Escape From Buggery 2

The only times you saw people from Buggery having sex with each other were in the live acts at the Night Club and in the hotel bar. And there were literally no holes barred. The sex seemed to go on and on, occasionally interspersed by splendid, even artistic, flourishes of spurting semen. And then with little pause and remarkably prompt recovery, the participants were back at it again. Arses, mouths, vaginas penetrated vigorously and expertly. Positions taken which exceeded either girls' imagination and requiring rather more physical flexibility than either were capable of. A more impossibly energetic or athletic lot you could barely imagine!

To be able to afford their holiday in Buggery, both Sharon and Tracey had told several white lies about their financial wealth: lies that they hoped wouldn't catch up with them while they were on holiday. Perhaps the lies weren't that small, but the girls were somewhat naïve as to what they were likely to get away with. At first these lies didn't worry them while they were enjoying so much themselves in Throb.

Throb was an aptly named resort they found, as this was exactly what their cunts did all the time after each day. They soon got used to days of sex on the beach, in the night clubs, in the hotel and in the bar. They soon stopped wearing any clothes at all: carrying all they needed in shoulder bags. There was no theft in Throb, which was good as they often had to drop their bags wherever they happened to be. Total nudity began to seem a little too innocent for two such worldly girls, and so it wasn't long that like many other tourists and many of the residents of Throb they got their nipples pierced and rings put through them. It didn't stop there. They also had their vulvas pierced in several places. Soon little rings dangled from between their legs to go with the rings through their nipples, the bangles on their arms and the earrings. A pleasing jangle accompanied every step as they walked around. When they raised their arms, a cascade of bangles followed in chorus.

Every morning, they'd wake up with at least one man sharing their beds, ready for a quick fuck before breakfast. Then after that, some more sex as the day progressed, wherever and whenever it took their fancy. Their vaginas were constantly bruised, they always felt like they were exhausted, but the sex was so very good, they just couldn't turn down any chance for more.

One evening, they had two young boys in their bed who'd they'd picked up on the beach. "This is fucking paradise!" mused Sharon as a penis thrust in and out of both her arse and her cunt, while Tracey greedily gobbled on the two adjacent set of balls. "This can't be real! Sex wasn't supposed to be as good as this!" In fact, it never had been before. This was real fucking: intense, continuous, not a limp dick in sight. The men back home just had nothing to offer in comparison. They'd never be satisfied like this again.

The two boys were expert in sharing the attention of the two voracious friends. While one thumped away mercilessly at Sharon's arse, the other was simultaneously fucking Tracey's cunt. And then while the girls were in ecstasy, they'd somehow alter positions: the first boy taking Tracey's arse while the other transferred his attention to Sharon's cunt. And then as Tracey gulped in paroxysms of delight, the one took his prick out of Sharon and pushed it into Sharon's arse, giving her again that full feeling she so craved where inside her she could feel one prick sliding against the other: giving her dual stimulation on the skin dividing one orifice to another. She'd thought that now, after the fucking she'd got at least once every few hours, that by now the pleasure would be diminished. That in some way, she'd lose interest from familiarity. But, no, it was like a drug to her. The more she was fucked, the more she craved it. The soreness of her arse was lessened by the usage, but the desire for it certainly did not. Nor did it for Tracey, who took the opportunity to crawl over the mattress and apply her tongue to the two sets of rock-hard testicles bumping against each other as they pushed and pushed into Sharon. Before long, it was too much for her, as she greedily pulled one boy off her friend, and motioned his erect prick into her cunt. And somehow, like so many times and so many lovers before, the boys knew when they had exhausted the girls and released streams of semen which spurted onto the girls' breasts and flowed onto their bellies.

"I hope we can do this forever!" remarked Tracey as they wandered down to the foyer, licking traces of semen from their lips. There they saw Lil dressed for the first time since they'd first met her. At first they didn't recognise her in her tight-fitting skirt and top, as up to then, they'd only seen her nude. She wasn't a nudist, as she'd told them many times, and they were keen to reassure her that they weren't either. It was just that clothes were such an unnecessary encumbrance in Throb.

