Ma Butcher's Boys

Chapter Five   Katrina's Run

by Ozmanga

2,428 words

Katrina slid down the knotted rope and landed, bare foot, in the cobbled yard of Ma Butcher's pig farm. Her palms smarted with rope-burn. She saw the shadow of her stepmother briefly as Helen retrieved the rope and closed the bedroom window. The teenager looked around, uncertain as to which way to go. It was a warm, cloudless, night. The moon had not yet risen. There was a noise from the pig-shed and Katrina froze, before moving quickly away from the sound in the direction, she hoped, of the road.

Minutes later, breathless, she felt the smooth tarmac of the highway beneath her feet. Looking back she could see the bulk of the farmhouse, in which she had been imprisoned and serially raped, as a dark blot against the star-scape. There was a light from a downstairs window but no sign of pursuit. The road ran roughly north-south. To the east was open farmland, to the west, she could make out a thin belt of woodland and an expanse of water. Either a lake or a reservoir, Katrina thought. Sticking to the left-hand side of the road, where the trees promised quick concealment if necessary, the teenager headed north. Katrina knew she had to alert the authorities to the criminal activities of the Butcher family, and quickly, if she was to save her father and stepmother further degradation, humiliation and an untimely death.

Katrina had been travelling for over an hour when she heard a car approaching from behind her. Her first thought was to try and stop the vehicle and get help, but then it occurred to her, if she'd been missed by the Butchers, it could be driven by Spike or Patrick. She flung herself into the ditch at the side of the road as the car sped past.

In the next hour she hid from two other cars. Each time she crouched in the ditch her fear of recapture grew. So it was with joyful relief when she saw, by the light of the rising moon, a large Mac truck pulling a twenty-ton trailer motoring towards her from the south. She stepped into the road and waved her arms wildly. The truck slowed but was going too fast to stop immediately. Katrina had to jump into the side of the road to avoid being hit as the juggernaut hissed and slid to a standstill some twenty paces up the road. She ran to the side of the cab as the driver opened the door and looked down on the dishevelled young woman.

"Please ... please help me!" gasped Katrina.

"I damn near killed you," growled the driver. "Standing in the middle of the god-damned highway, at night, dressed in black!"

"Blue," said Katrina. "Please, I need a lift to the nearest town."

"Yeah?" The driver regarded her through slitted eyes. He was a balding, broad shouldered, man. Katrina could see only his upper body. He was wearing a singlet and his well-muscled arms were covered with a mass of multicolored tattoos. 

"Where are you from, kid? What are you doing on this backwoods track in the middle of the night?"

"I ... I was abducted," Katrina said, reluctant to explain further. "I need to get to the nearest town. The police ..." 

The driver snorted in disbelief. "Abducted? By aliens, eh?"

"Please," she said, "It's true. By these men ..."

"What men?"

"They ... they live nearby."

"What really happened, Kid? Your boyfriends turned nasty?"

Katrina nodded. She looked at Al. He smiled. It wasn't a sympathetic smile. Katrina felt chilled.

"Did they fuck you?"

Katrina nodded. The driver looked her up and down. The blue dress, wet from her frequent hiding in the ditch, was plastered to her figure. It was clear she wasn't wearing a bra.

"How old are you, Kid?"

"Eighteen."

The answer decided the issue.

"Jump in. What's your name?"

"Katrina," she replied as she scrambled into the high cab.

"You can call me 'Al', Katrina. The nearest town ... that would be Butchersville. Ten miles up the road. Right?" He eased the big truck into gear and started it moving. 

Katrina nodded again. She had no idea where she was but hoped she was at last on the road to freedom. As the truck picked up speed, she was able to get a good look at the driver, her "rescuer". Katrina was not at all reassured. He was an ugly man. Old, she thought, but fit. What hair he had left was close-cropped. His nose had been broken and his ears were lumpy. The tattoos she could see were of luridly violent subjects. 

