Pretty young Azula becomes a human pig
I am absolutely sure the British Army would never behave like this.
Any similarity between any characters and anyone living or dead is probably unavoidable though unintentional.
The scene, somewhere in Afganistan.
Dust covered everything, fine gritty sandy dust, The dark brooding mountains surrounded us but the yellowish dust covered everything, yellowish dust stirred up by everything that moved except the Camels as they glided along loaded down with drugs and explosives and turbanned killers with Kalashnikovs, and sugar and fertiliser for their improvised explosive devices IEDs.
It was an IED that killed my friend “Toby” Judge and led to the Regiment dragging me away from the lush green fields of Wiltshire where I was training my Grey “Woodbine” for Badminton to sitting in an oven like portacabin in this mountain hell hole as Commanding Officer of 4 company.
I watched on the CCTV monitor as an approaching dust cloud resolved itself into a LandRover as it slowed to stop outside my door and I watched on the monitor as CSM Brough and a couple of strong lads “helped,” a Burka clad person from the vehicle and ripped away her grilled hood to reveal a young woman, which actually surprised me as so often the Burka came off to reveal a stooping bearded Arab.
My radio crackled, “Major Adams, it looks like we got the right one this time sir,” Brough intoned.
“Then bring her in, Sarn’t Major, bring her in,” I suggested, and I retreated to my worn revolving army green office chair behind my cluttered desk to await her entry.
“Ah my dear Azula,” I greeted her as Sergeant Major Brough pushed the surprisingly light skinned beauty firmly into my office, her head now revealed although the familiar Islamic sack still covered everything else but her hands, “Although we both know that’s not your real name don’t we?”
She spat at me, “Bastard” she articulated as she actually spat at me and the spittle ran down my battledress!
“Permission to subdue the insurgent Sir,” Brough asked hopefully.
“No Sarn’t Major, GHQ want some info ASAP, better do a proper job.” I said in considerable annoyance.
“Certainly sir, only we got good results down Bastion by busting their jaws sir,” he said more in hope than in expectation.
“No not yet,” I demurred, “but would you find the winner of last weeks competition and the runner up just in case.” I turned to the girl, “I believe it was Ianto Jones at eight and three quarter inches was it not Sarn’t Major” I said watching her reaction.
She didn’t understand.
“Cock, my dear, Tadger, Old Man, Penis,” I explained patiently but she still looked confused.
“Prick, we had a wank-a-thon see and,” Brough said and the girl understood.
“No, you cannot, it is against the Geneva convention,” she wailed.
“Hard to prove,” I agreed, “But that’s for later, first we have to check you have no concealed weapons, disrobe if you please.”
“I demand that a female searches me.” she protested, her English improving surprisingly rapidly
I nodded at Sarn’t Brough and he grasped her sack firmly.
She tried to be defiant, and she might just as well have pulled her Burka, or what ever it was they called their sacks, over her head and kept it in one piece, because when Sarn’t Major Brough pulled with his huge bear like hands it tore neatly right down the back, revealing light blue denims and a white tee shirt, at least for the few seconds it took Brough to slip the shirt over her head and pull her trousers down and then she wore just tiny yellow panties and a black bra.
“Better do an internal, Sarn’t Major” I suggested.
“Very good sir,” he agreed, and from the breast pocket of his battle-dress he pulled a pair of latex gloves, “Don’t know where its been Sir!” he announced.
She tried to make a run for it, to run from my portacabin office near naked into a camp of a hundred randy squaddies, she actually tried to dodge around Brough and flee out of the door and she might have made it if her trousers hadn’t been round her ankles but as it was she just tripped and head-butted a filing cabinet and crashed to the floor.
Brough tenderly dragged her to a sitting position by her long brown hair, there was already a distinct pong of rodent about this so called insurgent and it was getting stronger, “brown haired, brown eyed Shiite?” I mused out loud, “It’s a bit odd eh Sarn’t Major.”
“Never give it a thought Sir, just as long as they fuck nicely.” he replied helpfully, “I likes blue eyed blondes with decent tits me self.”
“Indeed, that is your perogative as a non commissioned officer,” I agreed, “but I’m sure you would lower your standards if necessary.”
She sat on the floor stunned by her own stupidity rather than physically injured as we chatted, I saw her looking around at the Army Green filing cabinets and pictures of my relatives and the family’s horses from back home, I remembered how some unkind squaddie once opined that you could sometimes tell the difference between my women and my horses, but you see Eventing was my life, Badminton, Gatcombe Park, Dressage, Cross Country, Jumping.
“I’ll report you!” she complained.
“Who to exactly?” I asked, “Or have you a satellite phone up your arse, check her Sarn’t Major.”
He wrenched her upright, held her from behind with his left arm under her tits and ripped her panties down with the other hand, I was surprised that he let them flutter down her legs rather than tearing them off but maybe it was his kind nature breaking through, as it did almost every ten years or so.
I cleared a space on my desk and he thrust her head down between my in tray and my copy of Janes Fighting Ships, a wonderfuly useful publication for an outpost three hundred miles from the nearest navigable waterway.
Brough straightened his gloves with military precision, applied some lubricant, gun oil actually but it was slippery even if it did produce a clap-like rash, and I from my side of the desk gently held her by the cheeks as Brough spread her ass cheeks ready to check for anything nasty.
I obviously didn’t expect to find a satellite phone but Lt “Tiler” Moore had found three pounds of semtex and a detonator up one woman’s arse so you couldn’t be too careful.
The hatred blazed in her eyes, and then as Brough began to worm a finger inside her a most un-lady like sound rippled through the air.
“Bloody hell sir, got a gas mask!” Brough exclaimed.
“Never mind, better than a kilo of Semtex Sarn’t.” I added.
“Full of shit sir!” Brough intoned.
“Right turn her over,” I suggested.
“No!” she squealed, “No you cannot, no it is forbidden.”
“Other way sir,” Brough intoned as we twisted her in opposite directions making her scream in pain, “Your clockwise sir.”
We lay her across the desk, she was fighting now, flailing her legs even after I grabbed her arms, but Brough was not deterred and he soon had her legs spread wide as he investigated her tight but hairy cunt.
“Christ sir, we turned the poor bitch on,” Brough exclaimed, “Her clits wiggling like a fat maggot.” he said with a seductive turn of phrase.
“Just check she hasn’t got I E D up there,” I suggested, and he moved in spreading her ever wider.
I saw his gloved hands moving probing, spreading her lower lips, gently separating the tiny pink petals, until, “Well would you look at that,” Brough exclaimed “Never thought I’d see one of those again sir!”
“What the hell is it Man!” I squealed thinking we were about to die.
“It’s a bloody Hymen.” he explained, “Good lord!”
“What?” I asked in disbelief.
“Twenty year old bloody Shiite Hymen,” he said, “They usually get busted about eleven, married like.”
“Fair enough,” I agreed, “leave it for now Sarn’t Major.” I suggested, “Perhaps the young lady would care to exchange some information for it, what do you say?”