Lil seemed quite upset. She was standing by herself holding an invoice in her hand. "Look at what the bastards have charged me!" she shrieked when the girls greeted her. "Every fucking drink, every fucking night club and every fucking fuck. All on the bill. Nothing's escaped them at all! How'd they know all this?"

She showed an itemised bill, which went on for several pages. It listed every drink she'd had, every night club she'd entered and every meal she'd eaten. In addition, it included an itemised account of every sexual encounter she'd had. So much for oral sex, so much for vaginal sex, a bit more for anal sex and a lot more for having someone to spend the night with her. Group sex and lesbian sex were charged at a further premium. Tracey gasped with shock as she glanced at the total and made a rough estimate at what it meant converted back to their home currency. Not only was it a large sum, far more than she'd ever expected, a little extra arithmetic (not something for which she had a native skill), told her that Sharon and she had actually been rather more active and indulgent than Lil (despite her boasts) and that their bill was likely to be several times larger.

"And it's not just what I've been doing, we'll get charged for. My hubby's been enjoying himself. I don't know the details but from what he's told me we're gonna have the world's most fucking horrendous headache paying for all this. We might be well-off, but haulage don't make millions. I don't think we'll be able to afford another holiday here for a lo-ong while."

"Are you leaving now then?" asked Sharon.

"Yeah! We are. Another day here and we'd have to re-mortgage the house. I can't believe the bastards. Every fucking cock and every fucking cunt!. I'm surprised they didn't charge us by the weight of sperm. And there weren't no hint of this till we settled up. The fucking smile on that bastard girl's face." She nodded towards the demure but naked receptionist, who with a broad imperturbable smile was serving a bill to another white-faced couple. "I bet she enjoys stinging the fucking tourists! That's how this country makes it money, I reckon. They get us in with a promise of dawn-to-dusk sex (and then a bit more!) and nothing passes them by. Not a single fucking tiny insignificant orgasm. What fucking cheek!"

"What are you gonna do about it?" wondered Tracey with genuine interest.

"There's fuckall we can do. We'll just have to pay by credit card and hope the limit's big enough. Hey, here comes hubby!"

Her husband, a large man in a suit and tee-shirt wandered towards them carrying a small case and holding his bill in his hand. His stubbled face did not look well pleased. "Fucking cunt bastards!" he exclaimed, mirroring his wife's comments. "That orgy on Friday cost us nearly a month's income!"

Tracey and Sharon retreated to the beach, the only place they knew where they wouldn't be charged for going, and spread themselves out, naked as always except for the jewellery that adorned them . They stared towards the sea where the waves crashed onto the shore and where several other tourists were fucking and being fucked on the fine-grained sand.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Sharon, knowing full well why Tracey was so untypically quiet.

"I don't think we can afford the bill."

"Yeah, but we got plastic. That'll cover it, won't it! What the fuck's plastic for, anyway?"

"Yeah, we got plastic. But we also got, - whatchayoucallit? - credit card limits. That's the most you can put on plastic. The absolute tops."

"Yeah, well?"

"Yeah, well. It's not gonna be enough. Not nearly fucking enough! Those cunts have got us. You saw what Lil's paying. And you saw what she's paying for. Not even half a dozen fucks a day."

"She always said she'd done more than that."

"Well. She's old, ain't she. She can't do it as much as we can. And anyway, she ain't had our practice. I always thought she were a bit light-weight. We've done two, three, four, I dunno, much more fucking than her."

"She can't take it, can she?"

"Yeah, but least she can pay for it. We can't! We're fucking screwed! I don't know what the fuck we're gonna do!"

"Yeah, so what! It's on plastic, ain't it?"

"Course it is. But when we come to pay, our plastic's gonna bounce. It's gonna bounce worse than a fucking beach ball. It's gonna bounce. And we're gonna be well and truly fucked."

Sharon frowned. She stroked the rings in her labia, the cost of which she was now bitterly regretting. "So, what they gonna do to us?"

