Escape From Buggery 8

"What do the men do? Don't they ever want sex or anything?" wondered Tracey. She couldn't imagine how men could get by without the basic things in life.

"Well, there's always prostitution if they want sex. Most women do it at least some of the time. It's the nearest to proper loving sex that you can have with a man here. And it's more remunerative than working in a factory or as a servant. Women aren't allowed to own money: and anyway there's nowhere we can spend it. So all you get is food. When you sell your body you can get hold of drugs, alcohol, medicines and all the other things you can't get hold of otherwise."

"So the only way men have of having sex is by going with a prostitute?"

"Well, they can have sex with each other. The Republic of Gomorrah actively encourages men to do that. They regularly have big campaigns where they try to persuade men that that is the right and proper thing to do. The more purist male separatists clearly find heterosexuality somehow offensive and threatening. But however much propaganda there is, most men seem to prefer fucking women. And, I guess, even though it's not often very pleasant, even most women somehow prefer it that way. Of course, they can just rape us. There's no law preventing them doing so, and there are clearly quite a few men who actually prefer rape. And, of course, rape usually involves other kinds of violence as well. Most of us have been raped once or twice a year: and some unlucky ones, much more often than that. It doesn't help to be too attractive to the men. They somehow think it's some kind of provocation." She smiled sympathetically at Buttercup. "I'm sure you'll find out all about that when that bruise on your face goes down."

"So men are free to rape us whenever they like?" gasped Tracey, who was still feeling acutely the bruises and humiliations sustained during the border crossing.

"Well, yes," admitted Delta. "But not all men. Even though they can, most men don't. They prefer paying for sex. It's more pleasant for them as well as for us: even if they are a bit clumsy and awkward. And all they ever seem to know about is fucking. They never do anything else. Up the cunt. Up the arse. A hand job or a blow job. It's pretty predictable, doesn't take very long, and it means you can do quite a few men in a single night. Even quite a few in a single hour. Some women complain about men's lack of imagination and sensitivity, but it does make it easier and more profitable." Delta smiled conspiratorially, and then leaned under her wooden-framed bed to reveal a bottle of whisky. "Look what one of them gave me the other night. And all I had to do was let him piss on me. Do you fancy a sip?"

Delta passed the bottle over to Tracey who greedily gulped down a mouthful. Fuck! Alcohol! She'd forgotten how fucking good it was! Now all she needed were some ciggies and a cheeseburger and she'd really feel fine. She passed the bottle to Buttercup who politely declined, and then back to Delta who pointedly took a rather smaller sip, and carefully placed it back under the bed.

"Well, now we need to find somewhere for you to stay. And tomorrow I'll take you to one of the factories near here where you can get a job. That way you can at least get something to eat. We don't have enough food to spare for very long, I'm afraid. You can last till tomorrow can't you?"

Buttercup nodded, although Tracey felt her hunger quite acutely. The taste of alcohol had aroused her appetite, and she was now acutely aware of how little she'd had to eat since she'd left Throb. She sighed to herself, but accepted that she was now totally indebted to Delta.

Delta led them through the village, introducing the girls to other women, similarly hirsute and naked, who all had names with numbers. It seemed to be a Gomorran thing. Epsilon Nine One Two One. Omicron Five Six Seven Two. Tau Seven Three Two Three. These apparently were the names that the girls had stamped on them at birth just before they were abandoned to the elements and whichever woman took pity on them. It was also the only kind of name that the Gomorran men would use to address them: if it ever crossed their mind to use a name at all.

A young girl called Theta Seven Six Seven Five showed the girls to a small hut made from cardboard, corrugated iron and brushwood. She had long blonde hair, blue green eyes and a slightly twisted nose. She smiled continuously. "I only built this hut, yesterday," she said proudly. "I'm in the housing committee. We're always building huts and repairing other huts. I get food from the other women for that, so it means I don't have to go to the Men Only areas for work or sex."

"Do you prefer that?" asked Buttercup gently.

"Oh! Very much. I'm always getting raped when I go to work. It's really horrid. I wish I was older or not so good looking. The men are always doing horrid things to me. Last time, one man made me eat his shit and then he kicked me in the face and breasts. You can see what he did to my nose. I hate men! I never want to see one of those bastards again. If I could, I'd kill every fucking last one of them! They hate us and I hate them!"