“No!” she exclaimed.
“Bust it then Sarn’t Major,us a bayonet.” I suggested, there was an old bayonet from an ancient Lee Enfield rifle on my desk which I used as a paper knife, highly polished and Razor sharp, Brough grasped it, cut a piece of paper with it and showed the girl just how sharp it was, then slowly he advanced it towards her most tender private intimate parts.
She wailed in terror, as she realised Brough was to ease a razor sharp bayonet into her she was completely distraught, terrified, “Anything you want to tell us.?” I asked.
“Noooooo!” she wailed, so Brough continued and with the practised ease of a pork butcher he took her innocence, at least the physical manifestation of it.
“How’s that?” I asked, she squealed “Have you made her a woman Sarn’t Major?” I asked.
“Sort of, I can see down inside now any road.” he assured me, “I think you should have first poke sir.” he said “Rank and all that.”
“That’s very thoughtful Sarn’t Major,” I agreed, “get me hung by the Politically Correct types but she does look quite comely so, yes why not?” I stood up, “We’ll fix the blast screens stop unwanted spectators.” I suggested, “Unless you would like to tell us something?”
She just said “No.” I bitterly regretted wearing chequered boxer shorts under my uniform, but well duty was duty, someone has to do it, and I pulled a pack of three Durex from my Tunic’s breast pocket and slid one on my now straining erection.
“No!” the girl wailed, “Please!” but Brough held her firmly.
“Now see here girly,” Brough said kindly, “The officer is being kind to you because he only has a little prick so it shouldn’t hurt too much, but if you don’t pipe down well, I’ll tell you, you’ll think mine will come right out through your wind pipe because it’s so fucking huge!”
“All right Sarn’t Major, don’t rub it in.” I exclaimed, “I haven’t had any complaints.”
“You ain’t had many birds” he muttered and he was right, it was then that I started to slide inside her and she realised that she was going to be fucked, she was right out of choices and then I just eased right on inside her, squelch, she was absolutely soaking, which was the last thing I expected.
I pulled her back towards me and rammed myself deeper into her, she just bit her lip and cried, those big brown eyes full of sorrow not hatred now, and then all too soon the ride was over, my first woman in two months and I shot my load in about two minutes, I felt a right prat.
But the fucking was just the first phase of operation spill, and for phase two we needed Lt Sarah Carter our own tame Lesbian sadist, and almost before I had chucked the used condom in the bin Brough was on the radio to Sarah and she gave an ETA of ten minutes.
The girl was sobbing, “Now see you could have saved a lot of grief,” Brough explained, “but see we give you a taster next see, let you see what’s in store for you of you don’t tell us some nice things we want to hear.”
She looked like she thought the end of the world had come already, and then Sarah knocked the door and Brough let her in.
“Good afternoon Sir, Sarn’t Major.” Sarah said brightly, “Is this the bitch?”
“Yes Lieutenant,” I nearly called her My Dear, “Piggy practice I think, did you bring your bag of tricks.”
“Yes Sir,” Sarah agreed, she was to pretty to be gay, I decided, maybe I could hold her down while Brough straightened her out one day, “Piggy play, yes sir.”
“You see we let you know what it’s like to be a pig first,” I reassured our captive, “before we chop your arms at the elbow and legs at the knee, cut your tongue out and blind you.”
“No, you cannot, for pity’s sake,” the Arab girl protested, but there were three of us and one of her and we quickly had her wrists roped and tied behind her neck and then Sarah went to work, and laced a tight leather sleeve along the girls arm as it doubled back acutely at the elbow until upper and lower arms were bound together agonisingly tightly.
“For gods sake you can’t, its,” The girl whined but Sarah silenced her with a piece of rag wedged in her mouth held in place by a bungee cord.
“That’s better,” Sarah commented, “I couldn’t hear myself scream!” she commented and then asked, “what’s next?”
“Legs?” I queried, this was more difficult, but Sarah was an expert, you see with upper and lower legs bound the taper slowly forces the bindings off, so Sarah slips a special adjustable reinforced plastic frame inside the vee of the knee joint to keep the top binding in place, it’s excruciatingly painful so I’m told but basically we view that as an advantage.
It took both Brough and myself to control the girls legs as she tried to kick out but soon enough the bands were in place and Sandra pulled the bindings tight with a little winch thingy that fitted a cordless drill.
We did the other leg next, just the frame and top binding and only then did we start the lashings, well to be honest we watched Sandra do the bindings, lacing the leather around lower and upper legs binding feet to upper thigh until she appeared to have just stumpy pig like legs, the line of laces like a corset needed constant tightening in sequence to keep everything neat, and as Sandra worked steadily in the heat so the beads of sweat ran down her neck and on down between her breasts and I must confess I followed their progress with entirely inappropriate interest.
“Do her arms now Sarn’t Major?” Sarah suggested, “If you’ve finished staring at me tits.”
“No Lieutenant, that was me,” I lied, “Sarn’t Major Brough was looking at the prisoner the whole time.”
“Yes, sure!” Sarah replied, “Turn her round.”
We needed to put a leather strap around behind her neck to kept the bindings in place and stopped them slipping off instead of the rope and they had to be buckled to the arm binders while her arms were free, she struggled but there were too many of us and we soon had her restrained again.
“Trotters next,” Sarah giggled, and she reached in her haversack and pulled out some curious rubber boots, “They loops through the hook of the elbow, she said as the girl stared in mute horror, and then Sarah was pulling them on to the girl, the straps were tightened and as a final touch black elasticated socks were pulled over the boots to close the gap between the skin coloured Camelskin leather of the bindings and the black of the boots.
“She just wants a curly tail up her ass and she’d,” Brough observed but he was nonplussed when Sarah took a butt plug with a curly tail from her haversack, “stone me.” he said in amazement.
“Will you do the honours Sarn’t Major?” I asked.
“If that’s a direct order sir,” he said as he laughingly took the plug from Sarah, unscrewed the tail and aimed the plug at the girls small brown bud.
He squirted gun oil at it almost as an afterthought and then with his bear like hands on her shoulders and his knee against the plug he forced the plug deep inside her, past the wide bit so that the screw hole was just flush with the skin.
“You certainly have a knack Sarn’t Major,” I commented.
“Sometimes a lad thinks he’s queer sir,” Brough explained, “that’s how you proves they ain’t, ram summat solid up their ass and see how them likes it,”
“And if they likes, I mean like it?” I asked innocently.
“Pull the bloody pin out and run like buggery,” he explained and continued unnecessarily “We use a grenade see.”
The girl was squirming and trying to chew her gag in half by now, crying, moaning, everything, attention seeking really.
The next bit was cosmetic, a corset but it had a practical purpose with a double spine down the back, first off it made lying on the back bloody uncomfortable and with the inner spine down she couldn’t sit because the spine went down past her backside, there was a little red button to press which operated a ratchet, oh and the tail could screw into the movable spine if required as well instead of into the butt plug.