The biggest tattoo, closest to her, on his biceps was of a wide-eyed naked woman on her back beneath a goat-legged man with a huge erection. The tableau moved every time he flexed his arm making it look like the satyr was raping the reluctant nymph. Katrina shuddered involuntarily. Al noticed and gave a short barking laugh. "Kinda cute, ain't she?" he said.

He took his hand off the gear lever and stroked Katrina's thigh just above her knee.

"Is that what your boyfriends did to you, kid?" he laughed. "Wouldn't take, 'no', for an answer?"

"They were not my boyfriends. I was abducted and raped!" Katrina protested.

Al tightened his grip on his passenger's soft thigh.

The young woman winced and froze. Al's hand slid up her tense leg. It pushed the hem of the dress before it.

"Raped you, did they? Well, you won't mind putting it out for me."

"Please ... please don't," whispered Katrina, as his fingers found the thin elastic-lace band of her white cotton panties and probed beneath. He squeezed her puffy labia, still sore and tender from the brutal attentions of Patrick Butcher, before removing his hand to change down a gear.

"Can't do much while we're rolling," grinned Al. "But there's a layby a mile short of Butchersville. You can pay for your ride there, sugarplum."

Katrina pulled her dress down. She thought of jumping from the moving truck. Al, grinned at her. He had surprisingly white, regular, teeth. "Central locking," he said. "You're all mine until I let you go." He unzipped his fly. His penis, white and floppy, fell forward like a dead fish. "For now, you can play with my cock." Al snarled. "That should keep you occupied until we reach the layby."

Katrina tried to squirm away from Al. He reached for the back of her neck and, grasping it, he forced her to the floor of the cab.
 
"Use your hands, cunt," he ordered. "And, when I tell you, suck."

She reached out and grasped his barely tumescent cock. With a sob born of helplessness Katrina began to massage his flaccid member. 

"Good," he grunted.

What happened next filled Katrina with terror. From her position on the floor of the cab she was aware, because of the flashing of lights and the repeated noise of a horn, that the truck had been overtaken and was being forced to slow down and stop. Al wound down the window and let loose a stream of abuse.

"What the fuck d'ya think you're playing at you stupid son-of-a-bitch! I oughta blow your fucking head off your pig-ignorant shoulders!" From the side pocket on the door of the cab Al produced a sawn-off double-barrelled shotgun. He poked it out of the cab window.

Then Katrina heard a voice that made her tremble. It was the nasal whine of Patrick Butcher.

"Sorry! Sorry! Have you seen a young woman on the road?'Bout seventeen-eighteen. Long black hair ..."

"Get away from my cab, you hijacking son-of-a-bitch," Al snarled. "Come any closer and I'll blow you to Hell!"

"Take it easy!" said Patrick. Katrina could hear him panting. "I'm not a hijacker. I'm just looking for a girl. She's my sister," he lied. "She's not all there, you know?"

Al glanced down to where Katrina was sprawled on the floor of the cab. She held his cock between her hands in an attitude of prayer. Her eyes were wide. She shook her head.

"No. I don't fucking know," responded Al. "Move your pick-up wagon or I'll push it into the ditch!"

"She makes up stories. Like she was abducted and such. Pretends she's been raped, that sorta shit. We keep her locked up but she got away. There's a reward," said Patrick.

"A reward?"

"$500."

Al hesitated. Katrina took the head of his cock in her mouth and flicked the tip with her tongue. Al grinned.

"Couple of cars ahead of me in the last hour. Same number heading south. She could have got a lift with one of them."

"Yeah?" Patrick sounded doubtful.

"Are you going to move that heap of rust or ..."

"Okay! Okay!" Katrina heard the noise of Pat Butcher's pick-up truck start up and fade into the distance.

As Al got the truck moving again he grinned down at his terrified passenger. "One of your boyfriends, right?"

She shuddered and nodded.

The layby was on the west of the road. From it Katrina could see the lights of Butchersville.Al told Katrina to undress and climb into the narrow bunk at the back of the cab. She had no choice but to obey. Al slipped off his boots and pants and joined her. 

