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 Ma Butcher's Boys

   Chapter Six Family Reunion by Ozmanga

   3017 words

   Ma put down the telephone receiver and smiled a hard, cruel, smile.  Her
two sons, Patrick and Spike, looked up hopefully from where they sat
slumped over the kitchen table.  It was early morning, an hour before dawn.
They had been awake all night.  Ever since Katrina Outhwaite had escaped
from the room with the big brass bed, they had been frantically searching
the roads north and south of the Butcher's pig-farm, without success.

   "That was the, Sheriff Bud Jansen," she said.  "The kid made it to the
outskirts of Butchersville.  She fell into his arms.  She told him
everything she knew.  He vowed to investigate.  He assured the kid, that if
only a half of what she had told him was true, 'he would see Ma Butcher and
her boys behind bars for the rest of their lives.'"

   She grinned broadly, "Christ knows how the evil bastard kept a straight
face."

   "Who did she get a lift from?" asked Spike.

   "Lorry driver, Bud says, driving a Mac diesel, towing a big trailer."

   "Cheesus ..." began Patrick, jumping up and stamping.  "I knew that old
mother-fucker was lying.  She must have been on the floor of the cab when
he pointed the shotgun at me.  She would have spilt her guts to him too. 
What happened to him?"

   "He's dead," said Ma."Seems he tried to fuck with her in the layby and
got his head blown off along with two young punks from the town.  Bud says
not to worry, Deputy Sherman is looking after things."

   "That faggot!  I don't know how Bud can stand to have that slimy queer
around all the time," said Spike.

   "Don't be a fool.  Without Deputy Sherman, Bud wouldn't last a week in
office.  Not with his taste for teenage tush.  Sherman fixes things.  Fixes
them so they stay fixed," snapped Ma.  "You don't have to like the s.o.b.
but you gotta respect him."

   * * *

   In the cellar, Mark Outhwaite sat on the narrow bed, to which he was
chained, and regarded his second wife, Helen, coldly.  She was suspended,
by her wrists, from a pulley attached to the ceiling.  Her feet barely
reached the ground.  She could sometimes ease the pain in her arms by
standing tip-toed on the stone floor of their prison.  She was wearing a
transparent nightdress, cum-stained and torn.  Mark couldn't help her, even
if he'd wanted to.

   "Katrina must have got away.  It's been so long since the mad bitch was
last here," Mark said.

   "If Katrina has," groaned Helen, "I hope she gets help before the
Butchers decide to get rid of the incriminating evidence."

   "You mean, kill us?" said Mark, shivering.  "Do you know how they do
it?"

   "Does it matter?  Dead is dead."

   "I mean dispose of the bodies.  The Butchers have been abducting people
and using them," he waved an arm to indicate the well-established torture
chamber and the small cells off it, "for years.  And no one suspects them."


   "The mad bitch explained that.  They lay a false trail in a big city. 
God, how I hurt!" Helen groaned.

   "Spike, that young man you take such pleasure in being fucked by, told
me yesterday how they do it.  How they get rid of their victims when they
get tired of 'playing' with them," whined Mark, spitefully.

   Helen stared at her husband.  "I don't enjoy being fucked, violently and
in public, by Spike or any other rapist.  I've done what I had to do to
protect your daughter to the best of my ability.  Don't complain," she
croaked.

   "We were working in the piggery.  Me, Pigboy and Spike.  Spike wanted to
frighten me.  He succeeded.  Don't you want to know what he said?"

   "So, tell me."

   "They've got a proper, certified, slaughterhouse at the back of the
piggery.  Every week or so they kill up to ten pigs.  Your friend, Spike,
calls it 'slaughterday'."

   "A bit poetic for Spike."

   "They sell prime pork to one of the big food wholesalers.  The ears and
feet and other bits go to a pet-food manufacturer.  The blood is sold to a
firm of sausage makers.  Nothing is wasted.  What little is left is ground
up very small and then kiln dried, then it's ground again into a fine,
grey, powder.  It is sold as blood and bone fertilizer."

   "My God!" Helen gasped.

   "Spike boasted the mixture would defy analysis.  The slaughterhouse is
cleaned and sterilized.  Ma Butcher can make us disappear without a trace."

