Escape From Buggery Ch 03

To be able to afford their holiday in Buggery, both Sharon and Tracey had told several white lies about their financial wealth: lies that they hoped wouldn’t catch up with them while they were on holiday. Perhaps the lies weren’t that small, but the girls were somewhat naVve as to what they were likely to get away with. At first these lies didn’t worry them while they were enjoying so much themselves in Throb.

Throb was an aptly named resort they found, as this was exactly what their cunts did all the time after each day. They soon got used to days of sex on the beach, in the night clubs, in the hotel and in the bar. They soon stopped wearing any clothes at all: carrying all they needed in shoulder bags. There was no theft in Throb, which was good as they often had to drop their bags wherever they happened to be. Total nudity began to seem a little too innocent for two such worldly girls, and so it wasn’t long that like many other tourists and many of the residents of Throb they got their nipples pierced and rings put through them. It didn’t stop there. They also had their vulvas pierced in several places. Soon little rings dangled from between their legs to go with the rings through their nipples, the bangles on their arms and the earrings. A pleasing jangle accompanied every step as they walked around. When they raised their arms, a cascade of bangles followed in chorus.

Every morning, they’d wake up with at least one man sharing their beds, ready for a quick fuck before breakfast. Then after that, some more sex as the day progressed, wherever and whenever it took their fancy. Their vaginas were constantly bruised, they always felt like they were exhausted, but the sex was so very good, they just couldn’t turn down any chance for more.

One evening, they had two young boys in their bed who’d they’d picked up on the beach. “This is fucking paradise!” mused Sharon as a penis thrust in and out of both her arse and her cunt, while Tracey greedily gobbled on the two adjacent set of balls. “This can’t be real! Sex wasn’t supposed to be as good as this!” In fact, it never had been before. This was real fucking: intense, continuous, not a limp dick in sight. The men back home just had nothing to offer in comparison. They’d never be satisfied like this again.

The two boys were expert in sharing the attention of the two voracious friends. While one thumped away mercilessly at Sharon’s arse, the other was simultaneously fucking Tracey’s cunt. And then while the girls were in ecstasy, they’d somehow alter positions: the first boy taking Tracey’s arse while the other transferred his attention to Sharon’s cunt. And then as Tracey gulped in paroxysms of delight, the one took his prick out of Sharon and pushed it into Sharon’s arse, giving her again that full feeling she so craved where inside her she could feel one prick sliding against the other: giving her dual stimulation on the skin dividing one orifice to another. She’d thought that now, after the fucking she’d got at least once every few hours, that by now the pleasure would be diminished. That in some way, she’d lose interest from familiarity. But, no, it was like a drug to her. The more she was fucked, the more she craved it. The soreness of her arse was lessened by the usage, but the desire for it certainly did not. Nor did it for Tracey, who took the opportunity to crawl over the mattress and apply her tongue to the two sets of rock-hard testicles bumping against each other as they pushed and pushed into Sharon. Before long, it was too much for her, as she greedily pulled one boy off her friend, and motioned his erect prick into her cunt. And somehow, like so many times and so many lovers before, the boys knew when they had exhausted the girls and released streams of semen which spurted onto the girls’ breasts and flowed onto their bellies.

“I hope we can do this forever!” remarked Tracey as they wandered down to the foyer, licking traces of semen from their lips. There they saw Lil dressed for the first time since they’d first met her. At first they didn’t recognise her in her tight-fitting skirt and top, as up to then, they’d only seen her nude. She wasn’t a nudist, as she’d told them many times, and they were keen to reassure her that they weren’t either. It was just that clothes were such an unnecessary encumbrance in Throb.

Lil seemed quite upset. She was standing by herself holding an invoice in her hand. “Look at what the bastards have charged me!” she shrieked when the girls greeted her. “Every fucking drink, every fucking night club and every fucking fuck. All on the bill. Nothing’s escaped them at all! How’d they know all this?”

She showed an itemised bill, which went on for several pages. It listed every drink she’d had, every night club she’d entered and every meal she’d eaten. In addition, it included an itemised account of every sexual encounter she’d had. So much for oral sex, so much for vaginal sex, a bit more for anal sex and a lot more for having someone to spend the night with her. Group sex and lesbian sex were charged at a further premium. Tracey gasped with shock as she glanced at the total and made a rough estimate at what it meant converted back to their home currency. Not only was it a large sum, far more than she’d ever expected, a little extra arithmetic (not something for which she had a native skill), told her that Sharon and she had actually been rather more active and indulgent than Lil (despite her boasts) and that their bill was likely to be several times larger.

“And it’s not just what I’ve been doing, we’ll get charged for. My hubby’s been enjoying himself. I don’t know the details but from what he’s told me we’re gonna have the world’s most fucking horrendous headache paying for all this. We might be well-off, but haulage don’t make millions. I don’t think we’ll be able to afford another holiday here for a lo-ong while.”

“Are you leaving now then?” asked Sharon.

