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Subject: {ASSM} Escape From Buggery Ch. Seven (7/20) {Bradley Stoke} (caution)
Date: Wed, 21 May 2003 04:10:05 -0400
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Title: {ASSM} Escape From Buggery Ch. Seven (7/20) {Bradley Stoke} (caution)
Author: Bradley Stoke
Part: Chapter 7 of 20
Keywords: (caution)
Short Summary: Sharon and Tracey meet Buttercup in 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 where they have
incurred debts they can't possibly afford to pay.


Chapter Seven
=============



The woods seemed to go on and on, broken only by the 
odd deserted cottage and broken stonework which must 
have represented some old temple or other. The two friends 
found very little to eat, but resourcefulness was a new skill 
they'd learnt: they'd actually prepared for this long walk by 
buying more food with them than they could eat in a single 
sitting. And fucking heavy it was too. As they plodded 
along, they wondered whether there might not be some 
wild animals in the wood, but the fiercest animals they saw 
were feral dogs who seemed as frightened of them as the 
girls were of the dogs.

Their route ran parallel to a tall wall, some twenty feet 
high, which delineated the purple area on the map. They 
walked close by the wall for a few hours, as it was a sure 
way of ensuring they didn't lose where they were on the 
map; but then they caught sight of some police marching 
along the edge of the wall in the distance. They were 
striding aggressively forward in leathers, carrying sub-
machine guns and wearing dildos strapped around their 
waists. They were making no effort to avoid being seen, but 
even so Sharon and Tracey thought it would be unwise to 
encounter them. They'd learnt enough from Tiger Lilly 
what police attention might entail. 

So, while the police were still several hundred metres away 
and loudly talking to each other, the two girls took the 
diversion of a lesser path through the woods that was 
clearly enough marked, and from which could still be seen 
the shadow of the wall. They hid behind a tree as the police 
marched by, trembling slightly at the thought of being 
discovered. It was only when they were sure the police had 
gone, they emerged and continued their scrambling, 
stumbling walk through the shadows of the forest; all the 
while being able to glimpse the unwelcoming grey and 
granite brickwork of the wall through the snatches of light 
through the trees. 

The two girls continued their walk through the forest for all 
the rest of the day, often regretting the comfort of the 
ciggies they'd finished and missing the familiar taste of chips 
and burgers. It was a dispiriting day's walk. The woods 
went on and on, with only the occasional gap in the trees 
where they could rest in the sun on the slightly damp moss, 
amongst weeds and the occasional small flower. Their legs 
attracted stings and scratches which left unhealthy bluish 
colours amongst a lattice of small reddish lines and the 
occasional reddish or even yellowish blemish. At least it 
wasn't so hot, but they still didn't risk putting on any more 
clothes than the small blouses Primrose had lent them. They 
worried about the midges and other small insects that 
nestled in the growing hair of their vaginas, but the odd 
sting between the thighs was as nothing compared to the 
constant ache of their legs and the far more unpleasant 
stings that their bare ankles seemed to especially attract. 

As they walked, the only evidence of their not being lost 
was the wall, and the only recognisable land-mark on their 
map; so whatever they did they didn't stray too far from it. 
But the penalty of walking through the woods were even 
more scratches from the odd brambles, bruises, stings; and 
now they were getting awful red marks on their shoulders 
as a result of the weight of the food pulling down on the 
shoulder straps of their bags. Sharon had a nasty scratch 
from a tree that trailed across one of her breasts. Tracey 
had a bruise just above her eye where she had hit a branch 
which was beginning to swell up and was starting to 
challenge the prominence of the one Tiger Lilly had 
bestowed on Sharon's eye. 

They had an uncomfortable night's sleep in the shadow of 
the trees, heartily tired of the food they had brought to eat, 
gasping for ciggies, as nicotine  withdrawal began to really 
kick in, and finding it impossible to find a patch of ground 
where there were no insects, mulch or brambles. They had 
seen no one during the day except the brief sight of the 
police, and no evidence that anyone lived anywhere near 
where they were. On the map, the purple patch delineated 
by the wall stretched on for dozens of kilometres, whilst in 
the other direction, the green which marked the forest they 
were in seemed to stretch even further in all directions. But 
eventually, the map showed both forest and purple 
enclosure coming to an abrupt end by an area of light blue, 
which must be a lake or reservoir or something.

