Monarch of the Glen

- a short story -

by Eve Adorer

 

As she heard the sputter of the motorcycle, Marie McLeod’s bright blue light blues, glanced sharply up over the rim of ‘Racing Review’, as too the rim of her dark blue shades: this could be it.

 

This could have been it five times before, but this could be more it than the other five; at least maybe.

 

Despite five previous false ones preceding, prevailing alarm, or at least alertness still stirred Marie, and prompted a nudge of Nadia.

 

Nadia Mead, no need of nudging needed, for far too quite awake she, to the newest of the possibilities that this could be it. Indeed Nadia’s ‘Racing Reveille’ was already bent double and down on her lap, so she too could look out of the café window, to see if indeed this was it this time.

 

There were rumours: there were always rumours: Rein had giggled uncontrollably incontrovertibly prettily, and unavoidably naturally sexily, when she had been told. It was so silly: as silly as believing in witchcraft.

…………………

 

A double-first honours graduate of Camford England at 16, with a doctorate from Hallvad USA at 18, Rein had returned to her greatest love bar one, her beautiful country, and a professoress’ post at Glasburgh, covering the history and philosophy of mathematics, her second of three specialities, which also included oriental languages and medicine.

 

Though few minds could follow the labyrinthine convolutions so simple to her, she having no peer or par, a full lecture-hall was guaranteed whenever she gave forth on any subject: and as many there to see the astounding outstanding girl as to witness her astounding outstanding brilliance.

 

Rein McCervidae, pedigree Caledonian to the hundredth degree. Thoroughbred Scots lassie, five-feet eight of figure-eight 38-21-38, supreme cream complexion, freckle-dappled cheeks opalescent with pink health, damask rosette au naturelle, no brush of blusher needed, eyes huge, long-lashed, soft appealing dark brown limpid lamps, aglow with vivacity intellect and sweet gentleness. Alive with love laughter and prone to helpless loving giggles, 22, and adored by her pupils and all whose day she made as she must as she could not help but do by merely being: that was Rein.

 

The greatest love of Rein’s life had Rein’s loving lovely arms around her, Sadie Thomson, a Sassenach, one of ‘the Bastard English’ ye ken, a fellow professoress of abounding confidence, a leather-clad lover of motorcycles and only the very prettiest girls: a lothario lounge lizard. Stunned alive by the first sight of knock dead gorgeous Rein, Sadie now knew no other love than love herself, as Rein comprised without compromise.

 

Dream smooth curving undercurve of thigh, bare above lime-green suspender-tensioned stocking-tops, from upblown black and green tartan micro-mini-kilt. Thigh consummately phantomly white to near translucence of untanned girlsoft flesh: league long legs: Rein’s. Rein astride the motorcycle, as she should be a lover forever decidedly mounted, driving as she did to distraction by her astounding attraction, as she pillioned the motorcycle in splendour. With slender legs long smooth shapely and strong was Rein. Figure-hugging lime-green vest topped, for this was spring, her bare white sweetly soft downed arms hugging, in turn, the leather jacketed waist of her lover was Rein. How could one bear to think of Rein’s breasts bare as they were so eminently prominently, as evidenced by her nipples, provoking points protruding prominent, pyramidically conical in her cropped top above her snow white bare midriff, with her flat smooth curved belly belying a wasp for a wasp’s claim to have a waist to compare with Rein’s naked natural nymphet-akin wisp.

 

Beauty incomparable incarnate: proud of her womanly wiles was Rein. Brain and beauty and beauty and brain without disdain, for she was sweet and gentle with disarming genuine charm, even as she could so provoke as she did now as she rode the rear of the motorbike, with her lime-green thong flashing below, because her hem was blown sky high by the motorcycle’s speed, so as to bare her thighs and provoke the eyes with a glimpse of her smooth firm round rump, sat on the sweaty cool leather, as the kilt she had neglected to sit on the hem of, fluttered a flag to drag the willing eyes to her bottom’s and thighs’ supreme curvature, bidden unhidden by her daring baring tiny tight green thong.

 

Then all-russet girl’s curls pubic, unkempt peaking aside her gusset were, as she was dismounting all legs and legs and legs and tiny tartan kilt: kilt so tiny, bouncing careless on bountiful bottom, flashing her stocking tops and suspenders. As her paramour would the motorcycle park, to join her in the darkened corner of the café that was their passing joy at their mutual charms to toy and enjoy.

 

No boy was Rein as, still helmeted, she bent at waist, her supremely supersensitively soft firmly filled thong to flash, as her kilt-skirt was aloft, so short was it, it was, her free breasts to swoop and droop profoundly heavenly heavily low in her straining-to-contain-and restrain-them-top, for to kiss Sadie for the joy of the joyride, only for their helmet peaks to clash, and Rein to giggles in a flash, a pretty dainty hand to her sweet succulent moist ever-ready to kiss mouth lips, to touch and stay her delightful golden giggles, as she daintily prettily in her tiptop-tiptoe heelless ballet-bootets, gave her leggy legs so longingly long, erotic muscularity in a supremacy of smooth endlessly divine curves, as she, on-the-spot-danced, a girly giggle-wiggle titillating titty-joggle-jiggle jig: eroticism’s erotic epicentre.

 

Filigreed with the supremely fine veins and capillaries that her transparent whiteness displayed, Rein’s legs, bare above her stocking tops, and too her bared breasts’ revealed deep cleavaged, displayed by the curved neckline of her vest, showed the miracle workings of the supremely delicate engineering that made her that most divine of all the divinity’s creations: the fine warm passionate-fire-blood-filled blue veins, of that pinnacle of the epitome of creation and ingenious evolution: girl.

 

Then Rein turned, and with pretty dextrous sinister and dexter decorative fingers, undid her motorcycle helmet. Lifting her skirt up carelessly, knowingly, provokingly revelatory revealingly, by alofting her arms, calculatedly giving joy. Calculatedly enjoying giving joy, knowing the toy between her thighs was pouching her thong and singing its siren’s song making heads turn in turn with on-stalk-eyes astounded and astonished by her provocation, longing to belong between her long long legs as she stretched up a picture of sweet innocence and purity: pure pubescent girl.

 

As she stretched up, Rein lifted off her helmet and let fall a cascade of bottom-of-back-length myriad million coiled curls of ecstatically stunning lavishly lividly luminous auburn red, that she tossed her head to aside as if this, her inestimably priceless crowning glory, were of no consequence, instead of the epicentre of her totally astounding glory.

 

Wiggle she would, as she could not help for her gait was girl, as she tiptoed long pearl-white, lime-green stockinged legs, flame red hair bouncing effortlessly aflounce, astounding soft freckle ghost-complexioned high-cheekboned face, mouth a smile forever as ever, eyes ashine with intellect and assured femininity, toward the café, as Marie McLeod and Nadia Mead stunned astonished agents of ‘the boss’, downed their horse-racing newspapers and just stared agape-mouthed, watching Rein’s legs and face, and her legs, and her swaying her hips this way and that way her way, and her legs, and her breasts insistently full aswing uncaptured uncontrolled friskily briskly softly frolicsome, captivating captured in her cropped-top, and her legs, and her waist’s wasp wisp, and her legs, till Nadia could only hoarsely whisper: “Fuckin’ ‘ell! Just look at that will yer! What a fuckin’ cracker!! Fuckin’ stroll on!! ‘Ow would you like to be riding ‘er in the three-thirty Derby?!”

 

“Come on you bloody fool, this is it: that’s her!!” Marie shouted as she rose to exit the café dragging the still bewitched Nadia to have her join in the ordered chase.

 

What was instinct and nature as opposed to training and nurture?

 

Some eighth and ninth sense suddenly flared Rein’s dainty nostrils, and her lovely eyes flashed wildfire, as her dropped helmet clunk-bounced ‘thunk’ on the paving, and her legs’ sexy sinews transported her to a tiptoed flight flee and speed even she knew not from came where.

 

Nature had taken Rein’s reins, and reigned as she ran leaping long over stumps and trunks of trees fallen with the muscles of her lovely long legs finding spring in the spring of her womanhood that she had never known they had built into their glorious beauty.

 

Rein’s brilliant mind had lost control. It was not a thought or a determination or indeed any mental effort whatsoever that was causing her to leap and bound and run and swerve, but some access of deep-seated innate, hitherto inert facility: ability that had heretofore been completely hidden even from her brilliance.

 

And then the sheer joy of it screamed her to a shout as her lithe legs fled her into the woods neighbouring the café. From what she knew not in foremind, other than that she had been triggered by her subconscious to some concern for survival, that in her deep inner-self, had been fired-off by, and triggered long hidden once natural still accessible ability, now bidden to the fore once more.

 

And the joy of running and leaping and jinking as she entered the forest with her flame red curls wildly twisting in the breeze of her own astonishing speed, her eyes sparkling with life and joy, made Rein squeal with delight once more: her stockings sliding up and down on her supremely smooth thighs as she tested her suspenders’ elasticity to the utmost with her boundless long leggy leaps and lithe leggy bounds.

 

Rein ran with her kilt flying so she showed her tiny tight thong a song singing the mystery between her heavenly legs, its girl-scented centred crotch surrounded by her bright-red pubic curls, the pubic curls of a potent girl, her fiery flame head curls a flag to inflame the passions of the onlooker at this passionate all-oxygen-of-oestrogen girl, chemical formula GOd2Es2, as she ran and leapt and bounced on the tips of her toes, as if the tip-topping of her toes by her fashionable bootets were part of the rediscovery of the deep natural instinct that had triggered this sudden need to escape.

 

Escape what by this escapade, Rein knew not, but still she ran and swerved and jinked and leapt, leaping with league long legs higher than any mere ballerina, to clear fallen tree-trunks and jagged rock outcrops, as her breasts flowed and trounced and bounced slapping her chest as if these exquisite components of her modern-womanly development, were two evolutionary steps too far, but that their slapping and jigging and jogging and the rubbing of her huge nipples on her vest-crop-top were arousing Rein, and that too was a part of her nature that was time eternal and unchanged from its origin to its here and now.

