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Subject: {ASSM} Escape From Buggery Ch. Six (6/20) {Bradley Stoke} (caution)
Date: Wed, 14 May 2003 06:10:06 -0400
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Title: {ASSM} Escape From Buggery Ch. Six (6/20) {Bradley Stoke} (caution)
Author: Bradley Stoke
Part: Chapter 6 of 20
Keywords: (caution)
Short Summary: Sharon and Tracey wander through Buggery.

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 try to escape from Buggery. They are helped by
Primrose and beaten up by Tiger Lilly. 


Chapter Six
===========


Sharon and Tracey left the teachers the following day, although 
they had hardly began to recover from either their trudge 
through Buggery or from their beatings by Tiger Lilly. A dark 
blue (nearly black) bruise had swollen up around Sharon's eye, 
and both girls' legs were criss-crossed with scratches and 
discoloured by more bruises. They could barely stand up as 
they tottered by the door to the cottage, in the unfamiliar flat 
plastic sandals they'd been given in exchange for the shoes 
they'd worn the day before. Despite their looks, the two girls 
were showered with affectionate kisses from Primrose and 
Chrysanthemum. Somehow this in no way fully compensated 
for their treatment from Tiger Lilly. Tracey was almost sure that 
she would never want sex with anyone ever again, and Sharon 
certainly didn't feel like it today.

They took with them a cheap printed map of Buggery that 
Primrose lent them. It was one which she had in stock for her 
Geography lessons and was an official map of the country. It 
showed roads, woods, rivers, lakes, towns and villages; but 
large patches of the map were left suspiciously blank: lacking all 
colour or contour. No clues were given by the map as to what 
they were, but nearly one quarter of the map was left like this. 
Chrysanthemum explained that although it was impossible to be 
sure, most of these blanked out areas would represent the 
private lands of the monarchy and the rest of the aristocracy. 
Though it was possible that they also included areas of military 
significance and the mysterious breeding centres. Of the parts 
of the map that was clearly outlined, the most distinct were the 
capital city and the Tourist spots. However, there weren't many 
of the latter on the road to Gomorrah. 

"Although the boundary line signifying the border with 
Gomorrah is very clearly marked on the map, I wouldn't really 
trust it," warned Primrose. "During a war the border is bound 
to shift as one side makes advances and the other retreats. 
After all, territorial advantage is what it's all about. However, I 
don't know for sure, but I believe the border might actually be 
significantly nearer than the map says. Of course all the official 
news we get from the front says that Buggery's really doing 
well, and making significant gains which bring closer the 
promise of final victory and the settling of the nation's 
grievances. However, from what few signs we get, and this is 
only speculation, I don't think things are going that well. The 
good news is generally unsubstantiated and implausible. There's 
rather a lot more about Gomorran atrocities than about 
Buggerian advances. And you may have noticed that there 
aren't many men about."

"Indeed," corroborated Chrysanthemum with a broad grin. 
"Almost all them are out on the front, fighting for King and 
Country; leaving us poor helpless girls to fend for ourselves and 
to make do with whatever we can."

"I think that your walk to the front will be rather less than the 
one hundred kilometres on the map," continued Primrose, "but 
before you get there you'll have to cross a war zone and that'll 
include some sort of no-man's land where you could very easily 
get killed. But put it into perspective. Although you might get 
killed crossing the front, the longer you stay in Buggery the 
more chance that you'd get killed anyway."

This was scarcely comforting news, but it was this news that 
the girls took as they walked away from the teachers' cottage. 
Their advice was to avoid walking along the roads where they 
could be easily picked off by the police. In fact, the road to 
Gomorrah took them away from the dry barren plains of the 
district where the teachers lived to a more hilly landscape 
where there would be more than enough woodland for the girls 
to walk out of sight of the main road. Or at least to dodge into 
if they saw them. It was unlikely, Primrose reasoned, that the 
disappearance of two tourists from Pederasty would have gone 
unnoticed for very long. Already everyone who'd seen them 
would have been interrogated, and possibly tortured, by the 
police. Tracey shivered slightly thinking of the young courier, 
Little Pussy, and the young boy they'd had come to their room. 
However, although the police were brutal, Primrose explained, 
making sure that Tiger Lilly wasn't within earshot, they were 
remarkably inefficient at actually doing anything other than 
intimidate people. As an investigative police agency, they were 
absolutely hopeless. They had had no impact at all on the 
smuggling of hard drugs and guns that happened around the 
country's border. And they had had no capacity to deal with 
the many deserters that kept away from the towns and villages. 
The semblance of law and order was only held by the fact that 
no one who was caught was ever likely to re-offend. 

