Escape From Buggery 6

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

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

"What sort of people?" wondered Sharon.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not tonight, Sweetness," Joy explained. "It's these girls who are going to give me pleasure today."

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

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

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

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

X

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

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

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

"Are you fucking licking me?"

"What the fuck do you think? I'm your mate, not your fucking whatsit."

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

"Ooh! That hurt! That's my eye!" shrieked Sweetness.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Don't you like it?"

"Don't fucking ask! Just get the fuck off me!" Sharon yelled into the dark.

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

"I'm no fucking dyke!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So she's a prostitute, then?"

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

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

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

"What happened to him?" Sharon asked.

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

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

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

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

"Food, candles and clothes!" gasped Tracey. "That doesn't sound like it's fucking worth it!"

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

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

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

"Have you ever been fucked by someone so horrible?" Tracey asked Buttercup as they watched.

"Well, not anyone scarred or disabled. They'd be sent off to fight in the war or whatever. But some of the people on the other side of the wall are pretty horrible. Fat and horrible, really. But you get used to it. One fuck's much the same as another when you don't think about it too much. How about you?"

"You fuck what you can," Tracey answered philosophically. She looked sadly at her new lover. "What about last night? When you were … doing it with Joy? Was that horrible?"

Buttercup looked directly into Tracey's eyes, and smiled sympathetically. She clearly recognised Tracey's concern. And also her jealousy. "Oh! It was really horrible! Not like it is with you. You're much nicer!"

Tracey felt a strange burning on her cheeks. This must be what it's like to blush, she thought, reflecting on this unusual sensation which she'd never felt since she was young and probably almost a virgin. She smiled at Buttercup in a way that she was sure was hopelessly soppy and stupid. But she didn't care, and anyway she couldn't help it. Buttercup turned her unbelievably beautiful body towards Tracey, put her hands on her shoulders and pressed her face towards Tracey's.

"Do you want to make love with me, Tracey sweetest?" she asked in a strangely low and reassuring voice.

Tracey tried but couldn't articulate a response. She nodded her head.

"We'll leave Sharon with Sweetness and Joy, and go into the woods. Is that what you'd like, Tracey?"

Sharon was horrified to see her friend blush a deep kind of redness, her freckles burning against her sunburnt skin. What was happening to Tracey? But she didn't need an explanation as she watched her friend walk off hand-in-hand with Buttercup towards a small wood just fifty yards away from the settlement. The bastards! Off to do their dykish business and leaving her with a bunch of fucking cripples in a fucking wasteland! Part of her, however, was envious that it was Tracey and not her who was having a relationship with a woman who back home would be some kind of model, and a fucking rich one too. There was no fucking justice in the world, she mused as Tracey and Buttercup vanished into the shadows of the wood. She turned back to watch the hairy man's prick push in and out of Sweetness' arse.

"That'll cost him extra," commented Joy with a sneer. "You can't fucking take more unless you fucking give more."

Buttercup and Tracey wandered through the wood together hand-in-hand, Tracey struggling to keep down a fit of giggles that kept bursting uncontrollably towards the surface. Despite her misery, she had never felt so happy before. This was love. She was in love. For the first time in her life, she was in love. Unless you count Darren who used to fuck her in the garden shed his parents had owned when she was at school and strictly had only just lost her virginity. Or Wayne whose wife hated them when she found them screwing on the marital bed. Or even Baz who was probably the first really half-way decent fuck of her life. But this was different. She'd never felt so passionately and helplessly in love before.

Buttercup stopped in a small clearing, and tenderly turned Tracey towards her. Wordlessly and still smiling, she undid each button of Tracey's blouse and with care pulled it open and slid it down Tracey's arms. "Lie down!" she commanded with a whisper. Tracey obeyed, lying down naked on the moss and bracken, not really noticing the coarse dry twigs on her sun-scorched flesh. She closed her eyes, while a broad and silly smile spread over her face.