"They're gonna lock us up and throw away the fucking key. We're gonna spend the rest of our lives in some fucking jail. And the fucking ambassador's not gonna bail us out. Not a couple of tarts like us."

Sharon's face visibly paled in the sun. She chewed on a fingernail. "I'm scared, Tray. You think that's what they're gonna do?"

"Well! What do you fucking think? This ain't home, is it? They can do what they fucking like here. I don't fancy our chances at all."

After further discussion, they decided that the only option open to them was to try and make a quick get-away from Throb to avoid paying the bill. It wasn't a thought uppermost in their minds the last week or so, but now it seemed like the only sensible option. It wouldn't be the first time they'd absconded without paying, but this looked like being the most risky. However, before planning an escape, they first had to survey the lie of the land. One thought they had was that if they left from a different border from the one they arrived they might get away without the Royal Government of Buggery demanding the money that would soon be owing. How to get to this border was the big question.

Throb was not that large a resort. It was perhaps ten miles along the coast and went two miles inland. Inside the town's perimeters, all was sex and sun. Hotels, night clubs, bars and beach. However, the two friends found that if you walked far in any direction you came across a wire fence guarded by fierce looking men or women with curious rubber truncheons and snarling dogs. Even the furthest reach of the sandy beach was lined with a row of sharp spikes and barbed wire to keep tourists in. And possibly, also to keep other people out. Beyond, this was a kind of wilderness with battered shacks and the odd grazing goat. Although this containment seemed strange to the girls, it essentially meant that it was nowhere as easy to leave Throb as it might at first have seemed.

"So, do you know of a way out?" Sharon asked Pru in the bar that evening, after having explained their dilemma. She seemed extremely uncomfortable with her knowledge of the girls' circumstances, if not even rather embarrassed/

"Well, in any normal place, I'd suggest you just come clean," she answered, "but, here, and don't ever tell anyone I suggested this to you, have you ever thought of going on a day trip? At least you can get out of Throb and maybe you can find your way to another border from there."

It had never crossed the two girls' minds to leave the holiday resort. After all, everything they wanted was close at hand. Why go anywhere else? Sharon and Tracey couldn't care less about ruins or museums or anything cultural. They couldn't think of anything more piss-poor boring. But reluctantly, and with a little help from Pru, they had a look at what day trips were available. These were all displayed in a quaint looking Tourist Information Centre near the beach.

Almost all the day trips were to parts of the country where the main raison d'être was the sex that was on offer when you got there. One which seemed suitably remote and seemed comfortably close to Sodom, with which Buggery was not at war, was a small place called Pederasty. Besides the promise of "immature love", there was a mediæval castle and a particularly large monument to King Peter the Fourteenth, the current ruler of Buggery.

The two girls left almost all they had at the hotel, except money, jewellery, passports and bikinis for the airport which they tucked into their bags. They didn't want to arouse suspicion by taking things out of their room like toothbrushes or clothes. They got on to a bus full of other tourists heading to Pederasty, which mostly consisted of middle-aged or older men. Many of them were still clothed, but one or two had got into the spirit of life in Buggery and wore nothing but hats to keep the sun off their eyes. These were the men with the most leathery skin and the most lined faces.

There were only two other women besides themselves. One was a tourist, in her late thirties wearing only glasses and red skin peeling painfully from exposure to the sun. She told Sharon and Tracey that she was keen in getting a boy one-third her age inside her cunt, as it was a life-time ambition of hers. "I've got a son that age, and I often wonder what it's like. What about you?"

Sharon lied that she also thought that little boys' pricks were the best. "Oooh! I just can't get enough of them!" She exclaimed unconvincingly, although she'd always preferred her pricks as thick and long as possible.

The other woman was a travel courier and barely a woman at all. She was perhaps thirteen and her breasts were mere bumps with puffy nipples. She wore nothing but a little flower in her cunt which she encouraged the other tourists to tweak. She waggled her bum as she passed by and giggled appreciatively if anyone pinched it. After sucking off a man just opposite them on the bus, Tracey ventured to ask "If we really like it in Pederasty, can we stay the night?" The girl, who called herself Little Pussy, wiped the semen from her mouth and looked a little alarmed.