Their breakfast of fruit and orange juice was really not enough 
to sustain Sharon and Tracey on their long walk. In fact, being 
fairly exhausted before they'd even started walking, they were 
certainly no better after an hour or more of trudge along the 
featureless dry roads. If they'd seen any police there was 
nowhere to hide as there were no trees nor even bushes to 
retreat to. After a while, however, their walk took them up a 
steep incline and soon they were in the very welcome shade of 
some woods. The goal which comforted on their despairing 
walk was the small town of Butterfly Grove which they could 
see marked on the map, and finally to the delight of their sore 
feet, they could see in reality. 

It was not a very picturesque town, despite its name. Although 
surrounded by a thick forest of trees, it was a dry 
unprepossessing place composed mostly of small hut-like 
houses with a small market in the middle. They walked towards 
it with the hope of something to eat, or at the least something to 
drink. They soon found that the Buggery Dinar went 
considerably further in Buggery than it would have done in 
Throb, and much further again than it would have done at 
home. In fact, they found that they were carrying a relative 
fortune around with them. 

It wasn't that easy to find anything edible to buy though. Both 
of them had mostly subsisted on take-aways and 
microwaveable dishes at home here, and the only thing on sale 
they knew what to do with was the battered and unappealing 
fruit they could see. But they managed to buy some apples, 
oranges, a packet of tasteless biscuits and a couple of bottles 
of distilled water on which the King's face was prominently 
displayed. There was no Coke. Or even Pepsi or Dr Pepper's. 
There were no hamburgers, pizzas, hot dogs or doner kebabs. 
Not even a pasty or a bag of chips. But what they had was 
undeniably food and it certainly filled some of the hole they 
could feel in their stomachs.

What was even worse, as they discovered to their cost, was 
that there was nowhere selling any ciggies. Not only were they 
no decent ciggies like 5th Avenue or Edinboro's, but not even 
rollies like Gold Cup or cheap tabs like Old Street Plain. They 
had half a packet of Windsor & Maidenhead's Silk Tip 
between them, but it was clearly not going to last them very 
long. The days were definitely going to stretch ahead now they 
had to cope with withdrawal symptoms as well as hunger.

The townspeople of Butterfly Grove dressed much the same as 
all the people they'd seen in Buggery. What few clothes they 
wore were fairly skimpy and did not cover the crotch at all. 
Despite having got so accustomed to the sight of genitalia in 
Throb, it still seemed strange to see all these naked crotches 
and even the occasional dangling penis. It was clear that the 
men and women generally dressed in exactly the same clothes 
with very similar hairstyles: but there were so few adult men, it 
took the girls a while to be sure of this. 

"How come there are so few blokes?" Sharon asked the 
woman at the stall who served them the distilled water.

"Do you have more men in the district where you come from?" 
wondered the woman, as she gave the girls their change. "I 
thought it was the same everywhere. It's the war. It's so difficult 
to find a man that you have to share those you can find." 

This didn't sound much fun to Sharon or Tracey, who were 
already missing the cock they'd got so used to in Throb. This 
did not sound like a good place to be man-hungry. However, 
they had a long walk ahead of them, so despite their weariness, 
they shouldered their bags and returned to the road which 
thanks to the shade of the thick forestry made their walk 
somewhat less arduous than when they were exposed to the 
sun. Nonetheless, they weren't used to any kind of walking, 
and soon they were stopping to rest for longer than the time 
they spent walking.

Fortunately every few miles there was another town or village 
they could stop at to replenish themselves. None of them were 
any better than Butterfly Grove. Indeed, they were generally 
rather worse. There seemed to be a pattern that the more 
picturesque the name, the worse the places were. Leafy Vale 
was bare of any vegetation at all. Paradise Hill was pretty filthy 
and was distinguished by the foul smell coming out of the 
chimneys of an ugly factory. Bluebell Dell was the most 
miserable tangle of derelict houses they'd ever seen. 

