joy, they were all naked with shaved heads. Some were even young children: which was something Tracey and Sharon hadn’t seen before in Buggery. But the vast majority of the people were other women. Very few were men. Nobody seemed to pay them any attention as they approached. Everyone seemed busy in their own affairs amongst the ruins of the factory, which still had inappropriate signs scattered about the place, pointing towards places like Reception, Head Office and Exit.

  Joy stopped by a sign reading Technical Services. “This used to be the main agricultural district of Buggery,” she commented. “During the war with Sodom, this area was very prosperous, as all trade that didn’t go by sea had to go via Gomorrah. So, a lot of people came to live round here. Nowadays nobody lives here except old people like me or people with more to fear from Law and Order than from living off all this shit.”

  “What sort of people?” wondered Sharon.

  ”Men, for instance,” Joy continued. “Not many men in Buggery. They all get sent off to the war if they can’t be used in the sex and tourism industry. People with physical disabilities - like that girl there.” She pointed at a very pretty girl of about sixteen who certainly didn’t appear disabled. “She’s deaf. She’d be dead as well anywhere but here. Deafness isn’t tolerated. It’s a wonder she didn’t have her womb torn out like I did. But she’s had a couple of little children. And they’re not deaf.”

  Joy led the three girls down what had once been a corridor, but now without a roof over their heads seemed like just the gap between two buildings. She arrived at a hatch on the floor which she crouched over, lifted up with some effort with both hands and revealed a flight of metal steps descending into the dark. “Down here. But be careful! A lot of rungs are missing.”

  This was true, and Buttercup complained at the sharpness of the edges of the rungs on her bare feet. It was also very dark, so the three girls were quite frightened as they descended. Before they got to the bottom, however, the shaft was lit up by a light from below as Joy lit a candle with some matches. They now got a view of where they were. It was in fact a room that had once been a food store. All about the place was scattered an untidy miscellany of rugs and rubbish, which betrayed no sense of order, even to Tracey and Sharon who were used to relative disorder. In the corner of the room, there was a ragged mattress on which lay another woman, whose appearance was not nearly as decrepit as the first woman.

  “This is Sweetness, my lover,” announced Joy. “Sweetness is blind, so the only use she has to the world is to make love. Isn’t that so, darling.”

  “I fuck all the time. To whoever’s willing to pay us food for it,” Sweetness explained. “Are you going to give us food for sex? I’m about ready for a fuck.” Sweetness was a slim, in fact emaciated girl, perhaps only fourteen years old, with long, terribly matted, black hair which reached to her waist. Like everyone else though she was totally naked.

  “Not tonight, Sweetness,” Joy explained. “It’s these girls who are going to give me pleasure today.”

  In fact it was more Buttercup than Sharon or Tracey who provided that honour. The two girls were deeply depressed by their environment, horrified by the physical appearance of their host, but nonetheless ravenously hungry. Buttercup, however, seemed to have no discriminatory faculties and more than satisfied Joy’s lust, while Sweetness sat silently and disconsolately to one side. Tracey felt a mixture of disgust and jealousy as she watched Buttercup indulge in wild and passionate love of the kind with apparently just as much pleasure as she’d ever shown to her. But although Buttercup might have the energy, she reflected, somehow all the energy seemed to have sapped out of her. The relative calm and peace that had fallen upon her these last couple of days since they’d met Buttercup was being angrily consumed with the heat and rush of jealousy and hatred, as she watched Buttercup lick Joy’s half-buttock and allowed Joy’s tongue to push through the gaps in her teeth into the beauty of her vagina. Tracey could imagine every caress and every thrust and every nibble as if it was happening to her. As, of course, it had not so long before.

  And Joy’s appetite for sex was ravenous and ugly. She probed every orifice in Buttercup’s body: her nostrils, her ears, her mouth and arse. She demanded that Buttercup push her tongue down her throat, into her anus, and to pay particular attention to the ripped and jagged edges of her torn labia. Every scar had to be licked, every wound and every part of her had to be treated as if it were a source of pleasure.

