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 Ma Butcher's Boys

   Chapter Eight Slaughternight

   by Ozmanga

   3,780 words

   After breakfast, Ma gave her customary orders for the daily running of
the farm, but told the Outhwaite women (Mark was not present) to wait.  She
had Spike cuff them, and when Spike and his older brother had gone about
their business, Ma escorted the women up the stairs to the bedroom.  She
chained them to the bed and told them she would be back later with their
costumes for their last performance.

   "That was quite a show you put on last night," said Ma.  "I'm sorry
you're not going to be with us much longer.  So are the boys."

   "So, where are the pills you promised?" asked Helen coldly.

   "Yeah.  Sorry about that.  I changed my mind.  Can't have you giggling
when you ought to be screaming, can I?  And you will be screaming, Barbie,
I can assure you, before you die."

   "From what I heard on the telephone, Katrina and I are to dress as
schoolgirls and get our bottoms caned by the Sheriff.  That sounds
unpleasant, but not lethal.  So I guess there's more?"

   "That's how it starts, Barbie.  But then Bud takes a few purple pills,
and opens a bottle of scotch, and it gets nastier.  He'll have one of you
strung up to the ceiling and start to flog her with a whip.  He likes one
to play with his cock and balls while he beats the Christ out of the other.
If he gets horny enough he'll stop flogging and fuck one of you, then it's
back to the whip.  When his arm gets tired, he'll have his deputy or me
fasten one of you to the saw-horse, and give the other a choice of
strap-ons.  God help her if she doesn't perform.  A drop more scotch, and a
few more pills, and he's ready to fuck again.  Then it gets really nasty
and he's ready to rip the skin off whoever's standing.  Can last up to
three hours or more."

   "How often has he done this?" asked Helen, aghast at the detail Ma had
described.

   "Twice," said the jailer."Twice, he's sent a couple of wild girls to 'a
confidential reformatory for young offenders'.  This is his first time he's
wanted to fuck with slaves we've abducted.  The Deputy told him you and the
kid looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.  He liked what he
saw of the kid, so here we are.  Time for you 'lesbian lovers' to become
'naughty schoolgirls.'"

   "When does this ridiculous pantomime begin?" sneered Helen.

   Ma shrugged.  "The Deputy said they would be here at three, Barbie.  You
planning to be somewhere else?"

   Helen shook her head.

   "Thought not," said Ma.  "I'll be back at about two with some little
girl outfits.  Before that I'll send that useless dick-wit, Mark, up with a
special meal for you all.  Sorta condemned prisoners' 'hearty breakfast'.
You can have whatever you like, providing it's roast chicken, Barbie.  What
dya say to that?"

   Helen said nothing.  As Ma left the bedroom she locked the door behind
her.

   * * *

   "Okay," said Helen as she finished the last of the roast chicken.  "I'll
be damned if I'll go quietly.  If we all attack one of them we might be
able to hold him as hostage before the other can react.  But we'll have to
do it sooner, rather than later, because once the torture starts ..."

   Mark shuddered.  "It's no use," he lamented.  "They're much too strong
for us.  If they're in uniform, they'll certainly be armed, and Ma's got a
gun too.  She keeps it in the locker by the door of the dungeon."

   Helen was interested.  "What sort of gun?" she asked.

   Mark shrugged.  "I don't know.  I only saw it once.  It looked like the
sort of gun used for trap shooting.  Some sort of shotgun.  Attacking one
of them won't do any good.  It will just get you killed quicker."

   "That's Plan B," muttered his wife, too softly for him to hear.  Katrina
smiled at her stepmother and nodded.

   "A shotgun!" cooed Katrina.  "I can use a shotgun!  Give me a chance to
get my hands on it and we have a fighting chance."

   "Right," enthused Helen.  "Here's the plan.  Mark and I will attack one
of the state policemen.  Katrina gets the shotgun and we take it from
there. Not much of a plan but better than nothing.  I'll give the signal to
attack.  I'll yell, 'Take that, you evil bastard!' and hit the target as
hard as I can.  Mark, you join in, right?"

   Mark swallowed.  "I suppose so," he mumbled.  "But it will never work."