Theta continued smiling as she spoke, expressing her strength of feeling only by her choice of words and not by her expression. "I hope this hut's to your taste. It faces the sun in the morning, so you should be up early to go to the factory. You'll be going with my lover, Zeta. Zeta Four Seven Three Seven, that is. She works at the chicken packing factory. So we always have chicken in our hut. Every day."

Theta led Buttercup and Tracey to a hut through whose shaky walls rays of light from the sun easily entered and whose roof offered the barest protection from wind and rain. It was secure enough for either girl to lean against the wall for it not to collapse on top of them, but clearly a storm of any strength would smash it to pieces. The floor was covered in straw and grass, but otherwise it was wholly bare. However, the girls were so tired and exhausted, that this was more than adequate. Tracey smiled at Buttercup and held her to her chest.

"Oh! We're here at last! Safe and sound and together!"

Buttercup smiled more wanly. She was clearly troubled by all that Delta had told them, but she chose not to voice her concerns. She cupped her hands behind Tracey's neck, her fingernails into her nape and pushed her face right up to her lover. She turned her head slightly to one side, probed with her tongue on Tracey's lips and as her lover gave her familiar gasp of ecstatic anticipation, she clasped her mouth tightly to her lover's. Tracey pulled Buttercup to her, her hands exploring the contours of the beautiful woman's body underneath the long flowing, slightly matted, golden hair. The delicate contours of her shoulder blades. The precious and delicate nobbled spine, which descended from her slightly arched neck and sank down her back until finally sinking into a pit above her gloriously round, smooth golden buttocks. Unlike her own, these were buttocks ample enough to hide the contours of her hip, but not too ample to detract from her essential slimness.

Her hands grasped Buttercup's buttocks, and then, inevitably, curiosity and desire and longing being what they were, her fingers sought out the mound of pleasure where her lover's short stubble raised above her vagina. And with a gasp of delight and pleasure she discovered that, yes! Buttercup's vagina was moist and welcoming. "Oh! Buttercup! Buttercup!" she gasped, easing her lover onto her knees and then onto her back, as her fingers pushed in and out of the moist, fleshy wonderfulness of it all. "I love you! I love you!" she cried again, as Buttercup swivelled round her body, so that she could lick Tracey's vagina while Tracey was able to reciprocate from above.

Tracey parted the delicate golden lips and momentarily paused to wonder at what she could see, all the while feeling Buttercup's tongue expertly lapping on her clitoris. Buttercup's vagina opened like a fig. The clitoris emerged hard, short and majestic above the folds of her vulva, and there as her probing finger established again was the hole into which so many pricks had entered, and now was hers. She winced as she reflected on the border guards' pricks who'd so recently violated her lover, as they had also violated her, and she fancied she could taste some of the caked blood and semen on her lover's vaginal stubble. But now it was hers, as her own vagina was Buttercup's, so she let her tongue rasp against the shadow of blonde hair that grew around her nose while a finger explored the caverns of her lover's anus. Yes, she reflected, as she sniffed her finger after it had entered as far inside the tight pursed hole as it could, Buttercup definitely shits. And, as the odd taste amongst the rich smells emerging from her vagina confirmed, she almost certainly pisses as well. But perfection is only human. And from her own lower regions she felt Buttercup's own fingers, teeth and tongue explore her own vagina. She briefly reflected on her shit-smelling finger. Why do men like anal intercourse so much? The arse is nowhere as beautiful as the cunt. Nothing to it! A hole with a small puckered entrance and an unpleasant smell. None of the odour, delicacy, flower-like elaborateness of a cunt. Perhaps that was because all men wanted was a hole, and they didn't appreciate the finer things.

As of course she did. Now she was with her lover, in the shadows of the hut, on the dry coarse straws of the hut's floor, enjoying the best sex of her life with the best lover she could ever imagine.