The other thing the corset did was made the tits hang better because she would be walking on all fours from now on, and when we were sure no one had a camera or camera phone then she could do a parade or two as regimental mascot, I know the mascot should be a goat and not a pig but beggars can’t be choosers or so they say.
Sarah lovingly squeezed that corset impossibly tight around the girl and suddenly her modest breasts bulged obscenely and then we were nearly finished, a flesh coloured bathing cap took care of hiding her hair, a proper rubber ball gag, silenced her after a few unfortunate seconds of screaming as we loosened her rag – gag and wrestled the rubber ball between her teeth, and then it was just her dark pubic hair which spoiled the illusion.
It took CSM Brough a surprisingly short time to remove the dark fuzz of pubic hair, wielding my razor sharp bayonet with practised ease over her gun oil lubricated crotch, and there she was, a mark one reversible human pig.
“Now my dear you can play being piggy for a while and then decide if amputation is for you,” I informed her, “Have you a collar and leash Lieutenant?” I asked “Please.”
The girl had found that she could grunt and squeal quite eloquently and then she realised she could roll over but CSM Brough caught her under the armpits and lifted her to the floor she suddenly realised her new station in life and she didn’t like it one bit, she stood on her knees and elbows, she had to tilt her head sideways to look up at us, and the anger and frustration were priceless.
“Better take it walkies before it pisses itself Sarn’t Major,” I suggested, “And make sure the lads remember to use a condom.”
“Sah!” he saluted and opened the door and dragged the girl, well hardly girl, out.
“I wonder if I could put a saddle on it?” Sarah mused.
“Lieutenant, close the door if you would.” I requested, “Just check Brough has the measure of her first.”
She giggled and closed the door, “Do you think you could actually ride her if I got a saddle?” I asked.
“Of course sir,” she replied.
“Good, well I do appreciate your efforts you know.” I said.
“Knock it off sir, I’m gay remember!” she said thinking I was about to make a pass.
“No, ah, no I’m putting your name forward for first Lieutenant,” I explained,” I just thought I’d warn you.” I said
“Sir!” she replied, and picked up her haversack, saluted and marched smartly out of my office slamming the door behind her.
The Pig as I had already come to think of her as was being trotted around by CSM Brough, and do you know she looked just like her forearms and lower legs had already been amputated, as she trotted awkwardly along, clearly desperate to stay with Brough as she didn’t trust all those randy squaddies, in fact Brough quickly discarded the leash and let her follow him like a pet.
We didn’t exactly dine in style at set meal times, the mess silver remained firmly in storage at Catterick so I just slipped across to the Officer’s mess porta-cabin for a Spam fritter in rancid grease and came back to think up new ploys to get to the top of the helicopter resupply list.
Night fell and I went to turn in, yes you guessed in my very own portacabin quarters when CSM Brough turned up, “This bloody Pig sir, what do you want done with it?”
“Use your initiative man!” I said.
“I have sir, I’ve tied it to your portacabin, good night Sir!” and do you know he saluted smartly and marched away leaving a faint whiff of Newcastle Brown ale wafting on the breeze.
The pig for her sins looked absolutely terrified, but I had a think, and there was quite a gap under the floor of the cabin, and it was only on soft sand anyway so I scooped away some sand, and suggested she crawl under the floor.
I wondered if she was hungry, then I decided I didn’t care, but I’m not a total bastard so I at least yanked out her butt plug, I unscrewed the tail first and fitted it to the extending spine on her Corset, but then I pulled the plug and left her to her own devices.
It was a mistake, letting her bed down under the Cabin because I heard her rusting and rumpling around under the floor as I tried to sleep, at least she wouldn’t try to escape, I was fairly sure of that but at the end of the day I wasn’t that interested, even so at three a.m. I had to throw a perfectly sound groundsheet at her because she kept groaning with cold, and it was bloody cold.
Cold enough to freeze the proverbials off a bronze penguin as we used to say on exercises on Pebble Island in the old days.
God knows why Pte Williams decided to play Reville at 5 a.m, it turned out the lazy sod did it from his pit just poking the end of his bugle out of the window but do you know it ruined my night’s kip, and of course the bloody locals had to add the sound of their Kalashnikovs to spice up the dawn Chorus.
Still I had a few more hour dozing pleasantly before my 09.00 briefing.
I had only got fifty yards towards C block when this thing came grunting and scrabbling after me, it seemed she was afraid to be alone, but already she seemed more animal than human, so to be kind I tied a “Do not fuck” label around her neck and tied her leash to a stanchion.
What I didn’t realise was the lads had brought another batch of suspects in and they were in B block and could see “The Pig” through the heavily wired and reinforced windows.
It wasn’t until much later that I realised that the new suspects were far far more loquatious, is that the word, well much more ready to shop their little friends than usual.
CSM Brough came to see me, “Shouldn’t let the gooks see the pig sir, bad form.” he said with a smirk. “You reckon she wants breakfast.”
“I should imagine she would prefer toast and orange juice,” I suggested, “whereas I suspect you have a mouthful of cock in mind?”
He had the decency to blush, “I can’t go through with it Brough,” I said, “Christ that would make us as bad as them.”
“No need sir, let her go,” Brough suggested, “thank her for the info, give her some cash and let the gooks sort her out.”
“You might have something there!” I agreed, “But take her round the slop bins see if she fancies anything.”
“Shall I pull her ball gag sir, or maybe Lieutnant Carter has a ring gag,” he suggested.
“Yes, capital idea,” I agreed, “See if there’s any bacon or pork, of and make it drink beer.”
“We’re short of beer sir.” Brough explained.
“Oh damn!” I exclaimed, “Oh well never mind, just pork then.”
Brough took the pig to see Lt Carter and later I saw her trying to drink from a plastic bowl with a ring gag forcing her mouth wide open, it was hillarious! bubbles streamed from her nose, as she almost drowned, but she couldn’t do anything else.
We gave up on the saddle idea, we got a saddle around her waist but the spine down the corset got in the way and when we packed the saddle with cloths then Sandra’s feet dragged the ground because we couldn’t raise the stirrups enough but it was a good way to let off steam and gave the lads a laugh.
We found a Suicide bomber by the main gate at eleven oh eight and suddenly things didn’t seem so funny anymore.
Burka, painted toenails, beard, usual thing some ignorant peasant hoping for a short cut to heaven, but Pte Mellis had him spotted, although whether he would have spotted it if the chap’s detonator circuit battery hadn’t been in the wrong way round is debatable, but the “Woman!” prayed and went rigid and nothing happened, as Mellis bravely said, “It’s a bomb” and heroically sprinted for the Admin block leaving Lt Annie Priors to, well die basically.
He quickly figured it was a dud and disabled the Bomber with a bullet through his ankle, a crack shot you think but he loosed off twenty rounds and god alone knows where the rest went.
So we had the usual ritual of searching for Cameras and camera phones and then assembled the lads on the Parade ground for a remote detonation.