Nowhere were there shops as the girls understood them from 
home: just market stalls. The homes were constructed as 
square shaped concrete flats or were thrown together from 
corrugated iron, mud and cardboard. Very few roads were 
paved, and then only for a few hundred metres at a time. 

Sharon and Tracey soon got to recognise the police from a 
distance. It seemed that the police were everywhere. In every 
village, in every town and between each of them. Fortunately, 
however, they didn't seem to pay much notice to the girls, so 
Primrose's advice as to what to wear had seemed to bear fruit. 
However, to be on the safe side Sharon and Tracey kept as 
respectable distance between themselves and any police-
woman (or occasionally police-man) as they could. Primrose's 
warnings had frightened the wits out of them. Although the 
police wore no more clothes than anyone else, what they wore 
was aggressive and in leather. They made no attempt to hide 
their dildo-shaped truncheons, and some of them even carried 
submachine guns. 

They soon became aware that they weren't the only ones 
avoiding them. Almost everyone kept apart from them. People 
crossed the road, or even turned around and walked the other 
way whenever the police came into sight. It was early evening, 
when the girls were even more exhausted and even now 
wondering where they would sleep the night, they saw two or 
three police-women marching through the market where they 
were buying some more snacky groceries. All the other people 
cleared out of the police's way as they wandered into their 
midst. As they walked, the police took things from market stalls 
without bothering to say anything or acknowledge the stall-
holders, let alone offer to pay for what they'd taken. 

Then one stall-holder must have said or gestured something to 
which the police-women took exception. From their vantage 
point several stalls away, they saw the police pile onto the stall-
holder. She was punched, kicked and then, when she'd fallen 
onto the ground, they took turns to bugger her. Her cries were 
loud and agonised as they roughly forced the dildos which 
they'd tied around their crotches into her arse and pushed her 
against the piles of clothes and sandals she'd been selling. 
Neither Sharon nor Tracey felt like staying around too long to 
see what ultimately happened to the stall-holder or whether 
they'd focus their attention onto some other unfortunate.

The two girls took Primrose's advice not to sleep in any of the 
towns. But as the evening descended, and they got more and 
more tired, it was difficult to see anywhere that they could 
sleep. They were looking for a barn or a deserted home 
outside the towns and villages to sleep in, but although they'd 
seen a few like that during the day, when they actually needed 
it, there didn't seem to be any around. They were getting 
progressively more exhausted and were actually resting more 
often than they were walking. The night was drawing in, and it 
was obvious that they needed to stop somewhere. They 
eventually settled on a broken-down barn some ten metres 
from the road, and settled on the ragged-looking straw. This 
was not a pleasant night. They found straw creeping up their 
bare vaginas and were frightened when some animal sniffed 
inquisitively outside, but they were so exhausted that they were 
asleep within minutes, after sharing every small grain of their last 
W&M's Silk Tip.

Unusually for them, the two girls awoke on the first rays of 
light, and more from the discomfort of all the straw, they got 
walking again almost immediately, following the route which led 
on their map towards Gomorrah. For girls who never went 
anywhere at home without a taxi or bus, it was not easy getting 
used to walking quite long distances every day following the 
winding roads on the map. Their walks gave them an appetite 
which was not at all satisfied by the fairly basic food provided 
by the next market they got to. No coffee, no chips, no chicken 
fritters. Only boiled eggs, fruit and bottles of distilled water. 

Their route took them through woods which skirted near an 
area which was marked as forbidden, but all they could see of 
it were high brick walls crowned with broken glass and barbed 
wire. Sharon couldn't help wondering what was on the other 
side, but the height of the walls, let alone its unwelcoming 
ornamentation put her off any inclination she might have had of 
clambering over to investigate. The forbidding walls betrayed 
no clues as to what there was behind them that put them out of 
bounds. However, Tracey noted that where there were 
forbidden areas, there would almost certainly be police nearby, 
so the girls kept as reasonable a distance between themselves 
and the walls as they could, while keeping them in sight. 
Otherwise, they would get totally lost. The paths through the 
woods were quite narrow and winding, probably marked out 
by wild animals (of which they only saw the odd deer or 
rabbit). At times it was hard-going, but they kept on going 
despite their increasing discomfort, weariness and pain.

