It was the fourth checkpoint of the afternoon, Susan was getting used to them, she wearily collected her holdall with the ID, Jacob Isumkubu, sitting next to her, drove the Landcruiser while Daniel Mzume and her husband Richard Harding sat in back.

ZANU PF War veterans, again, she noted, ever since Mugabe started using food as a weapon they had been trying to leave but the poor fuel, heating oil not diesel had destroyed their injection pump and delayed them, the Food Aid Charity needed the Land Cruiser for South Africa so they were trying to repatriate it.

They rolled to a halt and she got out, the Guards looked even more menacing than usual, "All out" they shouted. The guys followed her to a table where an officer was waiting, she presented the I.D.

"Ah English Imperialist Pigs," he said pleasantly enough, and nodded.

There were three shots. Jacob, Daniel and Richard each fell, each sporting a gaping wound to the skull, no blood, no bleeding. Dead.

"We have suffered enough of you imperialists."

"B'but Daniel and Jacob, they are, were black, just drivers"

"Still enemies of the ZANU PF and useless mouths. " he explained

"W,what will you do to me?" she asked.

"No don't beg, I shall not be pitiful and kill you, you will wish, yearn for death soon but for now you will live, come let me tie you up like an animal."

She did not resist or struggle as the guards bound her ankles and then bound her wrists behind her before forcing her to lie down in the dust for her ankles to be trussed to her wrists, almost as they would do with an animal. then rolling her onto her stomach they thrust a pole between her arms and her legs and lifted her first so her ankles and wrists were at shoulder height then carried her to a truck, usually used to transport pigs, and threw her together with the pole into the filth.

An hour passed she stayed silent, the flies descended on her husband, as she watched.

The truck started and drove very fast throwing her around in the filth until they arrived, at what had once been a Country Club, for the Idle rich Colonials, Farmers, Imperialist Bureaucrats. Now a derelict ZANU PF "Holding" or confession centre. They carried her inside hanging from the pole, the pole resting on their shoulders.

Black faces, and one white, deathly white, they threw her down. The Officer was there, Black, in his clean Khaki uniform.

"This is Mr Stephens, Mr Stephens meet an imperialist pig," The officer introduced them.  "Prepare the Pig Mr Stephens, if you please"

The deathly white face came towards her, In his soiled medical whites, he began tying tourniquets around her legs above the knee and around her wrists.

She just stared.

They cut her wrists free, and her ankles then the machete flashed, her left hand stung, she watched fascinated as her fingers flopped sideways severed at he knuckle, then the other hand the same, all four fingers severed at the knuckle, she passed out.

"Do your thing, Mr Stephens, nice neat stitches like a schoolgirl now please."

Stephens resisted the urge to vomit and gathering his bag of filthy rusting surgical instruments he set to work on the rough table top, the splintering of bone was minimal so he was able to make a reasonably neat job, not the sort the Cecil Rhodes Memorial Hospital where he trained would have considered good but this was in Mugabe's wonderland.

Stephens stood aside. "Sorry Sir, It's the best I can do, the light is poor."

"Come, come Mr Stephens, you cannot expect to achieve perfection on animals," The Officer reassured him.

Susan half regained consciousness. strong arms were carrying her, they carried her outside, laid her in the dirt and placed a block of wood under her lower leg, just below the knee, the sea of happy black faces, some she had handed food aid to in the weeks gone by, or did they all look the same, they bound her thighs, and placed a wooded baulk over them sloping down to the ground, then as she watched they brought the truck, American, Tank transporter with the tank aboard, she saw them expertly align it with the wooden baulk, the pain was beyond anything, but adrenalin kept her awake, alive to the horror, gentle but firm black hands, black on top, pink beneath held her down. knees held her head, one at each ear.

Crunch, she heard her legs splintering, heard, the pain did not register, her mind rejecting as spurious any sensation that powerful, yet as the wheel ran up the timber suddenly the timber collapsed to the ground as her knees broke, the lower legs forced forwards till the sockets failed, flopping up then sideways, limp and disconnected, pushed forward through ninety degrees where usually they will only straighten.

She screamed silently.