It’s funny but they don’t like stark bollock naked those gooks don’t, not with twenty pounds of improvised explosive round their guts and a hundred feet of wire connecting Pte Mellis’s remote exploder to their detonator.
“On the Command!” I bellowed out, but Mellis twitched too soon and the Gook blew up before I was ready, not much of a bang really, but it splattered blood and bone fragments over a twenty yard radius and the bomber just stood there for a moment in shock and then collapsed into a mound of offal.
Really I wanted to do these demonstrations in the “Town” square but the politically correct types wouldn’t approve, “Should have stuck a stick of semtex up his arse,” CSM Brough muttered before he bellowed, “Stretcher Party, at you earliest convenience gentlemen,” and wandered off laughing.
Most of the lads had wandered off, only the greenest still remained standing at ease, well they could bloody wait, you needed a bit of common sense to survive out here not slavish obedience to stupid orders, I marched smartly away, marching is good, takes our mind off especially when you’re determined to keep to 120 paces a minute, no more no less without a band cocking things up.
The “Pig” was attracting attention Pte Warrinder was caught trying to piss on it and had to pay a spot fine, twenty pence, but he chose five minutes extra guard duty, and thereafter every squaddie on the camp tried to piss on it, and plenty managed it because by the second day you could smell it coming, absolutely disgusting, in fact by the third afternoon I ordered Frazer and Grantnell to hose it down, but at least from its point of view while it was stinking no one was trying to screw it!
I began to wonder if it had lost it’s mind by the fourth day, it liked rolling on its back in the soft sand and having it’s tummy rubbed, but I later learned it was a survival tool.
It found a nice warm place to sleep after it was hosed off, G accomodation block, I heard a commotion as I did my evening rounds and looked in, “Ten-Shun” Corporal Turner bellowed when he saw me.
She was on a bed, Horlicks was behind her, his tool ball deep in her arse, and Coughlan in front, his trousers down and I guess his tool down her throat.
“Where’s her do not fuck sign gone?” I asked quietly.
“On the Table sir, we thought that meant up it’s cunt sir,” Turner replied.
“Oh, that’s all right then,” I said sarcastically, “Carry on, oh and use condoms you don’t know where it’s been.”
I watched and couldn’t resist interfering, “Come on Turner, In, out, in out, on the double man, march time,” I hummed a few bars of Colonel Bogey, and as the lads started laughing so I slipped quietly away.
The pig was rumpling around under my portacabin again by three a.m so I guessed the lads had turned in at last.
It seemed high time I interviewed it properly so I had Turner and Coughlan clean it up and bring it to my quarters.
She stumped through the door quite inelegantly, grunting through the ring gag, her breasts swinging quite obscenely, and not that far off the ground.
“Ah Azula, or should that be Miss Piggy?” I asked her flippantly, “Ready to talk, one stamp for yes two for no.”
She just stared at me as she stood on her elbows and knees, she had to turn her head sideways to be able to see me without straining her neck.
“Or is it one for no and two for yes?” I said and she just stared. “Here piggy, piggy, pig.” I tried but she turned her back on me, and would have left the room if she could have reached the door handle.
“Well I want to talk if you don’t” I suggested, “So come and lie on the rug and we’ll have a little chat,” I grabbed her collar and dragged her to the small patch of filthy carpet between my filthy sofa and my work stained coffee table.
She grunted and squealed and on an impulse I lifted her bodily onto the sofa, she sort of sighed and visibly relaxed.
“Now Piggy Pig,” I addressed her, “I’m going to remove your gag, but no spitting, all right?”
She nodded, and I eased the rubber covered rig gag from her mouth, “How’s that.” I asked.
“Ughkagugag,” I think she said, I was on the verge of calling an interpreter when she managed to say,”Oh god.”
“How are you?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “No you can’t you can’t.” she exclaimed.
“But I can, now have the Lads treated you well?” I asked.
“They made me.” she said.
“I know,” I agreed, “What about food.?”
“Pork pies,” she said, “They feed me pork pies.”
“And drink?” I asked
“Water,” she said, “How much longer?”
“Well the surgeons reckon about a month before your elbows and knees are completely destroyed,” I suggested, “but if we have a suitable little chat then maybe you could walk again?”
“I want to die.” she said.
“Then that’s settled,” I agreed, “we’ll release you, they’ll know you betrayed them and so you’ll be shot within minutes of release.”
“I mean,” she said.
“So why are you here,” I asked, “you’re a British Citizen, entered Pakistan on a Tourist Visa last November, and have been working with insurgents here since February.”
“Oh god no,” she said, “Don’t tell my mum.” she said, as there she was trussed up like a human pig, threatened with amputations and yet she worried that we would tell her mum.
“Jemima Francine Gelali.” I quoted from my monitor, “Illegitimate daughter of Monica Gelali and Stanley Arnold Thomson,” I peered at her as I said it, she looked shattered.
“What!” she squealed, “No! it’s a lie, my father was.” she insisted.
“A butcher.” I informed her, “the chap your mother married was on a student visa, sorry.”
“But!” she said, “You’re lying!”
“Sorry,” I said, “Look I’ll get someone to get your story written up and then.”
“It’s a lie” she snapped, “Mustafa Gelali is my father, the martyr of Aldgate.”
“Sorry,” I said “The DNA is pretty convincing, I’m afraid Stanley’s son Harold’s DNA is on the database, that’s your half brother, and your mother was told we needed her DNA as we needed to identifty this charred body which we thought was yours, sorry.”
“You’re lying!” she insisted, but I wasn’t.
“Just tell us the names of the people who recruited you and you can go home.” I offered recklessly.
“No,” she said.
Her naked ass looked so inviting I just had to slap it, “No!” she said again.
“You liked that, are you a masochist Miss Gelali?” I asked.
She said “No” but there was something in her gaze.
“What is it Miss Gelali?” I asked, she shook her head.
“Well, then,” I explained, “we have gleaned quite a lot of interesting info from your associates, you see none like the prospect of being “Pigged” like you so I really think we have no further use for you.”
“What!” she squealed.
“Yes, you can go.” I suggested, “Or the position of Camp Whore is vacant.”
“They’ll kill me as an informant,” she said, “Have you finished can I go now?” she said and she rolled off the sofa onto the floor.
“Why yes,” I agreed and I opened the door, “do come and see me if you change your mind,” she trotted past me, more pig than human, but somehow more tragic without her gag, and she trotted off across the soft sand.
I heard wailing around an hour later, as I did my rounds, it came from behind the Quad Bike store, and as I rounded the corner I saw Pte Burrows jumping around with his trousers around his ankles clutching his genitals, “It fucking bit me!” he explained eloquently.
As I turned the corner I saw the pig with a big grin on her face and a trouser less Cpl Maters on his knees behind her.
“See the M.O now!” Corporal Mathers ordered abruptly as he dragged his own condom clad erection out of her arse hole, “Fucking hell!”
“And pull your trousers up Corporal, You’re improperly dressed.” I explained, “Don’t let CSM Brough catch you.”