There were not many people to be seen wandering about the 
woods or along the road when they rejoined it. The woods 
were empty of any sign of continued habitation, although they 
saw the odd derelict cottage or out-building. Even along the 
road, they passed very few other people. Most of these 
seemed to be going to work in the fields or going to school. 

The only real travellers they passed that day were what they 
judged from Primrose's account to be Sodomite Pilgrims. They 
were travelling in a group of less than a dozen individuals, and 
the girls found them to be a very distressing sight. It was 
possible that underneath the scars, bondage and tattoos, some 
of the Sodomite Pilgrims might have been quite pretty. As 
Sharon and Tracey approached, the Pilgrims stop walking, and 
stood by so the two friends had more than enough opportunity 
to appraise them. Some of the Sodomites turned round and 
bowed to the girls with their bottoms facing upward. It was an 
extremely disturbing sight. The female sodomites had their 
vaginas threaded together very crudely with leather or metal 
stitches. The men had their genitals removed and wore them 
strung around their necks. It might have been true that all the 
Sodomite Pilgrims had had their tongues torn out (although 
there was no way of being sure without a closer look) but quite 
a few had had their hands amputated. Sharon winced at the 
sight of these stumps. 

When later, they passed some other Sodomite Pilgrims in the 
next village, they found that even the native people from 
Buggery found them a disturbing sight. They were making 
diversions around these pilgrims rather than experience the 
discomfort of having to see them more clearly. At this village, 
there was a shrine which the Sodomite Pilgrims were 
prostrating themselves in front of. This was marked only by 
some very crude scratches on some scattered rocks. 

After this, they soon spotted other similar shrines which seemed 
to be scattered fairly randomly about the Buggery countryside. 
After their small unappetising snack in the village, they passed 
another shrine in the wood, where they also found two 
Sodomite Pilgrims whipping each other with barbed wire whips 
which was raising blood on their welted backs. This annoyed 
them because the shrine was by a deserted cottage that Sharon 
and Tracey had spotted from a distance and had been so 
hoping to rest at. The sight of these two Sodomites, definitely 
persuaded them to change their mind. It would not be at all 
pleasant to sleep or rest near girls as deformed as these. One 
Pilgrim's leg was missing from the thigh and there was a hole in 
the eye-socket where the eye should have been.

Another shrine they saw surrounded by Sodomite Pilgrims 
prostrated or beating each other was probably of significance 
to the citizens of Buggery. This commemorated a battle fought 
against the Sodomites in a war some two or three centuries 
earlier. There was an extremely partisan inscription on the plinth 
which described in detail the atrocities the Sodomites had 
committed. On top of this was the statue at the top was of a 
naked man with long hair buggering a bald man whilst also 
taking the opportunity to slice off his genitals with a sword. The 
sculptor had seen fit to sculpt very realistic globules of blood in 
the marble.

Most of the many monuments in Buggery the girls saw, 
however, were of a generally more contemporary nature and 
by far the majority featured the King. He was a grand, 
moustachioed, undeniably handsome, man with the most 
gorgeous raiments and long hair flowing over his shoulders; 
always in a classic heroic pose. His features could be seen on 
billboards, statues or just portraits in prominent positions in 
shops or above the doorways of the homes. There was often 
text associated with such images which praised the King for his 
heroism in fighting the Gomorran barbarians, his sagacity in his 
dealings with the outside world, his generosity and kindness 
towards his citizens, his love of justice, his lust for knowledge 
and, in one peculiar place, his sexual prowess.

Later in the afternoon, Sharon and Tracey were in a larger 
town. This was the largest town they'd seen since Throb, but in 
comparison it was relatively small. While shopping in the 
market for more food (which was of a greater variety than 
they'd seen for a while), they couldn't help noticing a slightly 
nervous air in the village market. At first, they thought it was to 
do with themselves, but it soon became that they were not the 
only visitor to the town. A dignitary was also passing through 
the village. This was announced by a shrill scream of sirens and 
then, through a cloud of dust, the sudden emergence of a 
thundercloud of motorbikes driven by police, who showed no 
concern that anyone might be in the way. In the middle of this 
cavalcade was a stretch limousine with darkened windows. 
And then, as soon as it had arrived, the visitor was gone 
without a pause or any evidence of noticing the village and its 
banners and flags which had been put up to welcome the 
dignitary's visit. There was, in fact, an air of relief from the 
townspeople as they now started to remove these spurned 
items from around the town.

