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The Hunting Season (William Avon)


The Hunting Season by William Avon

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British tourists Lyn, Kate and Stephanie get lost on an American road trip and find themselves in off-the-map Lime County during the hunting season. And, as they discover to their horror, pretty young women like themselves are the official prey! Stripped naked, collared and tagged, they are pursued by men with dart guns who can do more or less anything they like with them when they are caught, as long as they put them back again afterward so that another hunter can have his turn. The only way out is to follow the main road to the far end of the county while evading hunters who lie in wait for them. On the way they are penetrated by traffic cones, shown off on car hoods, gang banged, made to ride on a bucking cock machine, exposed on town streets, suspended naked from breakdown trucks, electrically tormented, perform naked car washes, give oral sex in a barber’s shop and satisfy numerous perverse male fantasies while repeatedly being tricked and trapped. And all in the name of sport! Can they reach the far end of the road and win their freedom, or will they forever be the naked prey?

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 3 / 2018

No. words: 33879

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sado-Masochism (SM)

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt

Chapter One

‘This Sat Nav is useless,’ Stephanie declared, tapping its frozen screen impatiently.
‘Have you found out where we are yet, Kate?’ asked Lyn, who was driving the hire car.
In the backseat, Kate was wrestling with the backup paper map. ‘No. Sorry, I can’t find this road anywhere. I’m not even sure what state we’re in!’
‘Getting lost in the middle of the USA was not part of our big adventure,’ Stephanie said.
Stephanie Young, Kate Marshall and Lynnette Neal had met while attending the same London gym a few years before and had become close friends, partly due to their shared interest in Americana. They had decided, while they had the opportunity and were still young enough to enjoy it, that they would have their own Great American Road Trip before settling down and seriously thinking about partners and families. They would cross the country from east coast to west, with detours along the way, and visit those famous places in person that they had only known in film and song.
And so they arrived in New York and saw its sights, and then they hired a car and set out south and west. They took in civil war battlefields and Appalachian mountain scenery; the blue grass country and Nashville; and then they joined Historic Route 66. It was while they were trying to fit in a trip Wichita, in homage to Glen Campbell, that they took a turn north and found themselves on this road off the map.
The nameless road dipped and weaved between a scattering of huge boulders and belts of trees that looked quite different to the countryside they had been travelling through earlier.
‘There’s a sign,’ Stephanie said, pointing ahead.
It was a large board beside the road that read:
Welcome to Lime County
Hung below it was a second sign:
Hunting Season is now open
Kate was still frowning at the map. ‘I can’t see any “Lime County” marked.’
‘Well apparently that’s where we are,’ said Lyn, ‘now we just have to find out how to get to where we want to be. Oh, now what…’
Coming out of a bend, they saw the lane ahead was cut across by an arc of traffic cones. A man in uniform was standing behind the cones waving them off the road onto a parking area nestled between the trees. A couple of police cars with lime green stripes down their sides bearing the letter LCSD stood there, next to a wooden cabin-like building with a veranda front hung with the sign:
Lime County Sheriff’s Post.
As they turned in, a second officer was waiting there, indicating where they should park
‘They should be able to give us directions,’ Lyn said, parking their car beside the small building.
The officer was dressed in a khaki shirt and trousers, a campaign hat with its four-way pinched-in crown, a heavy gun belt and a star shaped badge, with Deputy Sheriff emblazoned upon it. He tapped on the driver’s window. Lyn wound it down. He looked in on them and smiled. ‘Do you know its hunting season, ladies?’ he asked politely.
‘Well we saw the sign, but we’re not hunting anything. Actually, we’re lost. Where are we?’
‘Like the sign says, you’re in Lime County,’ the officer said simply.
‘But we can’t find it on the map,’ Kate said.
‘Lime County sometimes get missed off maps,’ the officer said. ‘But that’s where you are. And being hunting season, we have to check people to be sure we only let the right people in. That’s the law. Could you please all come into the office and bring your ID’s…’
Puzzled but obedient, they found their passports and got out of the car and followed him into the Sheriff’s post. They hardly noticed the other deputy gathering in the line of traffic cones and following them.
A single room extended across the front of the building. Its walls were sparsely occupied by a wall map of the county, some filing cabinets and a rack of rifles. A door in the rear wall led to some backroom. In one corner was a desk behind which sat a lean, grizzled, middle-aged man in sheriff’s uniform.