 

And then, as suddenly as inert nature had flared her nostrils like hades to make her run in instinct of nervous skitter scatter for survival, she reached a clearing in the woods, and came to a tiptoed standstill, astonished when she considered it, that she was not in the least out of breath, and had no bead let alone a trickle, nor even a sheen of the slightest perspiration this full-mile forth hence rapid run.

 

Dainty hands on shapely hips, arms akimbo, Rein shook her head and giggled with her astonishment at herself. Unable to account for what had triggered this run away from her love deep into the woods, she shook her flame-autumn curls, and stepped her sexy legs to sway her bottom’s full moons back to the café.

 

Two all too inevitably inescapably erotic steps the angel took, before the net shot up and all legs and legs and legs and legs, she was folded into a ball hanging from a tree gasping silently for want of a scream: trapped, as her brilliant mind instantly flashed back the mental DVD of the tales she had giggled so divinely finely femininely at when retold at the Glasburgh local hostelries.

 

“Just listen to the Herr professor”, would the landlord cliché to the posse of terrified villagers in the Mallet Horror films that Rein and Sadie had found such a giggling hoot as they cuddled on Sadie’s soft sofa. But here and now was Rein the professor herself, captured and caught, breathless deathless-beauty literally netted, all legs and legs and legs that was not thigh and thigh and thigh, as she swung balled baled and bundled-up above the would-be jungle of the wood, clawing with her pretty fingers to find some way of escape, finding herself now breathless even though the net was of large gauge and her red curled head with its freckled pretty little nose poking freely out of one of the top holes as she swung helpless from a tree branch.

 

All legs and legs and legs and legs that was not thigh and thigh and thigh, Rein swung, bye and bye, balled baled and bundled in the net, and the birds momentarily disturbed, fluttered aloft, but there was no comforting confirmation of communication received from even a returned echo as, breath now re-found, the completely captivating completely captivated Rein screamed!

…………………

 

This was still Scotland: the flora said so. But this was not the same forest. Of these at least Rein McCervidae was certain sure.

 

The blackout had been total. Exhausted by her struggle to escape the inescapable net, Rein had not felt the needle in her peerlessly perfect posterior. One pretty yawn and she was slumped: breathing still, very evidently from the heaving of her heavenly heavy breasts, but to all other appearances lifeless else, her mouth excitingly invitingly agape, her gentle big brown eyes closed, her face a befreckled angelic white lily afloat in the benevolence of her boiling red rich riotous bubbling curls.

 

As yet unbeknown for sure to Rein, seasonal spring Scotland’s April, a month in which a stunningly lovely girl like Rein could cause more than the sap to rise and stand to full attention, had turned to late July as she roamed the woods that had now become her home.

 

Of course she had tried to escape or at least to find other civilisation, but, so far, she had found the forest effectively a boundless borderless abundance of trees evergreen and deciduous, that decidedly determined her on the best certainty for her survival, which was to stray not too far from a glen and its lake, where she roamed now: a lake golden-red this morning dawning, in the rising sunlight: the lake from which she must drink and in which she would bathe.

 

She was completely naked. She had thought to fashion clothes from leaves, fallen, or fresh on trees, or the grass she might weave, but that she had no practice at practical matters, and pragmatism was fored and then forgotten by the comforting certainty she had secured over this three-months near elapsed, that she was completely alone bar non-human animals.

 

Even aircraft only passed over overly high. ‘HELP!’ had she with silk soft hands spelt out with stones on the bank of the lake in the glen long since, but this place was too distant or too indistinct to merit an aerial visit, as opposed to oversight by over-flights, of which indeed, there were very, anyway, few.

 

A girl with the supersensitive white complexion of the pure-bred Scot she was, Rein had worried as the sun had burned her pink; but her constant exposure to its comforting rays over three-months since, had brought out a superabundance of skitter-scatter freckles all over her supremely eight-shaped body: a delicious delight of dapples among her now lightly tanned cream dream complexion.

 

Rein was completely naked, save that she was oddly shod. She had been used to walking on the very tips of her big toes; it was the latest fashion in the shoes she wore before she had found herself in this wood: shoes from Pilanos of Paris that she adored.

 

Rein had been used to walking on the very tips of her big toes and had therefore thought nothing of it as she rose to tiptoe from her drug-induced slumbers for that first time in this forest, concerned only that she found her body totally bare.

 

It had momentarily shocked her when she had looked down. Someone, more than one maybe, whoever, shall we say “they”, had put her feet in some kind of brown-leather booties. The whole of her petit pretty feet were covered by these booties: booties that stood her within them on the top-tip of her big toes: booties that held her enveloped-heels high, and ended in flat soles that her actual soles had no meet with. Soles flat on the ground: soles her big toes centred: soles that made round marks when she stepped in soft earth: soles that made round marks but in the form of two semicircles: two semicircles made by each foot as she stepped in these booties, as if the booties were cloven, as if the booties were hooves indeed. These booties were irremovably padlocked to her feet just above her ankles.

 

Three-months in the wilderness of the wild forest had also brought its distresses to Rein. A comparatively minor one we might imagine, was the absence of means to keep herself femininely kempt. She had originally found a forked twig with which she endeavoured to groom her head’s incendiary curls, but now they were twisted and knotted, for her ‘comb’ had just broken without even a token of success in her lustrous luxuriant locks to caress.

 

At least she could wash her hair, now down to tickling her bold buttocks as it was, by bathing in the lake or the stream that fed it, or the other that exited it.

 

But initially more distressing for a modern girl, had been the delicious outcrop of red curls that had grown in each armpit, the spread of her pubic magnificence beyond the bounds of her bikini-line, so religiously waxed heretofore, and, even more so, the fine golden down that her peerlessly lovely legs had re-grown, now she had no means to effect depilation.

 

To have to bite her fingernails to keep them trim was a skill Rein had perfected to the degree that she could keep them neat, and for the strange enjoyment of eating the shed shards, the only intake remotely approaching meat she had had this ninety-or-so-days, bar fish.

 

As to her toenails, they were a mystery unseen, of concern only till it became obvious that they must somehow be growing into her - shall we call them – hooves, making her cloven booties an ever more inexorable integral part of her.

 

Rein blessed, unconsciously blessed, the practicality of these booties without which her bare feet would undoubtedly have been torn and bleeding.

 

Just as Rein’s body had returned to nature, losing none, but absolutely none, of its overwhelming beauty, for all that she now glistened goldenly with hair on her gorgeous legs and thighs, so too had Rein returned to nature in her diet.

 

A supremely intelligent girl she had experimented cautiously with berries that looked so delicious, and had only the once found herself doubled with the pain in her pretty belly, from a berry that belied its fructuous invitingness and sweetness on the tongue, with a bitter gripe for the biter’s bite such that it had left poor Rein with dreadful diarrhoea for days: a coincidental purgative for all the bad food she had voraciously consumed in society before this isolation though this was.

 

Whilst there was no human habitation in the woods, there was a curiously regimented line of apple and occasional pear trees: an abandoned orchard, doubt not. And fallen fruit was a favourite for Rein’s sensitive palette.

 

A few lichen-coated stones outlined what was probably once the home of the farmer of these now wild and uncared-for orchard trees. This was no shelter for a naked as nature girl though. The stones looked as if it would have been little enough shelter for the farmer when they made walls for a roof to proof against whatever the weather’s wither or hither. Even the sight of the site of the hearth of this one-time hovel, brought not warmth to Rein’s pumping pulsing passionate heart.

 

So, after floundering and splashing helplessly hopelessly at first, and even emitting her heavenly giggles, shear determination and need had developed Rein’s skill at tickling river fish to fling them to the bank.

 

Though how she hated having to watch them die, gasping for breath, flexing and flicking on the side of the lake. And how she had rejoiced the one-time, when the occasional blind-seeming flexing, flicked a fish back into the water, save that so too therein her food sploshed and plashed and switch swish swim swam away.

 

So Girl-Guide’s routine remembered, of the rubbing of one stick on another to start a fire from friction, using her own sweet-scented heavenly breath to supply more oxygen, or at least encouragement by blowing an irresistible kiss from her lovely mouth, had worked for Rein eventually, despite  the rotation rubbing making the soft palms of her pretty hands very sore. Finding flint to strike had also helped, though she had cut a pretty finger on an edge the first time try.

 

Though difficulty of lighting any fire, let alone lighting a fire in any kind of hurry, had caused Rein to abandon the beacon bonfire she had piled to raise smoke in hope an aircraft might see. Rain in the night had dampened this, and her ardour for what was probably a worthless exercise, she had concluded. And besides, she needed the kindling she had gathered for fires to warm herself and to cook her occasional fish.

 

So for a sofa bed, after the dreadful chill of her early nights in the woods, a curved log she had wrapped in moss now formed a pillow, the leaves of the previous autumn fall, her rustling duvet, in a grass, tree-covered, dry-soft-soiled hollow her lovely figure had made figurative hello high-strung mellow cello form from her flowing form, as her sleeping beauty purred its kittenish snores to delight the forest floor’s flora and fauna more.

 

Though before “creepie-crawlies” Rein had always called them in her delightful bright light Scottish lassies’ musical accent, Rein had now to let them traverse her body if she were to sleep, and had further discovered that caterpillars and earthworms, as well as fingernail shards, were a dietary supplement to one in such dire need as this lovely lonely lone girl.

 

So far, loneliness had indeed been the hardest thing for Rein to bear. Three-months gone and she would find herself singing heavenly prettily as she bathed, songs that cheered her and songs that brought tears to her gorgeous brown eyes, as she thought of love lost seemingly forever, of parents and friends and her lover Sadie Thompson.