The following day was no less dispiriting, as Tracey and 
Sharon continued their bare-arsed walk through the woods. 
They were no less tired, and irritable, and found even the 
smallest conversation more and more difficult. Sharon 
comforted herself by swearing constantly, while Tracey 
found that she was somehow unable to stop herself from a 
miserable kind of sobbing. Whenever it was necessary to 
talk to each other, it was in monosyllabic grunts relating to 
practical things that had to be done. Both of them feared 
the consequences of vocalising the increasing desperation 
they were feeling. They were lonely, hungry, tired, aching 
and anxious. 

Despair was steadily growing at the sight of yet more 
imposing trees and the monotony of green, with no human 
company. And then they came to a clearing in the woods lit 
by a golden beam from the sun which burst through the 
shadows of the trees and illuminated some blue and yellow 
flowers that flourished in the glow. And there, like a dream 
or an illustration in a fairy tale, was probably the most 
beautiful girl that either Sharon or Tracey had ever seen. 

She was walking about uncertainly, and seemed as glad as 
Sharon and Tracey to be in such a relatively beautiful part 
of the forest. She had golden hair which cascaded to her 
waist. She had a beautiful slender figure. Her breasts 
reflected in the sun with contours normally only seen in 
classical sculptures. She wore no clothes at all; and the 
lightly tanned flesh of her skin radiated a faintly golden 
glow. Neither Sharon nor Tracey had spoken to anyone for 
nearly two days, but they were both struck by a sudden 
shyness. Was it reluctance in meeting a stranger. Or 
perhaps it was the feeling of being utterly outclassed by a 
stranger.

The girl looked in their direction with no fear and no similar 
shyness. "Hello there," announced the girl, smiling broadly 
and welcomingly. Her teeth shone in the dappled sunlight 
with a whiteness the girls had only ever seen before on 
toothpaste commercials. "My name's Buttercup. What are 
yours?" 

"Tracey," announced Tracey, dropping her bag and feeling 
a strange burning warmth creep up from her breast to her 
forehead.

"And I'm Sharon," said her friend, approached the girl and 
taking note of just how different from all the people in 
Buggery they'd seen since they'd left Throb. Just like the 
people they'd seen on Buggery television, she was totally 
naked with no hint of any tan-lines or clothing. Similarly 
like everyone on television, all her pubic and other bodily 
hair was shaved off, although a trace of stubble betrayed a 
couple of days of neglect. And there was the ubiquitous 
small ring dangling from the lips of her vagina.

"Where am I? Am I near a town?" Buttercup asked 
innocently.

"No fucking way," said Sharon. She pulled the map out of 
her bag and opened it up on the ground. Buttercup knelt 
down and looked at it with a quizzical air. She frowned as 
if trying to comprehend what she was looking at. "It's a 
long fucking way to the nearest town, I'm afraid," Sharon 
continued circling a finger over the approximate area that 
they were. "How come you don't know? Don't you live 
round here?"

Buttercup looked at Tracey and Sharon with a frown, as if 
she were only just beginning to realise that the girls were 
not themselves local. She examined their faces and smiled 
broadly at Tracey, who still stood several metres back, 
perhaps aware of the curious affect she was having on the 
girl. "Can't you guess?" she asked. "Isn't it obvious? Don't 
you know who, or what, I am."

"No," Sharon answered bluntly, looking up from the map. 
After showing the map, she was more concerned by the fact 
that although she knew that on the map they were in the 
green bit around the purple bit, they had no idea how much 
of the green bit they still had to walk through. She hoped it 
wasn't too much more.

"We don't come from this country," offered Tracey as a 
sort of explanation. "We're tourists."

"Really! I can't believe it! Are you really?" asked Buttercup, 
looking at Tracey's friend for confirmation. Sharon nodded. 
"I suppose it must be true if you say so. But what you 
doing so far from the tourist resorts? At least, I didn't think 
there were any tourist resorts near here."

Tracey spoke and was surprised by how cracked her voice 
was and how thick it was with an emotion she didn't really 
understand. "We were on holiday in Throb. And we 
couldn't pay our bill. So we done a bunk. And we've been 
walking to Gomorrah." 

"Even though there's a war?"

"Apparently, we stand a much better chance than by going 
via the normal channels. And anyway there's only the sea or 
Sodom to choose between otherwise."