  Only after Joy was fully satisfied, after several hours of fumbling, groping, penetration and nibbling in the candle-light, was the food at last prepared. And it really was not very pleasant. It was just a tasteless meat and vegetable stew on white rice. But nevertheless the friends launched into it with an appe
tite. As they ate greedily and voraciously, Sharon began to see more the advantages of having Buttercup in their company. Unlike Tracey, she had been able to watch Buttercup and Joy without too much jealousy. And, even, after having watched Tracey and Buttercup together, with a guilty feeling of having gained a kind of revenge. Sharon wouldn’t have chosen to make love to such a disgusting (and smelly!) wreck of an individual like Joy. Nor was she too excited by the sullen, skeletal appearance of Sweetness. And now that Tracey had seen what a promiscuous slut Buttercup was, despite her obvious physical beauty, maybe she would lose her so obvious dykish obsession with the girl.

  However, when the candle was about to be extinguished, Sharon found that there was actually a shortage of mattresses and that the two mattresses there were both in a filthy and sordid state. Tracey and Sharon shared the mattress with Sweetness who clung to them with a tenacity that had nothing do with any sexual passion and more to do with a desperation for their bodies’ warmth. Sweetness occasionally stroked and caressed the two girls’ bodies seemingly unconcerned by their unresponsiveness. This was almost comforting in the discomfort and bleakness of their sleeping arrangements. Sharon had never slept so tightly against Tracey’s body before, and she was dreading not only Sweetness’ dyke intentions, but those that her best friend might be developing. Joy and Buttercup slept on the other mattress where they very soon resumed making love together as the night hours stretched ahead in the total blackness of the abandoned store-room.

  Chapter X

  Sharon eventually got to sleep after tossing and turning in the dark fetid heat, crammed between Sweetness’ and Tracey’s own hot bodies, and long after the moaning and gasping ceased from the mattress where Buttercup was sleeping with Joy. When she awoke it was on a lumpy mattress sodden with sweat and the strange sensations of a slobbery tactile probing in her vagina. As she blinked in the dark, her legs were wide open and she was enjoying the sensation despite herself. What was the feeling? It wasn’t a prick. Not unless it was a peculiarly small and versatile one. And it wasn’t fingers - the feeling was quite unlike that. As the sensation spread up her labia to her stomach, she established that it must be a tongue. No man had ever sucked her there before, and it was a pleasure she felt peculiar about enjoying. But who was it? There was no light at all in the dark store-room; no silhouetted figures, nothing but a frightening absence of sight.

  “Tracey. Is that you?” Sharon wondered, thinking that her friend had perhaps mistaken her for Buttercup.

  “You what?” answered Tracey in a sleepy voice. “What you want?”

  “Are you fucking licking me?”

  “What the fuck do you think? I’m your mate, not your fucking whatsit.”

  Sharon leaned up and groped at the head of whoever’s head it was between her legs, secretly hoping that it was Buttercup (though why she wasn’t sure).

  “Ooh! That hurt! That’s my eye!” shrieked Sweetness.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Don’t you like it?”

  “Don’t fucking ask! Just get the fuck off me!” Sharon yelled into the dark.

  A match was struck, and a candle lit. Joy stood up in front of them, with a strange leer. “Don’t you like my darling Sweetness?” She asked with amusement.

  “I’m no fucking dyke!”

  “In this world, you get what you fucking get and you’ve got no fucking choice!” Joy said. “However, it’s time me and Sweetness went to work.”

  Buttercup was still asleep on the mattress, but Joy rudely shook her awake. “Come on, my darling. We need to get some daylight!” After some very minor preparation, Joy led the way up the store-room rungs to the world outside. Actually, it was Sweetness who really led the way, bounding up the rungs, knowing exactly where to place her bare feet. She pushed up the hatch, Joy extinguished the candle she was carrying, and the girls were exposed to the harsh bright light of the morning sun through the slats of the bombed roof.

  In the light, Sharon was at last able to see Sweetness more clearly. She was very thin, her ribs showing clearly through the stretched skin of her chest, and her pointed nipples prominent on otherwise uncontoured breasts. Her dark brown hair was matted and fell over her sharp angular shoulders, and unlike almost everyone else they had met she had no stud in her cunt. Her eyes had a haunting vacancy about them, the pupils and cornea spooky and undefined, and she never faced whoever it was she was speaking to or whoever it was speaking to her. She had prominent pinched cheeks and clearly defined cheek-bones, which gave a strangely puckered look to her mouth.