‘These ladies say they got lost, Boss,’ the officer said. ‘They don’t know anything about the hunting season.’
‘I’m Lester Gurney, the county sheriff,’ he announced. ‘It’s my job to keep things orderly, especially around hunting season. And where are you from?’
They handed over their passports. Gurney perused them and then looked them up and down closely. ‘So, you’re all British. Here on holiday?’
‘Yes,’ said Lyn.
‘Alone?’
‘Just the three of us,’ said Lyn. ‘Look, have we done anything wrong? We just got a bit lost. If you can tell us how to get back to Route 66, we’ll leave.’
Gurney shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you go just like that. Not during hunting season.’
‘You mean it’s dangerous for us to be here?’ Kate asked nervously.
‘Could be,’ Gurney mused. ‘But more like it would be a waste.’
Stephanie was getting annoyed. ‘What do you mean? What’s so special about this “hunting season” you all keep going on about? What do you hunt?’
Gurney grinned. ‘Pretty women like you. Deke, Harvey: show them how…’
Before they could take in the meaning of his words, the deputies had drawn odd looking pistols from their holsters and calmly shot the women at close range. There were phutts of compressed air expanding and the women squealed as they felt small sharp-tipped darts piercing their clothing and stabbing into the soft flesh of their thighs and buttocks.
They clutched at them even as they felt the life going from their legs. They collapsed onto the floor twitching and jerking in fear as the paralysis spread rapidly through their entire bodies and then they lay still. They could still feel and see and breathe and roll their eyes a little and make faint gurgling sounds, but they could not voluntarily move an arm or leg or even a finger.
Gurney got up and came round from behind the desk and looked down at the three helpless women in satisfaction. ‘You fellows get them stripped while I get the stands,’ he told his deputies. ‘Just leave them their shoes. They’ll be needing them later…’
He disappeared through the back door while the deputies pulled the darts out of their flesh and then set about stripping Lyn, Kate and Stephanie of their clothes. They were quick and efficient as if they had done this thing many times before. Through staring, terrified eyes, the friends watched each other being stripped and the felt their own clothes being pulled off them, but could do absolutely nothing to prevent it. The few feeble groan of protest they were able to squeeze out of their throats were ignored. The men removed everything, including their jewellery and watches, and put them into plastic bags.
Gurney came back in, pushing before him three head-high vertical poles set on low wheeled bases. The poles were capped by metal crossbars, from the ends of which hung pairs of big deep rubber padded hooks; one at shoulder height and the other, on the end of a length of chain, at about waist level.
Gurney positioned the stands in a row in front of his desk. ‘All right, boys, let’s get them up so we can have a proper look at them…’
One at a time, the deputies lifted the women’s limp bodies up onto the stands so that the upper set of hooks went under their armpits. The men bent and parted their legs and hooked the lower set under their knees, holding them dangling upright against the poles, with their legs splayed wide and groins exposed. Straps pulled over from the backs of the crossbars went across their foreheads, hold their limp heads up.
When they had all been hung, Gurney looked them over, prodding and tweaking their bare helpless bodies, as if carefully assessing them.
Stephanie was twenty-six. She had shoulder length pale blonde hair, creamy skin, a heart shaped face and narrow deep dark eyes. The bridge of her nose was slightly pinched in while her nostrils were flared. Her nose and cheeks were dusted with freckles. Her breasts were large and rounded, with big brown nipples over five centimetres across. She had fleshy buttocks, a trim waist, good strong legs and a plump deep-cleft pussy with pouting brown inner labia lips.
Kate was twenty-five. She had a slim build, a pale pink complexion and dark shoulder length hair tied back in ponytail. Her nose was straight and eyes were deep brown and set in a friendly cheerful face that in normal circumstances easily broke into a bright smile. She had neat apple-firm breasts capped by pink nipples, a tight waist, a shapely deep-cleft vulva, lean legs and smooth rounded buttocks.
Lyn was twenty-seven. Loose brunette hair framed a face with a firm chin and strong cheek bones. Her features had a natural wryly amused set to them, emphasised by her cool blue eyes, strong straight prominent nose and wide mouth with quirky pursed lips. She had a fit but fleshy feminine build, not large but prominent high breasts with stand-up pink nipples, deep cleft buttocks, womanly wide hips, sparse pubic hair, and a pretty Mound of Venus.
And all of these features Gurney inspected; pinching and squeezing and kneading their flesh. He tweaked and stretched their nipples and slapped their breasts and pried apart their labia, exposing the pink wetness of their inner valleys. He flicked the fleshy buttons of their clitorises. He cupped and patted their hanging buttocks and even stretched the bridge of skin between their legs to peer into the tight puckers of their anal mouths, offered up by the tension on their splayed thighs.