"No choice at all," admitted Buttercup. "Unless you're very 
good swimmers." 

"We've had a fucking awful time since we left Throb," 
Sharon elaborated. "It's been so fucking hard. We got beat 
up by a fucking teacher. And we've had nothing decent to 
eat. And we ain't even had any fucking ciggies. Buggery's a 
fucking awful country. No fucking disrespect meant. It 
being your fucking country and all. But it's one fucking 
shitty, pissing awful place. There's been fucking nothing to 
recommend it to fucking anyone."

"So you're fugitives," smiled Buttercup warmly as Tracey 
nervously walked towards her. "I'm a fugitive too, you 
know. From the Royal Court. Well, not quite the Royal 
Court: but from behind the Big Wall. I've just escaped."

"How did you manage that?"

"It wasn't easy. But I used to make love with one of the 
guards quite often and I managed to steal her keys. I had to 
kill her, though. It wasn't pleasant and it certainly wasn't 
easy, but when you've been behind the wall that's not so 
difficult. There was so much blood though. She took so 
long to die! But she'd have been killed anyway when they'd 
found I'd escaped. And I've been free for two days now. No 
food. No people. Nothing. But free!"

"Was it so fucking awful behind the wall?" wondered 
Sharon. "It's been so shitty on this side of the wall, we just 
couldn't imagine it being worse on the other side."

"It is hell! You just can't believe! And you foreigners 
probably can't believe it anyway. I'd never believed it 
possible. Like all my classmates I'd been brought up to 
believe in a much more pleasant world than this. Like all the 
other girls in my school, we'd been prepared as sacrificial 
virgins. We were taught how to love, and never even knew 
that clothes ever existed. We watched Buggery television: 
and as far as we knew that's what real life was really like." 

Buttercup sat down cross-legged, and the two other girls 
sat down beside her: Tracey stretched out on the ragged 
grass and Sharon with her knees pulled up to her chin. "I 
enjoyed school. I was good at lessons and was always 
amongst the best girls in the sex lessons. We all looked 
forward to the day when we'd go to the Royal Court and 
meet His Royal Highness. Our only dreams were to be 
fucked by the King and maybe his Queen. We masturbated 
every day in Regal Studies over his image and believed that 
he would be the greatest lover in the world.

"When we were fifteen, just two years ago, our school 
years were over. Most girls (the ones we didn't think were 
so lucky) were taken out of school to become teachers, 
actresses or sex hostesses for the tourist industry. We 
thought we were the blessed ones as we were packed 
together in luxury carriages in such a frenzy of excitement 
to head to the world behind the wall."

Buttercup sighed, and then smiled broadly at Tracey. "Oh! 
It's so good to meet some friendly faces. I've not met 
anyone since I escaped. I thought I'd never meet anyone. 
How long have you been in the woods?"

"Too fucking long!" grunted Sharon.

"What was it like behind the wall?" asked Tracey, somehow 
too shy too use perjoratives as freely as her friend.

"We'd been told what to expect. It would be such a 
glorious place to be and above all we would have the 
privilege of serving at the Royal Court. We'd lose our 
virginity, and then we'd live in a world of luxury several 
times greater than that we'd been used to.

"At first when we'd arrived behind the wall, it seemed that 
it was true. The degree of luxury the nobility enjoy is 
incredible. As we were driven along we saw enormous 
palaces, gardens, swimming pools, gold statues 
everywhere. It seemed like we'd died and gone to heaven. 
The carriage stopped and we were escorted out of the 
carriage by women wearing clothes. It was the first time in 
our lives any of us had ever seen clothes. And it was a 
shock. The entire concept of clothing had just never 
occurred to us. The idea was so totally foreign. In actual 
fact, these women weren't wearing that many clothes and 
what they were was all made of rubber. They certainly 
didn't cover their groin or breasts, but they were skin-tight. 
They also wore make-up (which we'd seen on television) 
but not applied so thickly and unnaturally. Each of us were 
chaperoned by a single woman who took us away from our 
friends. I've never seen any of my friends from school ever 
again. 