"Are you likely to do that?"

"It sounds like a paradise on earth to us, this Pederasty place, dearie. We'd just love to stay all night."

Little Pussy, who had been hard selling the underage delights of Pederasty was put in a difficult position. "Well, it sure is a wonderful place, but are you sure you won't want to go back to Throb?"

"Can't we just book into a hotel and come back on a bus later, dearie?" suggested Sharon.

"I'll check with Big Hunk", Little Pussy said referring to the driver.

This came back with a reserved affirmative, but both Little Pussy and Big Hunk seemed very uncomfortable with the two girls from then on. Little Pussy was very insistent on having sex with the two girls in the apparent hope of changing their minds, but although Sharon let her, and had to admit she was very good at it, that couldn't have been sufficient. In any case, although she liked the attention of Little Pussy's fingers and tongue on her vagina, not to mention her nipples and mouth, it was men she preferred. Both she and Tracey had always preferred a good cock: though given the choice between the pleasant firm body of the little girl and the flabby, unpleasant looking bodies of the male tourists they were with, she couldn't be sure that her interests were really so gynaecological rather than aesthetic. She took pleasure, as she lay back on her seat next to Tracey, with the small girl between them, fingers and tongues sharing their sunburnt bodies equally, at the stares she was receiving from the other tourists. Fuck you! She thought with pleasure as she saw one overweight man uncomfortably stroking his tiny penis, trying to get more life into what little of it there was.

Certainly, the girls became aware that although in terms of sexual activity they had a freedom impossible at home, their freedom was circumscribed in other ways. As they passed through the town limits of Throb, the guards were very insistent in looking at passports and at the things the girls were carrying. "Why the bikini?" asked one border guard, a very muscular woman wearing leather boots and shoulder pads but nothing else but well-built muscles.

"Too much sun", suggested Tracey. The guard sniffed. It was the couriers, not the tourists, who got most attention from the guards and none of it very friendly. Little Pussy had her legs prised open while one guard shoved his fingers inside her cunt as if he were looking for something. She smiled weakly at the rest of the bus during this obvious humiliation, while the guard licked the come off the fingers of one hand, but continued probing with his other hand.

It was a relief for the girls, but even more so for Little Pussy, when the bus finally drove out of Throb and travelled through the countryside of Buggery. This was the first time the girls had seen so much of Buggery outside of Throb, and it was not especially beautiful. The countryside consisted mostly of parched farmland with pot-holed roads, lined at intervals of every hundred meters by large posters of King Peter XIV. In fact, there were rather more reminders of his rule outside Throb than they'd ever seen inside. Every small village had a statue of him and of previous monarchs. Every lamp post and every telegraph pole had a portrait of him attached to it. The impression given from the pictures and statues was that he was a genial and dignified person. His favourite pose was to stare into the half-distance, with a grim smile, surrounded at his knees by a coterie of seated attractive naked women whilst brutal looking men stood just beside him looking towards him with proud admiring gazes.

In the fields were peasants in various degrees and types of undress. They stopped briefly at one village, which appeared to operate entirely for the benefit of tourists, where they were allowed to stretch their legs and buy drinks and snacks from some makeshift stalls. This had an ambience very similar to the small markets of Throb, but didn't offer nearly enough other distraction to encourage anyone to stay.

IV

It was after several hours of bumpy roads and undistinguished fields that the bus eventually arrived at Pederasty. This was no more prepossessing than anything else they'd seen, being a small walled town surrounded by dirt and rubble, beyond which stretched interminable miles of country lanes and fields of naked labouring peasants. Little Pussy stood up and opened the bus door. "Welcome to Pederasty. The little joys and desires you've always wanted to sample are here for you. The rules which usually bound behaviour in Buggery are totally removed here: so it doesn't matter how young he is, just go ahead!"