 

Though to what to ascribe her sudden isolation in these seemingly unbounded woodlands, Rein could not imagine.

 

So, well, yes, she could imagine, but her trained and disciplined mind told her not to be so stupid.

 

Though the old Holmesian principle that whatever was left last standing in her rambling thoughts, must be the right conclusion, no matter how unlikely it seemed, she dismissed, since the conclusion she kept coming back to, was that ridiculous nonsense in the pub-talk about town, and more especially the neighbouring villages, of pretty girls who were abducted and never seen again. For goodness sake, this was the 21st century wasn’t it?! Yet that net in which she had dangled, trapped, entangled, rang true to the fabric of the fabulous fables.

 

Rot! Total rot and rubbish! Rein let giggles tumble tumultuously after she had determinedly stomped a cloven-shod foot, as the external period punctuation to what she had again concluded in her mind, making her lovely breasts bounce-flick-flow and sway, from her flounce-stomp as a full-stop to the pretty silly thoughts she had again thought: the conclusion of a supremely intelligent seriously pretty girl.

 

Of course Rein had been very lonely in other ways. A full-bodied full-blooded full-on Scots’ lassie with the fire of desire in her lissom loins and gourmand groin, has her needs. And, though she knew it was very naughty, Rein had helped herself to the edge of heaven, supplied by her supple fingers working their way inside the jungle of knotted red curls that now abounded abundantly around her eager eclectic éclat éclair.

 

Just now, at dawn’s dawning, Rein squatted a good way distant from the glen with the lake.

 

It had rained in the night, and she was sleepless as her nature-bed had been soaked hopelessly and she, consequently, forced to squat on her thus made-massive-thighs, her nipples brushing on the fine soft down-hair down her legs, once more naturally fully and all-over gilt-gold haloed with, beneath an only-just sheltering tree, as she fingered the lips of her self-scented cunnilingual mouth, slowly, to keep warm, and as a way of passing the time in the hiss of the rain and the cloud-covered thus moonless dark of the frightening night.

 

Then a fox barked and a sexually liberated howl of the deepest pleasure joined in, to add the sound of the ultimate outcome of the creation of the goddess and the end solution to evolution that is girl: and girl not least as her éclair exudes ecstasy extract down her loving fingers.

…………………

 

But that had been in the dead of night. Now it was dawn, the beauty with the profoundly profuse piric curls, was making her stool, easing her delightful chocolat from her anus even as the insects buzzed longing to move-in and taste this nutritious delight, the produce of the factory that is the digestive tract of the human girl: an offal offering of dark-golden perfection, in long slim trim-ended shape, that she slowly ejected having perfected, to return to nature with thanks that she had ingested to keep alive her astonishing beauty, to do her duty, by giving nature to worship what we so crudely call ‘merde’.

 

Next a golden shower of hissing power, a shower sulphur: usquebaugh: poetically potently pissed she from her pod, for this was a Scots lassie of perfect pedigree of annularity to origin beyond three-sixty thrice three, so far did her bloodline family’s fiery flow go, so that Rein pissed usquebaugh, matured in the treasure of her inner still, till her éclair could pour a libation with dismissive élan, to sanctify the ground on which its golden pleasure in imposing posy-perfumed oestrogen-heated runnels ran.

 

Putting a dainty flowing right hand under her florid flow, Rein cupped up and brought up to her heavenly mouth, a sip of her warm whisky, and dipped her endless tongue to taste her golden treasure, so thickly strong this dawn that it was one-hundred-percent proof girl. Two sips to anoint the lips would set Rein up for the day ahead.

 

Rein, her dutiful offices ejected by her lower orifices, swept leaves and moss over her sacred expellations, and rose to wiggle her cloven hoof-shod way to the river and the lake for her wash and her swim. Today, though tired from sleeplessness, she had determined she would explore escape once more.

…………………

 

As she wiggle-swayed her rhythmic way emotion in motion down the soft mud of the lake’s slow-sloping banks, fresh stirred by the overnight rain to sticky-red clay, Rein turned her coil-curled-red-ringlet-crowned grace’s face, to face her delightfully swinging rear, to once more ponder on the definite ‘cloven-hoofed’ state of the light footprints her one-hundred-and-five pounds made behind her as she slinked.

 

This was how she had first noticed the process from her progress once she had initially awoken after being drugged, when raging thirst, she assumed from her knockout injection, had caused her to seek slake in the clearly pure clear water of the glen’s wide lake.

 

As of then, it had been on her return that she had noticed the footprints, and her neck-hairs had bristled brittle with fear, and a new urge to run had come upon her, as at the café, till she had looked down in her, as of then, still slightly drug-induced comparative stupor, to see she wore the padlocked booties and that these footprints were non-other than her lone alone very own.

 

At that time too, she had sat herself in some soft wet sand on the shore of the lake to fight to remove her shoes. She had no objection to having shoes to wear, but she was horrified at having to wear them all the time, as if they were not covers to protect her feet when walking, but had, all but, become her feet themselves.

 

Much sightly, far more than slightly, stunningly erotic cycling in the air with her sleek slim legs in her fight to get these shoes off her, made no difference, other than to ease her rising anger and frustration at being completely unable to undo the padlocks, and thus bound to wear these cloven booties all 24-hours of the day. Even pushing at the ankle tops of one bootie with the ‘sole’ of the other could not ease them in the slightest off her feet, they were that precise a fit, being as if made for her in person.

 

Rising, angry, frustrated, fearful, and still tired from the knockout drug injected into her imperiously rolling rear, Rein had just begun to glide-walk away from where she had struggled sitting in the sand, to the water to wash the sand off her provocative posterior, when something had caught her eye.

 

It was not so obvious at first. Perhaps in truth it would never have been seen by anyone who was not in the high state of emotion that Rein found herself enduring, as the realisation she was alone, naked and helpless, was beginning to fully register, because her still drug-muzzy head was beginning to clear.

 

But there it was in the soft damp sand, at least to the lovely eyes of the emotionally wrought lonely Rein. A heart. Her gorgeous bottom and her leggy-kicky fight to ease off her booties had sculpted the sand into the shape of a lover’s heart.

 

Tears started in Rein’s eyes as, she at least, saw this shape in the sand. And she thought of her love, Sadie, as she drew a line with her hoof-bootied deliciously dainty foot through the sand, at either side of this heart-shaped hollow, to make as if through that heart ran Cupid’s arrow, as she pictured and longed for her Sadie.

…………………

 

Today, this dawn-morn, after refreshing rain, Rein graced her way along the lake shore, sure to lower herself in the stream that entered the lake pure, to brim it with the water which only Rein’s own soft silken piss-whisky could exceed in its shimmering smoothness.

 

Rein’s daily ablutions must begin with the roll in the mud. For Rein, without soap, the mud that gathered to the sides of the incoming stream had a role in her roll. She would smooth over her provocative body, copious handfuls of the kaolin-fine clay, daubing her slender arms, curvaceous legs, and pendulous breasts. Unable, of course, despite her youthful suppleness, to reach all over her body, she would then roll over on her back in the mud, and wallow in its comforting suction, before using more, usually the really runny stuff at the water’s border, so as to ensure she could easily coat her long golden-red ringlets.

 

The mud would dry on her in the progress of this process, and she squeal with delight and her pretence at frightening herself when she caught sight of her mud-caked face in a lagoon puddle or mill pond still pond corner.

 

Her body returned to nature, Rein’s leg-hairs stood-up and out momentarily as the water she now entered goose-pimpled her chilled, with the shock she endured for the enjoyment of its refreshing renewing invigorating vitality-giving stimulation, as the fresher mud would already begin to be washed off her refreshing her pores and silk softening her complexion.

 

Slowly she lowered herself to let herself be flowed over like the finest shape that a wind-tunnel could have devised by experimental flow of air: for the flow, the most efficient flow, of water over a human body: the only conclusion possible being an object combining such function and wonderful beauty as a girl’s naturally streamlined shape.

 

Working the water over herself with her gentle hands, Rein bathed, a belle in the swell and the swirl of the whirling gurgling water flowing over her thighs with longing sighs.

 

Downstream she now meandered, her fresh-washed buttocks metronoming handy to be pandied, till she could duck herself in the lake and risk her fingers being lost in the dark deep jungle tangle of her hair, dark auburn now it was wet, as the clay mud that she worked into her scalp to thoroughly cleanse herself, slid down the soft slopes of her bountiful full firm thrusting bosom, uplifted and swinging side-to-side as she raised her arms to try once more to comb with her fingers, her wonderful wandering wondrous copious compendium of conspicuously complex curls-incalculably-circular.

 

Standing, Rein next cupped water to droplet it upon her pubic hair and bathe her éclair and her buttocks’ little buttonhole. The warm sun dried the golden down on her freckle dappled arms even as she bathed her coral-coloured nipples, gentling these sources of succour with splashes and pours of the elixir of life, so as not to touch herself, knowing how arousing she found the nearest merest brush of her nipple cones, so supremely sensitive they were.

 

Bathed as best she could be, nature’s girl, Rein, wiggle-waltzed up the slopes of the lake, dried a little now as the sun baked the clay, making her hair, a red inferno once more, tidy with her dainty little fingers, thus uplifting her firm soft breasts: bells swinging side-to-side, to summon the worshipper, with her bosom’s emotional motion Eros’ number-nine potion, as she made ready in her mind her plan for the day.

 

Bye and bye, squatting in the sun all thigh and thigh, Rein made breakfast of two windfall apples and the grubs they contained, before fellating with her eager lips, a pear she had discovered, hard as rock though it was, tiny but tasty, in a far corner of what must surely indeed be a discovered discarded orchard.

 

Rein knew that she needed this food-store, nature’s pantry, if she were to survive until she was rescued, as she had, of course, always assumed was eventually inevitable. This need to feed was the chain that had bound her to the bounds of the glen for this three-months past now.