   * * * Ma was pleased with her efforts.  The three captives stood with
their backs against the dungeon wall to which their wrists were chained. 
They were in school uniform of a sort.  Each wore a broad brimmed hat with
a ribbon around the dome-shaped crown.  Katrina's natural black braids were
matched by Mark's false, yellow, wig.  Ma had wet the thin cotton blouses
so that the women's breasts showed through.  All three Outhwaites wore
plaid mini-skirts.  Katrina wore ankle-socks and the ankle-strap shoes she
had been equipped with by the Deputy Sheriff at their last encounter.  The
long socks she had been given on that occasion were being worn by her
father.  Helen had retained her black stockings and high-heeled footwear
from the night before.  Only Katrina was wearing underwear.

   Patrick and Spike lolled around the dungeon making crude jokes, mainly
about Mark's appearance and his unsteadiness in a pair of high heeled
pumps, two sizes too small.  Ma had changed into blue overalls and boots.
At three o'clock Sheriff Bud Jansen and his deputy arrived.  Both were in
uniform and, as predicted by Mark, both wore gun-belts sporting a
regulation holster containing a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver.

   The Sheriff was full of bonhomie and good cheer.  He gave Ma a peck on
the cheek and a pat on the butt, and said, "Howdy," to the boys.  Bud
regarded the line-up of "schoolgirls" with bright, predatory, eyes. 
"Lookee here!" he boomed at his deputy, lifting Mark's skirt to reveal
coloured ribbons tied tightly around the prisoner's scrotum.  "There's even
one for you!"

   Deputy Sherman smiled a thin smile and put the sports-bag he had brought
with him on the wooden table.  He took out two bottles of Johnnie Walker
Black Label, three glasses and an ornate ivory pill box.  "One of you boys
like to get us some ice?" he asked.

   Pat and Spike merely glared at him until Ma snapped, "Spike!  Get some
fucking ice!" As Spike left the dungeon Sherman said conversationally,
"Nice ass, that boy." If looks could kill, thought Helen, there would be
one less for the forlorn hope to deal with.  Not that they could do a thing
just yet, attached as they were, by cuffs, to the dungeon wall.

   Bud Jansen got to know his victims.  He was a big man and stood a head
and shoulders taller that the line of captives.  First he leered down on
Katrina.  "This little lady I've met before.  Damn near went to sleep on
me, Ma.  Just got up her in time.  She was a very naughty girl.  Blew the
heads off two fine Butchersville Boys.  And I mean 'blew' with a shotgun,
and 'heads' as on shoulders, not cocks!" He laughed immoderately at his
joke.  He squeezed the teenager's nipples, still rouged from the previous
night's exhibition, through the thin linen blouse.  "Nice tits.  You've got
nice tits, child.  Haven't you?"

   Katrina maintained a stoic silence.

   "Answer the Sheriff, you stuck-up little tart!" bellowed Ma and advanced
toward Katrina waving the modified cattle prod.

   "Yes, I've got nice tits," offered Katrina.

   "Sir!" yelled Ma jabbing the prod at where the wet linen showed pink. 
Katrina screamed.

   "Yes, I've got nice tits, sir!" the young woman responded.

   "Good and firm," said the Sheriff.  "But a bit big for a girl of her
tender years?"

   "She's had a lot of sex, Sheriff.  Hell, even her own daddy fucks her."

   "Is that true?  Your daddy been poking your pussy?"

   "Yes, sir." Mark dropped his head in shame but the Sheriff didn't
notice.

   "Well, he probably taught you how to give a grown man a good time.  And
that's what we're here for, a good time.  Hey, you're wearing panties.  I'm
going to have to take those off you, little girl."

   The Sheriff passed by Mark and loomed over Helen.  "This ones got big
tits, too, Ma.  Big for a child of thirteen ..."

   "I'm damn nearly thirty, you dumb-shit!" croaked Helen, before Ma could
silence her with a long shock from the prod.

   The Sheriff sighed, "I know that, little girl, but this is my party and
I make up the rules.  If I say you're thirteen, that's how you act.  If I
say 'suck my dick', you suck it.  And if I say I'm going to send you up to
heaven, it means I'm gonna get Ma here to put steel hooks in those big ripe
tits of yours and haul you up to the fucking ceiling so I can ram a
baseball bat up your bloody ass!"