The passengers filed out into a town full of little boys. At first it looked like there were little girls there as well, and that the boys were just the naked ones who were sitting indolently around. But some of the apparent girls in their pretty plaits, ribbons and little dresses pulled up their dresses to show that not only were there no knickers there but that they were in fact also boys as well. The passengers were soon surrounded by willing crowds of boys who dragged them willingly away to whatever it is they wanted to do. The middle-aged woman was one of those who opted for the attention of one of the boys dressed as a little girl. She stood by the road side and enjoyed him stroking her well-worn cunt.

"I'll escort you to the hotel," announced Little Pussy to Sharon and Tracey before they disembarked. "And can you sign this document to say that you're not coming back today otherwise the police will be very unhappy to see that the numbers leaving Throb aren't the same as those returning."

They signed the document and then walked with Little Pussy towards the hotel. This was just outside the walls of the town and had the appearance of a converted monastery. "Aren't there any little girls here?" asked Sharon.

"Goodness no!" said Little Pussy a little aghast. They passed by one of the tourists who was buggering a boy and in turn being buggered from behind by another boy. "If you wanted little girls, you should have gone to Tight Rim. There's lots of little girls there - most of them younger than me! They'd give you the treat of your life and they don't care what you do! If that's what you want I can arrange it for you. Or if you don't want to leave Throb, we can arrange for a little girl to come to your room at the time of your choosing!"

Sharon declined the offer. She wasn't too sure she even really wanted sex with a little boy. She was beginning to think there was something slightly distasteful about all these boys running around shoving their fingers up their bums and wiggling their little willies.

Little Pussy left them at the reception desk of the hotel. "I'd love to stay longer, but I've got to look after the welfare of the others. It always gets difficult rounding them up at 6 o'clock, so don't be too surprised if you find that some others decide to stay here." She didn't really sound like she believed that, but it was clear that the Petit Garçon Hotel had its fair share of guests. They were mostly elderly men, but there were a few younger couples sitting in the hotel bar. The staff were all young boys, and a fair proportion were dressed like chambermaids and waitresses. In fact a chambermaid could be seen with his prick firmly up the anus of a waitress who was lying on his back with his legs hooked by his arms. This seemed to be for the entertainment of the people drinking in the bar.

The receptionist was another boy dressed to look like a girl with very thick lipstick and pendulous earrings. He looked at the girls' passports and copied the details into his book. "How long are you staying?"

"Tomorrow?" suggested Tracey.

The receptionist nodded and wrote this down. "A boy each, is it?"

"Sorry, love?"

"You can have a boy for each of you or one between two. A boy each?"

"One between two," said Sharon, who wasn't too keen. "And make him, erm, sixteen."

"I'm afraid fourteen's the oldest we've got. I'm fourteen. Fancy me? Or do you want to see the selection?" He presented the girls with brochure in which there were photographs of many naked, or near-naked, boys with details as to their sexual preferences. "We've got a boy for every taste. But if you don't see exactly what you want, I'm sure whoever you choose can be precisely as accommodating as you wish.

Sharon and Tracey absent-mindedly pointed at the glossy photographs of one little boy from the selection, and as they'd seen about as much as they really wanted to see of Pederasty, they went straight to their bedroom.

"We'll leave tomorrow with our passports!" announced Sharon, as soon as they got there. "That little boy's hardly got a prick at all! What do we expect him to do? Stick it in our ears?"

In fact, Bum Fluff, as he was called, was quite ingenious with what he could do. He looked younger than his years, though, partly because the hair on his groin had been plucked out and partly because he was rather short. His prick was quite a respectable size after all, but after the double, and sometimes triple, entries the girls had got used to in Throb it was only by keeping the jewellery in place in their vaginas that they managed to gain anything like the sensation they'd got accustomed to. He seemed quite relieved when the girls didn't use the sex tools that were provided by the hotel to bugger him from behind. It was a bit of a shock to Sharon, but when he rolled onto his stomach after squirting his sperm into Tracey's cunt, she could see a little bit of dried blood congealed at the bottom of his anus just by his little testicles.