“Yeah! We are. Another day here and we’d have to re-mortgage the house. I can’t believe the bastards. Every fucking cock and every fucking cunt!. I’m surprised they didn’t charge us by the weight of sperm. And there weren’t no hint of this till we settled up. The fucking smile on that bastard girl’s face.” She nodded towards the demure but naked receptionist, who with a broad imperturbable smile was serving a bill to another white-faced couple. “I bet she enjoys stinging the fucking tourists! That’s how this country makes it money, I reckon. They get us in with a promise of dawn-to-dusk sex (and then a bit more!) and nothing passes them by. Not a single fucking tiny insignificant orgasm. What fucking cheek!”

“What are you gonna do about it?” wondered Tracey with genuine interest.

“There’s fuckall we can do. We’ll just have to pay by credit card and hope the limit’s big enough. Hey, here comes hubby!”

Her husband, a large man in a suit and tee-shirt wandered towards them carrying a small case and holding his bill in his hand. His stubbled face did not look well pleased. “Fucking cunt bastards!” he exclaimed, mirroring his wife’s comments. “That orgy on Friday cost us nearly a month’s income!”

Tracey and Sharon retreated to the beach, the only place they knew where they wouldn’t be charged for going, and spread themselves out, naked as always except for the jewellery that adorned them . They stared towards the sea where the waves crashed onto the shore and where several other tourists were fucking and being fucked on the fine-grained sand.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Sharon, knowing full well why Tracey was so untypically quiet.

“I don’t think we can afford the bill.”

“Yeah, but we got plastic. That’ll cover it, won’t it! What the fuck’s plastic for, anyway?”

“Yeah, we got plastic. But we also got, - whatchayoucallit? - credit card limits. That’s the most you can put on plastic. The absolute tops.”

“Yeah, well?”

“Yeah, well. It’s not gonna be enough. Not nearly fucking enough! Those cunts have got us. You saw what Lil’s paying. And you saw what she’s paying for. Not even half a dozen fucks a day.”

“She always said she’d done more than that.”

“Well. She’s old, ain’t she. She can’t do it as much as we can. And anyway, she ain’t had our practice. I always thought she were a bit light-weight. We’ve done two, three, four, I dunno, much more fucking than her.”

“She can’t take it, can she?”

“Yeah, but least she can pay for it. We can’t! We’re fucking screwed! I don’t know what the fuck we’re gonna do!”

“Yeah, so what! It’s on plastic, ain’t it?”

“Course it is. But when we come to pay, our plastic’s gonna bounce. It’s gonna bounce worse than a fucking beach ball. It’s gonna bounce. And we’re gonna be well and truly fucked.”

Sharon frowned. She stroked the rings in her labia, the cost of which she was now bitterly regretting. “So, what they gonna do to us?”

“They’re gonna lock us up and throw away the fucking key. We’re gonna spend the rest of our lives in some fucking jail. And the fucking ambassador’s not gonna bail us out. Not a couple of tarts like us.”

Sharon’s face visibly paled in the sun. She chewed on a fingernail. “I’m scared, Tray. You think that’s what they’re gonna do?”

“Well! What do you fucking think? This ain’t home, is it? They can do what they fucking like here. I don’t fancy our chances at all.”

After further discussion, they decided that the only option open to them was to try and make a quick get-away from Throb to avoid paying the bill. It wasn’t a thought uppermost in their minds the last week or so, but now it seemed like the only sensible option. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d absconded without paying, but this looked like being the most risky. However, before planning an escape, they first had to survey the lie of the land. One thought they had was that if they left from a different border from the one they arrived they might get away without the Royal Government of Buggery demanding the money that would soon be owing. How to get to this border was the big question.

Throb was not that large a resort. It was perhaps ten miles along the coast and went two miles inland. Inside the town’s perimeters, all was sex and sun. Hotels, night clubs, bars and beach. However, the two friends found that if you walked far in any direction you came across a wire fence guarded by fierce looking men or women with curious rubber truncheons and snarling dogs. Even the furthest reach of the sandy beach was lined with a row of sharp spikes and barbed wire to keep tourists in. And possibly, also to keep other people out. Beyond, this was a kind of wilderness with battered shacks and the odd grazing goat. Although this containment seemed strange to the girls, it essentially meant that it was nowhere as easy to leave Throb as it might at first have seemed.

“So, do you know of a way out?” Sharon asked Pru in the bar that evening, after having explained their dilemma. She seemed extremely uncomfortable with her knowledge of the girls’ circumstances, if not even rather embarrassed/

“Well, in any normal place, I’d suggest you just come clean,” she answered, “but, here, and don’t ever tell anyone I suggested this to you, have you ever thought of going on a day trip? At least you can get out of Throb and maybe you can find your way to another border from there.”