 

She had tried to fashion a means of carrying, other than hugging some rations within her loving arms, to enable her to walk further and sleepover, but had failed.

 

She had tried upstream of the glen that time, and only found ever more steep hills that were getting more bare, till they were as naked as Rein herself. The twists and turns of the narrowing stream through these foothills, for such they were, had only led to disappointment when she had discovered in late afternoon, the waterfall of springs from which the stream sprang, and realised the snowy origin of the water would only take her ever further and ever higher, and thus beyond her puny human effort without aid, and not least without warm clothing.

 

Today she would go downstream of the glen again. She had done this journey first of course, assuming the stream would lead to a river, or soon the sea and perhaps some habitation on the way. But her sensitivity had caused her nearly to swoon when she had come across the two stags, their antlers inextricably inescapably locked in the battle for the harem of hinds, a battle they had both lost as their antlers had become locked, and they had died: now a monument to starvation subsequent.

 

Oh the stench of rotting flesh, the crawling maggots, and the ants scuttering over their sightless eyes! Rein had turned bent and vomited instantly, before bottom-swaying her wiggle-walkling-way back the four miles she had made, in order to bathe in the glen once more, to wash away the horrible sight of the site of such ugly pain.

…………………

 

It would take an outsider to tell Rein that they could tell she had changed. It had only been three-months, but already, as demonstrated by that amazing run from the café, Rein’s natural instincts were, and had now become, one-million-percent more acute. Her instinct for survival had sharpened her wits beyond laser razor.

 

To start, as in jump with nerves, was now her norm. She was skittish and on the edge of the proverbial knife throughout her new life. Not only her body as demonstrated by its full natural hirsuteness, the down of breeze-fluttered golden filigree that delectably decorated her delightful legs being the eminent evidence of that. But so had her subconscious mind found animal instinct returned, where civilisation had curbed and dulled it, for lack of the need for the constant guard she must now sustain in the wild as she was.

 

So too would an outsider, had there been one, have told Rein how difficult it was now to see her in the forest. This was no anomaly. Rein spent most of her lonely day foraging in woodland to find fresh food, or wood to start a fire for her fish on the banks of the glen. She therefore glided her swaying way through the light and shade cast by the trees from the sun’s mothering warmth and light, and her now all-over freckled brown and browner tanned body, was supremely superior camouflage, matching as it did, the light and shade of the dappling sun through the trees, so that she had only to stand in brush or bush to be all-but impossible to see, except by the keenest human eye, as long as her red-ringlets were ducked away, and she did not move.

 

Instinct had made Rein indeed behave that way. Not two days since had come a crashing thunderball rolling through the long grass at the river’s bank, a parting of the grasses as if by an unburning fire-streak, causing Rein to leap shriek sleek three steps long leggily into the briar and brush, where her freckled complexion hid her to perfection, as she watched wide big-brown-eyed in terror at the progress of this inexplicable inexorable phenomenon, till she could burst into girly giggles of relief and glee, as a tiny wild boar had shot past her, squealing as if chased, though no longer in need of fleeing as Rein’s superior instincts could have told it, had it stayed and were they been able to communicate.

 

Today Rein had half-determined to once more wiggle her way downstream from the glen again, and skirt the poor dead deer, so she could try and find help, and freedom of the more usually accepted kind than that she presently enjoyed and endured. But the pain in her nipples yesterday had already forewarned her, and the onset of the flow in and from her éclair confirmed what she knew was coming: she was on heat.

 

Replete now, the flow that confirmed Rein as complete girl, increased, dripping on her thighs as she meandered her wonder, decided now against her wander till nature had taken its moon-cycle course, and her éclair dry of menstruum’s seeping-insistence, that every girls’ honey-bun must monthly secrete blood instead of its dream cream cum.

 

This was the third cycle Rein had endured, naked in the wild as she had been. Indeed it was, along with the sun to tell her of the passing days and the season’s advance, the dawning of her realisation, as the girl actually undergoing this lonely isolation from such as clocks and calendars, that she had reached around the three-month interval in her seemingly open-ended lost state.

 

A great sadness overcame Rein when she realised she must needs stay a few more days: a sadness increased by her mentally telling herself off, for being such a weakling. So she looked for one of her joys, and loped her feline flowing way in beeline to the edge of the woodlands at the farther side of the glen, where the deer gathered, so she could watch them at peace with the world as they grazed.

 

Hidden by her natural camouflage of delightful all-over-body freckles, Rein, a half-hour’s stealthy steal around the lake’s banks later, watched with delight, as the peaceful deer grazed and drank, loving the sight of the fawns, now maturing.

 

Here and now instinct had failed her; but not her natural camouflage.

 

Suddenly Rein heard steps on the grass-ground behind her back. She eased slowly to her feet from her erotic squat onto her tiptop tiptoeing long legs lengthening booties, her nostrils flaring ready to flee for her life as she had the instinct inbuilt to instantly enact as fact; till she suddenly realised that a creature only a little less stealthy than her new self, had joined her, for she now stood before the magnificence of a buck with his growing antlers not yet a threat to his rivals, covered with moss-like fur, as he looked gently peacefully curious curiosity afored at her to be adored.

 

Wide-eyed at this magnificent sight, Rein silently stared, scared she would frighten this wonderful creature away, only to find that he worked around behind her and left her with her pretty hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp of shear joy she longed to emit.

 

Rein lifted her heavenly hand to her sacred kissable mouth to stop any gasp of astonishment, as she admired this huge young buck on his disdainful foray away from his would-be harem of grazing ‘wives’, for he was the wannabe master wandered far from his metaphorical could-be corral.

 

Why Rein’s lovely eyes instantly glanced instinctively at his huge penis, even her wonderful mind could not answer, but glance and so very nearly giggle in consequence did she, in embarrassment at her own excitement as she watched it swing as he made his gentle way back to the herd.

 

And so she slinked reluctantly away, and her girly giggles swirled through the forest as she ran and leapt and jinked and wiggled, free as air without a care once more, even as her red monthly girl-blood flowed down her inner thighs, and she thought wildly of the reason she might return when once more in season, to be willing victim of the rut if she were to stay afforested till then but, for her mind was made mad with fancy as she screamed with joy and giggles galore, at the thought of that stately buck and his long lance within her to fuck, if willed it she, even though she had only known girl-love in the so-called civilised world from which she was, just for now, this escapee.

…………………

 

The new local Chief of Police for the Rensdale district of Glasburghshire, the university district indeed, was to be Dianna McKendrick then. She had been Aulah MacTavish’s deputy this past three years, and always seen as Aulah’s apparent heir.

 

Poor Aulah. She had been the brightest of the intake from 1995, and risen in the ranks like a rocket. But three girls had disappeared without trace in as many years, on her ‘watch’ as they say, and so Aulah must fall on her metaphorical sword.

 

The explanation to Aulah was simple. All of the girls were adults. At any given time in any given country, men and women chose to disappear.

 

If one looked at the two earlier cases in Rensdale, the first girl had been 25 and had financial debts her girlfriend had run up mile high. And the girlfriend used to knock her about dreadfully, making her sell herself on the streets even. Who would not want to run away from that?

 

And in the second case, the 30-year-old, the girl’s girlfriend had been a ‘druggy’ with a cocaine habit. Okay, the girl herself was reformed and had gone straight for years, but had she not accumulated two-and-a-half-years in prison, for petty thefts committed to finance her girlfriend’s needs? And the girlfriend had died since too. Who would not want to start-over under a new name, or whatever, after such an experience?

 

Okay so this latest missing girl case was a complete and utter mystery. All the girls had been exceptionally attractive, but this Rein McCervidae was an incredible beauty with a mind to match.

 

The others had made only local news, but the national papers had taken Rein to their hearts. Any story involving a pretty girl, and they would be on any town’s doorsteps camping out of course.

 

Inevitably the “lesbian angle” had been, and still was, a source of salacious fascination. Even till recently, what was it, four, going on five months later, ‘The Probe’, a mass-selling London daily, had had a pink heart on the top of its front page, and on its website, centred by a photograph of Rein smiling lovingly as ever, with a caption recording the number of days she had been “missing” and the question and promise: “Have you seen lovely Rein McCervidae? Probe readers will find you Rein!”

 

Sadie Thompson, Rein’s lover, was still distraught. The papers, ‘The Probe’ first among them, had treated her abominably, printing all manner of salivating speculation owing everything to fevered imagination about their passionate life in bed. Of course Sadie and Rein were lovers, but their relationship was higher than the highest order of beauty’s beauty: supreme beauty unrecognisable in the articles ‘The Probe’ published.

 

The disappearance of Rein had caused a stir in the local community. Rensdale’s Police and Public Order Committee, having the university in its midst, had a high number of academics in its number. There seemed not to be a woman at the university who was not in love with Rein: platonically at least: the girl could clearly burn hearts.

 

Police Chief Aulah had been given a hard time. She had not been long in post. Her appointment had leapfrogged her over Dianna McKendrick, long seen before and now since as ‘the Chief-in-waiting’.

 

Before now, it had begun to look as if, where the post of Chief was concerned, Dianna would always be destined for second prize.

 

There had been no apparent jealousy, but Aulah was no fool, and suspected Dianna of some behind-the-scenes manipulation.

 

In fact, Dianna, now appointed Chief in Aulah’s wake, had only been the lucky recipient of the prize that sometimes goes to those who get credit for doing, in truth, nothing very much and only averagely well.

 

Aulah had been the Chief. Aulah had had to take the brickbats. The metaphorical mud was all thrown at Aulah. All that ‘mud’ stuck to Aulah, leaving Dianna, beginning to look like the saviour of the situation, even though she had, in fact, been chiefly in charge of the Rein McCervidae case, as indeed, the two previous lost person arisings.