XIV

It started as a day like all the others as far as Sharon was concerned. In fact, in her misery she had lost all concept of days. Life was nothing but boredom and fear punctuated by rape. Only a few hours earlier Sweetness and she had had to endure another assault by the Buggery soldiers. Again ones she'd never seen before with the exception of the sergeant who escorted them in. She was vaguely aware of the violence done to her through her tears and pain. Her arse hadn't recovered from the previous assault which had already left a trickle of blood between her buttocks. Her vagina was similarly bruised and battered. And yet more pummelling. She could see Sweetness' face pressed against the ground like her own, a leg hooked over her back while another soldier squeezed his penis into his arse. She could see the other soldiers fucking each other and could hear the gasps and pants of the soldiers as they penetrated her. She had long given up struggling. It only made it hurt more. All she could look forward to was the pain ending, and then being left huddled in a slump to nurse her sorrows. Sometimes she saw enough of the soldiers from the undignified positions in which they'd held her down to see just how young and sometimes mutilated they were. She knew that their sufferings in this war had also been considerable, and the scars and dismemberments were proof, if proof were needed that war was no more pleasant for the combatants than it was for innocents like her who had been dragged into its sphere.

And then, hours of solitude with Sweetness whose tears of grief for Joy were intermingled with rage against the men who had treated her so badly. It was evening, so only a shadowy form of Sweetness could be seen in the narrow light passing through the tent's closed entrance. Sharon sat with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms nestling around her legs, staring into space, depressed, anxious and bruised. How long would she last until she was discarded or worn out? It was while these dark thoughts ran through her mind that she was suddenly startled by a loud bang and a sudden burst of light which briefly illuminated the contours of Sweetness' recumbent white form.

Thunder and lightening, presumed Sharon. But no, there wasn't any rain. The little patch of sky she could see through the tent door was clear. And then another crash. Not too far away. And the sound of running outside. What was happening? In the tent, all she knew of was frantic activity outside, the occasional thundering crash and accompanying flash of light. And then the sound of gunfire.

"Oh No! Oh No! We're gonna die! We're going to die!" cried Sharon in utter fear, a patch of urine suddenly releasing itself from between her legs and squirting onto the ground beneath her.

Sweetness moaned. "What's happening? What's going on? What's happening?"

"I don't know," admitted Sharon, conscious only that whatever it was, it was dangerous and potentially lethal.

The noise and confusion only intensified. The gunfire became an almost continuous rattle as it progressed to machine guns and hand automatics. Every few moments there was a shriek or a thump or a crash. The tent was illuminated after and during each new noise, and Sharon could see Sweetness in those few instances lit up and crouched. She despaired. "I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!" she moaned unable to hear her own voice over the cacophony, and distantly aware of similar shrieks and cries erupting from Sweetness. Sharon rolled herself into a ball, hid her head into her arms and like a mantra moaned: "Die! I'm gonna. Die!" She could hear soldiers running about outside. At one stage, the tent shook as a body fell against it and then slumped to the ground. Sharon yelped with terror. When would she be next?

"Sharon! Sharon!" she distantly heard. She looked up to see the shadowy figure of the sergeant. He was crouching down, but Sharon could see that his penis was fully erect between his legs.

"Not now! For fuck's sake not now!" Sharon pleaded, afraid that she was about to be raped.

"I love you, Sharon," said the sergeant in a voice hollowed out by excitement. "I love you. I only wish we'd met in … in better circumstances." Sharon gazed at the figure when there was another monstrous crash which shook the tent and briefly lit the sergeant up. He was clearly excited, and not just his penis. Sharon noticed a gash on his leg and a swelling of flesh and blood. The sergeant slightly hobbled. "If we ever meet again .. if I survive … I'd so like to meet you again … but, for now, you must run. Run away!"

Sharon was conscious that the shackle around her ankle was being taken off and suddenly she was freed. Her ankle felt sore, but it was also free. Then, as she crouched, rubbing her ankle and wondering what to do, she watched as the sergeant unclasped Sweetness' ankle and then both of them were free.

"You must run! Both of you! The Gomorrans. They're here. Soon they'll be in this tent. And they'll kill you! You must leave! Now!"

The sergeant tugged Sharon up, who was unsteady from so many days of lying down. And weak from eating so badly. And bruised and battered from her multiple rapes. He grabbed Sharon by the arm and pulled up Sweetness who was terrified and weeping. He pulled them out of the tent, hobbling on his wounded leg.