And then, she felt a tender licking and sucking on her ankles and feet. She pressed her chin against her chest and gazed down at Buttercup's arse which was hovering over her stomach while her tongue busied itself lower down. Each lick, each nip of Buttercup's teeth, each stroke of her beautiful classically contoured hands sent a tremor of delight through her body. She shuddered and shook, as Buttercup worked her way up patiently from her ankles, to her knees, ever upwards, her bum moving closer and closer towards her eyes and mouth. Onto the thighs, on the inside, on the outside. And then… And then… Buttercup's teeth and tongue engaged with the lips of Tracey's vagina, and snaggled in the short hairs of her crotch. And then, Buttercup's vagina was close enough to Tracey's face that her nose could smell its odours and her eyes could gaze lovingly at its the folds and details.

"I love you! I love you! I love you!" gasped Tracey, before sinking her nose into Buttercup's arse (the smell of which was somehow sweeter than any arse she'd smelt before), and her tongue and teeth could reciprocate the pleasure Buttercup's own was giving her below. She gasped and shuddered. And then... A pulse of pleasure rippled through her body. And exploded into a gasp. And then another gasp. Oh God! Oh God! Oh Fuck! She shivered, shuddered, and groaned as spasms of orgasm of a degree and depth she'd never before imagined crashed and thudded through her body like waves on a beach, like vibrations of a drum, like nothing she'd ever imagined before.

And then... While arching her back up to the rhythm of her internal orgasms there was a crash and a thump and a roaring noise that she at first attributed to her imagination thundering through the wood and shaking the top leaves of the trees.

Sharon also heard the noises. But she was much closer. She'd got fairly pissed off while standing around aimlessly near Sweetness and Joy. The hairy man had been replaced by another man, with a somewhat thin and bent prick and almost the ugliest and most disfigured face she'd ever seen. He was now lying down underneath Sweetness, whose shoulders were bouncing up and down as her slender body slid up and down the length of his prick. And then with the crash, and as the sky exploded, and the jet plane shot off, Sweetness was thrown off the man and flung by the shock onto the ground. Sharon stumbled and crouched on the ground, watching the jet plane disappear, seeing the smoke and flames emerge from the depths of the old factory where the plane had dropped its payload.

"What the fuck!" shouted Joy. She was also crouched down, looking at the factory behind them, Sweetness lay huddled on the parched dry earth, her hands over her eyes, and a trickles of semen sliding down her legs.

This explosion was followed by another series, as plane after plane shot at supersonic speed through the sky, their roar following explosion after explosion. Rubble and debris shot out from the factory and flew in all directions. A lump of tangled metal flew into Joy's shoulder and sent her sideways onto the ground taking with it a chunk of Joy's arm and leaving a trail of blood arching behind it. Her head fell against a stone and a trickled of blood seeped out from her mouth. The man stood up and caught a brick in his chest which sent him staggering backwards onto the ground.

Sharon crouched down, covered her head with her hands, as she'd imagined she ought to do during explosions, like they did in all the action movies. Though in the action movies, there wasn't usually such strange quiet as the roar of jets and the vibrations of the explosions died down, to be following by a chorus of moans, cries and shrieks from all around. She peeked up through her fingers to see people from the settlement running, it seemed in all directions. Some had blood hiding the contours of what might once have been faces. There were others like Joy, lying on the ground, moaning and yelling. Smoke was billowing out from the factory and rolling around the ground. Dust was thrown up from explosions that must have hit the dry earth.

Then there was a crackle of what Sharon's memory of action films told her must be automatic gun fire. A man was running across the ground a few yards from her, and then he fell to the ground, the back of his head now just a formless mess of red and grey. Sharon stood up. This was not a safe place to be. She saw Sweetness crouched near her, tears streaming down her face from her sightless eyes. "What's going on? What's happening?" she cried.

Sharon didn't know the answer to that. She could see some shadows which looked like armoured vehicles driving towards them across the parched open fields. She also saw running towards them, carrying guns, the silhouettes of what must only be soldiers. But not soldiers as she thought they should look like. They had guns which they were firing as they ran along. But otherwise they were naked. Their skin was all blotched with green and brown, and, oddest of all, each and everyone of them was sporting an erect penis which was proceeding ahead of them.

They were shouting to each other and to the world in general. "Glory be to the King!" one shouted. "And to the King all Glory!" another replied. "May he live forever!" another shouted.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" shouted Sharon. Every one for themselves. She picked herself up, intending to run to safety somewhere, anywhere. And then just before she got ready to move she saw Sweetness staggering towards Joy who was moaning inarticulately.

"Joy! Joy! What's going on? Answer me! What's going on!"

