Chapter VIII
Buttercup’s skills extended far beyond the sensual as Sharon and Tracey became increasingly aware as they continued their tramp through the woods. It was she who told them how to orientate their progress on the map by reference to the position of the Sun and its height in the sky. This meant that they were able to get further away from the wall, which, as Buttercup reminded them, was probably not very safe when there was almost certainly a hunt being organised for her. “They wouldn’t like to encourage others to escape, if they knew they could get away with it,” she commented. Despite their desperation, Buttercup’s presence somehow lifted both the girls’ spirits, although it was clear that she responded positively to Tracey’s more unambiguous attraction to her. She took Tracey’s hand in hers (something no man or woman had ever done in her all her years of lovemaking) and squeezed it occasionally in a reassuring way as they walked under the overhanging branches and avoided nettles and bracken. Sharon accepted this reluctantly, but as she reminded herself as she watched her best friend and her new lover gaily swinging their arms from clasped hands, it was cock not cunt she relished. Even when she responded with a faint tingle when Buttercup occasionally touched her arm or kissed her encouragingly on the cheek.
The trek through the woods seemed to go on longer than either Sharon or Tracey had anticipated, but then neither of them had had much experience of, or previous inclination towards, either map-reading or walking. In fact, it was clear that they were actually making faster progress with Buttercup than they were before. They were having fewer rests and they seemed to have gained new energy to stride forward faster and further than previously. As the night drew in, they actually found a deserted cottage which seemed suitable for them to rest the night. This would be luxury compared to where they’d been sleeping the last few nights, even though it was in a very dilapidated state. Half the cottage was totally collapsed and less than half of its roof was in any sense intact. However, it kept the night chill away from the girls’ bare flesh: especially Buttercup who didn’t even have as much as a blouse to keep her warm. They made space for themselves in the weeds and rubble of what were once rooms and watched the shadows lengthen as day came rather abruptly to a close.
It was now that Buttercup’s skills as a gardener came to the fore as she somehow managed to locate some potatoes, carrots, turnips and other vegetables that were still growing in the abandoned ruins of what had once been a vegetable garden. Many of these were vegetables neither Sharon nor Tracey would ever have considered eating before. They looked so bland and not usually found on pizzas or inside burgers, but now they seemed like the most perfect food in the world. Soon all three girls were resting together in the shadows of the trees cast by the half moon, sitting down in front of a fire of twigs and small branches started by Tracey’s cigarette lighter in which roasted the vegetables that Buttercup had tugged out of the ground and had prepared with some sharp stones. Sharon sat slightly to one side enjoying the warmth given off by the flames, while Tracey and Buttercup lay together.
When the food was ready, it tasted better to the girls than the most delicious fried chicken or doner kebab had ever done before. Better even than a chicken chow mein with sweet and sour sauce, or a chicken vindaloo. It was also probably the plainest food they’d ever eaten. No ketchup, vinegar, mayonnaise or even salt. But after such a poor diet to which they’d become accustomed, Sharon and Tracey felt somehow invigorated and energised. And it was clear from the bright sparkle in Tracey’s eyes that this new vigour and energy was to be directed towards one particular object.
Buttercup, as always, needed no prompting. After allowing sufficient time for the food to sink into their system, she crawled on her hands and knees towards Tracey, who was grinning in a curiously stupid fashion, and gently pinched the folds of her vagina with the forefingers of her right hand. Tracey moaned in a strangely full-throated way, and gracefully parted her legs so that Buttercup could swivel round and engage more fingers and her tongue on the scarred and embattled terrain of her cunt. She sank back onto her elbows, her head back, staring up at the half moon through the tangled shadows of the overhanging trees, while Buttercup expertly massaged, licked and caressed her sensitive and, oh so tender!, erogenous zones towards further gasps of unrestrainable pleasure and near ecstasy.