"Did you hurt yourself love?" wondered Sharon stroking his buttocks.

"Occupational hazard," smiled Bum Fluff.

"There're some rough sorts here, aren't there love?" confided Tracey, who was thinking more of the lads back home.

Bum Fluff didn't compromise himself further by commenting, so the girls didn't pursue the subject. The girls kissed him gently on the cheek, and let him lie on the bed beside them. Sharon turned on the television. There was good old Buggery Broadcasting Corporation which was showing a program on the correct way to shave around the penis. "Remember, use tweezers - never a razor-blade," came the advice from a very sweet young lady who was tugging out hairs from a very tumescent penis.

The other two channels were showing videos: both featuring under-age sex. "One side's boys and the other's girls," explained Bum Fluff.

"You mean boys dressed up as girls."

"No, the real thing! It's the only place we ever see little girls. I'd like to fuck one." He turned the television channel from the one showing a boy being fucked by a boy from behind in turn being fucked from one behind him, to a program showing a girl of ten who was sitting on an older man's lap with a prick right up her vagina.

Bum Fluff, Sharon and Tracey watched this film which was the story of little girls between eight and twelve who made love with each other, were buggered by older men or had objects pushed up their orifices. "Sometimes you see them with dogs and donkeys," explained Bum Fluff a little too excitedly. "I often wish I was one of those donkeys!"

After the film had finished and Bum Fluff had excused himself, the girls didn't stay much longer to savour more of the delights of Pederasty. In fact, when Bum Fluff left the room, Sharon felt somewhat disgusted with herself. She wasn't used to feelings of moral guilt or regret, but somehow this was different. The children here were not as good at appearing to enjoy themselves as the residents of Throb, and, in any case, child sex had never been one of Sharon's fantasies. Nothing was better than a good long stiff prick and a real man's body. The other tourists rather disgusted her. Indeed, they'd probably have disgusted her anyway. Older men and fat men and patently unprepossessing men had never attracted her. She felt genuinely sorry for the boys who had to endure their predatory attentions.

"I dunno," said Tracey, when Sharon confessed her feelings. "It's us we gotta look out for. These kids'll get fucked whether we're here or not, but it's our own fucking skin we gotta worry about most."

Before the afternoon shadows shortened , Sharon and Tracey sneaked out with their passports (which they'd pretended they'd left at Throb to avoid leaving them at reception) and carried their meagre possessions in their beach bags and uncharacteristically avoided the sexual advances of the staff.

"I know exactly what you can do tonight," suggested the receptionist as they strolled past him. "Ever tried four at once! Each! It can be done you know!"

"We'll be alright dearie," assured Tracey. "We'll find plenty to get on with."

It wasn't that easy getting out of Pederasty, although there weren't guards surrounding it as there were in Throb. The entrance to the hotel was surrounded by idling boys who were advertising what they had to offer. "Up my bum!" called out one languorously. "Me and my mates!" called another, turning his backside to the girls and pushing his middle finger right up his arse.

"Bit shagged out love," explained Sharon unconvincingly.

One of the sights available to the more discerning tourist was a small dilapidated castle, known by its original name of Mons Regis. This was just outside the town's castellated walls. As they had no better idea, Sharon and Tracey decided to walk in that direction in the hope of finding a bus-stop and catching a bus that might be headed towards the Sodom border. They felt sure they had enough money on them to be able to afford the bus fare and even a cheap flight home from the Sodom airport (perhaps on stand-by). This was because whilst at Pederasty, they'd hardly touched the cash they'd changed at the airport and had been mostly relying on plastic to settle their accounts.

The walled perimeter of the town of Pederasty and the towers of the hotel receded behind them as they walked along in their beach sandals along the parched and uneven dusty road. They wore nothing else, not even the bikinis they'd packed, as they felt that wearing clothes somehow attracted attention to them. As everyone else was naked, how could they dress any different. Even so, their beach bags bulged with even the few possessions they had: a decidedly miscellaneous collection of cosmetics and knickknacks.