The truck stopped, willing black hands removed the baulks and gentle black hands carried her to the blood soaked table.

"The cut Mr Stephens, show us where." the officer instructed.

Stephens vomited in he corner and came to the table, flies rushed to enjoy the feast of half digested food,

Stephens pointed, "Give me some skin to work with,"

The Machete flashed and the foot fell to the floor dragging the shattered bones from the knee joint with it.

She remained blissfully unconscious as the Machete flashed again and the second foot joined the first.

"Take the feet to the dogs then you can stitch up, Mr Stephens."

Stephens forced himself, he picked up her dainty feet, unlaced her canvass shoes and removed her short white socks and as in a dream carried her pink feet to the dog pen.

Blare and Bush the Rotweillers looked on, salivating, Stephenson tossed a foot to each and watched as they tore away and ate the pitifully small amount of flesh and then gnawed at the bone.

Stephenson returned to the job in hand, peeling back the skin and sawing the bone to form a makeshift foot from each former knee. Cartilage sinew nerves, all severed neatly and tucked and tied into the remaining stump of leg he did his best with the flies and the dirt, and the growing impatience of the black faces. He tried to make a tidy job, toying with the idea of letting her bleed to death but he dared not risk the officer's wrath.

"Just the tongue now Mr Stephenson, if you please." The Officer requested politely.

Stephenson extracted a fiendish contraption of metal plates and ratchets, rust spots marred the shining stainless steel caused by the African climate and neglect in equal measure.

He held her pretty button nose and her mouth opened involuntarily, he inserted the tool and ratcheted her jaw open, The scalpel was blunt, blunted by rust and repeated sharpening on a leather, a use once blade used for the thousandth time.

He worked feverishly, cutting, aware the blood she was losing could not be replaced,

The blood they had was out of date, kept at room temperature under the baking sun and not refrigerated, most of it from desperate HIV positive starving refugees, with little chance of the Blood type in the bottle matching the label.

He extracted the small piece of meat and quickly sealed the wound and sewed it up.

He removed the Jaw spreader.

"Mr Stephenson, an excellent job, I shall have to consider keeping you around for a while longer," The Officer thanked him.

"Museppe, a haircut for the Lady."

Museppe was an artist, he chopped methodically with Machete and a wood block, hr golden hair falling to the floor, and soon it was just something like an animal and inch perhaps, like fur and he barely nicked her scalp with the twelve inch blade.

"Remove the wrappings, Museppe." The Officer ordered.

Museppe rolled the unconscious Susan onto her back and inserted the  wicked blade inside her canvas bush Jacket, the fabric cut easily then the tip caught her bra strap severing it easily, and cutting continued on down, past her navel he undid her belt then resumed cutting her shorts and her panties, almost a thong, very European. Finally he cut the other leg of her shorts away and the Pink body beneath was revealed.

They carried her to a rough wooden Table, once the pub bench from the "Red Lion"

the English Pub at this former colonial Country Club.

They tied down her now naked body, they spread her thighs.

"First Fuck, Mr Stephenson" The Officer invited. Stephenson was trying to throw up again, but his guts were empty.

"Museppe then, Fuck our new Imperialist Fuck Pig."

Museppe saluted and took his place between her stumps, he discarded his shorts and roughly peeled her labia lips apart, and forced his manhood into her, it was hard work, he tried spitting in his hand and lubricating his member with it but eventually he edged inside, her eyes opened momentarily as he came, then he was pulling out and the next in line took his place, his manhood hurt, he wished he had not gone first as he watched Martin Unfartu humping happily. She had never enjoyed a passionate frequent sex life with her Husband, the marriage was more one of convenience, sharing a double room in hotels and allowing her into Islamic countries than one born of a desire to fuck each other's brains out.

The Men waited patiently, the Women watched, some relieved some jealously, her cunt became loose so eventually they started to try the tighter alternative, a few strokes in her cum filled cunt to get lubricated then try the anus, some using their thumbs and fingers to transfer slippery lubrication, but her spinchter held out until Masoola, renowned for his tiny manhood, tiny but rock hard like Oak.

