Chapter 2: The 'Fun' Begins

Helen and her stepdaughter were thrust into a shabby room on the second floor of the old farmhouse. It was furnished with a king-size bed a small chest of drawers and little else. There was an adjoining closet with an old-fashioned flush toilet and washbasin. A barred window, in the wall opposite the bed, overlooked the back yard.

Katrina, naked but for a pair of cotton socks, was trembling with cold and shock. She was sobbing uncontrollably. Her thighs were smeared with evidence of her recent rape. Helen, despite nursing a suspected broken rib and a badly bruised throat, did her best to comfort the young girl.

Their jailer, Ma Butcher, stood in the doorway, hands on hips, and announced, "You're in here to give my boys a good time. Make sure you do! I don't want to hear any crap about how much ransom money you could pay if only we'd let you go. Your husband has already tried that line and it won't wash, Barbie!"

"Why?" Helen interjected. Her voice was cracked and it hurt her to speak. "Seems like good business to me!"

Ma shrugged. "Too risky! It's safer and easier to make you disappear. I'm keeping you alive because I like to see my boys have a bit of fun! Give me any trouble and, trust me, you're fucking history!"

Helen tried to keep Ma talking but she went, locking the solid wooden door to the bedroom behind her.

The bed boasted a mattress, but no sheets. The mattress was heavily stained. The darker stains could have been blood. The lighter stains were less identifiable. There were ropes and leather straps attached to each corner post of the solid brass bedstead which attested to the bed's past history. Helen was alarmed at these signs that the room had been used before to cater for the boys' "bit of fun".

Helen bathed Katrina, using the lining ripped from the skirt of her dress as a wash cloth. There was only a cold-water tap. She found a tattered brown blanket in one of the drawers, which she wrapped around her shivering stepdaughter. Evening was drawing on but it was still light. Katrina curled up on the bed while Helen explored their prison looking for anything that could help them escape.

The bars on the window were screwed to the window frame. Helen tested each screw with her thumb nail and was surprised to find the left-hand bar was only loosely attached. She managed to turn the screw a little before her nail broke.

"Damn!" she croaked.

The window was jammed shut but not nailed. By rattling the wooden frame Helen was able to raise it a little. Looking down she estimated it was about a fifteen-foot drop onto the cobbled yard. Not an impossible drop, but risky. The farmyard was flanked by two stone-built buildings and an old wooden barn. From the left-hand building Helen could hear an unfamiliar noise. Muted squeals and deeper grunts.

"Pigs?" she wondered aloud.

"Cops?" queried Katrina hopefully. "Where?" She sat up and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"No, Katrina. Not police. Pigs. I think this place is a pig farm."

The teenager looked blankly at her stepmother. "What are we going to do?" said the girl quietly.

"Try and escape. Survive until we do." Helen's voice gave out. "Sorry, Kat, my throat..."

"Yeah. Don't talk. I heard what that mean old bitch said. They're going to fuck us, aren't they. And she's going to watch. And when they have had enough 'fun' she'll make us 'disappear'. How do you think she'll do that?"

As if in answer to Katrina's question, there was a sudden increase in the noise from the piggery.

Helen shuddered. "You get some rest while you can," she managed. "I think we will both need all our strength tonight!" She climbed onto the bed and put her arms around Katrina. They lay down. Neither woman slept.

The "fun" started about two hours later. The door opened and the single unshaded light globe that hung from the ceiling flickered into life. Ma Butcher entered carrying a stout wooden kitchen-chair, which she set down by the side of the bed. She stood behind the chair.

"You got a visitor, Barbie," she said.

Mark, his hands tied behind his back, was pushed through the doorway by Spike. The biker was still wearing his boots and leather pants. His black tee shirt was a mite cleaner than Ma's. He was grinning broadly. He carried a short metal and plastic rod, which had two prongs on the end.

Mark was dressed only in his shirt. The buttons had been ripped off and it was open and stained. He had a black eye and a swollen lip. A yellow ribbon was fastened around the base of his penis, tied in a bow. Spike sat Mark on the chair.

"Ain't ya gonna say, 'Hi' to your husband?" asked Ma. Helen sat up on the bed. She said nothing. She looked at Mark but he only gave her a brief glance of absolute despair and resignation, then avoided her gaze and stared at his feet. Katrina quickly squinted at her father then looked away, flustered and embarrassed.

"I asked you a question, Barbie!" hissed Ma malevolently. "When I do that, you gotta answer or Spike will zap you with his prod. Show her, Spike!"

The biker thumbed a switch on the barrel of the prod and touched Helen's arm with the metal prongs. The shock was violent. Helen was unable to suppress a cry of pain. Spike offered to prod her again.

"Hi, Mark!" she sobbed.

"Good girl!" laughed Ma. "That's rule number one!"

Helen rubbed her sore arm. "And what's rule number two, you sadistic bitch?" she grated.

Spike zapped her again.

"Rule number two, Barbie, is don't speak until you're spoken to! But I'm glad to see someone in the family shows a bit of spirit." She grabbed a fistful of Mark's hair and jerked his head back. "This cur came to heel without much of a whipping. He fucks to order, don't ya, Mark?"

"Yes, Ma!" he quavered.

"And why are we here?" queried Ma, as she jerked his head back.

"We're here to watch Spike..." Mark sobbed.

"Watch Spike do what, lover?"

"... fuck my wife!" he blurted.

Ma laughed. It was not a musical experience. "That's right!"said Ma. She reached over the back of the chair and took hold of the loose foreskin of his floppy penis then pulled, which stretched it upwards. "D'ya like the pretty ribbon, Kid? Matches your step-momma's hair?"

Katrina, eyes wide and brimming with tears managed a hesitant, "Yes, it does!" and so avoided the prod that Spike was ready to use.

"What's the matter, Kid? You never seen your Daddy's cock before?" said Ma.

"No," said the young woman.

"Well, get off the bed. Come and have a good look."

Katrina slid off the bed and took the two steps needed to be next to the chair on which her father was seated.

"Stroke it, Kid!"

Katrina stretched out and gave the proffered member a tentative rub.

"No. Not like that. Pump it like you saw my boy Pat do in the hall!"

Katrina's hand wrapped around her father's plump but soft cock, She began to gently stroke up and down.

"Lose the blanket, Kid!"said Ma.

Katrina let her covering slip to the floor. Mark gasped to see the bruising and puffiness around her vagina and the marks left by Ma's fierce grip on his daughter's breasts.

"My God! She's been raped!" he yelled. Spike gave a wicked grin and applied the prod for a second or two. Mark bucked and screamed in the chair.

Ma laughed. "Rule Number Two! Okay, Kid. Stop pumping. You can sit on Daddy's knee while Barbie gets hers."

Katrina hesitated for a moment then sat astride her father's bare legs. Her firm round buttocks pressed hard against Mark's prickly pubic hairs. She shifted uncomfortably but Ma pressed down on the teenager's shoulders."Good girl!" said Ma, "that's rule number three. Do as you're fucking told!" She chuckled and addressed Helen. "Strip, Barbie! Spike's getting real worked up!" She took the prod from her son and winked at him. He grinned back.