 

Over time, it had been the local Glasburgh media that had first raised the question whether the right woman had been made Police Chief. They pointed to Aulah’s splendid academic record, but contrasted it with Dianna’s long service and wider, far wider, practical experience. The national TV news and newspapers had merely to remark this, for the question to become a local theme, and Aulah to find herself under irresistible pressure to resign.

 

As is often the case, apart of course in respect of those near and dear to the disappeared, the cause célèbre of Rein McCervidae had then slowly receded into the background.

 

A terrorist attack in London saw even ‘The Probe’ move her picture in the pink heart to its page 27, after which, because a national election was called, it disappeared altogether.

 

With Aulah’s resignation went loss of interest, and growing acceptance that, in all likelihood, Rein had had hidden reasons for wanting to appear to have disappeared.

 

A rumour spread that Rein’s academic attainments were falsehoods. Nobody challenged this lie, and so the lie became an assumption and public sympathy drained away.

…………………

 

There were just two bitches. The two servant girls led them on their leashes. The servant girls had to walk, their mistresses had their mounts.

 

First base camp, from where they had just travelled, was now ten miles back in the forest. First base was a clearing it had taken three successive long helicopter-hops to get to, this forest being so massively extensive. They were five days out from their start. The problem had been the usual one: loading the ponygirls in the ‘copter. The bitches could travel in kennel crates, but Ponygirls have to be transported standing up, as ponygirls, of course, even sleep standing up.

 

The bitches were schoolgirls just *****teen-years-old. At that age, still intact virgins, a bitch has a better ‘nose’. Twins, Crissetta and Carlotta Talbot, their blonde hair cropped short, their pretty legs strapped up by their shapely ankles to their ample firm thighs tight right next to their completely sweet completely shaven virgin’s vulvas. On their knees they wore pads. Their hand-palms were also padded. They had rubber mittens on their hands.

 

These were special bitches selected by ‘the boss’ from the local schoolgirl population. It was the long school vacation. These girls would only have been hanging around on the street corners, eyeing up and wolf-whistling older women. They were better employed doing something useful. Their virginity gave them the advantage of extreme sensitivity. The collars around their necks, and the long leashes on which they were led, confirmed them as bitches – human-girl dogs. They must crawl on the knees of their bound-up ‘rear’ legs and use their slender arms of their tender years as their front legs. Collar leash and a muzzle with a six-inch penis-gag holding down their tongues, completed the outfit for the bitches.

 

The total ban on foxhunting in Scotland had seen real dogs, hunting hounds, sold off by the pack. It was illegal to use dogs in packs to hunt nowadays; but it was not illegal to hunt with bitches.

 

Black and leather was the essential order of the day with the ten huntresses. Black peaked hard-hat riding helmet, black kid-leather riding gloves, black leather heelless pirouette ankle-high riding booties, black nylon fishnet stockings, black leather suspender belt, black leather open-crotch tanga-panties, and a black leather amazon-bra, lifting and holding the left breast in the usual manner of a well-made generously cupped brassiere; but holding the right breast firmly down on the wearer’s body, so its massive beauty would not get in the way of her aim. Over their faces they wore black leather eye-masks, with strings to tie them to the back of their heads.

 

The hunting ponies they rode were magnificent specimens. All ten looked like they had been catwalk models. Only one, a negress, was less than six-feet tall.

 

The negress seemed to have had her neck stretched, for she wore a series of gold rings around her from her shoulders up to her chin. The poor girl had also been branded. The other nine girls were luckier, if it is lucky to be having your pretty hands used as stirrups whilst another girl is mounted on a saddle on your back.

 

Each and every ponygirl had had her waist pulled down to a truly incredible nine-inches, by the cinch of the saddles they bore on their girl-curved backs. The saddles were between their lower shoulder-blades, held in place by a single broad leather strap running up from their waist cinches: a single strap which, after holding the saddle, divided in twain to go over their shoulders, before uniting in one strap once again, to go through their cleavages and fix to the waist belt at front.

 

Their saddles were a mistresspiece of ingenuity, comprising in essence, just a pommel that protruded out from the strap between their shoulder-blades, in essence and in fact, to form a rigid twelve-inch-long dildo, which the rider would slide into her intimacy, before putting her bootied feet into the steel stirrups the girls had had tied to their wrists, the pony thus being advised to hold the toes of the booties in her fingers if she did not want her wrists tortured by the weight of the rider when she rose in, or lifted herself off, the saddle.

 

The incredibly strong and fantastically beautiful legs of these ponygirls, were stretched to tip-top-tiptoe within round wooden clogs that formed their hooves, and each left the clear imprint behind her as she snaked her erotic walk, evidence clear, that their clog-hooves were iron pony-shoe shod.

 

The full head-harnesses on these girls, these ponygirls, tacked them out with steel half-inch diameter mouth bits. And there was cruelty to the fore. Such girls always have spirit and must, but must, be controlled very forcefully.

 

Their riders had, of course, riding crops around their wrists with which to whip their pony’s bummy should she get too frisky. Equally of course, on the heels of their riding booties, they wore star-wheel-spurs to use on their ponygirl’s thighs if she proved sulky and resistant to command. But to really teach these sluts their place, apart from one, who simply wore nipple-bits with six-inch long needles thus held in her tits, pushed through her nipple holes, nine of the girls had had their nipples pierced, and wore heavy rings through them. And to these rings were fixed clips leading to short reins that ran up to and through hoops on the ends of the bits between their lips and teeth. And these reins, ended in another hoop bigger than the ones at the sides of their bits, so the bigger rings could not pass through the ones at the sides of their bits. And these bigger rings had the single loop of riding reins clipped to them, one end of the riding rein to each hoop, so the rider could now pull on her ponygirl’s reins to give her, her commands. For these were tit-reins.

 

All the ponygirls wore tit-reins. Their riders could pull on their tits through these reins and instruct the pony to go left or right, by tugging on its left or its right tit. Or tell the pony to stop or go by tugging on both of its tits together. Even the most obstinate and obtuse ponygirl could therefore have no excuse whatsoever for not understanding its rider’s instructions. Even so, such was the wilfulness of these creatures, that all their bodies showed signs of recent whipping, and some had their thighs still bleeding where it had been necessary to literally spur them on.

 

Nine of the ponies had all their hair swept over to one side of their handsome heads as a manner of means to make the manner of manes. The astounding negress beauty was the exception. She had had her gorgeous hair shorn to short tight curls.

 

The head harnesses with which these noble creatures were finally tacked out, included eye-side blinkers, and headbands bearing their exotic pony-names, many attributed to former careers or evident attributes: ‘Bank-Clerk’; ‘Prof-Knob’; ‘Night-Nurse’; ‘Miss-Guided’; ‘Long-Tongue; ‘Doc-Tour’; ‘Shy-Eyes’; ‘Diamond-Dealer’; ‘Naughty-Girl’; and the leading huntress rider was on the supremely lovely negress: ‘Midnight-Pearl’, she of the neck-rings, the nipple-clips, and the cruel cold brand on her beautiful bold bottom.

 

There were as many mulegirls as there were ridden ponygirls. These, though no less beautiful, were lesser creatures in the eyes of the huntresses. Shod in hooves and thus tiptoed on gloriously shapely legs of course, the mulegirls had their bodies wrapped around with the various needs of the huntresses, including tents, food for the maids, and raw meat for the bitches.

 

The poor mulegirls wiggled along behind their superiors, led by the riders using reins attached to the ring through the septum of each of the mulegirls’ noses. They had been brought to milk, and would feed their mistresses and the main ponygirls from their heavily lactating breasts. Ten mulegirls meant twenty breasts, one for each huntress and each huntresses’ pony. The mulegirls too had to feed on their own milk, after they had suckled their mistresses and the ponygirls proper.

…………………

 

As was usual on these occasions, on arrival at the edge of the forest, the huntresses had dismounted to feed their ponies and have the maids feed the bitches whilst they, the huntresses, bathed in an ox-bow lake formed by this island’s main river as it began to meander away from the ever thickening forest upstream, to the downstream sea.

 

The head, the lead huntress, joined in suckling on the nipples of one of the mulegirls before she embarked on her regular mission, to go into the woods and look for signs.

 

To facilitate this, Midnight-Pearl was refreshed and ‘refuelled’ with a first chance among the ponygirls to suckle, and one of the maids found her a crupper-strap: the lead huntress fitting this herself to Midnight-Pearl.

 

The crupper ran from a hoop hanging at the back of Midnight-Pearl’s waist cinch, and then down between the firm muscularly-smooth rotund taut concave-side-dimple-hollowed buttocks, created by her high on big-toes-tip-top-tiptoe stance, to rise up and be purposely fed between the lips of Midnight-Pearl’s éclair, dividing her to rule her, before being pulled up very tightly, and very hard within her pink, and tied-off at a ring dangling down from the front of her waist belt.

 

The crupper calmed a ponygirl. The pleasure it gave her as she wiggle-walked made her less skittish and thus less inclined to buck or try to throw her rider when frightened by the many things that would be found to spook such a highly-sensitive and nervous creature in the density of the forest.

 

Midnight-Pearl was a superior ride. She had been very well broken, and was usually calm and patient in consequence. A one-hour steady ride through the weaving paths trodden by the forest creatures, took Midnight-Pearl and her rider, deep into the forest’s vast expanse, and the banks of a swift-running stream that eventually fed the river where the huntresses had bathed, and where they would camp for the night.

 

The chief huntress riding Midnight-Pearl was on reconnaissance alone, on recognisance to the hunting party left behind to recover overnight for another day’s riding to come.

 

Another hour of this ride at warp-factor wiggle-walk enrapture, and the chief huntress was concerned to turn back for fear of being caught by nightfall on the return journey, even though on this Scottish isle, the July summer days were still long.