   Spike returned, scowling, with a large bowl of ice.  Deputy Sherman took
it from him.  The Sheriff turned to Spike and Patrick and said, "Now which
one of these little girls gives the best head?"

   Ma answered for them.  "Barbie is more experienced and can take some
throat but the kid has a sweet mouth, Bud.  So I've been told."

   Sherman poured three glasses of scotch and added three cubes of ice to
each.  He handed one to the Sheriff and one to Ma.  The third he sipped
himself.  "Why don't you have them demonstrate, Sheriff .  I'll take the
middle one and Ma's boys can have a final bit of 'fun' with the girls
before going about their duties."

   "Good idea, Deputy," said Jansen heartily.  "Unhook them from the wall,
Ma."

   Ma scurried to obey.

   "Now, young ladies, kneel, like you were at church," laughed Bud. 
"Hands together like you're praying.  Gentlemen!  Take your partners for a
face-fuck."

   Spike stood in front of Helen, Deputy Sherman before the trembling Mark
and Patrick, his hose-like rope-veined cock dribbling lubricant already in
his hand, advanced on Katrina.

   Helen did not disappoint Spike, who had been the first of the Butchers
to rape her, nearly two weeks earlier.  Then, like now, she hoped to milk
his heart for sympathy as skilfully as she milked his cock.  As she took
Spike's shaft between her palms, and opened her mouth to receive his plum
coloured glans, she glanced at Deputy Sherman.

   The policeman was thrusting his long, thin, penis into her husband's
mouth with every indication he meant to choke his cringing victim.  Mark
could not escape, because Sherman was holding tight onto the long yellow
braids of his wig.

   Down the line Helen could hear Patrick's cries of ecstasy and guessed
Katrina was trying for a quick result, using lips, tongue, fingers, teeth
and all.

   The Sheriff refreshed his glass and watched the proceedings his little
piggy eyes glittering with anticipation.  "Now don't go spoiling the little
ladies' uniforms, boys.  Make sure they don't let any of that vital fluid
drip on those nice white blouses."

   Patrick was the first to cum.  He had paid no attention to the Sheriff's
instruction and Katrina's blouse was spattered with gism, as was her face
and hair.

   "You don't hear so good, boy?" Bud yelled, "Get outa here!  Don't come
back til the screaming stops."

   Pat snarled "Fuck you, too," as he stormed out of the cellar.  As he did
so he brushed against the locker by the door which swung open an inch or
two.  Helen thought she saw the dark brown sheen of polished wood.  There
could be a gun in there, she thought.  It began to look to Helen as if
their crazy plan might work.

   Mark coughed and jerked violently, Deputy Sherman said, "Did it go down
the wrong way, Mark?" but his victim wasn't answering.  Mark slid to the
floor unconscious.  Helen's plan began to look less feasible.

   "You'd better give the little girl some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,
Deputy.  Or just let the son-of-a-bitch die.  It's up to you."

   Sherman tucked his dwindling cock inside his pants and dragged the
unconscious Mark to the bed.  He heaved Mark onto the mattress and cuffed
his arm to the bed-frame.  Mark coughed again and threw up.

   "I guess he'll live ...  for a while," the Deputy said quietly.

   "Now there's a little girl who listens to her betters," Jansen chortled,
as Helen tenderly squeezed Spike's balls and swallowed the last spurt of
his "vital fluid".  "We don't want to see you for a while, son," he
continued as he steered the panting biker towards the door.

   "Stand up," ordered Deputy Sherman.  The two kneeling women obeyed. 
Their eyes met.  Helen gave a minute shake of her head.  Not yet, she
thought.  One of them has to take off his pants and, more to the point, his
gun-belt.  Katrina frowned but did nothing but wipe some stickiness off her
face.

   "Kinda messy, aren't you, little girl?" asked the Sheriff.

   "Yes, sir," replied Katrina, and then added in a little girl simper,
"But he was soo big I couldn't get my little mouth around his huge cock."

   "You'll get it around mine if I have to break your fucking jaw," he
snarled.  "But later.  For now I want you two little girls to bend over
this saw-horse.  You've been naughty and I'm going to punish you."