"The woman who took me was quite rough. She took me 
into a chamber and started making love to me in a loveless 
way I'd never had love made to me before. When she'd 
finished, she washed me with soap and cream in the most 
solicitous way. Then she announced that I was officially 
classified as a Beta Plus. 'What does that mean?' I asked. 'It 
means, my love, that you won't have your virginity taken by 
the Royal Family. And certainly not by His Magnificent 
Royal Highness (May He Live Forever)!' At that time there 
was a different King. He certainly didn't live forever. 'Only 
Alpha Plus girls get that privilege.' She said. 'But you're still 
very lucky. You're assigned to the Minister of Agriculture 
and Forestry, His Grandiloquence, The Baron of White 
Flower.' And indeed that's where I did go. And nobody ever 
told me that sex could be so horrible!"

Buttercup paused and smiled again. Tracey was sure she 
was smiling at her, and she felt herself blushing. What was 
happening to her? She smiled back at Buttercup, feeling her 
face crack in a newly  unaccustomed way. When did she 
last smile? "What do you mean: he was horrible?"

"He was with me for about two hours with two other girls 
who'd also just graduated. I was slapped, beaten, buggered, 
and had my maidenhead taken. And in the most brutal and 
careless way. Nothing like the pampered sensitive way I'd 
been told it would be. Afterwards I was covered with 
bruises! I had raw red marks down my back where he'd 
beaten me with a stick. But at least I hadn't had a chair 
broken on my head like one girl who was knocked 
unconscious and had her nose broken. And I didn't have 
one of my hands sliced off with a carving knife like the 
other girl. There was blood everywhere! And while this was 
all happening, we were watched by an audience of the 
Baron's court and friends. And they all applauded his most 
gross actions. The most foul and disgusting, the more they 
were cheering him. I was so humiliated and bewildered. No 
one had told me it would be like this!"

Buttercup sighed deeply as she remembered these painful 
hours. Despite herself, Tracey found a small tear drip out of 
the corner of her eye. Who could ever treat such a beautiful 
girl so badly? 

"Perhaps it was because I was so violently sick. My vomit 
was everywhere. And I'd even shat from fright. Would I be 
the next one to lose an arm? Or worse? Maybe it was 
because the Baron had had his fill with the other two that I 
came off relatively lightly.

"When I went to bed after my first night, I just cried and 
cried. I was assigned a pleasant enough chamber which I 
shared with the other two girls who'd been with me and the 
Baron. The girl with the broken nose just lay there with her 
eyes closed and shivered. I wondered if she'd ever wake up. 
The other just sat on a chair with her eyes wide open 
staring at her bandaged bloody stump, shaking backwards 
and forwards. And backwards and forwards. And from that 
moment, I swore I'd do whatever possible to escape from 
that world."

"Do you want to come to Gomorrah with us, then?" Tracey 
asked.

Buttercup looked deep into Tracey's eyes with a directness 
and a love which melted her away to her core. Was she 
falling in love with a woman? She coughed nervously. No 
woman, however beautiful, could be better than cock. "Can 
I, please?" Buttercup asked. "I don't want to be a burden."

Tracey could hardly answer. She nodded her head under 
Buttercup's spell. It was left to Sharon to answer. "The 
more's the merrier," she said supporting Tracey around the 
waist. "Of course you fucking can!"

Buttercup knelt in front of the two girls and stretched an 
arm out onto Tracey's knee. The hand was warm and firm, 
and Tracey shuddered. "I'd be so grateful!" Buttercup 
pleaded, her hand stroking up and down Tracey's thigh 
which burned from the feel of it (or was it from all the 
scratches and bruises she had?) And then, sensing a lack of 
resistance, Buttercup leaned further forward and with her 
other stroked Tracey's arm, while her first hand slid 
towards the battered and bruised and itching vagina. And 
then, Tracey didn't know how, Buttercup's fingers were 
firmly grasping her cunt, while Sharon's arm was around 
her back, and Buttercup's lips parted slowly and sensuously. 
And then they were on her mouth, and a warm melting 
liquid kiss melded itself on her own passionate kisses.