  It was Sweetness who rushed ahead, clearly familiar with every bend and contour of the corridors in the ruined factory, with Joy and the three girls following. On the way, they passed other figures in the half-dark who looked up at them without much curiosity as they went by. They seemed to be preoccupied in other business which was mysterious and unidentifiable to Sharon and Tracey, but presumably had some purpose.

  “What does everyone do here?” Tracey asked Joy as she dashed onward.

  “Fuck knows! Stitching clothes. Grinding wheat. Rolling tobacco. How the fuck should I know? You do what you fucking can out here!”

  “And what does Sweetness do?” Sharon found herself wondering, the sensation of liquid tongue still a vivid memory between her legs.

  “She fucks,” snorted Joy. “Or more precisely she gets fucked. We’ve got a stall, and when I’m not out scavenging in the woods, she takes whoever wants to take her.”

  “So she’s a prostitute, then?”

  “I haven’t the smallest fucking idea what that is. Whatever you want to call it, it’s all Sweetness can fucking do. But she’s fucking good at it. Aren’t you, Sweetness? You’re a fucking good fuck, aren’t you!”

  Sweetness turned her head round and gazed sightlessly at Joy. “I do my best.”

  The girls soon exited the factory, and found themselves in a broad area where other people in the settlement were busy. Most like Sweetness had no clothes at all, but some had rags which hid some of the unsightly scars and wounds which was a common feature in the encampment. A man staggered past them hobbling on a large branch on the one leg and half a set of genitals that were left to him. His skin was tattooed all over with strange khaki-like splodges. He greeted Joy, and hobbled onwards.

  “What happened to him?” Sharon asked.

  “Oh! He’s that rare thing: a deserter who didn’t get shot escaping. However, he got away through a minefield, which explains his injuries. But at least he’s alive!” Joy caught up with Sweetness who was standing by a battered foam mattress next to a wooden board where the letters ‘SEX FOR SALE’ were carved into it. “Well, here we are! Lie down, Sweetness!”

  The young girl stretched herself out onto the mattress, leaning herself up on her shoulders, with her legs open and her shaved vagina on prominent display. Joy sat on a rock by the side of the mattress, and smiled sardonically at the three girls who stood around. “I guess selling yourself for sex is an option you girls can go for. Buttercup’d make you all like fucking aristocracy.”

  “How much does it make?” Sharon asked, making a mental comparison with the cost of sex in Throb. “How much money do you charge for Sweetness?”

  “Money! Money! There’s no fucking use for fucking money here. What you gonna do with it? Clean your arse with it? No, all you’ll get is food, candles, clothes if you want them, that kind of thing. But with fucking Buttercup you’ll wipe up.”

  “Food, candles and clothes!” gasped Tracey. “That doesn’t sound like it’s fucking worth it!”

  “Well, what do you fucking expect, dearie?” Joy sneered. “Cigarettes, booze and televisions? There’s no fucking electricity here even if you could get those things. Anyway, you can just bugger off. I can see my first customer coming.”

  Sharon, Tracey and Buttercup stood discreetly back as a squat hairy man with a ragged cloak and a mangled arm approached carrying some turnips from whose ends were still dangling dried earth and roots. He
gave the turnips to Joy, who examined them with a critical appraising eye. “Ten minutes!” she said to him, gesturing towards Sweetness. “Any more and it’s on credit.” The hairy man grunted, and handed Joy his cloak revealing some deep festering scars across his back amongst the long thick black hair. He then unceremoniously knelt on the mattress, holding out his tumescent penis towards Sweetness in the broad hairy hand that was left unmangled.

  Sharon grimaced. Of all the men who’d ever fucked her, none of them had been quite as grotesque as this figure. For fuck sake, he only had one eye and an empty socket where the other should be. And she’d been fucked by some pretty fucking sorry specimens in her time! However, Sweetness had none of Sharon’s aesthetic doubts, aided no doubt by her blindness, and guided by the hairy man’s hands she plunged her mouth greedily onto his prick and gobbled and sucked it almost with desperation. As it came up to its erection, it really was not that splendid a specimen, no more than three inches long with the hair from the balls tangling with the coating of hair on its whole length. She pushed her head back and forth on its stubby fat length: the whole of it easily getting into her mouth. And then when she judged it to be as erect as it could be, she lay on her back and let him fuck her, which he did in a snorting, grunting way, his hairy arse thrusting up and down mechanically and not at all expertly.