"I have to fight! You have to run!" the sergeant shouted urgently. Sharon was startled by the brightness and confusion of the camp outside which she'd only glimpsed when she'd been dragged in. All around were Buggery soldiers running naked with their erect penises, with guns in their arms. On the ground were the bodies of other soldiers. Some tents were burning, and there was smoke drifting across the landscape. She could vaguely see the shadows of jeeps in the distance driving around through the smoke. And all around was the sound of gunfire and the occasional whistle as bullets shot by uncomfortably close.

The sergeant pushed Sharon and Sweetness away from him. "That way! There's a wood. Only a hundred yards! Run!"

Sharon looked around her with startled open eyes, aware that her chances were lessening by the second. Without a word, she grabbed Sweetness by the arm and pulled her roughly with her as she ran almost as blindly as Sweetness in the dark void where the sergeant pointed. As they ran, they occasionally glimpsed soldiers lying on the ground and others running in all directions. She was unsure of where she trod, and felt the rough earth acutely as her bare feet raced onwards. Despite her blindness, Sweetness was keeping up with her, moaning but not complaining.

And then, they were into some woodland. But Sharon kept running, aware that this was only shelter in the most temporary sense. They ran over through the dark shadows, gashing their ankles and their thighs on the brambles and thicket. Gradually, the sound of gunfire became more distant, but the explosions when they occurred were loud, threatening and shook even the tall trees around them.

Sharon ran and ran, her breath short and painful. And then she noticed an opening in the trees through which the moon was shining. Sharon guided Sweetness through the trees, and put an arm around the girl.

"We've escaped. We may be safe," she whispered. Sweetness looked up her, gazing with sightless, tearful eyes.

"I hope so! I hope so!" she whispered.

However, when they got to the edge of the wood, Sharon could see that they were still far from being as safe as she'd hoped. Outside a full battle was in action. Buggery soldiers were running about, their erect penises silhouetted grotesquely against the moon. Gomorran soldiers in jeeps were also in evidence, firing at the Buggery soldiers from their jeeps. A large tank was charging over the dried barren earth, crunching over the bodies of dead soldiers, occasionally releasing explosions of fire into those soldiers who were running about. Sharon was suddenly aware that the tank was heading towards the woods where they were, and might soon be on them. She wasn't sure that the trees would offer it much of an obstacle.

She squeezed Sweetness' shoulder. "We have to keep running. It's dangerous here." Sweetness nodded, and joined Sharon as she led her back into the wood.

However, it was not long until Sharon's exhaustion became the better of her, and she and Sweetness were reduced to staggering through the dark dismal wood, not knowing where they were going, only knowing what they were running away from. The sound of explosions became more infrequent and more distant, and she was now more conscious of the deadness and silence of where they were. But tired as she was, she and Sweetness continued walking and stumbling in the dark. Neither said much to each other, although Sweetness clung to Sharon's arm or hand so tightly that Sharon could feel the girl's nails dig deep into her flesh.

The girls walked on and on, until they could walk no more. And then, hoping that it was safe, Sharon settled on a spot underneath a tall tree around which was mostly grass and moss, and although it was slightly damp in the night chill, she gently eased Sweetness down to join her in the dark for the rest that her body demanded of her. Sweetness sighed and pulled herself onto Sharon's body for comfort and warmth. Sharon had neither the energy nor the cruelty to push her off.

In fact, their bodies were the only shelter they had from the chill. They held each other tightly, seeking solace in each other's arms, Sweetness' head buried in Sharon's lap and Sharon's head resting on Sweetness' back. Sleep was elusive and fitful, but when it finally came, brought relief of a kind that Sharon had not known for many days.

It was serenely and blissfully peaceful when Sharon woke up. The light from the sun lit up the green and brown forest, revealing the many pretty blue and yellow flowers that she'd not seen the night before. The sun's heat burnt on her bare back and Sweetness was clasped closely to her: her arms looping beneath hers and around her back, her face close to her own, and their legs entwined together. Sweetness stirred and opened her eyes. The pale sightless eyes gazed at her through the wild hair that had fallen onto her face.

"Oh Sharon! You saved me! I'm alive! How can I thank you?"