   Helen sighed.

   "Pigboy does the slaughtering and butchering.  He's a mute half-wit,
says Spike, and an enthusiastic bisexual necrophiliac," added Mark.

   Helen looked at her white-faced husband.  "Well, let us hope your
daughter can find the police before that happens to us," she said as
cheerfully as she could.  "I've always said I wanted my ashes strewn on the
roses when I die, but not just yet."

   * * *

   Katrina was woken by a tall thin man wearing state police uniform and
carrying a cup of tea.  He smiled at the sleepy teenager and said, "Milk
and two sugars?"

   Katrina nodded her thanks and sat up in the narrow but comfortable bed
before realising that she was naked.  She hurriedly pulled up the top sheet
to cover her breasts.  The thin policeman smiled at her.  "There's no need
to panic, Katrina.  I have no interest in little girls."

   "I'm sorry," mumbled the young woman.  "After what I've been through in
the last few days, I ..."

   "I quite understand," interrupted the policeman.  "I am Deputy Sherman.
Get up when you have finished your tea.  I'll cook breakfast, then we will
talk about last night.  Okay?"

   Katrina nodded.  Deputy Sherman indicated a small pile of neatly folded
clothes.  "Your dress is beyond cleaning.  Those are the best we can manage
at such short notice.  A bit young for you perhaps , but ..." he shrugged.

   The teenager smiled.  She had little experience of homosexual males but
she thought Deputy Sherman was a sweet, thoughtful, man.  When she had
finished the tea she got up, showered, shampooed her hair and dressed in
the clean outfit provided.  The plaid skirt was very short and the plain
white blouse rather tight across Katrina's well developed bosom.  No bra or
pants were provided.  She hadn't worn calf length stockings and ankle-strap
shoes since leaving school.  At least, she thought, they have a heel.

   Katrina wolfed her breakfast of eggs, bacon, pancakes, and coffee.  She
was feeling better than she had since before her abduction.  She was soon
ready to answer the questions put by the Deputy Sheriff.

   "I have a clear idea of what happened," said the Deputy Sherman.  "You
were given a lift by the driver of the truck and repaid him in kind ..."

   Katrina started to interrupt but the Deputy held up a pair of badly
stained white cotton panties.  "I recovered these from the cab.  It is
clear that you copulated more than once, both vaginally and anally.  You
sustained no injuries.  I'm sure that the truck driver, not a young man,
was happy with his reward."

   "It wasn't like that," wailed Katrina.

   "There were no injuries to the driver other than those caused by the
hijacker's baseball bats.  So we must presume you had consensual sex with
the driver.  You probably had little choice."

   "None!" protested Katrina.  "I had to get away from the Butcher's farm!
The Sheriff ..."

   "Has that matter well in hand.  You need have no fear that Ma Butcher
and her sons will get everything they deserve." The deputy paused,
"Everything.  Now, back to what happened in the layby.  The driver left the
truck in order to relieve himself, right?"

   "Yes.  He handcuffed me to the bunk beforehand."

   "The two youths rendered him unconscious before freeing you?"

   "Yes."

   "Then why did you shoot them?"

   "They were going to rape me!"

   The Deputy Sheriff moved around behind Katrina."What lovely soft hair
you have.  Do you mind if I comb and braid it?"

   Katrina was surprised but answered, "N ...  No, I don't mind.  But why?"

   "It would help me think.  You see," he said starting to comb Katrina's
hair into two masses, "some would believe that blowing the heads off two
young men who merely expressed an intention of fucking a truck-driver's
whore - forgive my crude language, dear, but that's how the situation could
be painted - was murder, or manslaughter at least."

   Katrina went stiff with fright.  "You can't charge me with
manslaughter!" she cried.

   "Keep still," said Deputy Sherman.  "The fact is, Katrina, I can.  But
whether I do is up to the Sheriff.  I can make it seem you were never at
the layby.  I can say that the truck-driver died defending his rig.  I can
say that he expired of his head wounds after he had killed the would-be
hijackers with his shotgun." There was a long pause while Deputy Sherman
concentrated on Katrina's hair.  "There," he said holding up a sable plait
fastened by a pink ribbon, " half done.  Now for the other."

