“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 halfway 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 th
ought 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.
Chapter 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 s
ee 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.
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