"I'm no fucking charity!" snarled Sharon, trying to persuade herself to leave Sweetness and be fucked. And then she saw a shadowy figure, and his monstrous erection, aim his submachine gun at Joy and then blast it in her direction. Joy's body spasmed for the last time as the bullets shot through her and sent portions of her face and breasts flying into Sweetness' own face.

Despite herself, Sharon ran up to Sweetness. "Fuck Joy! Come on!" she shouted, grabbing the blind girl by the wrist and dragging her with her. However, their own escape was barely any distance at all, until she found herself confronted by the erect penis and steely testicles of another naked soldier. She stopped, and hugged Sweetness tightly to herself. Who else was there to comfort her? Or to give comfort to?

"These ones are alive!" the soldier shouted.

"And they're not fucking cripples either!" responded another.

"The Sergeant'll be pleased with these ones!" shouted a third, as the three soldiers surrounded the two girls.

Sharon lay on the ground, shivering from fear, clutching Sweetness' naked body which shuddered from even greater fear and misery, staring up at a trio of erect pricks and gun barrels. "What the fuck are you going to do with us?" she managed to ask through the thick mucus of despair that had risen from her throat, humiliatingly aware of the stream of piss that was trickling down her bare legs.

XI

Tracey and Buttercup hurriedly jumped up: Tracey pulling on her blouse and checking that she still had her bag with her precious passport inside. One thing was sure, a noise like that did not bode well. Buttercup gathered herself together more quickly than her lover, but nothing could disguise the look of real alarm on her face.

"What the fuck do we do?" asked Tracey. "And where's Sharon?"

"It's best not to worry about her," Buttercup replied, wiping traces of Sharon's vaginal juices from her lips. "We're in real enough trouble ourselves."

"Do you think she's been killed? Oh fuck! What do we do?"

"We try and get as far away as we can."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

Buttercup gazed into Tracey's face and frowned. "This is a war zone. People get killed. We could get killed. We've got to get out of here!"

Tracey nodded, and followed Buttercup as she ran ahead through the thick wood. They heard more explosions in the distance. More roaring jets. And a sound which Tracey identified as gun fire, but not gun fire like in the vids, but uncoordinated spasms of it from unidentifiable directions. Sometimes a short spark, sometimes a loud bang, and sometimes a crackle. Between these sounds were moments of peculiar uneasy quiet, spasmodically broken by fresh and unpredictable noises. Each crack, bang and crackle sent a spasm down on her spine, and despite the heat of the day, she found that she was shivering.

They had no idea where they were running, but they knew it had to be in the shadows of the trees. However, the wood was not large enough for them to avoid coming to its edge after not too long. They had no idea where they were in relation to where they'd come, but in the near distance they could see the smouldering ruins of the factory where they had spent the night. It was clearly not a place to return to. It had collapsed from its previous dilapidation to little more than piles of smoking ruins around which were prostrate naked figures and the silhouettes of other darker figures running around.

"What's going on?" whispered Tracey from behind the thick bush where she and Buttercup were sheltering.

"Soldiers killing each other. Soldiers killing other people. Lots of things."

"It doesn't look very organised," whispered Tracey who'd always imagined warfare to be somehow more like the array of plastic soldiers she'd seen in model shops. Or even like the set pieces she'd seen on some movies. It was difficult in the smoke and the distance to make any sense of anything that was happening. Amongst the dark figures running around were also some jeeps who were dashing about, raising even more dust, associated with cracks of rifle and machine gun fire. One jeep appeared to spin out of control, ploughed over some pale bodies, collided with a wall and almost instantly exploded into a ball of fire.

"Quick!" whispered Buttercup. "This may be our only chance!"

"You what?" replied Tracey in a similarly low voice, but nonetheless took her cue from Buttercup and ran out of the protective shelter of the wood, through the orange and black smoke which was billowing their way and into the field. What about mines? she vocalised to herself, but nonetheless kept running. As they ran, Tracey knew not where, there were more figures to be seen running chaotically in the distance. She could make out that some of them were nude, although their skins were strangely dark and shadowed, but she was sure she caught glimpses of some strange protuberances from just above their legs. Shit! They've got hard-ons! What a fucking waste! She tripped on the ground, catching her knee on a rock, but she ignored the pain, more desperate to keep up with Buttercup, who continued racing onwards ahead of her, than to administer to her pain. Fuck! She was out of shape. You'd've thought all that fucking would have made her a bit fitter, but … Fuck!