   "But pretending I wasn't there would be wrong.  It would be against the
law."

   "Yes.  It would.  But you would be escaping from any punishment for
having killed two young men, murderous little thugs with their brains in
their scrotums, though they were."

   Katrina started to weep.

   "Don't despair," said the deputy after a while.  "The Sheriff has a
policy of not invoking the wrath of the law on young first offenders.  He
has a scale of summary punishments for youngsters such as yourself who, for
one reason or another, fall foul of the law."

   "What do you mean, 'summary punishments'," Katrina sniffed.

   "Well, typically, breaking the speed limit will earn the young offender
six strokes of the cane, should she choose to accept the Sheriff's
alternative.  Last week, we had a young woman who failed to stop after an
accident.  She received a severe strapping and spent two nights in the
cells." There was another long pause before the Deputy stood back and said,
"There, that's done.  You look no older than sixteen.  The Sheriff will be
pleased."

   "Pleased?"

   "He has a soft spot for little girls.  Shall we go and see him?"

   Katrina stood up and was escorted by Deputy Sherman into the Sheriff's
inner sanctum.  On the way they passed a mirror.  Katrina barely recognised
the reflection of the long-legged schoolgirl, with two beribboned braids,
as herself.

   "Ah!" exclaimed Sheriff Jansen from his seat behind his large solid
wooden desk.  "The Outhwaite girl.  Have you explained our dilemma, Deputy
Sherman?"

   "I have, Sheriff.  I believe Katrina will accept your summary punishment
rather than face a lengthy and uncertain trial for manslaughter." He stood
back.

   "Is that right, Katrina?" asked Bud Jansen.  Katrina nodded.  She was
starting to feel a bit giddy.

   "You have been a very naughty girl, Katrina," said the Sheriff.  "I am
going to give you twenty-five strokes on your bare bottom.  Do you agree?"

   Katrina thought she must be going crazy.  Her vision blurred.  She tried
hard to focus.  "Agree?" she echoed.

   The Sheriff rose and moved around the desk to where Katrina and his
Deputy stood.  He held a bamboo rod, about three feet long, in his right
fist.  He looked at the young woman.  He licked his fat lips.

   "Good.  Now I'm going to beat you," he said.  "Bend down!"

   Bud Jansen no longer resembled the benevolent Santa Claus with a
gun-belt Katrina had warmed to earlier.  The look in his eyes was
distressingly familiar.  "He's going to rape me!" thought Katrina.  The
room seemed to waver.  She bent at the waist.  Her short skirt rose and
uncovered the smooth roundness of her lower buttocks and her hairless,
puffy, swollen, labia.

   Katrina heard the Deputy's voice, as if in the distance say, "If you're
going to do it you'd better be quick.  The knockout drops are beginning to
work." While she was trying to make sense of the words she felt a streak of
fire caress her backside as Bud Jansen began to flog her exposed buttocks
with the bamboo rod.

   Katrina screamed and tried to fight but found it difficult to coordinate
her actions.  Jansen twisted the woman's braided hair in one hand and held
her head down on the desk while the other rose and fell with increasing
force and speed.  She felt each fierce stroke.  Her resistance weakened.

   She heard the Sheriff yell, "Godammit, the bitch is going to sleep on
me!" before Sherman grabbed her wrists and hauled her across the Sheriff's
desk.  The flogging intensified.  Her head was whirling.  The last thing
she recognised before falling into a deep, drugged, sleep was the familiar
and unwelcome feeling of her ass cheeks being dragged apart and the head of
an engorged penis being roughly forced into her rectum.

   * * *

   The dungeon door opened and Ma entered, followed by a tall man in the
uniform of the state police.  Seeing the uniform Helen felt a surge of
hope. Without a word Ma loosened the rope which suspended Helen from the
ceiling.  The little blonde nearly collapsed on the floor but managed to
stand massaging the cramped muscles of her calves and arms with no thought
of modesty.  Not, noted Helen, that the policeman's inspection of her was
at all lascivious.

   Ma cleared her throat.  She was looking poker-faced.  "Your daughter,
Katrina, has reported me and my boys to the Sheriff in Butchersville." Ma
said."This is Deputy Sherman.  He wants to have a word with your husband."