‘Good quality British girl flesh here,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Wish we had more visitors like you. You’re going to be popular with the hunters…’
His words horrified them, but they could do nothing about it. Internally they raged in fear, disgust and resentment but externally they could only roll their eyes and whimper feebly. No, that was not quite all… They felt their nipples rising and labia swelling and wetting at his touch. It seemed perversely that the only expressions left to them were those of sexual arousal. It was a nightmare!
Gurney read the fear and confusion in their eyes. ‘Getting excited, are you? Being darted and put on show does that to women, although they won’t own up to it. Don’t worry, it’s not permanent. Those were our hunting season darts, made to a very special formula. You can still breathe and think and feel, but not move. They wear off in half an hour or thereabouts. Before then we’ve got to get you properly processed. Deke, Harvey: see to their car. I’ll take the pictures for the records…’
While his deputies went outside, Gurney took up a camera from his desk and photographed them from every angle, including close-ups of their faces and pussies. Then, from a desk drawer, Gurney took out three red leather collars with metal tags hanging from their tethering rings. The tags were stamped PREY and each had a different number. He locked them about their necks so they fitted snugly.
‘These mean you’re official prey permitted to be exposed in public and hunted by anybody with a proper licence during the hunting season. Hunters keep a record of your numbers so we know who caught which girl in case of disputes, and to see who tops the season record.’ He pinched and twisted each of their nipples in rapid succession, bringing tears to their eyes. ‘Don’t try to take them off or cover them up, unless you want to feel more pain than you know what to do with!’ he warned them. ‘Collars and shoes, that’s all you’re allowed.’
The women rolled their eyes at this fresh horror. They were going to be hunted naked!
‘Don’t worry, you’re not alone. There are over a hundred prey women in the County right now, all doing what you’re going to do. So you’d better learn the rules. First: there’s no limit to the number of times you can be hunted down and caught. Once you’re caught, you can be used in any way that does not leave permanent injury, but afterwards you must then be returned to where you were found and allowed a sporting chance to move on before another hunter sets out after you. You can keep the use of your car and they can use traps of any kind to stop it and you.
‘Inside the town limits hunters can’t use darts, so they have these…’ He showed them a short stick with one end capped by a shiny red foam-rubber dildo with a flared base. ‘They’re impregnated with much the same stuff as is in the darts but in a form that is absorbed through what medics call “mucus membranes”. Pushed into your mouths, or up your front or rear passages, it will do the same job of dropping you. If a man gets a lasso over your neck or a leash on your collar, that also means you’re caught and you have to go with him.’
Lyn, Kate and Stephanie were making throaty whimpers of fear.
Gurney grinned at their distress. ‘Of course you don’t like it, but those are the rules of the Hunting Season, and while you’re in Lime County you’ll obey them. You keep moving until you’re caught, then the hunter has his reward. He’ll screw you as he likes, he might play some games with you, he’ll take pictures and maybe a snip of pussy curl. Those are his trophies. It’s perfectly natural. Men have chased women since the dawn of time. You might say it’s the oldest sport there is. But if you want an incentive…’
He pointed to the wall map that showed a single main road weaving its way through the roughly lozenge-shaped county orientated approximately east to west, which seemed to fill a long shallow valley. There was a single town in the middle named Buntline. ‘We’re here,’ he said, tapping the eastern end of the road. ‘If you reach the sheriff’s post at the other end, about forty miles or so, you’ll be free.’
Deke and Harvey came back in, laden with Stephanie, Kate and Lyn’s suitcases, backpacks and even a plastic bag of loose items from the glove box and door pockets. They had cleaned out their car of every personal possession! They put them in a corner together with the bags containing their clothes.
‘Your property will be waiting for you at the other end of the road,’ Gurney told them. ‘All you’ve got to do is get past the hunters between here and there. You’ll recognize them because they’ll be wearing pins like this…’
And he lifted the button-down breast pocket flap of his shirt under his badge to reveal another badge of a similar size to the tags that hung from their collars, except that it read: HUNTER, with a number below it. Deke and Harvey did the same.
They were hunters and the women were their captive prey. They could see the growing bulges in the fronts of their trousers…
‘Expect a lot more of this,’ Gurney told them. ‘Any hunter who brings you down is going to screw you, one way or another. That’s how it works. But first they’ll probably want to soften you up a bit, so you’ll behave properly submissive…’