Sharon sat cross-legged watching her best friend make love to someone else. Not for the first time, of course, but usually it had been some hairy-arsed, winnets-blessed man, with saliva dripping from his lower lip and a prick that usually either came to soon or never got really stiff enough. Sharon was aware that she was beginning to get jealous of the growing friendship between her closest friend and this beautiful naked girl, but there was no denying that Buttercup’s presence was undoubtedly a good thing. She was helping the two friends navigate through the woods, keeping up their otherwise dejected spirits and was decidedly more practical-minded than either of them were.
Sharon watched as Tracey responded to Buttercup’s advances and returned them by crawling underneath her body and taking the lips of Buttercup’s vagina in her teeth. Tracey had never experimented with this sexual position of mutual oral sex before. Blow jobs usually just led to fucking. No blokes, until she’d come to Buggery, had ever shown any interest in putting their tongues to her cunt. Perhaps it was the smell of fish and piss that put them off, she wondered. But now this wonderful woman with a supermodel body was tonguing her liked she’d never been tongued before, and as she climaxed urgently, passionately, and loudly, she knew that her own reciprocation had really been clumsy and awkward. She definitely needed more practise. She collapsed in exhaustion. All the passion had exhausted her small reservoir of energy, and she huddled in Buttercup’s comforting sun-tanned arms.
Sharon smiled at the two of them, too tired and disorientated to resent Tracey’s sexual selfishness. And anyway Tracey had been gagging for it all day. Sharon was still a little uneasy about making love to a woman. Where was the cock in that? Buttercup smiled back at Sharon and ran her tongue over her lips, clearly advertising her continued availability. Sharon was just not interested, which was unusual for her.
Somehow or other, conversation began about Tracey and Sharon’s life before they’d come to Buggery. Buttercup listened to their account of life back home, and seemed to find it tremendously exotic and even bizarre. The very concept of night-clubs and pubs took some explaining. The girls’ accounts of their sexual exploits didn’t impress her at all, however. Buttercup didn’t find anything very adventurous or exciting in their tales about making love to several men at the same time, having both anal and vaginal intercourse simultaneously, losing your knickers on the train or being found by your parents with a boy’s prick in your mouth.
Indeed, some of her comments rather shocked the girls, like: “Didn’t you ask your parents to join in?” or “Why didn’t you make love with girls more often?” or “Is it true that you’re not supposed to show your vagina in public?”
“Don’t you ever get to find out about anything in the world outside of Buggery?” wondered Sharon getting a little exasperated by Buttercup’s show of ignorance.
“You’ve seen our television stations, haven’t you?” Buttercup responded sweetly. “When I was at school I genuinely believed that the real world was like that.”
“But since then… When you were behind the wall… Didn’t you find out more?”
“A little more. But not much. They’ve got another television station which is relayed by cable behind the wall, which is a bit different to what you can see at the tourist resorts. But it’s no better for finding out what’s beyond Buggery’s borders.”
“What’s that station like?” wondered Sharon. “Does it have sex in it? Or is it a normal television station?”
“It’s more normal than what you’ve seen, in that people wear clothes (or some clothes) on it. But it’s no better for information. And it’s horribly cruel and violent. And that’s because it suits the depraved tastes of the Bu
ggery aristocracy.”
“What could be more depraved than what we’ve already seen!” snorted Sharon. “This whole country is just one bunch of pervie bastards. There’s nothing sane or normal here!”
“Well! There’s a lot of violence. And a lot of sex. There’s a lot of sports and game shows: and they’re not the nice sports like you told me you see on tourist television. There are a lot of gladiatorial sports. There’s one sport which is basically where two men armed with knives have to fight to castrate the other. The winner is the one who (by whatever means) manages to slice off his opponent’s testicles and to hold them aloft. That’s pretty disgusting. And often, of course, one or both of them die. There are others which are just fights to the death, where the loser survives at least long enough to see that he or she has lost. And when it involves disembowelling and live organ removal, just how they lost in gruesome detail.