Sharon sighed. "It's not over yet," she said miserably. The darkness that had engulfed her in the days of rape and abuse in the tent was not that easily lifted. But she appreciated Sweetness' tender affection. The girl put her arms onto Sharon's shoulders and pushed her face into Sharon's. She kissed her full on the mouth, her tongue just emerging and about to enter between Sharon's lips. Sharon gently pushed Sweetness away.

"Oh! Sharon! I love you. I love you," said Sweetness sadly.

Sharon was not pleased to hear this. "I'm not a dyke," she reminded Sweetness. "Just keep your fucking hands off me! Well, not your hands. But your tongue anyway." She was distantly aware of Sweetness' hands probing between her legs and then a finger stroking the short hairs of her crotch around the cunt-ring, which was all she had to wear. Sharon brushed Sweetness' hand away, gently and sympathetically. "And whatever you do, don't put your hand there."

Sweetness weeped. "But I love you. You saved my life."

"I don't fucking care! It's men I want … well, not all men …" she mused, thinking of the regular abuse she'd so recently become nearly accustomed to, "but men anyway … not women. Do you understand?"

Sweetness bent her head down, her hair cascading onto her hands and over her skinny breasts. Her bony limbs seemed so vulnerable in the sun, as she pushed her clasped hands down between the angles of her knees. "No, I don't," Sweetness admitted. "I don't understand at all. Joy always made love to me. Why don't you? What's wrong with me? Don't you like me? Do I look so horrible?"

Sharon was aware that tears were running down Sweetness' nose, and one droplet hung precipitously from its end. But she couldn't relent. It wasn't right. "Come on, Sweetness," she said gently, putting a hand on Sweetness' own clasped ones. "We have enough to do. We have to somehow find things to eat. And we've got to get away from here." She lifted Sweetness' head up by her chin and gazed into her face. The girl was quite pretty, if horribly malnourished. The cuts and bruises on her face detracted from her attractiveness. Her cheeks were sunk in, there was a dark mark around one of her eyes, and her lips were cracked and the lower one slightly split. "We must get moving."

"But where to?" wondered Sweetness standing up above her unsteady and slightly wobbly. Sharon gazed up at the unshaven triangle between her legs, the sharp angles of her hips and the caved-in stomach. An overwhelming sadness came over her, colouring her darkness with a fresh sense of foreboding.

"I don't know. I don't fucking know!"

Without Buttercup or Tracey, Sharon felt even more hopeless than she had before. And her responsibilities towards this blind girl may have given her a sense of purpose, but that didn't make her any more capable. Their wanderings through the day and the days to come were aimless, meandering and uncoordinated. They wandered in and out of the woods. Sometimes walking along the empty roads. Sometimes straying towards the battle zones where bombed-out tanks and abandoned vehicles gave evidence of potential danger.

On a few occasions they saw the bodies of soldiers rotting in the sun, surrounded by the buzz of insects and the gathering of horribly slimy things around them. On one occasion, they even saw the body of a soldier fully clothed, with maggots and flies crawling through the fabric. This was the first time Sharon had seen anyone, alive or dead, with clothes on, and this acutely reminded her of her nakedness. She looked down disparagingly at her bruised and lacerated body, her bare vagina a kind of affront to her sensibilities. Would she ever wear clothes again? And lead a normal life? She looked at Sweetness, who was staring blankly ahead, her hand, as always, tightly grasped in hers. She was discomfited more by the horrible smell from the corpse than by its sight. Sharon felt overwhelmed by a sense of sadness and something else she had been resisting so strongly. She tenderly kissed Sweetness on the cheek, who started slightly alarmed, and then smiled as she established what had touched her. Sharon gently eased the girl off as she tried to reciprocate the affection.

Sharon was completely hopeless at the task of finding and preparing food, and Sweetness was understandably even worse. As the days and nights went by, a succession of wandering punctuated by exhaustion, the two got weaker and their wanderings more fitful. Every time they saw figures in the distance, the girls hid either flat on the ground or in the thickets, terrified that they might be seen by soldiers or, worse, police. Sharon's self-confidence dropped and her despair intensified. But still the sun shone, the landscape alternated between the bleak barrenness of the open fields and the forbidding shadows of the forests.