From another drawer of his desk he took out three wooden handles with short lengths of leather strap nailed to their ends and gave two of them to his deputies.
‘Just enough to bring a blush to their pretty hides,’ he told them.
The leather straps hissed through the air and smacked against the women’s open thighs and dangling buttocks and unprotected breasts. Smacks of leather and soft flesh echoed back from the cabin walls. Thighs and buttocks rippled and breasts were flattened, only to spring back wobbling and shivering ready and for more.
As their flesh turned from pink to scarlet, the women flinched and jerked and squirmed inside, but their immobilised bodies could only twitch feebly under the power of the impacts. The screams they wanted to let out became pitiful grunts and moans. Burning pain filled them, piling misery upon shame and fear. The leather straps swiped upwards between her parted thighs and kissed the clefts of their vulvas, splattering their perversely dribbling juices as they struck. Tears ran down their cheeks.
‘Enough,’ Gurney said, lowering his strap. The deputies did likewise.
The insides and backs of Lyn, Stephanie and Kate’s thighs, the rounded hemispheres of their buttocks, the pouts of their pussies and the trembling globes of their breasts had all been well tanned and were now a shocking pink.
Gurney stood in front of Stephanie, hanging naked before him with her legs wide, sobbing and dribbling and burning and terrified. He opened his flies, freeing a stiff penis. Through the haze of pain filling her body she gaped at it in despair and resignation. It would almost be welcome to change from what she had already endured.
He squeezed and slapped her heavy breasts, now crimson instead of pink. ‘I like a good pair of hooters,’ he said. He felt the plump split peach of her wet burning pussy mound. ‘And you’re nice and juicy. See what a licking with a bit of leather does. Your pussy knows what coming …’
Then he took hold of her hips and rammed his shaft up into her, parting her sore pussy lips.
Deke and Harvey, with their cocks already out, were taking hold of Kate and Lyn and penetrating them. Then all three of them were impaled. The pole stands creaked and the hook chains rattled as the men jerked up into them. They slapped and pinched their blazing bottoms and breasts and kissed their wet cheeks and loose, gaping lips.
And the women felt every thrust and pinch and smack, even as they were screwed like sides of meat, unable to offer any resistance. They grunted and dribbled from both lips and labia as their stinging vaginas were pillaged and their tanned breasts were mashed against official police uniforms and scraped by their badges, feeling their hard nipples throbbing, responding to their callous usage. They could smell their own arousal. It was as if helplessness and sadistic corporal punishment was an aphrodisiac, or was their something else in the chemical cocktail the darts contained?
The three policemen were pumping away frantically, their faces going red, caught up in the primitive throws of carnal lust. And, revolted as they were, the women were responding in kind in the only way left to them. As spurts of hot contemptuous sperm filled them, they convulsed inside and expelled their own juices in return. For a moment, they were filled with carnal delight that existed beyond right or wrong. Then awareness returned and they felt pain and shame and wretched humiliation overcome them once again.
* * *
The men carried the women’s limp naked bodies outside slung over their shoulders and across to their hire car. They arranged them neatly in the same seats they had occupied when they had driven in, buckling the seatbelts onto them to hold them upright.
When they were done, Gurney stood by the open driver’s door looking in at them.
‘See, you’re back where we found you just like the hunting season rules say. Follow the signs to Buntline and then keep on going. Drive safely. Enjoy your stay in Lime County…’
And he shut the door and he and the deputies walked unconcernedly away.


Reviews

Bizarre. Wild, extreme imagination Brutal. 4 out of 5 (Lexi)

Good theme for a story, well thought up. Worth a read but the writing just seems to lack some little thing. The story may be enhanced with more explanation of all the other women that live in the town. However, overall, well done. Kept my interest throughout the whole story. 4 out of 5 (Fred)

Author Information

William Avon is interested in exploring strange new worlds of sexual adventure, bondage, power play and intrigue, which may be separated from our reality only by an infinitesimal gap between dimensions or even the power of a wish. In an infinite multi-verse who can say they do not exist? But although his heroines may seem to be helpless victims submitting to their masters and mistresses, they are far from weak.
The alternate England of the "Girlspell" series is an attempt to portray a culture where it has been normal for hundreds of years to punish female criminals, debtors or even vagrants with time in a naked pillory, a public lashing or sexual slavery. And then three women from our world are transported to it. How do they adapt and survive? How long before their natural instinct to escape is overwhelmed by the strange pleasures and rewards of slavery?

 

Publisher Information

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