Masoola smeared his fingers with her juices and the stale cum from her cunt, and lubricated the target, then with a mighty thrust he was in her, she was too tight but his cum shooting in after half a dozen strokes laid the foundation for the next guy.

Phillipe Orangu took full advantage, to the envy of the Women watching, as his beautiful bronzed body rippling with muscle stretched the Pig's secondary orifice into a satisfactory spunk repository. "Private Orangu, don't be greedy, others are waiting"

Phillipe looked across but the Officer beamed happily.

Orangu saluted "Yes Sir" and pulled out shooting his load over her crotch, a quick wipe with a filthy rag and she was ready again, her eyes would sometimes flick open when the arousal became too great, but she was largely unconscious.

The queue grew shorter as the men experienced their new pig, the last one had got an infection and died in a week, this one was to last a bit longer until the General inspected, he would be amused at an Imperialist Pig.

The last man fucked her and she lay still, her cunt and arse both red raw, the arse gaping open obscenely.

She lay between agonised wakefulness and blissful unconsciousness, waiting to be used, tied down, Stephenson fed her juice and milk, tipping it down her throat but keeping her tied to the bench, and he saw the first signs of the wounds healing.

He shaved her pubes and armpits, and her scalp with his own razor to make keeping her clean and infection free at least possible, and slowly the men lost interest in the captive.  She drifted into and out of consciousness for weeks but finally Stephenson was able to make her understand, he explained about her fingers and legs and she fainted. She would wake, scream like a wounded animal and faint.

Eventually she was staying awake looking around.

"Why" her eyes asked.

"ZANU PF" Stephenson explained,

She squealed and grunted trying to talk.

"You must decide whether to live or die," Stephenson explained.

"I have child's rubber boots for your stumps and hands, wear them, trot round like a pig, be a pet to the men wiggle your rump, invite them to fuck you if you wish to live," he advised.

She nodded and e fetched the red boots, her stumps were healing.

"Lie on your back, as much as possible, and roll in the mud, it will protect your fair skin."

It was good advice she knew, and with Stephenson's help she was able to walk round on her stumps and hands, she learned to go out at meal times, most soldiers would give her some tasty morsel after they had fucked her, so she would snuffle around then roll on her back as she attracted their interest and rub her crotch, few could resist, the look of disappointment in her eyes would raise the most flaccid prick to action, because she realised, she was enjoying sex for the first time ever.

Stephenson found her an old dog kennel to live in, changing the straw regularly he explained she should find somewhere very public to shit and piss to amuse the soldiers, like a prize animal.

Her days became sleeping, searching for food and sex. fifteen men most days, twenty perhaps, her belly swelled and Stephenson took care of it and any future problems, taking the opportunity to cut away her Labia lips and sew up the wounds to make her cunt even more obscene and inviting as she trotted around the camp naked.

The Officer grew very fond of his Fuck pig and arranged for some breast implants to be sent to make her even more desirable.

Stephenson called her and did the operation, on the bench with his rusty scalpels

a quick incision, insert the implants and sew up, except these implants took no account of her size and how much her skin could comfortably stretch.

He had to tie her down for a week while the stitches healed, her 34 C now 34 G or bigger, no way would she find a ready to wear bra again, the men still came and fucked her on the bench, but her tits were getting in the way so they raised the bench on blocks to make her arse more accessible and most came to prefer it, then finally Stephenson allowed her to get up. He lifted her down from the bench, her tits hung down, within an inch of the ground, tears poured from her eyes, leaving a trail through the dirt on her un washed face and dripping on the ground.

She took a step, a nipple dragged lightly on the ground tickling stimulating making her think of sex, and as the nipple responded, it became erect, and so it dragged the ground all the time, the stimulus making her cunt juices flow uncontrollably, She had to crawl, she had nothing to balance on with her stumps, yet crawling left her desperate for sex within yards, men would wank her with knife handles and gun barrels when they could see she was desperate, which was almost always. 

The Officer beamed, a sex obsessed white Imperialist fuck pig.

Mr Mugabe would surely promote him now.

To be continued.

Susan Richard Harding.