I looked at her, “Bad Piggy Pig,” I said, “You suck nicely or I’ll gag you again.”
She had the decency to look ashamed, “Corporal, write, It Bites, across its forehead will you,” I suggested.
“What with Major Sir?” he asked stupidly.
“Light Grey undercoat with,” I saw him looking at me like I was serious, “Fucking Hell use your initiative man, boot polish, lipstick just don’t mark her all right?”
“Sah” he agreed, saluted and wandered off.
I heard rumpling around three a.m., but this time she was crying and calling for her Mum, I debated whether to gag her then I remembered I had some spare soiled sleeping bags waiting cleaning in the store cupboard, so the easy way out was to drag the pig in and let it sleep in the warm.
She didn’t like it one bit, first she thought I wanted to rape her and then when she realised I didn’t she was upset that I didn’t fancy her but I helped her into a sleeping bag beside my bunk and threw some more bags over her and hoped she would sleep, but she didn’t.
“I didn’t know,” she said, in the darkness “I had no idea.”
“No, death is the easy option,” I explained.
“But I didn’t know,” she said, “I had a dream, my father, and a tall dark hansom man, who took me for his wife,”
“Yes, sounds like gone with the wind part 2,” I agreed.
“You don’t understand, the man with the moustache, he made me his, he took my innocence.” she said.
“Well part of it came true, I suppose,” I agreed, “I took your innocence and I have a moustache.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “I don’t like my dream anymore.”
“Then tell me about Bradford,” I suggested, you see when I sent the “pig’s” details to GHQ London as per regulations, I was amazed to get an email in reply, “Important, suspected of being member of Bradford terror cell.”
“Bradford!” she squealed in surprise.
“Yes, those bombings, you’re looking at what, life imprisonment, twenty year tariff?” I suggested.
“I had nothing to do with that, I only wanted to kill soldiers.” she said.
“Soldiers like me.” I suggested as I lay back staring at the ceiling.
“I didn’t think about it like that.” she admitted.
“Jesus Christ,” I exclaimed, “What the hell exactly were you thinking of?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“And kill yourself?” I asked.
“I suppose so, I wanted to avenge my father.” she said firmly.
“So how are you, you must be in agony?” I queried.
“Just Numb,” she replied.
“Get some sleep,” I suggested, “Goodnight.”
It was fast asleep next morning when I woke, it was hard to reconcile that the pig on the floor was the girl I had talked with in the night but I let it sleep on, I just had a couple of lads check on it mid morning and it still slept on until Lunch.
I went to check on the Pig at Lunch time, she was lying in her sleeping bag, “I like it here,” she said unnecessarily, “But I can’t live like this any more, I really can’t.”
“And that’s it is it?” I asked, “because Im rapidly coming to the conclusion that you’re a very stupid little girl.”
“Major.” she asked, “can you let me out I need a wee.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “Sorry.”
I helped it from the bag and it scampered out of the door and headed for the Canteen, making no effort to stop for a wee as it claimed and then I realised what it really wanted was sex.
It seemed strange that I never even considered screwing it would give it pleasure, but well logically it was probably so used to being satisfied it got withdrawal symptoms when the screwing stopped.
I watched it trot away and idly wondered what it would look like if we tarted it up a bit, Mini-skirt, heels, let her hair down, and of course I got a hard on.
I made a decision, “Piggy Pig,” I called, “Come here!”
She wiggled her ass and kept going, oh well if she was going to play hard to get she could get on with it I decided.
I’d given up counting the days till my roulement back to the UK, apparently they needed all the helicopters they could get their hand on urgently in the UK for VIP transport, so they couldn’t find any for us so we could avoid the IED littered roads, and when I took a moment to check the calendar it was a shock to realise my roulement was already overdue.
Lt Carter came to find me that afternoon, “Signal from GCHQ sir, they want the Pig back in the UK for questioning.”
“Great, I’m ten days overdue for roulement and they want the pig marvellous!” I agreed.
“What shall I reply sir?” she asked..
“Oh, who cares, leave it to me I’ll do it!” I agreed, I wasn’t exactly thrilled and went to find the pig, it was behind the kitchen, Privates “Taff” Jones and “Jock,” McNeal were having a Private moment with it sort of a spit roast Pig, Scotsman Mc Neal with his trousers around his ankles and his Penis down her throat, and Jones from the Welsh Valleys with his tool deep in her backside showing a remarkable degree of international co operation as they banged away at her.
“They want you UK side Piggy Pig,” I told her, as the squaddies stopped what they were doing saluted and stood to attention. “So maybe we’ll postpone the amputations until we get back.”
A tear formed in her eye, “Don’t worry, we’ll soon have you back here,” I said, “Carry on, at the double!” I ordered, “In out in out.”
I went to the signals portacabin and drafted a reply.
“Fine, we’ll send it on next available helicopter, around Christmas at this rate,” I rattled of and punched “send to all” forgetting GCHQ had Cc’d Whitehall and it was not just going to the local HQ.
Well the shit hit the fan, Helicopter was the ultimate obscenity, no hint of Helicoptoral deficiency could be permitted within the ranks and I was therefore summoned to Bulford Camp no less to explain myself.
Events moved rapidly and suddenly a movement order for myself and the Pig materialised and Major Janet Thrace of the 3rd Battallion was seconded to replace me, the problem was the order came in at 03.00 for a 09.00 departure. I didn’t read the damned thing until 08.45.
I radioed Sarah and CSM Brough, “The Pig’s due out on a helo at oh nine hundred,” I explained, “And I am, I need help!”
The Pig was under the Cabin she had been doing her thing with a queue of squaddies when I turned in or she could have used my floor so I dragged her in quickly and began to unlace her, Brough marched in, “Cut the bloody things sir” he suggested and then Sarah appeared.
“Cut the bloody things sir!” she suggested, “They’re soaked with piss anyway.”
Charming, but it made life much easier.
The pig squealed horribly as Brough grabbed my old razor sharp bayonet and cut away the laces and it found it could move its arms and legs again and then, as soon as it was naked we dragged it in the shower and attacked it with soap and water, luckily the bathing hat kept it’s hair piss free, so it just remained to find it some clothes, and there we had a stroke of luck as we had a huge stock of small and extra small uniform, bright green Jungle issue you understand totally ‘king useless although apparently three weeks boiling at gas mark seven made them fade to medium green, and so that’s what she got to wear, shorts and tops two sizes too small, at least, she had to leave some buttons undone and well the effect was quite fetching so we decided to hide her bra, but at least we had a new pair of size five boots for her, which only left four hundred and ninety eight pairs in the stores, that’s size fives, we didn’t have any twelves or anything useful left.
I stated to throw my things in my case, but Sarah suggested I shave and she started stuffing cases with my stuff, “What about this?” she asked holding up my old bayonet.
“You can have it, pass it on to Sarn’t Major Brough if you don’t want it,” and that’s when we heard the thud of an approaching Chinook.
