Escape From Buggery Ch. 06

“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 had 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 next 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.