Fuckpig lay on her back watching a buzzard circling, as Rinkla Bezumu fucked her, she liked the little hillock by the old Tennis Court at the former Country Club, now local ZANU PF headquarters, because she could watch what went on and it was near to the kennel where she lived and the kitchens where she stole her food.

Her fingerless hands had healed now, and the skin on her stumps where they had severed her legs at the knee was hard and calloused and she was able to discard the child's boots she used to wear if she kept away from the Tarmac. She liked an early morning dip the river and would wallow in the mud banks to get a nice coating of mud to avoid sunburn. 

She was getting fat, not from pregnancy, Her friend and surgeon Mr Stephens had seen to that, but from eating scraps, she was so scared of starving that she was eating too much, a great big fat lazy fuckpig. None of her clothes would have fitted had she been allowed any, but she was the official ZANU PF imperialist fuckpig and pigs don't wear clothes.

She liked to wear her boots in the mornings and had learned to put them on herself, then she would go to the carefully manicured lawn, now used as the parade ground where The Officer took the salute and have a shit as the flag was raised, kneeling on all fours like a Pig, sometimes she would eat an apple as she shit, but no one thought of her as a person anymore so her act of defiance was ignored.

Stephens had realised he could read her lips and they had long conversations in the moonlight, she would not let him fuck her but used her mouth to keep him satisfied, with no tongue to obstruct her facial orifice his prick fitted easily into her throat, and she breathed easily as he shot his load each evening, but each night she returned to her lonely kennel and he to his bunk.

She had made other friends, Bush and Blare the Rottweillers, she had stolen food from the kitchens for them, and spent time with them, sooner or later she knew they would be ordered to attack her, she sneaked into Blare's kennel one stormy night he was unsure but after eating the meat she had stolen for him he allowed her to give him a blow job, and soon he realised she wished him to mount her.

She came to enjoy her nights with the dogs, when she trained them to take her cunt and to fuck face to face not doggie style she found the experience emotionally satisfying, the knot keeping them together when passion was spent, and she appreciated the warmth of their fur coats in the cold African nights, she visited them in turn, one tonight the other tomorrow, after seeing Stephens in his quarters and then dozed on the hill by the tennis court in the daytime as the Soldiers fucked her.

She sometimes thought of her previous life but there was always someone needing to fuck her or else with her obscenely enlarged breasts her nipples were touching the ground as she bounded along stimulating her so that she needed to find someone for sex that really she had no time for such thoughts.

"What would you wish for if you could have anything?"

A voice asked as she was fucked again.

"Campari and Ice," she whispered as she had painstakingly learned to do.

The Officer roared with laughter, he had asked, she had not known it was he.

He was troubled, white women were supposed to hate sex, yet she seemed every bit as oversexed as the young girls from his own tribe, perhaps there were no differences under the skin.  He quickly set the treasonable thoughts aside.

Warm sun, regular orgasms, her pet dogs, her soul mate Mr Stephens, she did not know his Christian name despite all the blow jobs she had given him, Susan realised that for the first time in her life she was happy.

Her mother hated her, legacy of a failed attempt to ensnare an earl, he mother dumped her at the earliest possible stage and her mothers parents brought her up in their austere town house, then boarding school at five years old, a fat ugly duckling she remained a Virgin until University where her belly subsided and her tits became pleasantly rounded and then in the gap year she had married Richard so she could accompany him to the UAE an Islamic country frowning upon single women.

Why could Richard have not fucked like Mikel Bung or Joshua Unfartu, or flooded her with pints of cum like Johnston McBride. Her sex life had never been important to her but now she realised it was because she had never really had one.

She lay watching and a woman approached. "You fuck my husband too much, he has nothing for me"

Susan pointed to her empty mouth with her stump.

The Woman looked sad, Susan put her arms around her in a sisterly way, but their breasts interlocked and they looked into each others eyes and smiled, their lips entwined, the girl explored Susan's mouth with her tongue as Susan eased her knickers down and for the first time explored another woman's cunt with her thumb.

They were unaware they had an audience.

"Mugenwe what are you doing" A voice shocked them to reality.

"I tell her leave you alone, you fuck her not me" Mugenwe told her Husband Pieter.