Those times that they had the energy to stumble forwards became steadily shorter, and the times they rested became longer. Soon, Sharon leaned more and more heavily on Sweetness, who was steadily losing her passion for her guardian as her own energy levels dropped further. Sharon's awareness of where she was became increasingly more tenuous. When they rested, their consciousness slid away so easily, and stirring became even more difficult. The sun burnt on Sharon's back and shoulders and her legs became increasingly lacerated as her stumbling became more faltering and more unsteady. And soon they weren't walking at all.

Sharon wasn't at all sure how long she and Sweetness had been lying on the earth in the shade of the large tree. They were clinging to each other in desperation, Sweetness occasionally shivering as fatigue and hunger shook through her body. Sharon's mouth was dry and her lips cracked. The few fruits and the odd mushroom they'd eaten hadn't really been enough to sustain them with either nourishment or moisture. And then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She assumed it was Sweetness, and opened her eyes surprised to see that both of the girl's hands were clinging to her shoulders, her eyes closed and one leg pushed out ungainly away from them.

Sharon started. She mouthed "What the fuck!" and looked up at the possessor of the strange hand, expecting to see a Buggery soldier with his erect penis and khaki skin. Instead she saw the face of a woman with her hair shaved off and a strangely reassuring smile under a small nose disfigured by a huge nose-ring.

"Who are you?"

The woman offered Sharon a bowl of water which she was holding in her other hands. Sharon took it from her and gulped it down greedily, and as she did so glimpsed the hands which had proffered the bowl to her. They were slim white hands with the third finger on the left hand cut off at just about the lower joint. She looked up and evaluated this strange angel of mercy. It then became clear. The naked body, the chains running from the pierced nipples and the shaven vagina. The crouched figure was a Sodomite pilgrim.

The woman smiled again, and opened her mouth voicelessly. It was with an acute sense of discomfort and unease that Sharon realised that there was no tongue in the mouth behind the sparkling white teeth, or rather only the stump of a tongue. And this Sodomite pilgrim was not alone. There were three or four others: one male, the other female, all naked bar the chains and rings from piercings all about their bodies. They were all smiling at her. Despite herself, Sharon smiled back.

The woman who'd given her the water was crouched beside her, the chains from her nipples resting on her knees. She placed a hand on Sharon's lips and then pulled herself forward to kiss her gently and tenderly on the lips. A very warm and brief kiss. She then gently raised the bowl of water to Sharon's mouth.

Sharon sipped some more and looked up at the solicitous and kindly gaze of the strange woman. "Thank you," she said sincerely and with difficulty through the newly watered corridors of her parched throat. "Thank you for saving my life."

XV

The Sodomite pilgrims couldn't be described as great conversational company. In fact, as they had all had their tongues removed, they weren't able to converse at all. The conversation they had with each other was conducted in sign language and mouthing, but this was enough for them to organise themselves pretty well. Despite their various mutilations, they were astonishingly self-sufficient and capable. They knew exactly which roots, fruits and berries could be safely eaten. They were expert at catching and killing rabbits, birds and other animals to provide meat. Their various cooking utensils were eminently practical for the task of living off the land. They were, however, very kind and helpful to Sharon and Sweetness. After the girls' abject failure in fending for themselves in the Buggery countryside, the Sodomite pilgrims were the perfect companions.

Nevertheless, association with the pilgrims came with a price, but not, thankfully, one which involved self-mutilation: at least not on the gross level that the Sodomite pilgrims had undergone. All the pilgrims had had their tongues removed, and the third finger of the left hand mostly removed or cut off. One girl had her left hand cut off at the wrist, but the others had clearly drawn the line at a less extreme point. The girls had their vaginas sewn together, whilst the man had a bolt all the way through the end of his penis, the other end of which was attached to his nipples. All the pilgrims had their head shaved. Indeed, all their hair except the eyebrows was removed: a daily ritual which the pilgrims accompanied with prayers and even song, although as none of them had tongues it was impossible to determine what these songs might be about.

It was made clear to Sharon that although the girls were welcome to accompany the Sodomite pilgrims on their wandering through Buggery, they should at least conform to the same appearance as their mentors. Both Sharon and Sweetness were far too disorientated and distressed to object, after their ordeal in the camp and their near starvation in the countryside. Indeed, Sharon was living in a constant unfocused haze: a kind of continuing nightmare darkened by her present fears and past traumas. Would she ever see Tracey again? Would she ever see home again? Had she, in fact, already died and was now in some kind of hell? She just allowed the Sodomites to shave and decorate her as they so desired: not complaining and really not caring.

