Zanu PF Fuckpig Pt 2_(3) by PieterM

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 in 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 fuckpigs 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.