"You are insatiable, you are not normal" he replied pulling his gun and aiming it at Susan.

A shot rang out and Pieter fell to the floor dead.

"He was going to shoot fuckpig" Joshua Unfartu explained.

Mugenwe looked stunned "He was no husband, he was a boy, I want a man."

Joshua needed no second bidding and quickly tore Mugemwe's knickers from below her knees and drove deep within her.  Fuckpig held he face between her fingerless palms and kissed her as Joshua pleasured her and the crowd grew, someone started to fuck Susan but she did not look up preferring to concentrate on Mugemwe's tender kisses.

"Am I man enough for you?" cried Joshua as he came.

"Do it again and I will tell you" whispered Mugemwe as she giggled satisfied as she had never been before.

Fuckpig was learning all the time, she watched Blare and Bush and took to marking her territory with piss like they did, and still made sure they fucked her regularly, but life was hassle free, she came to realise she had found utopia. 

The UN mission came, Fuckpig saw them coming, the plume of dust travelling fast. wasting fuel, where ZANU drove carefully.  A Landcruiser, White with UN emblems.

Fuckpig crawled to her kennel and checked her stash, she had hidden three knives and two grenades which she had stolen, she knew The Officer could not let the UN find her, and she tried to hide in the shadows.

The Officer just missed her at the Hillock but correctly assumed she was in the Kennel, she heard his footfalls and stopped breathing. He could see nothing, he edged into the stinking kennel and in the gloom he saw her, the grenade in her front paws, the pin in her mouth.

He froze, then carefully aimed his gun down and returned it to his holster. "The UN, I can't let them find you." she could not speak without losing her grip on the pin but she bowed faintly. "Stay in the darkness until they go, then you may be safe." The Officer cautioned her and then carefully walked away, gently shaking with fear at his brush with death.

Fuckpig should have followed his advice but a few minutes after the delegation arrived she scuttled out, she had become used to her status as pet but had not realised what her effect upon the UN team would be.

The Inspection had started well, Stevens had polished up his instruments and was wearing a clean white coat, the Dogs and Crocodiles had long ago digested the evidence of executions, and the four UN inspectors seemed well satisfied with the arrangements for the elections to come. The polling booths, boxes waiting and voting rooms were all fine and then as they enjoyed a cool drink fuckpig trotted around the corner.

The tinkling of a glass breaking on the concrete announced to those who did not see fuckpig coming that something was wrong. his face turned ghostly white as the glass fell from his hand. The Officer drew his pistol "Be calm gentlemen please, this is Miss Susan Harding, our white imperialist fuckpig."

"I shall haf to report this" Piet DeNeuve, the European UN observer mentioned."

"We won't live that long, you bloody fool," announced the woman in their party, "how could she demean herself, I would rather die."

"Well said Madam," The Officer beamed, The Woman would have been beautiful but for her thin straight nose, narrow lips and undersized breasts, her white skin tanned to a healthy shade her blonde hair bleached white. She stood proud erect upright like a man, he thought of her sucking his prick whilst the dogs took turns to fuck her, he smiled, he would have some fun.

"This desire to report things is unfortunate, but we can always use an extra Land Cruiser, and the Crocodiles are hungry," He walked slowly towards fuckpig and tenderly stroked her head. "You see Susan is healthy and happy so why do you react so negatively, would you think the same if she were black?"

The Woman spat, "you are an animal".

The Officer replied, "as are you anthropologically" as his gun barked, and three neat holes appeared in three foreheads, it was strange how two fell backwards and one forwards. of the Five in the UN party only The woman and the driver remained alive, for the time being at least

.

"I am sorry, but I cannot leave witnesses. Jakob, let us feed the Crocodiles."

"What about me" the woman asked.

"You shall watch the Crocodiles."

Orders were shouted and men ran to obey.

An ancient GMC five ton truck lumbered across the once immaculate lawns of the Club and the War Veterans easily loaded the still warm bodies aboard, the gun barrel in his ribs encouraged the UN driver to board whilst the woman climbed up quietly without protest.