It had never crossed the two girls’ minds to leave the holiday resort. After all, everything they wanted was close at hand. Why go anywhere else? Sharon and Tracey couldn’t care less about ruins or museums or anything cultural. They couldn’t think of anything more piss-poor boring. But reluctantly, and with a little help from Pru, they had a look at what day trips were available. These were all displayed in a quaint looking Tourist Information Centre near the beach.

Almost all the day trips were to parts of the country where the main raison d’Ltre was the sex that was on offer when you got there. One which seemed suitably remote and seemed comfortably close to Sodom, with which Buggery was not at war, was a small place called Pederasty. Besides the promise of sex, there was a mediFval castle and a particularly large monument to King Peter the Fourteenth, the current ruler of Buggery.

The two girls left almost all they had at the hotel, except money, jewellery, passports and bikinis for the airport which they tucked into their bags. They didn’t want to arouse suspicion by taking things out of their room like toothbrushes or clothes. They got on to a bus full of other tourists heading to Pederasty, which mostly consisted of middle-aged or older men. Many of them were still clothed, but one or two had got into the spirit of life in Buggery and wore nothing but hats to keep the sun off their eyes. These were the men with the most leathery skin and the most lined faces.

There were only two other women besides themselves. One was a tourist, in her late thirties wearing only glasses and red skin peeling painfully from exposure to the sun. The other woman was a travel courier and barely a woman at all: her breasts were mere bumps with puffy nipples. She wore nothing but a little flower in her cunt which she encouraged the other tourists to tweak. She waggled her bum as she passed by and giggled appreciatively if anyone pinched it. After sucking off a man just opposite them on the bus, Tracey ventured to ask “If we really like it in Pederasty, can we stay the night?” The girl, who called herself Little Pussy, wiped the semen from her mouth and looked a little alarmed.

“Are you likely to do that?”

“It sounds like a paradise on earth to us, this Pederasty place, dearie. We’d just love to stay all night.”

Little Pussy, who had been hard selling the underage delights of Pederasty was put in a difficult position. “Well, it sure is a wonderful place, but are you sure you won’t want to go back to Throb?”

“Can’t we just book into a hotel and come back on a bus later, dearie?” suggested Sharon.

“I’ll check with Big Hunk”, Little Pussy said referring to the driver. This came back with a reserved affirmative, but both Little Pussy and Big Hunk seemed very uncomfortable with the two girls from then on. Little Pussy was very insistent on having sex with the two girls in the apparent hope of changing their minds, but although Sharon let her, and had to admit she was very good at it, that couldn’t have been sufficient. In any case, although she liked the attention of Little Pussy’s fingers and tongue on her vagina, not to mention her nipples and mouth, it was men she preferred. Both she and Tracey had always preferred a good cock: though given the choice between the pleasant firm body of the little girl and the flabby, unpleasant looking bodies of the male tourists they were with, she couldn’t be sure that her interests were really so gynaecological rather than aesthetic. She took pleasure, as she lay back on her seat next to Tracey, with the small girl between them, fingers and tongues sharing their sunburnt bodies equally, at the stares she was receiving from the other tourists. Fuck you! She thought with pleasure as she saw one overweight man uncomfortably stroking his tiny penis, trying to get more life into what little of it there was.

Certainly, the girls became aware that although in terms of sexual activity they had a freedom impossible at home, their freedom was circumscribed in other ways. As they passed through the town limits of Throb, the guards were very insistent in looking at passports and at the things the girls were carrying. “Why the bikini?” asked one border guard, a very muscular woman wearing leather boots and shoulder pads but nothing else but well-built muscles.

“Too much sun”, suggested Tracey. The guard sniffed. It was the couriers, not the tourists, who got most attention from the guards and none of it very friendly. Little Pussy had her legs prised open while one guard shoved his fingers inside her cunt as if he were looking for something. She smiled weakly at the rest of the bus during this obvious humiliation, while the guard licked the come off the fingers of one hand, but continued probing with his other hand.

It was a relief for the girls, but even more so for Little Pussy, when the bus finally drove out of Throb and travelled through the countryside of Buggery. This was the first time the girls had seen so much of Buggery outside of Throb, and it was not especially beautiful. The countryside consisted mostly of parched farmland with pot-holed roads, lined at intervals of every hundred meters by large posters of King Peter XIV. In fact, there were rather more reminders of his rule outside Throb than they’d ever seen inside. Every small village had a statue of him and of previous monarchs. Every lamp post and every telegraph pole had a portrait of him attached to it. The impression given from the pictures and statues was that he was a genial and dignified person. His favourite pose was to stare into the half-distance, with a grim smile, surrounded at his knees by a coterie of seated attractive naked women whilst brutal looking men stood just beside him looking towards him with proud admiring gazes.

In the fields were peasants in various degrees and types of undress. They stopped briefly at one village, which appeared to operate entirely for the benefit of tourists, where they were allowed to stretch their legs and buy drinks and snacks from some makeshift stalls. This had an ambience very similar to the small markets of Throb, but didn’t offer nearly enough other distraction to encourage anyone to stay.