She then saw some more shadows around a parked jeep to which they were running. It was almost as much a shock to realise that they were wearing clothes than that they were there at all. She almost felt like pointing this out to Buttercup. If she could ever catch up with her. Look! Normal people! Wearing clothes. All over them, Their crotch as well as their chest. Like back home! After leaving home, she'd almost forgotten that clothes existed. However, Buttercup was running in a quite different direction now, away from these figures, so Tracey followed. And the crackle of gun fire, both frighteningly close and thankfully too far away to hit them, reminded her of the true extremity of their situation.

Then she saw Buttercup had halted in a crater ahead of them, which was still slightly smouldering and in which could be seen some small traces of metal which she guessed was probably shrapnel. Or possibly something else. Puffing and wheezing she caught up with her lover and was about to greet her, to reassure her that she was well, that she hadn't been shot, but was forcibly prevented from this by Buttercup forcibly grabbing her arm and urgently indicating with a finger to the lips that she should be quiet. Tracey concurred with a foolish smile, and lay beside Buttercup in the rocky recesses of the crater.

She then became gradually aware why she should be so quiet. Ahead of them was a group of about five fully clothed soldiers, with helmets on their heads, bags and belts hanging from their khaki uniforms and massive boots which noisily crunched on the dry earth. They were carrying in their arms some very formidable machine guns which occasionally they mopped the ground with in a rapid succession of automatic gunfire. They had come across the naked figure of another man who was crawling on his front on the ground, still with an erect penis from below him. Tracey could now make out that this figure although naked was somehow covered in splodges of dark brown and green over his tanned body. The soldiers moved towards him, with their guns pointed towards him but not firing.

And then they surrounded him. Tracey waited in anticipation for more machine gun fire, which would kill off the already wounded figure, but instead she was astonished to see one of the soldiers pull down his trousers while two others held the figure to the ground. What the fuck! And then, covered by the cocked guns of the remaining two soldiers, and despite the wounded soldier's struggles and cries she could make out that the trouserless soldier was bobbing his arse up and down on the back of the wounded soldier. She squeezed Buttercup's hand. Although she'd often seen buggery while in Throb, it had never been as obviously non-consensual as this. Nor was this first encounter the last of the wounded soldier's suffering, as each soldier took it in turns to fuck the enemy soldier, while taking turns in standing guard and holding him down. And then finally, after an agony of waiting and the horror of the violence, the soldiers finished, buttoned up their baggy khaki trousers and with a rapid burst of gunfire extinguished what little was left of the wounded soldier's misery.

And then they moved on, joking and clearly refreshed, plodding through the dry dead field, leaving the remains of the upturned carcass in several pieces scattered over the rocks and earth, relieved of both his rifle and his life. Even Buttercup found it difficult to disguise her disgust.

"We've got to carry on running," she whispered to Tracey. "Our only hope is to make it to the border. And then, I have no idea what'll happen to us. But we can't stay here. When we see more soldiers, just fall to the ground and pretend to be dead."

"Why?"

"They're less likely to kill us. Or even rape us. If they think we're already dead."

This was advice which Buttercup and Tracey adhered to on several occasions as they hastened over the dry fields, hoping that the dark figures in the distance wouldn't be concerned to come and confirm that they were dead. Or even to make definitely certain that they were. However, as they ran on, the groups of dark figures they saw, and watched from the relative safety of earth and dry dust level seemed rather more anxious on their own safety than on anything else: irrespective of whether they were naked and fully priapic or well-dressed and well-armed. Only the jeeps and the occasional rumbling tanks seemed to cross the landscape with apparent impunity, leaving behind them a trail of magazine cartridges and a loud cacophony of potential destruction. If this was a battlefield, mused Tracey, it was a fairly disorganised one. Perhaps, she reflected, on some higher level, observed by helicopter or satellite, there'd seem to be some pattern to it, but from ground level it seemed uncoordinated and random. Soldiers seemed to be wandering in all directions. There appeared to be no concept of enemy lines.