Finally we pulled the Pig’s to its feet and it struggled to balance on just two legs and tried to get used to being human again.
We must have been important, they sent the US Marines for us, a nice shiny new Chinook, the last one we had round here used to be in Yeovilton Museum as the one which flew in the Falklands in 1982, thirty odd years old, but this was the real McCoy.
The ramp went down, at about fifty feet up and half the cargo was on the deck before the Green monster had settled down in the middle of a monstrous sandstorm like dust cloud.
The Chinook landed, my replacement jumped out, an American threw her kit at her, and Brough threw my kit on board and the Pig and I were dragged aboard and the engines spooled up and we were gone.
The Pig clung to me, her soft breasts against my chest her face against my shoulder, it was all I could do to stop getting a hard on, it turned out she was terrified of Helos and she knew the locals had some shoulder launched anti aircraft missiles so she had good reason to be scared.
They didn’t mess around, we barely hit the tarmac at Bastion than we were put on a VC10 museum piece and sent back to Brize, a VC10, nineteen sixty two vintage or thereabouts I ask you, they’ll be using the Battle of Britain memorial flight on operations next!
Oh, I forgot, they handcuffed me to the pig, just in case, they gave me a key of course, but at Brize it was cock-ups ville, no one knew where she was supposed to go and I got so sick of the hassle that I signed for the Pig and hired a car to drive home.
I used the handcuffs to attach the Pig’s foot to the car seat, and left the bungling RAF far behind as I headed for my little hideaway in Marlborough.
The Pig was very quiet, too bloody quiet, I nearly fell asleep by Ogbourne, but eventually we got there, I stopped at a 24 hour Tesco store for supplies and then I carried the pig symbolically over the threshold of my humble abode.
I sat her down on the couch, turned the TV on and made her some supper, she tucked her legs up under herself and then she said. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“What do you want,” I asked, “stab me in the back, blow me up with a hand grenade?”
“I will get life imprisonment,” she said, “Won’t I?”
I nodded, she looked so sad, “I shall never have children?” she asked.
“Hey don’t cry,” I suggested, “It’s not so bad.”
“But it is!” she corrected me.
“Oh piggy, there’s TV in prison,” I said, “Or maybe if you tell me some names we could maybe get you a new identity,?”
“Never!” she snapped.
“Oh that’s more like it,” I suggested, “Some spirit, now you watch TV while I do some emails.”
I checked the encripted mail. “Allow Suspect to escape,” it said cryptically, it was only dated two days ago, sod it.
Eventually I got fed up, “Bed time,” I announced.
She looked at me, an she started to take off her green shorts and battle dress, “Very nice!” I agreed, “Up the stairs, there’s only one bedroom and just one bed,” I looked at her, “Tell you what, you have a shower, make yourself look pretty, and maybe, if you’re very good I’ll let you sleep with me.”
“You will make love to me?” she asked.
“No just a fuck love!” I explained.
She spent ages in that shower, and when she came out she looked almost wholesome in a sort of darkish skinned sort of a way.
Every bloody towel was wet when she finished, I showered and came out of the bathroom to find her there with the carving knife from the kitchen drawer.
“I need a dry towel,” I explained and as I hit her with a right to the jaw, she fell back stunned.
“Oww, you bwoke my haw,” she said several minutes later as she woke on the bed.
“You used all the damned towels,” I chided her, “now are you going to behave or do I lock you in the shed.”
The memory came back, “The knife?” she said.
“Put away,” I said bluntly, “now under the covers young lady, you and I have some making up to do.”
She did as I said, sliding in beside me all warm and, well terrified actually.
I held her close, “Mmm, you smell good,” I exclaimed, it was soap actually but it smelled so much better than piss, and then I opened the petals of her sex with my fingers and she moaned softly as I guided my manhood gently inside her.
“I’m glad I didn’t have you shot!” I told her, several minutes later as I pumped her full of jism, “Call it Jeremy if it’s a boy,” I suggested and I pulled my boxer shorts on turned over and went to sleep.
She was still there when I woke up, she had the curtains drawn looking across the downs, “Hi,” she said and smiled.
“Hi,” I agreed, “Look orders are to let you go, so if you want to?”
“To let me go?” she gasped, “Free?”
“Oh yes, well what do you think?” I asked.
“Last night, you didn’t use a condom.” she said, “You want me to have your baby?
“So have an abortion!” I suggested.
“I want a baby,” she said, “In case I go to prison for twenty years.
“Glad to be of service!” I agreed
“Don’t you like me?” she asked.
“You’re ok as a standby fuck,” I agreed graciously.
“Then use me,” she said, “You know they will kill me if I go home.”
“Christ you’re fucking serious aren’t you?” I asked, “Sod it why should those rag-heads hurt you,” I suggested, “How do you fancy being my lodger?”
“What?” she asked.
“Stay here, I’ll be living in the mess so you can have the cottage to yourself, I’ll sort you out some benefits, maybe get you some clothes, hell you could even get a job, and then when I need sex I can just come round.”
“And what about when I want a man?” she asked.
“Too bad.” I suggested, “What do you think?”
“It’s too good to be true,” she said, “almost!”
“What do you mean almost?” I asked but her hands were already pulling down my boxer shorts and I was left in no doubt as to what she meant as she pulled my tool from his resting place and guided me inside her, and she made all the right noises, she gasped and moaned as if she was having an orgasm, and she was a welcome distraction.
She seemed to be happy, she was my bedmate for nearly a week while I sorted out my defence in my upcoming court martial for something or other which they were desperately trying to trump up.
But the pig, Azula, was living on borrowed time, and on that fateful Friday she opened the door to the delivery man who stabbed her seventeen times and slashed her throat, Mr Gascoigne who lived just down the the road heard her scream and saw the van drive off and found her lying in a pool of blood when he went to see what was going on.
She was very dead, her throat cut, he phoned for medics but it was hopeless, her friends had clearly found her.
The military police told me what had happened, the gate guard had booked me in at 07.56 hrs so there was no problem with my alibi but I still felt sick.
My Boss took me aside, “Look Adams, rum business this, on top of everything else, but Whitehall want you court martialled,” he explained, “Sort of impasse at present as we can’t find a suitable offence.”
“Thank you for the update sir, but may I request an officer to represent me?” I asked
“Normally I would, be delighted to represent” he started to say before I cut him short.
“Lieutenant Sarah Carter,” I said, “Sir.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” he agreed, I thought it was the least I could do, Sarah was due for relief the week after I left so it was a way of getting her home.
Sarah flew into Brize Norton on a Tristar one wet Thursday morning, I was told her ETA so I went to meet her, planning to discuss the case and to drive her home to Dorset.
She looked tired, small, frail, frightened even as she came through reception after getting customs clearance.
“Sarah, how nice to see you!” I declared, as I saw her across the room.
She smiled nervously, “Hello Sir, what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Come to give you a lift.” I announced.
“Oh, my Mum and Dad are coming for me,” she replied, “You should have said.”