Sharon sniffed as she watched Buttercup make love to her 
friend, taking her arm off Tracey, as the two girls sank onto 
the grass. Three, or was it four, days since they'd had sex, 
suddenly here was Tracey getting all fucking soppy with a 
girl they'd only just met. It was by no means the first time 
she'd watched her friend having sex with someone else, 
even a woman, but she couldn't recall her being so weirdly 
soppy and awkward about it. But there was no way she 
could deny how beautiful Buttercup was. She felt strangely 
hot herself, but she reminded herself it was cock she 
preferred. She wasn't a fucking dyke. Even when 
Buttercup's other hand somehow found its way to her own 
cunt, and she too, despite her tiredness and exhaustion, 
melted into a sensuous pleasure that no one had given her 
before. No one at home. No one in Throb. Not even the 
man on the beach with the ten inch prick with the slight 
kink in it. Nor the two men at the club who'd fucked her for 
well over two hours. And none of the women she'd had, 
even Tracey (in fact especially not Tracey) had made her 
feel like this before. She gasped and panted as the three 
girls stroked and licked and grappled with each other in the 
dappled light of the forest clearing, her cunt burning with a 
heat that was only matched by the fury of her orgasm as it 
erupted unprompted from inside her. She choked and 
coughed and then collapsed onto the ground, watching 
through her slightly opened eyes as Tracey and Buttercup 
dry humped each other amongst the bluebells and mossy 
dew.

Eventually, after the most blissful rest either of the friends 
had had since Throb, intertwined amongst each other, it 
was necessary to start walking. Which they did silently and 
somehow overwhelmed by the change of circumstances. 
Tracey and Sharon led, following the route indicated so 
indistinctly on the map, with glimpses of the wall visible in 
the distance. 

It was Buttercup who broke the uneasy silence and asked 
the two girls all sorts of questions about the holiday 
experience that they had enjoyed before absconding. "It 
was fucking magic!" exclaimed Sharon, reminiscing of the 
men who'd fucked her and their days of luxurious depravity.

"It's a bit like that behind the wall in a way," Buttercup 
explained, pushing aside a low hanging branch that 
threatened to scratch her face. "Only there, it's done wholly 
for the benefit of the aristocracy and favoured ministers. 
And by all accounts, their tastes are somewhat more 
depraved than you ever saw on your holiday. It's all very 
sadomasochistic and violent. The boys are the ones who get 
the roughest treatment, I think. There's a kind of 
homosexual bias amongst the inner court. The lifespan for a 
servant is not very long. And almost everyone who's not 
related to royalty is a servant. All you've got to do is attract 
someone's attention by being too attractive, growing old, 
having an injury, or just being there, and then you'll just 
somehow disappear. It might be after some sex game or 
other. Or you might just get sent off to the front. It's the 
men who get the worst of this, and so there aren't many 
men behind the wall."

"Are these Barons and Lords and so on really rich?" 
wondered Sharon who had always been fascinated by the 
lives of the rich and famous. At home she'd often read 
magazine articles about the eccentricities and depravities of 
millionaires and rock stars.

"I got to know a little about them while I was there, from 
talking to people. And although luxury's all I've ever known 
really, I'd say that they must be very rich. The nobility have 
gardens, mansions, palaces and so forth which are truly 
astonishing. There's so much of it. It's quite easy to get lost 
in the grounds and never get found. There are rumours of 
whole communities that do that. They just hide under the 
very noses of royalty in the depths of their estates. And the 
luxuries of private cinemas, enormous swimming pools, 
monstrous cars, private armies, private helicopters and 
yachts. It's too much!"

Tracey might have been poor at sums at school, but she had 
a vague idea what the value of money was. "Where'd they 
get their fucking wealth from? I mean, this is a  poor 
country!"

"Yeah!" agreed Sharon. "In comparison to most people 
we've seen here we're like fucking millionaires. I mean this 
country's got nothing. It doesn't make cars. It doesn't sell 
much food. I've never seen anything back home with 'Made 
In Buggery' written on it."

Buttercup smiled at the idea of something being labelled 
'Made In Buggery'. "Buggery makes its money from sex," 
she answered.

"Sex?" wondered Tracey, frowning quizzically.

"Yes," agreed Buttercup. "I've only heard about this. But 
what I've heard is, that Sex Tourism is really big business. 
That's why there's so much of it in a country where most of 
it is out of bounds to foreigners and where everything 
behind the wall is out of bounds to even people from 
Buggery. Of my friends at school, a lot ended up in Sex 
Tourism. I don't know what they're doing now, of course. 
And there are even schools and colleges which specialise in 
teaching it. The art of sex tourism, I'm told, is to exercise 
no discretion at all in what sexual relations you have."