“There is wrestling: but the only kind of wrestling you see is where the aim of the exercise is to anally fuck the opponent. It looks really odd as two men who have to keep their penises as erect as they can (so they’re always masturbating themselves as they fight) have to try and get their opponent into a position that they can force their prick into the other’s arsehole. There are team sports too: but many of those also involve death, castration and sodomy.
“Another game is where a person has to run away from others, including dogs, whose task is to rape him or her. This might take place in a maze, where the victim has no idea who or what might be around the next bend or corner. In this case the victim has to be able to both run quite fast and to be able to fight off the attackers. The victim is considered to have won when he or she has reached wherever the end point is and to have escaped anal intercourse. And, for a woman, vaginal intercourse as well. It’s quite possible for a victim to win because she’s only been fucked but not been buggered.”
“It can’t all be sport on television?” wondered Tracey who’d never really followed sport much at home, although she liked watching wrestling for the pleasure of watching the men’s bodies.
“There are films as well. These must be made for export in most cases and some are very well-made. But they’re very violent too. And I’m sure the violence is real. When characters are slowly mutilated to death, or repeatedly beaten, or have parts of their body removed then you can be sure it’s the real thing. And there’s usually some rape involved in it. It seems that it’s impossible to kill or harm someone without having sex with them. Often the victims are restrained by ropes or manacles. Sometimes they are just beaten into compliance.”
“The actors can’t have a long career can they?” wondered Tracey.
“Not if they are deemed to be villains or if they are one of those to be attacked early in the films. But even those who are considered the heroes or heroines are not that nice. They seem not to care if they gouge out the eyes of their victims, or castrate them, or slice off their limbs, or disembowel them. Even if they are supposed to be acting on behalf of goodness and decency. And they are just as likely to rape their victims. The main difference is that the good characters will always survive. However, there was one character whose descent towards her final death started off with her being considered a heroine. But in the process of that film she had both of her arms severed just below the shoulders. Her suffering was grotesque and genuine, as near the start of the film her arms were cut off with a knife while being raped. She spent the rest of the film having to adapt to her new physical deficiency. Something which was treated relatively sympathetically. She was a very beautiful girl. Somehow or other she managed with the assistance of others in bringing her attackers to their own gross and disturbing deaths, inevitably including their own mutilation. Then I saw her in another film where this time she had her legs cut off with an axe just below the hips and spent the rest of the film hobbling about as just a torso. Not surprising the last film I saw her in she was repeatedly gang-raped and then tortured until her death. This film had very little pretence of a plot. And I can’t imagine she could have enjoyed even the smallest part of it.”
Sharon didn’t enjoy the idea of Buggery television very much. “Can’t we change the subject,” she suggested. “Look at the sky!”
She pointed up at the half moon through the lattice of branches in the wood. Overhead there was a faint roar of an aeroplane going by. The two friends watched the aeroplane’s tail lights sadly.
“That’s where we ought to be!” Tracey said.
“I’d do anything to be watching a normal game show on television,” Sharon mused. “To go in a pub and get a pint of lager. Get really pissed, and get fucked by some fat greasy slob with spew down his tee-shirt.”
Buttercup sighed. “I’m sure we’ll get there. I see on your map that we can’t be too far from the front with Buggery.”
“It’s still fucking thirty miles. And it’s not all fucking woods,” Sharon elaborated.
“Two days!” mused Tracey leaning her head wearily on Buttercup’s shoulder, long hair brushing against her face. “At fifteen miles a day, we’ll do it in two days!”
Chapter IX
The girls had been in woods for many days now and had become rather accustomed to their remoteness from the civilised world. Sharon commented that at home they’d have been bound to meet someone walking in the woods, but as Buttercup pointed out from the map there were just no places near them where people would be likely to be coming from. As she elaborated, people in Buggery didn’t have the leisure time to be walking in the woods for no purpose.
However, they did at last come across someone else, as they emerged out of thick wood into a clearing. It was a woman gathering dried wood. Typically for this country, she was naked with a shaved head. As they had seen no one for so many days, it seemed sensible just to girls stay quiet and still in the hope that they wouldn’t be noticed while she was working.