Sweetness and she were both treated the same, so although she had no mirror to see her reflection, she knew from looking at Sweetness exactly what she now looked like. Her head, arms, vagina, legs and armpits were all shaved by some lethal looking razor blades which skimmed over the fairly basic creamy soap which was applied to lubricate the skin and facilitate the shaving. This ritual was almost pleasant. The girl whose face Sharon had first glimpsed in some strange sense had adopted the pair, and she was the one who administered the shave. As each part was shaved clean, she then kissed the whole of the shaven area with her lips, as if to be sure it was sufficiently smooth. Sharon might normally have objected to this degree of intimacy, but she had seen that the pilgrims adopted the exact same routine when shaving each other. And it was undeniably quite pleasant to feel the brush of this girl's nose and lips against the bare skin of her vagina. The most intimate and unthreatening sensuality those lips had probably ever experienced. At home, her labia was normally nothing but an open door, or one, when not open, was pushed ajar with as much haste as was required for a prick to get inside. Soon, she and Sweetness lay back on the grass under the morning sun, their skin fresh and clean after the application of the blade, glistening in the shine of the soap and saliva that had accompanied the shave.

Sharon ran her hand over her shaven head, and looked sadly at the strands of her bleached hair where it lay on the grass. It certainly felt weird. And from looking at Sweetness, she could see how weird it also appeared. The pate was significantly paler than the rest of the skin which had otherwise been mostly tanned by the sun. Sharon was dismayed by how strangely nobbly Sweetness' shaved head looked, and, of course, how it must be correspondingly so on her own head. The bump at the nape of the neck where it joined the skull. The ears looking so much smaller on a bare background. The sweep of forehead which went up without interruption of any kind at all. In fact, the loss of hair must have been more considerable for Sweetness than for her. Sweetness' hair had previously been quite long, often obscuring most of her face and much of her neck and shoulders. Sharon's hair, by contrast, had not obscured very much at all, and after the haircut administered by Primrose had been relatively short already. But short was not at all the same as bald.

The shave wasn't the last treatment meted out on the two girls by the Sodomite pilgrims. Sharon's nipples were already pierced, as was her clitoris. This was not true of Sweetness who had never been pierced before, either voluntarily, like Sharon, or by law, like most women in Buggery. The pilgrims found little difficulty in threading chains and rings through Sharon's nipple and crotch. She soon had weighty jangling ornamentation hanging from her front. This seemed to represent some kind of clothing to the Sodomites, although unlike any clothing Sharon had ever worn before, even in Buggery, this provided neither warmth nor modesty. A wreath of thin chains dangled from the rings through her nipples, and were somehow held in check by those threaded through the ring in her crotch

Applying the same ornamentation to Sweetness was more difficult. Sharon had to explain to Sweetness what was happening to her as the Sodomite pilgrims pierced her small puffy nipples and her tender clitoris with their sharp pins. They were clearly skilled at what they were doing, because although they didn't administer any painkillers, the operation in the three points was done extremely quickly and inflicted remarkably little pain on the young girl. Her yelps of pain were tempered by the kisses administered to her by the Sodomite girl who had taken responsibility for the two. She rested Sweetness' head on her lap, and squeezed her hand tightly and affectionately as she winced and cried out. And then after all the piercing was done, she cuddled Sweetness to her chest as the rings which had been inserted into her nipples and clitoris kept the piercings open. And only after a quarter an hour or more of such voiceless comforting were the chains threaded through the rings, weighing her front down, and bringing her to fresh cries of pain, as they tugged at her tender wounds. And, there she stood, in front of Sharon who lay on the grass, gradually getting used to her own new appearance: her head shaven, bare legs and vagina, and a front obscured by chains. She stared ahead, sightlessly and confused, unable perhaps to be sure whether she alone had been singled out for this painful ceremony. Her eyes were still moist from the tears she had shed during the piercing ceremony, her breasts slightly bruised and even more puffy from the weight of the chains, and the bruises and scratches she'd gained after the two girls perambulations in the woods even more distinct against her hairless bare frame lit by the unforgiving glare of the Buggery morning sun.