 

The endlessly enduringly adorable Midnight-Pearl was normally so reliable, but her rider was wise to skirt her tenderly around the two unfortunate stags, half eaten by the wildlife, that lay with locked antlers. Unfortunate victims of the rut: the fight to find the fittest to mate. These two had probably starved to death.

 

A while further on, they were approaching one of the lakes, and there it was. The huntresses’ keen eye spotted it and she pulled gently on Midnight-Pearl’s right breast through the tit-rein, to urge the lovely ponygirl over to the right, then on both her tits together with a whispered “whoa”, to tell her to stop. Now she lightly tapped her gorgeous pony’s right thigh with her crop, to instruct it to scrape the ground with its hoof. Revealed thus were droppings! This was it. Droppings! The hunt was on.

 

A little further on still, and they were nearing a glen. Here were a multitude of droppings and the imprints of cloven hooves. And then a moment of absolute magic, as the chief huntress looked up and saw silhouetted on a hillock against the rising moon, the astonishing sight of the most incredibly beautiful doe, a creature of such absolute magnificence as to make an emotional lump in the throat and bring tears to the eyes for the goddess of creation’s handywork: ‘the monarch of the glen’ indeed.

 

Then, just as suddenly, the wonderful creature was gone.

 

Gently tugging up on Midnight-Pearl’s right breast to make it turn, the chief huntress took her sweet-natured pony back to join the full party, happy to report that there were deer in plenty again at Vulva Glenn, and that the hunt was on for the morrow.

…………………

 

Dawn was red-streaked and cold as Rein McCervidae stretched in her lonely leaf-and-moss bed. She knew she really needed to bathe, but could not yet face the shock of the cold water on her lovely complexion yet a warm snug while.

 

A half-hour later, having fallen asleep again betweenwhiles, she awoke once more, to an awareness she needed to part with her usquebaugh. As she rose and brushed the leaves off her youthful body, she was caught between the urgency of the need to urinate, and the need to remove the leaves that had adhered to her stupendous thighs, on their insides. She was still menstruating and her menstruum, “unstanched wench” that she was, had dried on the insides of her legs.

 

A while later, in the woods, squatting on her lovely golden-hair decorated haunches, indeed stroking the gilded hair on her lovely long-since-last-shaven legs, to warm herself, Rein made both to pee and to secrete her dark-golden turds, before she rose from her squat and jink-ran weaving through the trees, squealing with delight, slowed only as the mud of the lake caught her cloven-hoof-shod feet, and then dived into the smooth cold water to wash herself of all the unfortunate evidence of the night.

…………………

 

And so another day had dawned and the party had arrived in the forest the night before this day, encamped, and now made their wake to the glen with its lake for hunting’s sake.

 

This was now the week, no, this was now the very day that Rein had lived for, for approaching four whole months. A source of rescue was now so near at hand, but Rein had, as yet, no notion of it.

 

The hunting party had left one of the maids to look after their base camp and the ten mulegirls. The other maid, in her tip-top-tiptoe ballet-shoes, controlled in her walk by a six-inch hobble chain between her elegant ankles, walked the two sniffer-bitches, behind the mounted hunting party, at the end of long leashes.

 

Nine tall ponies mounted by nine lusty huntresses with their amazon’s-brassiers, riding mounted on the twelve-inch dildo-pommel saddles deep in their éclairs through the gaps in their black-leather panties, with their shapely legs bent at knee, and their feet in the stirrups made by their ponygirls’ hands, guided their mounts through the woods, using their ponygirls’ tit-reins. They were glad that their ponies had all had cruppers put on them, as at least one had been thrown by a startled ponygirl the once before, and all the riders were a little hung-over from the celebrations just ended from the night just gone, including when they had taken it in turn to rape one of the maids: if you could call it rape, the little madam had so obviously loved it so much, and been so eager and willing.

 

At front, followed by the nine, was Midnight-Pearl, leading of course, only because she was the treasured property of the leader of the huntresses, the girl now riding her.

…………………

 

Rein’s highly attuned highly sensitive hearing heard a rustling in the woods. This she assumed was just another wild boar, or one of the foxes, or a deer, so she continued her foraging for firewood.

…………………

 

As they approached the glen and its lake, the huntresses were urged to silence, by their leader putting a ‘shush’ signalling forefinger up to her pursed lips. All that could be heard thereafter was the snuffling of the noses of the sniffer-bitches.

 

One of the bitches then grew stiff. The huntresses recognised the sign. The bitch had found a scent. But this only took the party around in a circle, and the bitch would have been whipped with a crop, had the yelps and yaps consequent upon such a punishment, however justified, not been certain to have disturbed the potential prey.

 

Then the same bitch picked up a scent again, and her whipping was set aside as she drew the mounted party this time in a definite line.

…………………

 

Triggered by the sound of a cracking dry branch, Rein leapt to her feet and ran at full speed, leaping rocks and boulders on the shore of the lake, gliding in a supreme leggy éclair-flashing arch over a fallen tree trunk, and hiding herself deep in the thick undergrowth. Her freckles, so adorable, hid her well. Only her coral-pink nipples and her furious-fiery curls belied her presence.

 

Then she saw them.

 

What in goodness name was going on? They were her fellow humans, but those in black-clothing were riding on saddles on the backs of other girls, who were trussed up like….well….like horses, or ponies!

 

Rein knew of kinky-sex but had never thought that…what was it called …sadism …masochism… whatever …., went this far in real life. The poor girls being ridden were clearly exhausted. And, oh my god, those poor little schoolgirls on the end of leashes, trussed up like dogs.

 

Rein’s wonderful wits computed the situation in microseconds. She had to communicate: this was her only chance. She had been in these woods for nearly four-full-months now, and winter was coming on. She could be pretty sure of hypothermia and death come the snows. She had always known she would be rescued.

 

This was obviously not a rescue party as such. They were undoubtedly after the deer. To expose their activities – not their sexual activities if this is what they were; but the fact that they were hunting deer when it was illegal, having been banned along with foxhunting – to expose their activities, could lead to them being fined or even imprisoned.

 

Rein contemplated her options. In truth, she was frightened, not by the prospect of exposing hunters, up to an illegality, but because she had not communicated with a fellow-human for so very long.

…………………

 

The leader of the hunt pulled the reins on both of her ponygirl’s tits, at one and the same time, to order Midnight-Pearl to halt. With a silent signal, she instructed that the bitches be taken to one side. Then she dismounted, and gave the reins of her beautiful negress pony to the maid with the bitches.

 

Once dismounted, the huntress chief read the ground with a practiced eye. There were hoof prints. They were the hoof prints of a doe. The doe had been running. Nothing unusual there of course, but these hoof prints were fresh, either from the previous night or, just, just maybe, this very morning.

 

What with the bitch picking up some kind of scent and these hoofprints… Well…it was probably nothing, but they might as well look and see.

 

The chief signalled to her fellow-huntresses, who dismounted too, as quietly as they could, hitching their ponygirls to tree stumps and branches.

 

Then the chief huntress spotted them. She signalled silence to her companions once more, and her fellow amazon-clad hunter-girls strained to see what their highly-experienced leader had spotted, but they as yet could not see.

…………………

 

“Canya ye nay see? Like twa eyes a staring: the two coral-pink spots…ye ken”, stage-whispered the apparent leader of this group in Rein’s clear hearing, made magically more acute by her long lone vigil among wild nature.

 

“Yon…..” pointed the leader toward where Rein stood hidden….

 

….A crossbow bolt-arrow hissed by Rein’s left ear and ‘SVEEEESH!’ ‘THWUNK!’ hard into a tree just behind her, where she now watched shock-stunned-petrified, as its flight-feathered tail reverberated from the sudden halt to its savage flight, whipping the air with an onomatopoeic desperately unfunny comic-book ‘thwaaang!’.

 

Rein was too terrified to break cover and tell these stupid women she was there, in case there was a horrible accident.

 

What could she do?!

 

Another bolt ‘SVEEEESH!’ sank into the ground at her feet, hit a stone, and lay, bent curved, within her sight. Rein looked at its nine-inch length, the feathers that guided its flight, and the savage head, a one-inch-long razor-sharp hardened steel pyramid, with three sides sloping slowly to its vicious tip, broader at the base of the ‘pyramid’ than the bolt’s shank, thus assuring a one-way journey into anything such an arrow found home in.

 

Another crossbow-fired bolt ‘SVEEEESH!’ ‘PRANK!’ grazed a branch and glanced off upwards.

 

This had been in seconds that seemed hours to Rein’s wildly racing mind. “Coral-pink like staring eyes” what were they on about? Then Rein realised that these hunters would have no idea that another girl was in the woods, and what they must have spotted and mistaken, so she quickly covered her glorious nipples with her gentle cupped hands.

 

“I canna see the eyes no more!” a junior huntress confirmed.

 

“We’ve heard nay noise. It must still be in tha area. Gee’it some more to flush it inta the open!” the leader instructed.

 

‘SVEEEESH!’ another arrow buried itself in the ground at Rein’s tiptoe-topped feet.

 

Rein had to do something. If she ran and shouted at them at the same time, they would surely realise….. To stay meant she could be hit by one of the terrible arrows. To shout might shock them and still trigger a shot. To move would alert them, divert them, disturb the certainty of their aim: and, to add a shout, would shock them into realising what they had seen was not a deer but a fellow human being…

 

…Rein broke cover and ran toward a tree behind which she could hide for secure shielding: “DON’T SHOOT!!!” she yelped as she ran and swerved to let them see she was there, whilst also diving behind the tree.

 

“DON’T SHOOT! PLEASE DON’T SHOOT!!! I’M LOST….!!”

 

‘THWUNK!’; ‘THWUNK!’ two bolts smacked and were buried into the tree behind which naked Rein now sheltered and shouted.

 

“DON’T SHOOT! PLEASE DON’T SHOOT!!!”

 

Rein speedily concluded that this was the end of the shooting.