   While Helen and her stepdaughter were pushed and pulled into position
next to the wooden structure indicated by Ma and the Deputy, the Sheriff
selected a thin, straight, dog-whip from the display of torture implements
arranged on one of the longer walls and tested it flexibility by cutting
the air vigorously.  The prisoners were bent over the wooden beam and their
wrists cuffed to ring bolts in the floor.  Jansen moved behind, them and
gently lifted the hem of each skirt.  He folded the cloth forward, to
expose the their raised backsides.  Katrina's plump cheeks still bore faint
evidence of her earlier encounter with the Sheriff and his Deputy.  The red
marks were not hidden by the sheer white thong that cupped her vagina.  He
grabbed the elastic waist band in both hands and ripped the garment off.

   "Nice little girls don't wear such things.  Isn't that right, Ma?" Ma
nodded.  "And look at this little slut.  She's got a ring in her sweet
little pussy.  Disgusting!" He paced back and forth swishing the dog-whip.
"I'm gonna give you both six of the best, just for starters.  Starting with
the little blonde girl.  You understand me, Barbie?

   "Yes, you disgusting old goat, I understand you perfectly," Helen
replied.  She flinched but managed not to cry out as Sheriff Jansen placed
six parallel stripes across the broadest part of her bare bottom.  He went
about the task in a leisurely manner, relishing every meaty thwack, and was
pleased with the accuracy achieved, if not the response.

   Katrina was not so stoical as Helen had been.  The Sheriff slashed at
her backside in the same deliberate way, but with touch more fury.  The
fourth, fifth and sixth stripe, all brought yells of pain.

   Deputy Sherman offered his boss a fresh drink, which he took, and the
carved box, which he waved away.  The Sheriff, glass in hand, stroked the
slaves' cunts, first with his dog-whip then with a large meaty hand.  He
sensed Helen flinch as his paw brushed the ring embedded in her labia.  He
pulled it, hard.  "You're a naughty little girl, aren't you?" he said to
her as his fingers jiggled the ring.

   "Yes!  Yes, Sheriff, I'm a naughty little girl!" Helen muttered trying
not to show how much he hurt.

   "You know I'm going to punish you?"

   "Yes, Sir," she croaked.

   "How old are you, little girl?"

   "I'm ...  I'm thirteen, Sir."

   "And never been fucked?"

   "Never, Sir."

   "Ma.  This one learns quickly.  I'll fuck her first.  Help me off with
my boots."

   Sheriff Bud Jansen sat heavily on one of the wooden chairs where the
women could see him.  Ma obliged by standing astride each proffered leg and
helped to tug off his highly polished jack boots.  Bud stood and removed
his gun belt, which he fastened and draped over the back of the chair,
before he doffed his blue riding breeches and boxer shorts.  His fat,
stiffening, cock lolled out from under his belly.  Helen thought it almost
as big around as Patrick's but longer.  As he rammed his erection into her
swollen pussy and raped her with fast, deep, strokes she knew she was
right. Her horror at, once again, being used as a sexual toy was
ameliorated by the sight of the butt of the Sheriff's .38 poking out from
its holster, a mere six feet from her shackled hands.

   Puffing and panting, the Sheriff came to a noisy climax and slid out of
Helen's flooded cunt.

   "You liked that, little girl?"

   "Oh, Yes, Sir!" Helen cooed, only to receive another six cuts across her
scarred bottom.

   "Wrong answer, Barbie," grinned Ma after Helen had stopped
screaming."Try again."

   "You liked it, did you?" repeated the Sheriff.

   "No!  No, you're too big.  It hurt.  Please don't do it again," Helen
extemporized.

   "That's better.  Ma, unshackle Katrina.  She can give me a tongue wash.
Then we'll see how Barbie likes a taste of the lash, eh, Deputy Sherman. 
Think I'll have one of those purple pills now.  Give the little girl
something to play with while I'm using the whip."

   Things happened quickly.  Ma unshackled Katrina's hands and dragged her
to where the Sheriff was standing, his monstrous cock dribbling onto the
dungeon floor.  Katrina, at Ma's command, began to lick him clean.

   Deputy Sherman offered the ivory box to his boss, who took a pill and
washed it down with a sip of scotch.  The Deputy went to sit on the bed,
next to Mark.