The two girls wandered back into the woods just beyond the 
town which according to their map promised to be the shortest 
route to Gomorrah. The map was rather unhelpful at this stage, 
showing wood but also large areas which were left totally 
blank. At first Sharon thought it was some reservoir or lake, 
but, no, the area was coloured by purple rather than blue. 
More forbidden territory.

They found this wood somewhat harder to get through than the 
woodland they had been through earlier, because the clearly 
marked path was obstructed by trees that had recently fallen 
and had been left to rot. So they decided to make a slight 
detour into the thick of the wood. It was after only a few 
hundred metres of walking as parallel to what they judged to be 
the right route when they heard a low moaning sound. 

"Ignore it," said Sharon nervously. "It's probably some Buggery 
animal. A bird or something."

"Fucking funny bird," commented Tracey. "I'm sure I heard it 
say something. A word of some kind."

"What word?"

"I don't fucking know!" Tracey said walking towards it.

"It's probably some Sodomite praying or something," 
commented Sharon. She nervously paused by a large elm, but 
seeing her friend's determination she then reluctantly followed 
Tracey, who had clearly found someone or something in a 
clearing in the wood ahead of them. 

The girl they found sobbing softly in the shade of the trees 
wasn't a Sodomite, but she was still in a wretched state. She 
wore no clothes. Her hair was totally shaved. Her face was 
covered in bruises, and there was a nasty cut on her forehead 
above the eye. There was a large bruise on her thigh and 
another one just under her breast. A thin trail of blood was 
dripping from a badly split lip, and a few of her teeth were 
missing. Judging from the blood on her cheek, this may well 
have happened quite recently. There was also a slight smell 
about her which Sharon and Tracey guessed from the slight 
gleam on her skin was because she'd been pissed on, and by 
probably quite a few people. There was a patch on her buttock 
which might have been mud: but on such a dry day was more 
probably shit. She sat with her head down and her legs open 
pulling at her pubic hair and they could see that amongst the 
hair was rather brown stuff and dried blood which must have 
resulted from some quite brutal penetration.

"Are you all right, love?" asked Tracey sympathetically, 
bending down and placing a hand on the girl's bare shoulder.

The girl looked up at them with the frightened gaze of a wild 
animal. She was about fourteen or fifteen years old, with perky 
young breasts and a  very slender, ill-fed body. Her slim legs 
were just a little too bony to be attractive. Nor did her broken 
nose enhance her looks in any way. She shrunk back at the 
sight of the girls. "Are you going to beat me, too?" she asked in 
a resigned voice.

"No, of course not love," Sharon commented, feeling a curious 
sense of mutual sympathy and even warmth towards this victim 
of abuse. "Why should we do that?"

"Everyone else does."

"And why do they do that?"

"Because I'm Z grade," sobbed the girl. "They're always 
picking on me. Buggering me. Shitting on me. Kicking me. 
Pissing on me. Pulling out my teeth. Sticking things into the 
back of my throat and long things up my arse. Punching me. All 
the time." 

"Who do?" wondered Tracey.

"All the girls at school. All the A grades and B grades and C 
grades and all the other grades. And not just them, but lots of 
other people. It's to punish me for not being good at school. 
Because I don't do well at sports. Because I don't do well at 
lessons. It's not fair. I don't get the chance. The teachers only 
give me jobs like licking the messy girls' arses clean, or drinking 
their piss, or carrying shit in my hands to the fields for fertiliser. 
I'm always the one who gets given the whip during the festivals. 
I've had two of my teeth torn out by pliers by the headmaster 
on one of those. And I get buggered at least three or four times 
a day. And if there's a speck of shit on their pricks, I have to 
do duty in licking it off. God! I hate the taste of shit. Dry or 
wet, it's all disgusting. But sometimes it's all I get to eat all day."