 

Obviously the huntresses had been shocked and shot off crossbows hair-trigger cocked, trigger-happy hunters as they were, with no expectation that the movement and the ‘eyes’ in the brush where Rein had originally hidden, would turn out to be, not a deer doe, but another girl.

 

There was a lull, but curiously also, silence among the huntresses.

 

Rein put the silence down to complete disbelief, and relief that they had missed her with their mistaken shooting.

 

She dare not look to see the looks on the huntresses’ faces, but could picture them staring in total astonishment at one another, and thus silenced with complete shock and remorse for what they had so very nearly done, by assuming, as was completely understandable in all the circumstances, that it had been a deer doe in the bushes and trees at which they had fired their original arrows.

 

Relieved by the lull and silence, Rein sought to relieve what she just knew was the huntresses’ stunned disbelief at seeing a naked girl in the woods, by very cautiously working herself slowly out from behind the tree.

 

Still a little fearful of an accident and the risk that, quite literally, the huntresses might not, after all, have believed their eyes, Rein very, very, slowly, let herself be seen, so as to once more call out for them not to shoot…. and ‘SVEEEESH!’ a bolt shot past her ear.

 

“Flush it oot!” the leader commanded.

 

And the realisation now dawned in all its full terrible horrendous horror, as Rein ducked behind her tree, knowing that the huntresses had but to circle it and….

 

“Oh god NO!”

 

”Please have mercy on me!”

 

“Please don’t do this! Please! I beg you please!! Please!!!” she cried as the dawning of the full terror of how things stood and who the ‘doe’ they were after was.

 

“I’m Rein! Rein McCervidae! You must have heard of me! It must have been in the news! Please! Please!! Oh god please I beg you…I beg you…!!”

 

‘SVEEEESH!’; ‘SVEEEESH!’, ‘SVEEEESH!’, ‘SVEEEESH!’ four bolts shot past the tree and ‘SVEEEESH!’ ‘THWUNK!’ another ‘pranged’ and ‘twanged’ in its trunk.

 

Useless were the pleas, fine the mind, naked the girl, thus naked the prey, for Rein new knew now, with certainty absolute, that she was the prey.

 

She must get away from this tree to better cover: or was that the very thing they wanted her to do?

 

Rein’s mind raced rocket bullet and lightening to show slow by comparison. Adrenalin had long since flooded her. She knew she could run. She knew she could make cover if only she could fool them as to which way she was going to go. She had to move soon. There was no ultimate safety where she stood.

 

Any thoughts about the outrageous cruelty and savagery of what they were doing were completely irrelevant. This was Rein against them, the all-too-literal fight for survival for the poor beauty.

 

She needed to get deeper into the woods. To return to where she had first hidden was a guarantee of disaster. Further into the woods meant further from assured food and water, but she had, but had, to do something…

 

…Suddenly, she burst one way from her cover, and then leapt and bounded the other opposite, her belle bell breasts bounding and bouncing, her sweet slim arms pumping, her slim shapely legs tiptoe-stretch in her cloven-hoofed-booties to their fullest feminine beauty, powering her into the swerve jink run that had served to serve instinct, so long since, that day past at the café, as her wild long curls furled and fluttered an unutterably utter miracle of beauty’s beauty flaring out with her lightening leaping speed.

 

The huntresses whooped for joy at this first full sight of their supremely sexy quarry, and Rein’s last scintilla of doubt that she was right about her terrible predicament was shed, and given punctuation perioding exclamation marks by ‘SVEEEESH!’; ‘SVEEEESH!’, ‘SVEEEESH!’, ‘SVEEEESH!’ ‘SVEEEESH!’; ‘SVEEEESH!’, as arrows whistled by her lovely leaping and bounding cloven-bootie-shod supreme beauty, and the cries of “View Halloo!!” as the huntresses ran after her their quarry at bay.

 

Unable to match the speed Rein was capable of excelling so extremely, the huntresses must trust to their eyes to watch where their would-be prey would try to hide next, and use their crossbow bolts to overtake even Rein’s running at full leaping high and unfathomable league-long leggy speed.

 

“Did I nay tell ye, this eh the feckin’ sport o’ queen’s?!, the leader shouted excitedly to her comparatively breathless companions, echoing both her and their lust for blood.

 

“Keep up! Keep up will yers! Don’t let it feckin’ get awah!!” she bawled, making no secret of who “it” was.

 

Terror and horror knew such new combination in Rein as she ran and swerved her sensationally supremely seductively sexy way to her chosen thicket. Such sway as her body mesmerised by its magnificence as its all-girl attributes along with her lithe live long-legged leaping, stunned the huntresses. Did her mind realise that no pleading was anymore worthwhile, and that her silence was part of her only defence: to run and to hide! Of course it did as she wiggle-snaked her womanly whiles on her wild course the while.

 

To the huntresses ten, she was but an animal. They were not shouting at her. Not one woman among them made any noise even approaching a human communication with Rein.

 

Rein realised that she was forfeit; that society beyond this forest had written her off; and that her being hunted ran no risk for these cruel women, as she had been forgotten by the world.

 

But then, how had these women known she would be here? The net-trap near the café and the injection that had knocked her out were obviously preliminary…..

 

….But Rein had no time to fully pursue these thoughts. She needed all her brilliant wits and all the animal instincts that her four-month sojourn in this wooded wilderness had returned to whetted keenness.

 

Girlkind engineers such encounters as uneven contests. The huntresses had their crossbows, and the terrible nine-inch long tailed-feathered steel-pyramid-tipped bolts these entailed.

 

On her side, Rein had been selected for her natural athleticism and her brilliantly astute mind. She had been given time to return to nature.

 

Given the right basic attributes; i.e. the certainty of the bloodline of the selected target, the recommended time to return the outwardly modern young woman with that inheritance, to the innate instinctive bambigirl state of her deep rooted prehistoric origin, is a minimum of three-months in the open wild. Rein had had four.

 

Within every bambigirl there is a sub-strata, subconscious but substantial, in need only of the catalyst to return to the fore, and overcome the veneer of civilisation that she faces the world so delightfully with in her every everyday modern-day existence.

 

It is a matter of careful selection. Rein McCervidae’s ancestry to its prehistoric, prehistoric roots, had unquestionably been the Scottish highlands, where the bambigirl once roamed the forested hills, herding together for warmth and comfort, taking their love-partners among their own number, but annually enduring and enjoying the rut with the proud priapic bambigirl satyr stags.

 

Over the many thousands of years intervening since, bambigirl has been absorbed by humanity. Thereafter, the bambigirl, just another in the infinite variety in woman’s manifestly manifold manifesto, had assimilated into society. Many had crossbred. In the 21st century, it was only in the highlands of Scotland that it was still possible to detect almost purebred bambigirl.

 

But nonetheless, Rein had been too long in human society to fully revert to the abilities of her long and honourable ancestry. That was a weakness in her armour. She had learned amour.

 

Rein loved beyond the instinct of animal. Rein had learned to love with her heart mind and soul, a human attribute that has taken the bambigirl beyond its fundamental animal nature.

 

As she stood still, a stone statue in her fear, Rein’s golden whisky trickle-twisted hot down and around the supreme dream curvature of her supreme dream legs. Fear had made her piss herself. The deep and utter shame of it brought tears welling to her huge soulfully soft dark-brown eyes.

 

She listened, intently attuned to the sounds of the forest, to detect the foreign-to-forest noise of the females foraging for their fancied foe: she: Rein: a bambigirl doe.

 

The situation was dire. Rein could not move for fear of the noise she would make, let alone the high risk of being spotted. She knew she had to get deeper into the woods and prayed that this morn, the morn of a long day of daylight in fact, would turn to night: that night as un-shining knight would could come to her rescue.

 

Rein cupped her super-sensitive nipples in her delectably delicious hands, giving herself innocent comfort by unconsciously gently stroking their prominent poking peeks. She dare not risk her wonderfully huge bright pink aureole giving her presence away…

 

….Then ‘SVEEEESH!’ ‘THWOCK!’, Rein screamed with agony: span around, and fell to her wonderful full-thighed-womanly-wonder-legged-haunches, gasping and sobbing and shaking in her every limb, her breasts quivering lividly vividly vivaciously with her shivering, as a lucky unlucky crossbow bolt shot through her naked flesh and lodged with its crimson life-dripping point protruding out of the back of her left shoulder, rendering her agony agonised.

 

“Oh god mercy! Oh please have mercy! I beg you! I beg you!! She called out hopelessly, thereby confirming her position among the bushes and trees the huntresses had surrounded.

 

‘SVEEEESH!’; ‘SVEEEESH!’ two more arrows announced themselves, as they winged past her glorious girl’s body, her coral-pink nipples and luridly livid lustrous Titian swirl-curl coiled hair, exposed as she crouched clutching her bleeding shoulder, confirming her heavenly presence.

 

Rein squatted feeling her blood trickle down her slender slim upper left arm and her gentle soft firm left breast, reaching up with gentle fingers to feel the horrible wound she could not bear to look at, her head twisting away, her tears pouring when she had glanced at the arrow that had lanced right through her.

 

To not move was fatal.

 

SVEEEESH!’; ‘SVEEEESH!’ ‘THWOCK!’ she cried in the absolute agony of agony as a crossbow bolt thudded deep into her thoroughly thunderously massive squatting left thigh, a study in the supremity of womanly curvature, throwing her, rustling loud the bushes, helplessly onto her right side with the murderous power of the impact. Rein squealed inhumanly with the pain.

 

Rein tried to stand. She must run! She must run! She must hide! She must run! She must hide!

 

‘SVEEEESH!’; ‘SVEEEESH!’; SVEEEESH!’; ‘SVEEEESH!’, arrows winged past her as she rose to the full glory of her glamour-girl’s wolf-whistle-worthy legs. But her whippy wiggle had deserted her for a poor cruelly crippled hobble, with her left thigh porcupine-quill drilled, her scarlet runnelling around and down her soft sweeping blood seeping curvature.