But there was no doubt from the occasional gun fire, the distant explosions, the carnage of abandoned machinery, that a war was being fought. This was brought to them suddenly, when there was another series of explosions somewhere in the distance which Tracey observed to be truly earth-shaking. How much fire-power had been used to produce such explosions? she mused, as a stream of smoke sped across the sky from the tail of some four or five jet planes, whose supersonic booms were barely audible over the echo of the explosions their payload had caused.

The true nature of war became even more obvious when the landscape ahead of them revealed itself as scattered with very many corpses of mostly naked khaki figures interspersed very occasionally by that of a fully clothed one. Tracey held Buttercup's hand as much for the need of comfort as for the pleasure of her physical touch. The figures were all ahead of them and spread across the landscape towards their right and just as much to their left.

"Do we have to walk through them?" she asked timidly.

Buttercup pointed ahead at a line of wire and fence no more than half a mile away. "That's where we want to go. And unless we also want to get killed, we've got no choice. It's either ahead or back!"

Tracey nodded. But fuck! This was not going to be easy. Despite the urgency of their situation they walked, rather than ran, through the lines of dead soldiers, unable to take their gaze off the horror of what they were soon surrounded by. Bodies were scattered as they had died, and some as they had been left after further gunfire. They lay on their side, on their back, and some on the front. And even dead, many of them were still sporting the gross erections which they'd had at the moment of death. Not all bodies were in any sense intact. Some bodies were shattered and scattered over several yards. In some cases, the head was blown into a bloody mess of red, grey and brown, while their bodies, even with their hard-ons lay as reminders of where the heads had once been. On one occasion, Tracey's sandled foot trod on a hand and wrist totally detached from the body several yards away to which it had once been attached.

As she walked, numbed by the horror of it all, she felt a stirring within her chest and throat. And then, without the warning she'd associated with vomiting after a night of heavy drinking, she heaved and a stream of liquid gruel pushed itself from deep inside her starving frame, coughed into the air and onto her blouse and breasts. She collapsed as her chest continued its convulsions, but soon nothing came out from her mostly empty stomach, although her body was willing that there should be more. After several moments of retching, she stood up and continued to follow Buttercup through the lines of corpses, a dribble of liquid vomit still emerging from the corner of her mouth, and her eyes stinging from the tears the effort had cost her.

Soon they were up to the line of barbed wire and fence. It was obvious that there was no way they could get through it. Even where the wire was at its least high, it was far too high to jump over and lethal to touch. The line of metal defences stretched in all directions. On the other side of the wire was a landscape almost identical to the one they were walking along, scattered with fewer bodies and signs of carnage, but not empty of it either. Gomorrah really seemed no better than Buggery. Tracey was beginning to wish that Sharon and she had chosen to go to Sodom. And where was Sharon? Was she dead?

"What the fuck do we do now?" she asked Buttercup.

Her lover shook her head sadly, her face expressing her own misery. There was no smile on her haggard face, and her long beautiful hair was snagged by clumps of earth and her own sweat. "I don't know! I guess we just follow the fence until we find an opening."

"An opening?"

"There must be one somewhere. The Gomorran soldiers must have come from somewhere."

Tracey nodded resignedly. There was no choice. But the sun was sinking rapidly. Their flight through the battle zone had taken many hours. It had been a mixture of mad dashes across fields and across overturned earth, interspersed by periods of playing dead which although it had hindered their progress, had at least provided them with some opportunity to recoup their strength before their next mad dash. Behind them stretched the barren, corpse-ridden fields of Buggery. Ahead lay the mysterious but not exactly inviting barren fields of Gomorrah. And between the two, a frustrating and lethal line of defence. Tracey and Buttercup didn't know whether to turn left or right, but they made their choice and walked along on the uneven dry ground, as their shadows got longer and the sun approached the distant horizon.

However, after only a mile of walking they saw an area where vehicles were entering and leaving, and about which wandered several uniformed soldiers. Although Tracey knew their choices were extremely limited, it was only because she was with Buttercup that she resisted the otherwise overwhelming temptation to turn round and flee in quite the opposite direction.

The Gomorran soldiers were clearly not expecting to see anyone walking towards the border post, and seemed almost frightened when one of them spotted them and yelled out to his compatriots. Three or four machine guns pointed towards them as they continued walking towards the border post, Tracey following Buttercup's example and walking with her hands raised above her head to show that they weren't carrying any weapons.

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