"Like prostitution?" suggested Sharon, who'd once 
seriously considered this as a career option. After all she 
was always just giving it away. Why not get a bit back from 
it?

"What's 'prostitution'?" wondered Buttercup. "I don't think 
I've ever heard that word before." 

"Is it just sex tourism that makes money?" wondered 
Tracey, who decided to rescue her friend from having to 
provide a complex explanation.

"No," said Buttercup pushing a strand of golden hair out of 
her face and directing her sparkling eyes at Tracey in a 
direct way that still unsettled her, even after their last 
couple of hours of walking together. "It's substantial but 
not crucial. Buggery is the leading supplier of pornography 
and sex related entertainment in the world. Apparently (and 
Buggery is proud of this) it is the premier supplier in terms 
of quality and explicitness as well as quantity. I don't know 
the exact statistics, but over 95% of all the world's snuff 
movies come from Buggery. The film industry produces 
some 40% of the world's sex films, and some of the biggest 
porn stars are from Buggery. The country also supplies a 
substantial proportion of hard core pornographic books and 
magazines, and so much pornographic television that the 
country's national television station is just a pornographic 
propaganda machine."

"Is sex really enough for these people to get so rich?"

"I'm sure there's reinvestment as well. But it's not just the 
royalty that has to be financed, there's also the war with 
Gomorrah. It's an expensive war. And it's only sustainable 
because Buggery tolerates a very high death rate."

"A high death rate?" asked Tracey. 

"I don't know more than that," Buttercup admitted. "But 
behind the wall, it's the main reason why there aren't too 
many men there. They just go to the front to fight against 
Gomorrah and never return. Mind you! They're maybe the 
lucky ones. The ones that got out. At least they're no longer 
going to be mutilated by the nobility just for their perverted 
pleasure."

"Like your friends you were telling us about?"

"Yes, that's right," sighed Buttercup. "I was soon the only 
one left in that room, although other girls joined me later. 
The girl who'd had her hand cut off had one more session 
with the baron, who apparently likes amputated stumps 
stuck up his anus and other places. She didn't survive. The 
girl with the broken nose was reclassified as an Epsilon, and 
either left for the sex industry or the war. She would never 
have appeared on national television with a broken nose. 
That sort of thing's never allowed, but she might've 
appeared in a violent sex movie perhaps, where apparently 
there's a preference for beautiful girls with small defects.

"And I was a survivor. And that's what I've been ever since. 
I've avoided having sex with the baron, which probably 
explains some of it. I've been fucked by the baroness a few 
times and one of their children took a fancy to me when he 
was just eleven. On the whole, though, I've just been one of 
many on the Baron's estate who're supposed to have regular 
sex with each other. It's an ambience he apparently enjoys. 

"My instructress explained my duties to me. I wasn't just to 
stay there in luxury, I was told. Besides unquestioning sex 
with whoever would so chose, which was fairly frequent, 
(but I'd been trained for that) I was to work in the garden. 
My school results showed that I had an inclination towards 
biology and horticulture. This was true, but I'd never had 
the ambition of tending flowers and grass all day and every 
day. But at least I was out in the open air, and in a position 
much less exposed to the attention of nobility or whoever. I 
was never to wear clothes. Only certain privileged people 
like the instructresses and nobility and police have that 
privilege. I was to remove all bodily hair, and, as a 
gardener, to look as natural as possible.  Not all girls have 
such favourable conditions. Some had to shave their heads. 
Some had extensive body piercing. Some had very peculiar 
things done to their body. All according to their roles in the 
Baron's estate. 

"My instructress had a very limited part in my life from then 
on. Her task was to prepare new girls for the Baron's 
pleasures and then tell them what to do next. I was just a 
gardener who worked with other girls and one or two men 
and a couple of eunuchs."

"Eunuchs?" wondered Sharon, thinking about what a waste 
of cock this would be.

"Yes," sighed Buttercup. "This was another taste of the 
Baron's. In fact, he liked to conduct the actual castration. 
Apparently that was a sport he particularly enjoyed." 
Buttercup glanced towards a patch of wall which could be 
seen in the distance, and then said with a touch of 
bitterness: "In comparison to most people, I've spent most 
of the last two years in relative comfort in amongst the 
Baron's herbaceous borders."







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

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