Sharon looked at the Sodomite pilgrims gathered around them and observed the indulgent smiles on their faces. She was suddenly struck by a bolt of lucidity and was just as suddenly frightened. She stood up and rushed over to Sweetness. She put an arm around the blind girl, and pulled her bare body against her own.

"You're not fucking cutting our tongues out! Or sewing our fucking cunts together!" She shouted at them.

The girl who'd comforted them smiled more broadly. She then made some strange hand signals to her companions while mouthing something while her voice made a sound her tongue couldn't articulate. The other pilgrims laughed in a good-humoured way: a way which seemed incongruous in such bizarre looking people. She then walked up to Sharon, placed a forefinger to her lips, and placed her hand on her crotch in a tender, non-threatening way.

"Are you gonna fucking sew me up, you bastards?" Sharon asked aggressively.

The girl shook her shaved head with a frown and a smile. She then pulled Sharon and Sweetness to her chest and kissed the two of them affectionately. Her mouth moved, and her throat voiced a response, but Sharon could make no sense of any of the guttural vowels. She smiled again, and returned to her companions. She immediately returned with a plate full of some more of the very tasty vegetables that she had prepared earlier, and made another growling sound which appeared to say "Eat up!"

The Sodomite pilgrims violated the two girls no further, and indeed in their inarticulate way made their best efforts to make them feel at ease. In fact, as Sharon came to realise, as they followed the pilgrims through the countryside of Buggery, their newly shaved heads and chains of Sodomite bondage were actually something to be grateful for. None of the many police who they passed in their wanderings paid them any attention at all. As a result of whatever terms in which cross-border treaties had been phrased, the Sodomite pilgrims were actually the most free people in the Kingdom of Buggery. Indeed, the police appeared to be just as much disgusted by the Sodomites' appearance as Sharon herself had been initially. Even when the Sodomites prostrated themselves in front of the police, arse to the air, gesturing invitingly at their anuses, this provocation seemed to serve the purpose of actually dissuading the police of doing anything. They left the Sodomites to their own business, strutting off with their massive dildos strapped to their waists, and protruding incongruously in front of them, more willing to cause harm to their own citizens than to these shaven, pierced and mutilated pilgrims. When they disappeared, the pilgrims would smile amongst themselves, and kiss Sharon reassuringly, aware of the terror that inevitably caused her body to tremble. Sweetness as always knew only as much as Sharon ever told her, which was normally just to keep quiet and pretend that her tongue had also been torn out.

There was a comforting routine to the Sodomite's day. At sunrise, sunset, and three other times a day, the pilgrims indulged in a ritual which was both fascinating and quite unpleasant to watch. Essentially, this involved anal intercourse: an exercise achieved by the use of rather ornate dildos which the pilgrims drew out of the cloth bags they carried over their shoulders. These bags were themselves of some ritual significance: each of them was embroidered with a slogan which must have had some meaning in their faith. "To Give is to Receive". "Surrender to the Will". "The Orifice Taketh and Giveth Release". This was clearly not a faith of silent contemplation.

Their ceremonies were an orgy of flesh and anal penetration: the pilgrims' bodies entwined around each other, the dildos strapped to the waists by leather and chains, their ends thrust deep inside the ritually presented arses. Even the male pilgrim was made to receive a dildo thrust up his arse. His own penis wasn't used at all. The reason for this Sharon noticed with some distaste was because he had been castrated, and the scrotum which seemed so full beneath his flaccid penis was filled not with testicles but with metal balls. Like the girls, he had to use a dildo to fulfil his role in the ceremony.

While this went on, Sharon held onto Sweetness, glad that her blindness precluded her from fully understanding what accompanied the grunts and gasps which freely exploded from the pilgrims in their orgiastic ceremony. The vaginas were sealed during the ceremony as much then as at other times, which meant that the pissing on each other that invariably conjoined the penetration was a messy and uncoordinated affair, as the urine burst through the barrier of stitches and rings, and splashed over the pilgrims in a random kind of way. As also did the shit, which thankfully they didn't always choose to ingest as part of the process. Some of the more devout ensured that their ritual sodomy was also accompanied with flagellation from nettles and whatever else could be used for the purpose.

Next -->