As they walked, the castle got steadily bigger and the town steadily smaller until all that could be seen of Pederasty was some old ruins in a field that had once been a thriving township laid waste in an earlier war with Sodom. A goat was tethered by a tree and there was a small monument scattered with flowers and ribbons.

"There must be a fucking bus-stop somewhere!" exclaimed Sharon. "People here can't walk everywhere."

"Well, they don't seem to use cars or anything. We ain't seen nothing since we left the hotel. Any my feet are already fucking killing me!"

They came to a cross-roads. One way pointed towards the capital city of Buggery, Petersville, named after the King. The other pointed towards the castle and somewhere called innocently Newtown. The girls decided to take the third option, away from the city of Petersville on the basis that that was probably the direction to Sodom.

"If anyone stops us we can say we got lost," Tracey said: not sure why anyone should stop them. Or judging from the mostly empty landscape, if there was anyone who could.

The girls seemed to have been walking for hours. The sun was still high and the girls' feet were getting increasingly sore. "I've got fucking blisters on my fucking blisters!" complained Tracey. Not only their feet were suffering, but the weight of the jangling jewelry from their cunts chafed against their thighs and they were getting increasingly annoyed at the clanking sound that followed them around. In Throb, they enjoyed their presence, as it said to the world that they didn't fucking care about a fucking thing. And fuck you! There was no way that this was how they felt now as it became more and more clear that each bed in the road was only followed by another bend. That the only features in the terrain were the gently sloping hills which obscured where they were going. That the only landmarks were either parched trees or piles of rocks, sometimes stacked on each other and painted crudely in a fading peeling white.

And still, they saw no bus-stops. Not even that: there were no cafés, no villages and no shops. Where could they get food from? They knew there must be some food, because they could see the odd peasant working in the fields and on one occasion a donkey-drawn cart passed them by. The donkey was a wretched specimen. Flies hovered around and inside its drooping ears and nasty scabs scarred its back. The woman on the beaten-up wagon dressed much the same way as the peasants in the field, which was slightly more modest than Sharon and Tracey were used to. No ribbons on penises, or flowers in vaginas or the healthy demeanours of the residents of Throb. She wore a very short slip or jacket which came to less than half-way down her chest and then nothing till you reached the knees where she wore battered plastic sandals. Like the other peasants, her hair was rather short, but she sensibly wore a straw hat to keep the sun off her eyes. Like the peasants, she seemed intent on ignoring the girls, pretending they weren't there and then deliberately forced her donkey to trot by faster so she couldn't be hailed.

It was nearly evening before anyone spoke to the girls. With sweat pouring down their still pale skin, and dirt and dust on their knees, they had as good as abandoned hope of ever finding a bus-stop, They weren't used to walking back home, and normally when they did it was along better road surfaces and not in such intense heat. Their feet was sore, and their were scratches and bruises on their legs and knees where they had stumbled onto the dusty rocky road, exhausted by the heat and the unfamiliar exertion of so much walking.

They noticed a large tree by the road-side which would give them some shelter from the early evening sun. This was a rare sight in itself in the barren rocky landscape, so it took no persuading for them to take advantage of its shade. In fact, for they didn't know how many miles, this had been the destination of their plodding, stumbling, aching tread. The only pleasure they got and the only distraction from their pains was to see the tree grow steadily larger as they proceeded. Tracey occasionally licked her sore tongue over her cracked dry lips. This was the worst! She moaned to herself, barely able to strain her voice into articulation. This was the fucking worst! She'd never known that walking could be so fucking tiring. And the country was so fucking horrible. No wonder she'd never gone for walks in the country back home. What she wouldn't have given to be back in her bed at the hotel just lying on the bed. She'd just lie there, soaking up her exhaustion.

The shade of the tree offered none of the luxury they'd got so used to recently. The bare earth offered none of the bouncy softness of their mattresses, and there was nothing remotely like the soft cooling breeze of the air conditioner to blow off the sweat which plastered every inch of their skin. They sat on the crackling dry grass, pushed aside some of the sharp rocks, and lay down on their backs. As soon as they did, their legs, arms and feet throbbed with release after their unaccustomed exercise, and their skin burnt from the sun from which their factor 8 sun-screen had offered such poor protection.