“Shall we get something to eat in the Canteen?” I suggested.
“Yes, why not, I was hoping for a pub meal really, a chance to look like a girl again.” she chuckled, “You look shocked!”
“Sorry,” I said, “I don’t suppose I’ve ever seen you look like a girl.” I admitted.
“I can’t really on deployment,” she admitted, as I picked up some of her bags and we set off towards the Canteen, “Look sir,” she said, “Mum and Dad, well they don’t know,” she paused, “About me with other girls.”
“Ok,” I agreed.
“They might think I have a boyfriend.” she continued.
“Of course, my lips are sealed.” In agreed.
“They might think it’s you,” she casually dropped the bombshell, and I in turn dropped her kitbag.
“Right,” I agreed.
“To stop them match making,” she said, “Mother is obsessed.”
“It’s not a problem, honesty.” I agreed, “We went through a lot together so anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you Sir.” she said as I picked her kitbag again.
“You had better call me Tony,” I suggested, “Under the circumstances.”
“Yes sir,” she agreed which showed she hadn’t listened to a word I said.
Sarah’s parents were waiting in reception when we finished eating, they had the usual standard hugging and kissing reunion and then Sarah introduced me, “This is Tony!”
“Oh, we’ve heard so much about you!” her mother said, “But surely you young people need time together, perhaps you could come home next week?”
“That’s very considerate,” I agreed, “Am I invited?”
Sarah scowled furiously, “Ah, no spare bedroom,” her father replied.
“Oh well, when we’re married perhaps!” I added adding to her discomfort.
They chatted for half an hour or so and then they left, leaving Sarah and me.
“You were a big help I don’t think!” she said.
“Well you can use my place,” I suggested, “You can have the bed I’ll use the floor.” I was going to say “Or I coud sleep at the officers mess at Bulford,” but she butted in.
“Ok,” she agreed and so it was settled.
We were well south of the M4 before she mentioned the Pig, I told he we had been lovers at the end, “Yes, I think you cared for her all along.” she said, then she went quiet.
“Did she talk about her time as a Pig?” Sarah asked nervously.
“No, oh no, I hoped she would put it all behind her and move on.” I said.
“Oh,” she said and went quiet again.
“Would you really have amputated her lower arms and lower legs,” she asked.
“Oh, well, I don’t know about that.” I suggested, “We never got to that stage did we? I mean one look at her and her little mates were spilling the beans on their comrades faster than poor old Sarnt Major Brough could write it down.”
She laughed at the memory of the scene where seven robed terrorists clamoured to be first to denounce their friends while Brough bravely tried to keep order.
“They got CSM Brough with a rocket,” Sarah said quietly, “In a snatch Land Rover, RPG we think, with a couple of girl signallers,”
“Dead?” I asked.
“Well he won’t be much use if he does pull through, head injuries lost an arm, the truck barrel rolled after the hit.”
“Oh hell!” I exclaimed.
We drove in silence deep in thought.
She seemed to like the cottage, her mood brightened as soon as she saw it.
“I’ll have a shower if I may,” she suggested.
“Be my guest, I fetch some supper,” I suggested.
“Tony,” she said, “Don’t leave me alone please, is there nothing in the fridge?”
“Ok,” I agreed, “How do you like your egg on toast?”
“Scrambled,” she laughed, I made the scrambled egg, Ok it contained more egg shell than is recommended but it was hot, and we dined at the dining table drinking our tap water from wine glasses.
She still wore her uniform, the green this time. “Tony,” she said, “The Pig, did she ever say how she felt being trussed up and abused.”
“No,” I chuckled, “You asked that already, are you curious?”
“Yes,” she said, “I just wondered.”
“Well if you’re that interested I’ll truss you up and you can see for yourself.” I joked, “Next time we get deployed.”
“Next time?” she said.
“You’ll need the splints and stuff from your bag.” I pointed out.
“It’s in my bag,” she pointed, “Over there, I didn’t dare leave it behind.”
“Right, well say the word.” I joked, but she wasn’t laughing.
“I have nightmares,” she said, “Thinking what we put that girl through.”
“Then seriously, yes we’ll agree a safe word or gesture and I’ll do that for you.” I agreed.
“I’ll get the bag, I’ve got my bikini under the uniform.” she explained.
“You want to do it now?” I asked.
“Unless you had any other plans,” she said, and when I blushed slightly she added, “And get that idea right out of your head, I like girls remember!” and with that she peeled her jacket and shorts off to reveal an extremely unflattering blue bikini, and fetched the bag.
“Right Lieutenant,” I announced, “Piggy play, say ‘Stop’ or shake your head for the safe word, she nodded agreement, and laid out the corset and various fittings and bindings on the table, and then she knelt down.
“I do the arms first,” Sarah said as she put her arms behind her back, I went to work, and placed the leather sleeve along Sarah’s right arm and doubled it back acutely at the elbow until upper and lower arms were almost together and then I tightened the laces until her upper and lower arms were bound together agonisingly tightly.
“That’s tight enough,” Sarah whispered so I tied it off and did the other arm, it seemed sureal that she was requesting me to do this to her.
“That’s better,” Sarah commented as I tightened the second binding,”neck strap next?”
A a loop behind the neck fixed to the arm binders to hold them in place and stop them slipping off but I had to adjust the straps carefully again until Sandra professed herself satisfied.
“Legs next?” I queried, this was more difficult, she had to lie down which was difficult to do gently with her arms bound and then so I had to hold her and ease her down, and then fit the special securing bracket, because with upper and lower legs bound the taper slowly forces the bindings off, so Sarah had designed a special adjustable reinforced plastic frame to fit inside the vee of the knee joint to keep the top binding in place, it’s excruciatingly painful so I understood but basically we viewed that as an advantage.
It was awkward to adjust the frame precisely but after a few false starts I had the bands in place on her left leg and I pulled the bindings tight with a little winch that usually fitted a cordless drill, except I didn’t have one so I improvised with a screwdriver!
I did her other leg next, just the frame and top binding and only then did I start the lashings, I tightened them in sequence that I remembered Sandra do as I watched her binding Azula,
lacing the leather around lower and upper legs binding feet to upper thigh until she appeared to have just stumpy pig like legs, the line of laces were rather like a corset and needed constant tightening in sequence to keep everything neat and tidy.
“Front feet next,” Sarah suggested, There were some curious rubber boots, “They loop through the hook of the elbow,” she said and I pulled them on to her elbows, tightened the straps and pulled black elasticated sleeves over the boots to close the gap between the skin coloured Camelskin leather of the bindings and the black of the boots.
I did the slightly larger back “Trotters” the same way. “Corset next?” I suggested.
“Yes she agreed,” the Corset was cosmetic, she had barely an ounce of fat on her lithe tanned tomboyish body but the corset had a practical purpose with a tough plastic double spine down the back, which made lying on the back very uncomfortable and with the inner spine fixed down she couldn’t even sit properly because the spine went down past her backside, there was a little red button to press which operated a ratchet, oh and the tail could screw into the movable spine if required as well instead of into the butt plug.
