The Pleasure of the Hunt

Part 4

Amelia didn't know what woke her up, but she was instantly alarmed! The sun was up. She glanced at her watch. 9:27! She heard a snort and snapped her head around in the direction of the sound. A man in full hunting garb was sitting cross legged staring at her with a nasty grin on his face, his dart gun in his lap. A quick glance at her limbs confirmed that she was not tied up. He'd been sitting there waiting for her to wake up! Waiting for her to attempt an escape.

She sprang to her feet and started to sprint away from him, into the weeds. She heard a click and a terrible pain exploded in her back! Suddenly she couldn't exhale! Panicked, she staggered several steps further before another explosion of pain in the back of her right thigh took her leg out from under her. She tried to crawl on her hands and knees, desperately trying to breathe at the same time, but the leg wouldn't work, she had to drag it.

Suddenly remembering Shala's story of her own attempted capture, she plucked her knife out of its sheath. The next instant a booted foot crushed her wrist to the rocky ground and the knife was easily plucked out of her hand and tossed aside. The same wrist was then grabbed and yanked up behind her back, the new pain eliciting a scream. Within seconds her assailant grabbed her other wrist as well and quickly lashed both wrists together. Then her ankles. Wracked with pain, barely able to breathe, Amelia was now helpless. She burst into tears at the realization that she had gambled and lost. By the end of the day she would be dead. In the meantime she was now nothing more than a sex toy for this dreadful man to rape and torture at will.

The boot that had crushed her wrist now dug under her ribs and rudely rolled her over on to her back. She glowered up at the man who now owned her body. He was probably in his late thirties, early forties. Athletic build. Black hair salted with gray and beginning to recede at the corners. Eyes dark and merciless. Face filled with the expectation of a fun-filled day. Lips curled up in cruel satisfaction.

"Well, I've got my money's worth here!"

He bent down and placed a heavy hand over her left breast, squeezing it hard until Amelia managed to wheeze out a pitiful groan. Loosening his grip, he let his fingers slide up to her nipple and pinched it viciously between his thumb and middle finger, digging his nails into it, pulling it out until the tit was stretched into a painful cone and Amelia managed a scream despite her half-paralyzed diaphragm. He laughed at his cleverness.

"What's your name, slut?"

Fuck you! is what she wanted to say, but what would be the point of asking for more torment than he was already planning? She tried to squeeze out her name, but couldn't supply enough breath to make it audible.

"You'll have to try harder than that, slut." He kicked her in the side, but that only produced a series of anguished gasps. "Oh fuck it. Who cares what your name is? It's gonna be a little while before you can walk, so let's make use of that sweet shaved little cunt."

He untied the cord around her ankles and spread her legs roughly apart. When she tried to kick at him with her one functioning leg, he drove a fist into her belly, shocking her into open-mouthed rigidity. While she struggled to breathe, he opened his pants, pulled out his stiffened member and drove it savagely into her dry vagina. Amelia grit her teeth against this new flaring of pain and lay quietly as he pumped at her until she felt his hot discharge pulsing against her cervix. He lay atop her, resting from his labors, deflating within her.

She made no effort to do anything but breathe. The terrible pain in her back and leg had begun to subside.

With a sudden inhalation, her captor pushed himself up off her body and rolled to his feet. He withdrew a handkerchief from a back pocket of his cargo pants and blew his nose into it vigorously. Then he carefully laid it out on the ground beside Amelia's head as though it were a doily, stood erect and pissed on it. Taking the cord that had recently bound her ankles in one hand and scrunching the piss-soaked handkerchief in the other, he pinched her cheeks in a powerful grip to force her mouth open and stuffed the wet handkerchief into it, then quickly wrapped the cord tightly around and around her mouth and the back of her head, tying it in place with a square knot. Amelia gagged as she was forced to swallow the urine that dribbled down her throat from the saturated cloth.

"Get used to it, slut," her tormentor chided. "That hanky will be in there for a long time." He chuckled grimly as he pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, tapped one out and lit up. "You smoke, slut?"

She shook her head miserably. There could be no answer to such a question from a sadistic captor that would not result in additional suffering.

"Well, with only a few hours left to live, time you learned how." He squatted beside her, pulled the cigarette from between his lips and shoved it into her left nostril. Unable to breathe through her mouth, she immediately began to cough and choke. "Don't worry about that," he said. "It takes a while to get used to it." He lit another. "But with so little time left, we'd better hurry your training up a bit."

He shoved the second cigarette into her right nostril and sat back on his heels, watching with amusement as she thrashed about on the ground, struggling for air but dragging in mostly smoke. She shook her head violently until the cigarettes flew out of her nose. The hunter picked them up.

"What are you trying to do, slut? Start a forest fire? That ain't very responsible. You need some discipline."