Katrina heeded Al's warning, that she'd better give him a good time or he'd beat the shit out of her. She had learned a lot about survival from Helen in the short time they had spent together as sex-slaves on the big brass bed in Ma Butcher's farmhouse. Katrina "Oohed" and "Ahhed" as Al tugged at her bosom. She panted with feigned desire as he played with her nipples. Al was juicy enough for both of them as he rammed his stiff penis into the frightened woman and it was not too difficult for her to fake a noisy orgasm to coincide with his first copious ejaculation. Having fucked her once in the missionary position Al treated Katrina to a display of his X-rated tattoos until he was stiff again. Then he made her crouch down, like one of the youths in the obscene illustrations hidden by his singlet, and buggered her until she bled.

When Al had finished his second sexual assault on the naked teenager she begged him to let her get dressed and make her way into the nearby town. Katrina was desperately aware that her father's and stepmother's safety depended on her getting help.

"Please, Al," she whispered, with tears in her eyes. "I've done everything you asked. Now let me go."

Al shook his head. He reached between her legs and fondled her sticky cunt. "No," he said.

"You're too good to let go, Katrina," Al told the sobbing teenager. "When I've had a piss I'm going to take you back home with me." From the glove box he took out a pair of handcuffs and chained her wrist to a solid grab-handle. "You're going to be Al's favourite fuck-toy." He wiped his filthy cock on Katrina's discarded panties and dropped them on the floor of the cab, then he opened the cab door and dropped to the ground. 

Al was hosing the shrubbery when the hijackers hit him with their baseball bats. He went down in a welter of blood and bone.

There were two of them. They were dressed in black tee shirts and jeans. They were wearing balaclavas and to Katrina's tear-filled eyes, they looked formidable. They took Al's wallet and keys from his pocket before dragging his body into the undergrowth. The pair were genuinely surprised to find Katrina, naked, sobbing and shackled to the bunk in their newly won prize.

"Dirty old man," sneered one, in a high youthful voice. "He picked up some fucking hitchhiker and chained her to his bunk."

"Yeah, I wondered what the Hell he was up to all that time. But check it out. Just look at those tits! That's seriously fuckable cunt, little Bro," said the other. He reached into the bunk and began to fondle Katrina's full but tender breasts.

"Please," begged Katrina, "just let me go. I won't say anything!"

"That's right, sister. You won't say anything. Your mouth is gonna be full of my dick!"

" Have we got time for this, Man?" whined the smaller hijacker nervously.

"I reckon. Let's put her over the picnic table so we can both get a piece of it!" grunted the bigger thief. "Gimme his keys. I'll get her out of this sweat box!"

Katrina steeled herself for action. The bigger hijacker unlocked the cuffs and started to drag her out of the bunk by her left arm. His smaller colleague was standing just behind him. The bigger man had one foot on the ground when Katrina reached into the side pocket on the door with her free hand and found the polished wooden butt of Al's sawn-off shotgun. At that range she couldn't miss either hijacker.

The young woman was appalled at the noise and lethal effects of the shotgun. She threw the weapon away and, having struggled into her crumpled dress, ran as fast as she could towards the lights of the city of Butchersville, population 798 (the sign said 800).

She had been running for less than a minute before she saw, coming towards her along the road, a white auto with the distinctive flashing blue and amber light of a state police car. Katrina's relief at finding the guardians of the law was tempered by the knowledge she had just killed two men.

The Sheriff, Bud Jansen, was a big blonde jovial man. He left his deputy at the layby with orders, "to sort things out," and drove the distraught young woman to his office. Jansen looked, to Katherine, like a clean-shaven Santa Claus with a gun-belt. He listened sympathetically to Katrina's story of abduction, rape and torture by the Butcher family in a sceptical, but receptive, manner. He promised he would, straight away, investigate the matter. The Sheriff fed her soup and rolls from the jail house kitchenette and insisted that the teenager have a long, hot, bath. He personally made up a bunk with clean sheets and blankets in one of the cells at the back of the building, so she could rest. Then, when the young woman was comfortably settled, he went into his inner office and made a phone call.

"Hello, Bud Jansen here. It's about that piglet you lost. Well, I found it trotting up the road. Your problem is over, Ma!"