   Ma unshackled Helen from the floor but linked her wrists with the same
chain.  Ma attached a pulley to the chain and stripped off Helen's
miniskirt.

   "Don't want anything to soften the blow of the lash, Barbie," said Ma
and began to hoist Helen's arms towards the ceiling.  When her hands were
just over head height, Helen swung her legs up and lashed out with all the
power of her bunched thighs.  One high heel ripped a furrow through the
Sheriff's scalp.  The other penetrated his left eye-socket.  He fell, dead
or unconscious.

   "Take that you evil bastard!" she cried.

   Ma let go of the rope and Helen sprawled on the floor.  She scrambled to
her feet and made a grab for the Sheriff's pistol.  Katrina raced for the
locker and to her joy discovered a pump action shot gun.  She operated the
action and saw a fat red cartridge slip into the chamber.

   Deputy Sherman drew his revolver and took careful aim at Katrina.  As he
squeezed the trigger, Mark knocked his arm up and grappled with him.

   Ma hesitated for a moment then made a dive for Helen and knocked her
over.  She and her former prisoner rolled around the dungeon floor in a
close embrace.

   Katrina was in a quandary.  If she shot the Deputy she risked hitting
Mark.  If she blasted Ma, Helen could be wounded.  The shot fired by
Sherman was likely to bring the boys running to see what was the matter. 
She made a quick decision and ran across the cellar and rammed the barrel
of the gun into the thin gutted policeman.  She didn't have to tell Deputy
Sherman to let go of his revolver.  He dropped it on the bed and raised his
hands.  Mark picked up the weapon and covered him.

   The door opened and a puzzled Spike, and his big brother Patrick,
appeared in the opening.

   "What's ha ...," was as far as he the bearded biker got before Katrina
blew a hole in his chest and winged Patrick.  Her third and fourth shots
finished the job.

   Seeing her boys shot dead stopped Ma in her tracks.  Before she could do
anything to prevent it, Helen wrapped a loop of the chain securing her
wrists, around Ma's throat, and tightened.  She didn't let go despite Ma's
frantic struggles.  In a short time the pig farmer's body was stretched out
on the dungeon floor, next to her cousin's trouser-less corpse.

   "That leaves Pig Boy and him," panted Helen, indicating Deputy Sherman.
"Mark, why don't you blow his brains out?"

   Mark looked pale.  "I think I'm going to be sick," he said.  And he was.

   "I'll do it then,"said Helen.  She pulled Sheriff Jansen's revolver from
its holster and moved towards the bed.

   "Now wait," said the Deputy, quietly.  "You haven't thought this
through."

   Helen hesitated.

   "How are you going to explain this bloody slaughter?  Four bodies in a
replica dungeon.  Fetish clothing.  Sex-aids.  Alcohol.  Drugs.  Tell the
truth to a disbelieving media, and a public that thrives on sensation?  If
they do believe you, you would be a nine-day wonder in the press, radio and
Tee Vee.  Do you imagine you would ever be rid of the taint ..."

   "So?" queried Helen, "What do you suggest?"

   "You let me fix it.  It's what I'm best at, fixing things.  Ask Katrina.
She'll remember the layby and how I made the killing of three men just go
away.  Change out of those silly outfits.  Get into Pat Butcher's pick-up
truck and drive off.  Go home.  Get on with your lives.  Leave it to me."

   * * *

   It was two weeks later that Helen found a copy of the Butchersville
Gazette in the mailbox of her city apartment.  The front page story
described the heroic, but futile, actions of Sheriff Bud Jansen as he tried
to rescue his cousin, Matilda Butcher, granddaughter of the original
founder, and generous benefactor, of the Butchersville Co-operative, and
her two sons, from a disastrous fire at the Butchers' piggery on Lake Road.
The blaze was thought to have started in the kiln used for drying offal and
spread to the farm building, where the fuel-store in the cellar ignited
with spectacular, and deadly, results.

   Acting Sheriff Henry Sherman was present and bore witness to the late
Sheriff's courage.  Said Sherman, "Sheriff Jansen was a big man in every
respect, and he died pursuing his ideals.  He was particularly fond of
children and Butchersville will be hard-pressed to find a more dedicated
Santa Claus than my old buddy, Bud."