 

The second arrow’s head was buried deeply irremovably in the girlmuscle of her thunder thigh, its mocking flight feathers would have been a pretty garter, with the bolt having nailed her stocking-tops to her lovely legs, were she in the sexy clothing she so adorned each dawn in civilised life.

 

A stagger being all she was now capable of, it served only to take her into the open ground, she had sought to traverse to a thicket, and a hide in which to hide her lovely hide.

 

But somehow from inside the true bambigirl found fight feisty for flight, and adrenalin’s adrenalin and fear’s fear powered her supreme legs dynamo dynamically dramatically to leap her aloft in an arc of flight preceding the ark in its precedences.

 

And Rein leaped and jumped and jinked and swerved and leaped again, stretching her long slim seductively svelte lower limbs in a display to amaze the huntresses stunned by the magnificence of this bambigirl as she fully broke cover and fled for freedom.

 

Overwhelmed in awe by the ore of golden gazelle Rein, leggilly leaping and plunging to escape the hunt, they lowered their lowered crossbows to simply watch the mystical magical majestic wonder of a beautiful bambigirl in full flight.

 

All the huntresses watched in adoration of the totally compelling glory of the bambigirl with her curl-twirl-coiled red-gold fleece flying, her breasts beating bells to knell the doubter to the worship that is the heaven of girl on earth, her lovely face with its huge soft sensitive brown eyes, filled with its terror as it flew to escape………….

……….all that is save the lead huntress, taking careful aim till: ‘SVEEEESH!’ ‘THWOCK’ was followed by an echoing scream of agony, as an unerring arrow shot through the back of Rein’s right knee, and felled her falling critically crippled, completely incapable of all but conscious agony, as she now limped dragging her right leg, with the blood-dripping arrowhead through the front of her knee mockingly pointing the way she should go if only she could but only run to shelter and escape.

 

And now inevitably knew-found courage in the huntresses, ululating and uttering screams of bloodthirsty joy, saw them, as poor Rein did too, move in for the thrill of the bambigirl kill.

 

‘THWUNK!’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK!’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWUNK!’ with deliberate aim her tormentors filled screaming Rein’s naked thighs with arrow after arrow after arrow of desire, to disable her completely and make her the target for their ultimate joy. And yet they were forced to cease in shock and awe, at Rein’s wholly holy beauty, as she dragged her grace fully into the open completely at their unmerciful mercy, and at the cry this girl, this supreme creation of the goddess, emitted now, as ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK!’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK’ they shot arrow after arrow after arrow into Rein’s fabulous thighs, for Rein’s cry was so very deeply sexual, and animal to the equal extreme, as if she were enjoying enduring the excruciating pain. And she stood still. Rein still stood, tiptop-of-very-tiptop-tiptoe stretched on her glorious bambigirl legs in her cloven hoofs. Rein stood and took her punishment like a girl. As ‘THWUNK!’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK!’; ‘THWOCK’ she screamed and leaped reflexively each and every time as they shot her in her delightful delicious derriere, so full so firm so round and so bountiful, so, so beautiful. ‘THWOCK!’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK!’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK’, she leaped in reflect of reflex with every powerful shot that sliced into her soft girl’s flesh and firm fit gentle feminine muscularity, to lodge, red hot nails of savage pain, as she was shot over and over and over again and again. ‘THWOCK!’; ‘THWOCK’; ‘THWOCK’ arrows shot with full force into her thighs and her beautiful bottom till ‘THWOCK!!’ an arrow drove with its completely vicious full force ripping right into her anus, and Rein howled with agony and ecstasy in confusion’s fusion of that mystery that is girl, as her éclair declared strange joy in the pain, and made Rein insane as ‘THWOCK’…….. ‘THWOCK!’ the huntress’ leader shot her in the sweet gentle soft-yielding-firmness of her bare breasts, slapping and slamming her breasts, and nailing them to her chest, as the arrowheads lodged between her ribs, both arrows being driven clean through her very evidently fully-aroused nipples, leaving her nipples disporting fancy feathers of the flights of arrow-flights ended. At each of these arrows, Rein staggered and gasped with absolute and total astonishment, and the onrush of her unstoppable orgasm, opening her lovely mouth to emit her loudest-yet sexual cry of the highest joy, when ‘THWOCK!!’ a bolt was shot into her mouth over her tongue, and through her throat, with its head, bloody and red, appearing out of the back of her neck instead, as her pretty pink pretty tongue fellated this foulest of murderous penises, slowly gurgling her ever megalithic oncoming megaton cum of cum of cums, as finally ‘THWOCK!!’ the head of the hunters shot her at point-blank range in her éclair, the arrow though her love-mound shafting Rein to shocked silent stillness as its head had sliced her clitoris in twain of pain, ripped her pink lips roaringly red raw, its shafting shaft giving her a new hymen protecting of normal penetration by the girls of the nation, before reappearing once more a dart starting startled starlet scarlet droplets, pumping out of Rein’s perineum.

 

These arrows in anus, breasts, mouth, and cunt, are the time-honoured way in which a bambigirl is finished by the hunt, to draw on the bambigirl’s ancient magical aphrodisiacal power. And the Sébastienette saintly beauty Rein staggered in the agony of her arrows obscenely porcupined with feathered-quills that drilled and filled her fabulous full forceful feminine thighs with abundance of emptied quiver, her beyond beautiful bottom with blood now a river, her sweet sacred mouth no more her sweet sacred voice to deliver, her titular titanic tits nailed with feathered flights, blood not milk to mother, her anus filled with lover her cum to give her, her éclair so sweet, replete with arrow upthrust, aquiver, like a feathered penis thrusting to show how her beauty had aroused it, as her sweet petite dainty right hand worked down the feathers of this obscene arrow-bolt slitting her clit, feeling with feminine fine fingers as if she were transformed to girl-boy with exposed proud erection she must masturbate to arouse the crowd, as the real crowd, the huntresses, crowed over what they had done to her, and mocked her and spat on her as they danced around the lavishly viciously shocking shot-full lovely bambigirl, venting their bloodlust as Rein shook with the shock of her massive universe-scattering, shattering orgasms’ orgasmic cums’ cums.

 

As Rein still shook with the shock of her monumental still mounting mountainous cums, and the aftershock of the earth-shaking earth-quaking cums from her previous megacums, Dianna McKendrick, the new Chief of Police for the Rensdale district of Glasburghshire, the leader of the hunt, drew her knife.

 

Rein had been superb sport.

 

Rein had upheld the highest honour of bambigirl.

 

Dianna moved closer to the live Sébastienette beauty Rein, filled drilled and martyred with the dreadful arrows, running all rivered with the sacred sacrificial crimson of her ebbing life.

 

The way the hair had re-grown on this bambigirl’s legs, my god the soft gold-down on her legs. When the hair was so fine and so evidently soft: it was beautiful, there was no other word even half-adequate.

 

Rein McCervidae. What a lovely girl she was. She had been incredible before, but now she had all her natural hair under her armpits, around her éclair, and adorning her wonderful legs, and her body was toned and tanned and thus fully returned to bambigirl perfection, she was exquisite beyond exquisite.

 

With an intellect like hers, this hunt had been the very finest of the three so far.

 

She was a natural: a real bambigirl. Every essence of such creatures had reasserted itself in her, over the time given her to return to her fundamental nature, even down to the blossoming bloom of soft silken hair on her gloriously beautiful legs.

 

Dianna moved in with her hunting knife drawn from the scabbard on her handsome right thigh. She had collected the blonde and the brunette from the previous years, but this redhead surpassed both: what stupefyingly stupendous ringlets and curls.

 

Rein continued to gargle gurgle her blood as she orgasmed even as Dianna looked at the glorious red hair on this bambigirl, and considered whether to cut its throat before or after she had scalped it.

 

Rein lost in the throb and thrust of ongoing rolling-thunder orgasms, masturbated her arrow ‘penis’ with her gentle fingers to increase the joyous pain in her éclair and her sliced in twain clitoris, enjoying the agony of the arrows with which the glory of her thighs and buttocks were fully filled, and thus fulfilled the vision of a sexual sexy saint’s suffering, salivated as she licked the arrow that pierced her throat, helplessly watching the glinting knife with her huge brown doe-fawn’s innocent eyes.

 

Moaning with the highest height of orgasmic pleasure, a Saint Sébastienette, with her ebbing life’s blood the ruby, the scarlet, and the crimson streams, trickling livid tracks down her orgasming body from the holy holes torn in her soft sweet smooth girl’s flesh by the shafts of the deeply embedded arrows, with their heads ripped one-way-only, irremovably into her muscles and sinews. Rein stood quilled and drilled with the savage arrows of her destiny and agony.

 

She was still continuing to cum as the knife was on her forehead and she knew that she was going to be scalped: alive….

…………………

 

The girl sat up in bed, her naked body a torrenting river of sweet sweat in the horribly humid dark early late summer morn, gasping quietly as she vigorously pleasured her éclair, fighting to avoid making noise, unable to fully voice her pleasure, with her parents sleeping next door.

 

She was totally naked. Her coral-pink nipples, hugely distended, slid across her sweat-shiny thighs as she sat up in bed, purposely making access for her fingers to her eager éclair, as difficult as she could, to ‘punish’ herself, as she swung her breasts from side to side, and thus added to her pleasure by making her nipples skate across her sweaty thighs, as she finished the slow self-love fantasy, she had been running through her highly fertile mind for over a sleepless hour, layering new intricacies on new intricacies as she went along.

 

It was one of her favourites: the hunting seen where she was the prey.

 

Over the back of the chair at the foot of her bed, ready for the day just dawning, lay school-uniform for an adored only child: the supremely bright and equally lovely kink-curled-red-haired university destined *****teen-year-old daughter of the McCervidae household … Rein.

 

The End