The trip to the river was fairly short, the track led to the river then along the riverbank to the deep ponds near Klevedon lodge, even in the driest summers when the river shrunk from its fifty yard width to a muddy trickle a few feet wide and but a few inches in depth plenty of water remained here but there were always crocs around at Klevedon, with its ponds and long fishing Jetty.

The Lodge was a blackened shell with the roof gone and the walls peppered with bullet holes, an oversized Bungalow for the amusement of white farmers as they fished for crocs for fun and now used by locals to catch crocs for meat and raw materials, crocodile shoes being a cheap alternative to Chinese plastic now the economy had collapsed.

The wooden Jetty looked very unsafe, standing several feet above the sluggish river water, the legs rotten, some parts missing completely.  The Officer undid the catches and dropped the truck's tail board, allowing the passengers to disembark. The Woman remained clutching the side rails tightly.

"Yes you can see very well from there, I shall come for you later." The Officer advised her, as the others carried the stiffening bodies towards the pond.

They stood around the landward end of the Jetty awaiting orders, unsure of the safety of the structure. The Officer shouted

"Ah Driver, walk to the end, there's a good chap, make sure it is safe for us."

The UN driver looked at The Officer's gun barrel and carefully set off along the apparently unsafe structure, he reached the end, The Officer shouted "Jump up and Down"

The driver obeyed reluctantly, the structure barely moved.

"The end structure is Steel, just made to look like wood, sir" Jakob Unfartu murmered quietly.

"Yes Jakob, but let's not spoil the fun." The Officer replied.

"Come here, take a stiff out to the end." The Officer bellowed and the terrified driver

returned and lifted the first body and took it to the end of the Jetty.

"Just put it down and fetch another."

Soon three bodies lay on the wood planking at the outer end of the jetty.

The Officer smiled "Live bait I think, shoot his leg please Jakob"

The Driver screamed as he lost his balance deprived of the support of his left leg as Jakob's bullet smashed his knee cap.

The water boiled as Crocodiles fought over the free meal, the muddy water briefly turned red with spilt blood.

The Officer walked to the Truck and held out his hand to guide the Woman as she climbed down to the ground, he led her to the Jetty, "Just push the bodies in for me."

he asked politely.

She walked carefully, as if the six feet wide platform were a tightrope. at the end her dead friends and colleagues, now cold if not stiff, crocs eyes breaking the surface betrayed their presence.

She pushed the first, carefully, careful not to fall herself. it landed with a splash and the waters boiled as the crocs tore the meal into bite sized pieces, the waters subsided and the order "Next" drifted across the water, the woman pushed another body, the crocs came again, the same or different ones she could not know but there could be hundreds, and certain death awaited her if she fell.

The waters subsided, and again the order and the body descended the waters boiled the red stains crocs fighting for their fair share of the bounty.

"Last one" The Officer ordered.

"Jump, or dive, we are waiting, this is your chance, to escape, surely you prefer death to the humiliations which await you?"

She looked down, he had won, she could not face the plunge.

She stared straight into his eyes "Shoot me"

He smiled and shook his head.

"Please" she added, "please shoot me."

"No it would waste a bullet, just jump, like at the swimming baths." The Officer suggested.

"I can't."

The Officer spoke loudly and clearly "Then you understand how Miss Harding became my fuckpig, will you become our fuckpig, live like an animal. or will you jump."

"Will you hurt me?" she asked pointlessly.

"Of course we shall hurt you, we shall rape you this evening and when we have worked out what you do best we shall modify you to our taste, like fuckpig. but not exactly,

She stood and slowly walked towards the shore.

The Officer shouted across, "Stop, take your clothes off and throw them to the crocs,"

"Shoot me" she replied hopefully.

Willing hands grabbed her as she reached dry land her jacket, shorts and underwear

were stripped away to reveal her pale beauty, the pulled her hairpins out to let her hair cascade around her shoulders.

"That is disgusting," The Officer pointed to her lush pubic hair, "somebody shave her now."

