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From: bradley_stoke@hushmail.com (Bradley Stoke)
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Subject: {ASSM} Escape From Buggery Ch. Four (4/20) {Bradley Stoke} {MF}
Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2003 08:10:04 -0400
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Title: {ASSM} Escape From Buggery Ch. Four (4/20) {Bradley Stoke} {MF}
Author: Bradley Stoke
Part: Chapter 4 of 20
Keywords: MF 
Short Summary: Sharon and Tracey go to Pederasty

Escape from Buggery
===================

Synopsis of whole novel
======================

Sex tourism is an adventure, but for Sharon and Tracey their 
trip to Buggery was rather more of an adventure than they'd 
anticipated. And certainly more than the brochure advertised. 
This is a dark disturbing novel in a world the sex tourist 
would rather not know about.


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

Previously
==========

Sharon and Tracey have discovered that they've both spent more than
they could afford on their holiday in Buggery. They decide to
abscond.


Chapter Four
============


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?" suggested Tracey. 

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

"Sorry, love?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Occupational hazard," smiled Bum Fluff.

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

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

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

"You mean boys dressed up as girls."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bit shagged out love," explained Sharon unconvincingly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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