"How did you get to be Z grade?" wondered Sharon, who like 
Tracey had never been remotely near the top of their classes 
when they were children. They may even have been at the 
bottom of their class for all they knew, but they never really 
bothered to attend school to find out for sure. School was just 
a place for meeting boys and something to do on wet days.

"I haven't always been Z grade! Once I was C grade. OK. Not 
A or B, but C's pretty good. I had long hair halfway down my 
back, I wore these wonderful red trousers with really nice 
seams and I had a little plastic bracelet (that was really 
expensive). I didn't have a broken nose, and I'd hardly ever 
tasted shit." She sniffed sadly at these memories. "And then, I 
don't know, things seemed to slip. It wasn't that one day, I was 
C and the next I was Z. No. Things weren't like that. I'd even 
thought I stood a chance of graduating to B! I had quite a good 
body and a lot of teachers said my oral was really good. It still 
is ..." She looked up at Sharon with a sad smile. "Do you want 
some oral?" 

Sharon shook her head firmly and sadly.

"Anyway, I didn't do too well on this test on ancient history. I 
thought I'd answered it well enough, but I always confuse our 
past kings, and apparently I'd said that one king was a good 
king when he had really been a bad king. And also I'd mixed 
up Our Blessed and Magnificent King's mother with his 
disgraced Aunt: the mother of the past deposed Most 
Despicable and Damned King. Then it all started a decline. My 
hair was cut shorter and shorter. I wasn't allowed to shave my 
pubic hair. My bracelet was taken from me and given to 
another girl: a grade A (and I bet she's never tasted any shit in 
all her life!) When I got down to Q grade, my blouse was 
removed and I was forbidden to wear clothes ever again. 
When I got down to W grade, I was told never to appear in 
public without having all my hair shaved off. And now I'm in the 
lowest grade of all. And I don't think I'll be allowed to stay 
there long."

"How long have you been Z grade?" wondered Tracey.

"Two weeks. Maybe three. It's been so horrible, I just can't 
say. I'm not even allowed to do sex rota for even M grades, let 
alone A grades. I have to stand in all my lessons. I'm not 
allowed to sit. And I have to do stocks on Friday, where you 
get things thrown at you."

"Stocks?"

"Well, someone's got to do it. That's how my nose got broken 
last week. It's not just shit and semen that gets thrown at you. 
Someone, probably an X grade or a W (they're the worst), 
threw something heavy at me. But they didn't take me down 
even with all the blood gushing out and the pain. It was 
horrible. And I got beaten up this evening too."

"We can see," said Sharon sympathetically.

"It was four or five H grades. Two of them boys. It was 
horrible. I can't even remember what they shoved up me. I just 
know it really hurt. And all the shit and piss! I couldn't see 
through my eyes. They were so caked up for so long! And I 
bet they did me permanent damage. Hell! I wish I was dead!"

"It sounds horrible."

"And I'm going to get beaten up and buggered and shat on 
when I get home to punish me for having got into this state. 
And when I get to school tomorrow, I'll be beaten up for the 
bruises and having lost another tooth. And I'll fail shit inspection 
because there'll be blood in my stools."

"This can't really be happening to you," said Sharon sadly.

The girl stood up beside Sharon and Tracey, revealing a scar 
along the side of one breast and gazed at the two girls through 
the black and blue swelling around her left eye. This contrasted 
badly with her other eye which was merely red with tears. "It 
is," she said philosophically. "I won't see my sixteenth birthday 
at this rate. Either I'll be sent to the Gomorran front with the 
mine clearance corps where I'll be dead in a week or I'll be 
dead like the X grade girl who was found impaled on a pole 
through her arse with a dead rabbit stuck in her mouth. She'd 
been accused of trimming her pubic hair." She looked at the 
two girls, gulped slowly. "You've been very kind to me. I 
promise I won't report you for not beating me up and for 
listening to me. I must go, or I'll be beaten up for lateness."

She then turned away and hobbled away on her bruised legs 
with a limp that had probably been caused by her beatings. Her 
back was covered with scars which covered her to her skinny 
buttocks which themselves were also latticed with fine scars. 
Sharon and Tracey watched with a certain degree of disgusted 
fascination as she disappeared out of sight amongst the 
darkening shadows of the trees.

"If I'd been born in this fucking country, I'd have fucking given 
everything to avoid an education in it!" commented Tracey.




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

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