Their razor sharp bayonets barely scratched her s they hacked the fur away and despite the humiliation or maybe because of it she realised to her horror she was becoming aroused, her clit peeped shyly from its hood and she was becoming distinctly wet,

"No please not my arse" a savage fondled her tight rear entrance, all black men were savages in her book, animals, all of them. It did no good for instantly a black wooden rod was produced, a policeman's truncheon, she recognised it and she saw a savage spit on it and despite the searing pain she was unable to resist its entry, it eased as the savage moved it around to loosen her then suddenly with a plop it was withdrawn and thrust instead into her moist slit.

She felt relieved they would just use her normally, she had never even considered the possibility of Anal sex, and the pain of the truncheons entry had convinced her she would never consent to such when she felt a warm stiff prick pushing at her rectum, strong hands held her as the first savage entered her, awkwardly at first then more easily as her insides adjusted but, when having closed her eyes because of the pain, she felt a penis against her labia, pushing in and up she realised that she was to be taken simultaneously by two men.

Two big men, she wondered if one penis would emerge from her intestines into her mouth it felt so good, she meant to think huge but, self preservation instincts were playing tricks with her mind, a disembodied voice she later recognised as her own was asking to be fucked harder, men changed places, and slowly the sun set on the Lodge, a fire was lit to keep wild animals away and amid the flickering light they took their pleasure.

The Officer looked on, she looked like something from a pornographic magazine and she seemed to enjoy the attention, she needed to be brought to heel.

The Officer waited until everyone had taken their pleasure before her embarked on the next stage, they brought her to the camp fire, where on The Officers instruction

Ezikiel Bezu, heated the brass hooks in the flames.

She looked in horror yet silently as the hot metal sizzled against her left nipple, it stiffened in confusion as the metal slowly burned the flesh away and passed through.

Willing hands held her as she fainted and someone pissed in her face to wake her.

The right nipple was next and again the smell of burned flesh, then the lips of her sex two brass hooks, one through each side, and finally as it strained peeping from its hood her clit, the brass sizzling as it passed into her most tender spot and she screamed the tortured scream of legend, echoing around the river valley, scaring birds into flight and sending wildlife scurrying away fearful for their lives. They hung fishing weights on the hooks through her nipples threatening to tear them from er body, then on the labia hooks, she supported the nipple weights in her hands she reasoned she needed her tits and screamed as the weights on her labia distorted the flaps of flesh, they lifted the dropped each in turn tearing the flesh a little more each time causing the blood to trickle then flow and finally from the continued torture as they molested her again and again the hooks tore completely through the fleshy flaps her lips tore apart, she realised she could be bleeding to death.

The Officer regretted not having Stephens along but they quickly staunched the blood with a rag that had been part of her clothing and after loading the Truck they returned to base.

The Officer roused Stephens and he came quickly to the makeshift operating theatre with the old Pub bench to operate on and his rusty surgical instruments, he saw the blood soaked rag between her legs and feared the worst, had she been disembowelled the way defeated enemies were disembowelled in olden times?

Stephens ordered the War Veterans to leave him some room, as he peeled away the blood soaked blouse to inspect the wounds, then taking his craft knife he started cutting slicing the skin around her cunt cutting away the torn and useless flesh before sewing the wound neatly, he admired his work, no longer would she endure the pain of pierced lower lips because essentially she no longer had a visible labia at all, the skin now remodelled so the entry to her womb was now a simple slit like a young girl, the ugly flaps of skin consigned to history.

"When can we fuck her?" a War Veteran asked.

"Right now, give it a try, I will do the stitches again if they tear."

But there were no takers, and she lapsed into a fitful sleep.

She woke next morning, and immediately fainted.

Stephens had cut her left breast open and was fitting a none too clean silicon implant, one of a pair bought for fuckpig before they realised her tits already brushed the ground.

Soon Stephens had enlarged both of the Woman's Breasts to DD or beyond and the skin now stretched painfully over them the stitches threatening to pull out.

She woke and then fainted several times before she finally managed to ask Stephens what he was doing.

"Officers Orders", he lied, the boys liked big tits and being liked was the only way she would stay alive for a while.

Stephens looked at her naked and ravaged body, her breasts a mass of bruises, the stitches ugly and raw, and her cunt, somehow especially obscene with the neat pattern of the stitching etched out in dried blood.

Susan and Richard Harding.

Mr Stephens