The other thing the corset did was made the tits hang better not that Sarah had much in the breast department!
Sarah shuddered as I squeezed that corset impossibly tight around her and worked away to get the laces tightened evenly, and as they were pushed up and out her modest breasts looked quite appealing and then we were nearly finished, just a flesh coloured bathing cap to take care of hiding her hair, and there was a rubber ball gag, which I toyed with for a second and then it was just her dark blue bikini which spoiled the illusion.
“Bikini?” I asked.
“Oh no, this is fine.” she said.
“No, you wanted to experience what the Pig went through,” I reminded her.
“I said no!” she reminded me.
In toyed with the ball gag. “Open wide!” I ordered.
“No,” she said and that was all I needed to get the wooden rod she had laid beside the gag into her mouth and then it was easy to work it backwards until I could get the gag in.
“Nnggg,” she protested but it was too late and I fastened the strap on the ball gag.
It was not easy to peel her bikini bottoms off so I used scissors to cut them off but her bra had detachable shoulder straps so that came off easily enough and then just fuzz of pubic hair and under arm hair spoiled the illusion!
I remembered CSM Brough took a surprisingly short time to remove Azula’s dark fuzz of pubic hair with a razor sharp bayonet but I decided on my electric shaver.
She squirmed and shook her head but it didn’t take long and soon she was as clean and fresh as a baby down below, in fact her vagina was very appealing, just like two peach halves really.
“Now my dear you can play being piggy for a while” I suggested as I caught her under the armpits and lifted her onto her elbows and knees she suddenly realised she was helpless and she didn’t like it one bit, she had to tilt her head sideways to look up at us, and her anger and frustration were priceless.
Actually she looked more pig like than Azula, being lighter skinned, pink against the black of her boots, “Azula had a ring gag so she could eat,” I explained, “I’ll change yours later.” I promised.
She stare at me. “What is it Piggy?” I asked, I peered at her like one does an animal when you want to work out what it’s thinking.
She was scared, of me. “Why are you scared of me?” I asked.
She backed away, I struggled to understand. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” I asked
She nodded, “Really?” I was surprised, “Why?” which was a stupid question.
Then the Penny dropped, “Of course, piggy Pig was raped by almost everyone on the base, is that what worries you?”
“You don’t like being helpless do you?” She paused before nodding.
“Shall I rape you Piggy Pig?” I joked.
She glared at me, I felt stirrings, god she looked beautiful, I moved across the room and she moved to keep her bottom away from me.
“I think I should really, just so you really get to feel how humiliated she must have felt,” I said somewhat wordily.
She shook her head, I left her for a moment, removed my uniform and returned in just my boxers
she had been crying.
“Never mind Piggy, I’ll just do this and you can tell me what it was like.”
She did what she could to resist, squirming around but she stilled as I held her round the waist and explored her moist slit with an index finger and despite an impressive display of kicking she couldn’t stop me from jamming my erection between her lower lips, as I entered her doggy style and she was so wet she couldn’t stop me easing deep inside her.
The damned spine on the corset dug into me but despite the discomfort I felt my cares just falling away, she still protested, squirmed and grunted and was generally uncooperative.
Strangely she started to breathe heavily, grunting in a high pitched squeak like a sow, but I didn’t take an awful lot of notice, to be honest, it was just about me and enjoying the moment, but all good things come to an end, and things started going hazy and my penis was throbbing and quite suddenly I was cumming, I felt a bit guilty not having used a condom but I didn’t want to pull out so I gripped her firmly and just pumped my jism deep inside her.
It was dark outside, “You want a Piss Piggy Pig,” I asked, and before she could protest I dragged her to the back door and let her out into the garden.
I had a shower, I felt really relaxed for once and so I went to let Sarah back in, she was waiting by the door like a puppy so I let her in.
She wanted to say something, wanted to say her safe word and get dressed, but I had other plans, and the first was to get rid of that spine in her corset, and actually it came out really easily, and then, well the first Piggy Pig had been buggered constantly so, well why not? I had some Vaseline in the Medicine cabinet.
She put up quite a fight this time, knocking chairs over, banging the table but I caught her and worked plenty of Vaseline, it’s sort of a clear lube, into her ass hole, and then as my erection strained I eased it up her tight brown bum hole, she was distressed, I couldn’t do it, so I wiped myself carefully and drove into her hot wet cunt again.
“Nngg.” she said and sighed, and that’s when I realised with the spine gone she could lay on her back, so I pulled out flipped her over and entered her in the good old Missionary position, I sucked her breasts first, I’m not a complete bastard, and then it was a good old slow deep fuck, I even tried kissing her mouth with the ball gag in which was something else, and it seemed like ages before I found I was cumming and pounded her harder as I let fly.
I felt satisfied, drained even and went and lay on my bed.
It was light when I woke, “Oh bloody hell!” I said out loud.
She was curled up by the table, snoring. I didn’t like to disturb her so I carefully laid a spare blanket over her and went back to bed,
I felt something climb onto the bed later, grunting and rumpling around it made its way under the bedclothes and snuggled up to me.
“Good morning Piggy Pig,” I greeted her.
She tried to say something and when she saw I wasn’t interested she just snuggled up and closed her eyes, I had the day off so I just lay with her, and then around dinner time I felt this hard nipple digging in my back, I turned to look at her, she stared back, so I undid the ball gag.
“Bastard!” she exclaimed.
“It was your idea.” I explained.
“Not the sex wasn’t.” she said.
“Maybe not.” I agreed.
“So are you going to rape me again?” she asked.
“Yes, or shall we eat first?” I suggested, “McDonalds?”
“What like this?” she asked.
“Hardly, Civvies?” I suggested.
“Yes, all right,” she said, “I think I have had enough Piggy Play to last a lifetime!”
I led her to the dining room, where I didn’t take long to get the piggy things off her, the hood first and then the corset and the boots but when I undid her arm bindings and she tried to straighten her arms she was in agony and I had to massage her for ages before she could bear me to unstrap her knees and then I had to help her massage her legs to get the circulation going.
I put the Piggy play things in her bag and then she was all pink and naked and desirable as she sat on the couch, and she didn’t resist at all as I laid her on the carpet spread her legs and made love to her.
“I thought you were a Lesbian.” I commented afterwards.
“So did I,” she agreed.
“You will be guaranteed a UK posting if you get pregnant.” I reminded her.
“I suppose so,” she agreed, “I suppose we should take precautions.” then she smiled “Or can you only perform with pigs?”
“I always thought you were too pretty to be a lesbian!” I admitted, “But I shouldn’t have taken advantage.”
“Well sir some ground rules,” she said sarcastically, “You never ever leave me trussed up afterwards.”
“I never intended to truss you up ever again.” I admitted.
“But it turned you on,” she pointed out, “And it turned me on so?”
“Ok,” I agreed.
“Just don’t call me Miss Piggy.”