“You don’t have to hide you know,” the woman called out to them. “I know you’re there.” She picked up her bundle of twigs and branches and walked towards where they were.
Sharon, Tracey and Buttercup emerged nervously from the shadows and stood in the speckled sunlight. The woman stared at them with a quizzical expression, passing her eyes from one girl to another and back again. She had probably been very attractive once, and she was probably not much older than thirty. Most of her teeth were missing. Her nose was broken and slightly twisted. A jagged scar disfigured one of her breasts. “My! You’re a funny crowd! Are you on the run?”
Tracey nodded her head. “We’re on our way to Gomorrah.”
“Gomorrah!” exclaimed the woman with an amused smile. “Well, you’ve got to have somewhere to run to if you’re running away I suppose.” She dropped her bundle to her feet and hobbled towards them with the faltering step of a much older person. “You’ll be pleased to know that it’s not far to go now. The war zone’s really close to here. It used to be a lot further away. Many kilometres away. But it’s been getting steadily closer as the war’s gone on. Bit like the tide coming in, I guess.”
The girls felt strangely awe-struck by the disfigured woman. She was so skinny, with the outline of her ribs and hips showing clearly through her tanned bare skin. Her feet were flattened and rough. Her toe-and fingernails were crooked and broken. Many of her teeth were missing, particularly at the front. Back home, Sharon and Tracey had never seen anyone in such a bad way, except after a good scrap in the pub car park. And then it’d be mostly patched up when the hospital had got them to them.
“You’re a strange lot. I’ve never seen anyone like you before. We get a lot of runaways round here. Mostly to seek a better life in Gomorrah. Or anywhere really. But you’re the strangest yet. I suppose you’re worried about being caught and sent back. And that’s why you’re wandering in the woods.”
“There’s a lot of police about!” Sharon said.
“Well, that may be so. But there’s no reason here why they’d be bothered about you lot in particular. Law and order sort
of starts to disintegrate round here. No one can be bothered to enforce His Majesty’s Justice when you spend all your time dodging bullets and things. And that’s why I live here.”
“Why? Because there’s no law and order?” wondered Buttercup.
The woman didn’t really answer. She looked at Buttercup’s beautiful naked figure with a horrible lascivious leer. “My! You’re a pretty one!” she exclaimed. “You’re the prettiest one I’ve ever seen! I’d love to have you suck my cunt!” The woman scratched her chin contemplatively with a hand from which two fingers were missing.
The woman walked right up to Buttercup and stood right in front of her. Tracey had become sufficiently sensitive to her new lover to notice her flinch ever so slightly as the woman approached. She answered Buttercup’s question. “No, sweetheart. Where there’s no law and order, then you can survive. It’s the law which kills people. In most of Buggery you can’t live at all when you lose your looks. Or like me get brutally and violently raped by the police. You don’t stand a chance in most of Buggery. You last as long as you can, and that’s only so long as the police don’t take an interest in you for one reason or another. Or you don’t get called up for fighting against the Gomorrans. Round here no one gives a fuck. There’s no eugenic policy - official or otherwise.”
The woman raised her other hand, which still had a full set of fingers, and without ceremony or introduction stroked Buttercup’s breasts. “You’ll want some food, won’t you? Something to eat. You can’t buy it round here. You can only grow it, steal it or sell your body for it.”
“Can’t you buy anything at the villages?” wondered Tracey.
“Villages!” sniffed the woman. “You’re only five kilometres from the front. Villages can’t survive here. They get bombed to pieces. You have to live in a bunker to survive round here. There are no villages anywhere around her! The nearest you have to a village must be Tranquillity. That’s a real hovel which supplies sex to the soldiers before they head off to fight in the war. And probably die. You could buy sex there, but not any food. You can buy sex here if you want. And you can sell it too. It’s a lot less precious than food, I can tell you! If you want food you’re going to have to follow me. And you’re going to have to pay for it! But not with money! What could I do with money round here?”
Escape from Buggery Page 10