With that, he seized her hair with his left hand to immobilize her head, then shoved the lighted end of both cigarettes into her nose. She screamed through the gag and her body thrashed more violently, but he held her head steady with both hands until the red hot tips of the cigarettes were extinguished inside her nostrils and she subsided to quiet sobs. Satisfied that the butts had inflicted as much pain as they could, he pulled them out and made sure they were dead. He hauled the weeping girl to her feet by her hair and tied some cord around her neck, then clipped a dog leash to it. He unclipped a cell phone from his belt and punched in a number.

"Hi Kevin. It's Taylor. I got me a splendid piece of ass here! I'm about three hours south of the big meadow. See where we are?" As he waited he pulled another device, the size of a large wallet, out of his pack and flipped it open to show a screen. "Yeah, that's me. Which one? Remember the cute little blonde with the big tits in the middle of the lineup?" He snickered. "Yeah, that's the one. Which one did you get?" Another pause. "No shit! Hey, I can hardly wait! That you in Sector Nine? Okay. I'll hustle this little cunt along and we should be able to have us a real good party this afternoon. See ya in a few hours."

He clicked off the phone and clipped it back on his belt and stuffed the GPS locator back in the pack. Stooping over, he picked up a long, green stick which had obviously been recently hewn from a fresh branch. He whipped it back and forth in the air to let his captive hear the dismaying threat of its sibilant hiss.

"See what I whittled for you while you were taking your beauty rest."

He began tapping it on each of her breasts alternately, lightly at first, then increasingly harder. Red stripes began to appear but Amelia stood still and took it, cringing with the new pain, but knowing that ducking away from it would merely inspire him to punish her more severely. When she finally began to whimper, he grabbed her shoulder, spun her around and shouted, "Walk!" delivering a brutal blow to her rump at the same time. She screamed into her foul gag and lurched forward toward the path, limping on her still weakened leg. Once on the path heading back toward the meadow he kept her ahead of him on the leash so he could whip her periodically when she faltered.

"I don't want to hear no whining from you," he growled, "and I ain't impressed by your pitiful limping. This here whip will work real nice to adjust your attitude if you slow down or fall. And I'd love to use it after all the work I put into makin' it. It's sort of a cross between a riding crop and a cane and it raises a nice purple welt on your sorry ass.

You're gonna be bouncin' off that ass a lot when we get to that meadow, so don't tempt me to add too many more welts to your pretty pink skin, 'cause it will sure make the bouncing unpleasant."

But, of course, he found several reasons as she struggled along to add painful new weals to her back, bottom and thighs. In addition, she was feeling light-headed from hunger and thirst. When she became unable to walk in a straight line despite corrections from the whip, her captor finally jerked on her leash and brought her to a stop. She swayed, eyes closed, waiting for the whipping.

"You ain't much for stamina, are ya, slut?" he said. "Looka me. I've been as far as you have but you don't see me staggering around, do ya?"

He drew a bottle of water out of his food pack and swallowed long and deep as she watched. "Ah! Refreshing. Oh, I forgot. You ain't had nothin' to drink this morning. Well, let's fix that. On you knees!"

When she hesitated, he lashed the front of her thighs with the cane-whip. She collapsed at once, sharp stones biting into her knees on impact. He cut the cord binding the handkerchief in her mouth and pulled it out. Then, standing in front of her, he unbuckled his belt, unzipped and dropped his pants and underpants to his ankles.

"Open up, slut!" he ordered, brandishing the whip with his right hand.

She did so and he clamped the fingers of his left hand into her cheeks to hold it open and keep her from averting her face. A moment later he was aiming a thick stream of dark yellow urine into her mouth, forcing her to swallow in rapid gulps. When he finished, he used both hands to clamp her mouth shut until she had swallowed every drop. He smiled at the tears dribbling down her cheeks.

"Nothing like fresh, warm piss to hit the spot. Ain't that right, slut?"

She said nothing, made no move.

"Stay right there!" he said. Glaring at her, he squatted and emptied his bowels on the ground, then picked up the still-damp handkerchief and wiped himself clean. Smiling, he forced the soiled material back into Amelia's mouth and used some duct tape from his pack to wrap around her head and hold it in. He took a few moments to enjoy the expression on her face as she fought the urge to vomit. She would rather have her throat cut in the closing ceremony than drown in her own bile.

Without warning, he pushed her over on her back, took out another roll of cord and began tying one ankle to a tree beside the path. Then he tied the other ankle to a tree on the opposite side, spreading her legs out painfully. Rolling up his pants and belt with the food pack still attached, he lifted up her hips and crammed it under her butt, elevating her vaginal entrance.

"Time for a little mid-morning nookie," he announced, lowering himself between her legs and ramming his hardening cock into her. To avoid the terrible pain of a dry vagina, Amelia blocked out her loathing of this man and concentrated on memories of the times she and Ken had played at dominance and submission, how sexy it was to submit, to feel helpless to prevent her lover from ravishing her. This time the pounding went on much longer, but Amelia felt her clit responding to the stimulation, her juices lubricating the thrusts, and rode them to orgasm even before the hunter had detonated his own load.