   "Please," said the Deputy, "Go upstairs with Mistress Butcher.  I will
join you shortly.  Katrina will tell you what is happening when she has
recovered."

   Puzzled, Helen followed Ma into the cellar.  She thought she heard a
yelp from Mark as they went up the stairs and into the corridor at ground
level.  Helen expected to find the farm-house swarming with police but she
saw none.  It began to dawn on her that all was not as it should be.

   Helen's pessimism was confirmed as she entered the kitchen to find
Patrick and Spike standing either side of the big wooden table where a
supine, unconscious, Katrina was sprawled.  The teenager's plaid miniskirt
was pushed up to her waist.  The young men were admiring the lattice-work
pattern of red welts, which disfigured Katrina's plump, round, buttocks.

   "That's what happens to clever little girls who try to escape from Ma
Butcher and her boys," said Ma.  She grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and
dragged Helen to the table.  Ma forced her victim's head to within inches
of Katrina's scarred backside." Look!  The Sheriff did that, before he
buggered her." She shook Helen's head.  "What's more, he liked her so much
he'll be visiting next week for a second helping.  In the meantime you're
going to be good little whores for me and my boys, aren't you?"

   Tearfully Helen gave the required response.  "Yes, Ma, we're going to be
good little whores for you and your boys." Ma let go of Helen's hair.

   "Good," snapped Ma.  "Just to remind you, I'm going to give you one of
these." She held up a stainless-steel ring-clip.  "You know what it is?"

   Helen shook her head, "No, Ma, I don't know what it is."

   "It's a ring for a piglet's nose."

   Helen's hands shot up to her face.  "No!  Oh, no!" she cried.

   "Get her on the table," Ma ordered her sons.

   The two young men, who had clearly been anticipating Ma's command,
grabbed the petite blonde and, each grasping an arm and a leg, spreadeagled
her over the unconscious body of her stepdaughter.  Ma stood between
Helen's legs, holding the ring between her teeth and a small needle-sharp
awl in her right hand.

   "Not your pretty face, Barbie," said Ma, forcing two fingers of her left
hand into Helen's exposed vagina and squeezing a lip of flesh between them
and her thumb.  "Your cunt." And she drove the awl through the flap of
flesh.

   Helen screamed and screamed as Ma secured the ring in the bloody passage
made by the awl and completed her crude surgery by pouring a strong
disinfectant over the wound.

   "That's going to hurt when the boys have their fun tonight," chuckled
Ma.

   * * *

   The captive women were put back in the bedroom with the big brass bed to
recover from their respective ordeals.  They were stripped and cuffed to
the bed.  Helen noted that the loose bar on the window had been resecured
and the window itself screwed shut.  Her suitcase had been removed.

   Night had fallen when Ma pushed Mark into the room and sat him on the
chair.  She was carrying a cane and had tied a blue ribbon around his
flaccid member.  She unchained Katrina who was still groggy from the drug
administered by Deputy Sherman.

   "I want you to be nice to your daddy, kid," she said slyly.  "His
sexuality needs a boost after what the Deputy did to him in the dungeon. 
Give him what you gave the truck-driver last night."

   Katrina hesitated and Ma was obliged to give her a cut across her
scarred buttocks before the confused teenager sank to her knees between her
father's thighs and took his penis between her trembling lips.  She had not
completed the required task before Spike and Patrick came into the bedroom
looking for 'fun'.

   Spike pulled Katrina onto his erection by tugging on the long braids
plaited by Deputy Sherman.  Mark's swollen cock slid out of her mouth and
the young woman was made to finish her father off by hand while Spike
enjoyed her doggy-fashion.

   Patrick, meanwhile, took sadistic pleasure in twisting Helen this way
and that as he savagely forced his thick-veined cock scrotum-deep into her
ass.  She tried to deny him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out but,
such was the pain caused by the piglet-ring, that after the first three
minutes, she began to scream.  Despite the fact that the protest
exacerbated her damaged throat, Helen did not stop screaming until after
the brutal rapist had finished his treatment of her, by grabbing her cunt
in his massive hand and squeezing, while he spurted and jerked deep inside
her churning guts.