"What the fuck do we do now!" gasped Tracey.

Sharon didn't really have the energy to reply. "I dunno," she murmured, as much to herself as Sharon. "I dunno. I don't fucking know!"

What little energy they had wasn't sufficient to stir them, despite the discomfort of the ground and the constant attention of the little midges and flies which congregated around them. Insects crawled into the girls' hair, into the corners of their eyes, skimmed over their sweat-drenched skin and crept past the girls' vaginal jewellery onto the lips of their cunts. The girls lay flat out, staring at the sky through the leafless branches of the tree.

"I'm not so sure it was such a great idea doing this," moaned Sharon repeatedly.

"Just give me food and water," echoed Tracey. "I don't fucking care what the bastards do to us! I just want something to eat!"

"Are you tourists?" suddenly came a voice. The girls opened their cracked eyelids to see that they were being looked down on by three girls with neat shoulder-length hair, wearing white blouses to just below their breasts and a naked body down to the knees where they wore little black shoes and knee-high socks.

"Of course they are!" another insisted. "Only tourists look like that: look at all the jewelry. And why don't they cut their hair?"

The girls can't have been much more than fourteen years old, but their vaginas were cut to a half inch stubble in different shapes. One was in the shape of a royal crest, another a star and the third a little diamond. The jewellery they wore consisted of a single small ring pierced over the entrance to the vagina from which dangled a little chain.

"What do you think of Buggery?" one girl asked them. "Is it like this where you come from?"

"Come on girls, what's going on?" came a sudden school-teacherly voice. A woman in her late twenties loomed into view. Like the girls she wore nothing from below her breasts to her knees, but what she did wear were smart leather boots and a very neat jacket with a silk scarf. Her long hair was tied back in a long plait to her waist. "Oh I see," she remarked seeing Sharon and Tracey.

"Please miss, we've found some tourists. Shall we report them to the police?"

"Don't worry about that. I can look after them now. I'll get the police if need be. Now you run along." She produced a cane which she half-heartedly beat against the buttocks of one of the girls.

"Yes, miss. We will, miss" they said as they ran off giggling.

"Well," said the teacher looking at Sharon and Tracey. "You are in a pickle. Well, don't worry, security's relatively lax round here and no one really reports things to the police: people don't appreciate being raped or humiliated for the pain of being a good citizen. However," she smiled grimly, "I'd better take you along with me if you don't want to die of exposure or dehydration."

Sharon and Tracey didn't realise how weak they were until they stood up and then they almost immediately fell down. "Come along girls," the teacher said cheerfully. "I'll take you to the cottage I live in. I share it with two other women: both teachers like me. One teaches in a Royal College and the other teaches in a Police School. Me," she sighed, "I teach in a normal secondary school."

The teacher escorted the girls for another mile along some paths through fields and over some stiles until they got to her cottage. Sharon and Tracey supported each other and grew more and more annoyed by the chafing of jewellery on their thighs. Each step was an increasing agony of bursting blisters, and more cuts on their ankles and knees when they stumbled and fell onto the unforgiving harsh dry ground.

After what seemed the longest mile of their lives so far, they came to a tumble-down cottage outside of which rested an old bicycle and the scattered remains of a disused plough. A well stood underneath the shade of a dead tree, and chickens ran around in the yard. A few small trees were gathered into an excuse of a copse where a donkey was desultorily chewing on a carrot.

The teacher took the girls inside, laid them down on a very hard straw-filled bed, and with no ceremony removed the girls' shoes and unthreaded the jewellery from between their legs.

"You just lie here and relax," she advised, as if they were likely to do anything else. "I've got afternoon classes to attend to. If the other teachers are back here before me, my name is Primrose."

"That's a nice name," commented Sharon weakly with what remained of her battered senses.

"We're all named after flowers round here," smiled Primrose as she was about to leave. "It's the law."

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