"There now," he panted as he approached his own climax, "that's the way to get into the spirit of things! When you only got hours to live, enjoy every fuck you can get! And before I put your lights out, you'll be fucked plenty."

From around the edges of his hammering, driving hulk, Amelia thought she saw movement. Just at the moment of his last fierce thrust with it's burst of hot semen, he let out an odd grunt and became suddenly still. With a look of abject surprise, he slowly flopped down on top of her, his body limp. There, standing between Amelia's ankles, was Shala holding a very bloody knife.

Amelia squealed and writhed with excitement, but could say nothing with the gag taped in her mouth. Shala made the rounds of her restraints, severing each one with a swift stroke of her knife. Her hands freed, Amelia tore the tape from around her head and spat out the gag. She continued to spit frantically, trying to eliminate the taste of its coating of excrement. Shala's arms went around her and held her until she calmed down.

"It was shit!" Amelia cried, trying to explain her behavior. "It was covered with the bastard's shit!"

"It's okay," Shala soothed. "You're okay now. For a while. But you've got to get going."

"Thank God you're here! How did you do it? How did you find me?" Amelia clung to her savior, the tall woman's firm, muscular body lending her a feeling of safety.

"I've been following you, more or less. After your trek through the puckerbrush, when you were back on a trail, it was easy to figure where you'd be at nightfall. I've trained myself to wake up before dawn, and when I saw you'd been captured, I circled around to intercept you here. They always take their quarry to the big meadow for a gang bang before the helicopter picks everyone up."

"Have all four been captured now?" Amelia asked hopefully.

"I have no way of knowing. But we can get some idea by checking our dead friend's GPS locator."

Shala removed the GPS device from the pack and punched in some numbers. The screen immediately lighted up with a grid and a number of dots. Amelia looked closely. There were ten dots all together: four green and six red. Shala pointed to a triangle of two red dots and one green dot.

"That's us. And we'd better split up fast before someone else notices this, if they haven't already. Two hunters fucking one captured quarry is commonplace, but no hunter is allowed to bag two girls, so this cluster of two quarry and one hunter tells them something is wrong."

She took the hunter's knife, which was larger than hers, and began hacking at his left wrist.

"What are you doing?" Amelia gasped. "You're not going to eat him, are you?"

Shala chuckled. "No. We'll let the NMS take care of that." With a few more blows and some prying between the wrist bones the hand separated from the arm. Shala slipped off the watch. "I'll take this and hopefully the good folks at the lodge will think he's taken me captive. For a little while, anyway." She pointed to a blank area on the GPS screen. "You go in that direction."

"Where is that direction?"

Shala pointed southwest. "That way. If you keep moving they may not be able to catch you."

"Can I take the GPS with me so I can see where they are?"

"No, honey. I need it."

"Well, how about the dart gun, then? It'll help if I can defend myself."

"Damn right it'll help. Which is why I need it. How long do you suppose it will be before they figure out Mr. Great White Hunter here has come to a bad end? How long before they figure out which of the six red dots did it and go after her full bore? Take another look at the screen. What does the layout of the dots tell you?"

Amelia studied the screen for a moment. "There are three pairs of red and green dots. O my God! Does that mean three of the girls have already been captured?"

"Bingo! And they're all converging on that meadow for the big gang bang this afternoon. I'm guessing all three will get there within an hour, at which point one will be left to guard the quarry while the other two join in the hunt for me."

"Why you? What's to keep them from coming after me?"

"Because if you keep moving southwest, I'll be closest. They'll also want revenge for what I've done to their buddy and they can only get it if they catch me during the active hours of the Hunt."

"But I'm defenseless! All I've got is this stupid knife and it didn't take long for that hunter to take it away."

"Honey, listen to me. I do these hunts for two reasons: money and the chance to kill some of these bastards. The only reason I'm still alive is because, in the first place, I'm smarter than they are; but mostly it's because I use every advantage I can get. That includes using their own weapons against them. If you want a dart gun or a GPS screen, Cookie, go kill your own hunter and take them. What I will leave for you is lover-boy's water and food pack because I was smart enough to buy my own. I'll also do you a favor by heading toward the meadow with his watch so it'll look like he's still traveling with a captive, but in about five minutes they'll figure out it's the wrong captive. As soon as his cell phone starts ringing I'll ditch the watch. But even if one of them breaks off to go after you, you'll still have a five minute head start. So you get going!"

Amelia could not bring herself to haggle further with this battle-hardened woman who had, after all, just saved her life. So she strapped on the hunter's belt with it's precious cargo of food and water, thanked Shala with a kiss and limped back down the path in the direction she'd come from.

Starving, her mouth still fouled with the taste of the hunter's urine and shit, she tore into the dried trail food, chewing furiously as she walked. Her toe hurt dreadfully, but she tried to ignore it. The one thing she couldn't ignore or forget was the image in her mind of the little red dots on the GPS screens the hunters were carrying, and how easy she was to find.