Chapter 3: Caught (A Serial) - by Reilly and Nan {Chapter 3}

Jeannie gripped Marta’s hand and giggled. They slinked through dewy fields. The grass in the bowl of the high meadow was nearly three feet deep. Deer lay down in that soft green grass at twilight and wakened at dawn, and wandered off to graze, leaving the soft imprints of their bodies, secret circles in the meadow. Jeannie and Marta slipped through hip-high grass and tumbled onto one of the soft deer-beds. It was barely past First Song.

“We have at least five hours,” Marta whispered. She lay on her back, looking up at small white clouds, stretching out her legs to soak in the fragrant crush of grass and weeds and herbs.

“But don’t you want to go down to the ravine?” Jeannie knelt next to Marta. She pouted a little and toyed with Marta’s hair. Marta tried to hide the startled look on her face. The last time she’d been to the ravine, her whole world had changed. How to tell this sweet girl? Marta shook her head.

He dreamt of nothing. He never had to. His eyes popped open to greet the day, it was a game that began when he a child; “pounce upon the morning.” Breathing in deep he drank in the smell of the morning the sun peering over the ocean, the salty-sweet ambrosia that welcomed him to the new day. He nuzzled against his “pillow,” Seela, a statuesque brown skinned beauty with the fullest ass he had ever seen. When he brought her down he knew this was a girl that should be savored for awhile before gracing a table. He squeezed it hard and burrowed into the firm tender flesh with his face, his hands wrapping around her thighs, stroking them. His favorite spot was the crevice at the base of her back, women had so many wonderful uses! Seeing him begin to move, Arlene had crawled up on the bed, gently massaging his manhood, placing him in her mouth, and beginning to suck. Down in the kitchen the word had reached them, their master was awake. They began to make breakfast, working diligently to keep him happy and avoid the fate of their predecessors.

It was good to be a hunter, Michael knew that fact, but to be one of the elite was paradise. He orgasmed hard, wrapping his legs around her head, holding her in tight, he loved to feel them suffocate. As he sat up he noticed a slight grimace on Arlene’s face. “If that displeases you, then report to the basement.” He had enough of her, time for some new blood.

Breakfast was wonderful, these two were an incredible team, the blond on all fours: a beautiful table, the redhead, massaging his shoulders. Maybe one should take Arlene’s place, but why break up a good team… yet. On the table was a copy of Predator magazine, his picture smiling back at him, Wally must be so jealous. He and Walter had been in competition since they were kids, and lately Walter’s stats had been slipping, he laughed out loud, “Stupid bastard!”

Arlene found the steel table right where they told her it would be, in a cold room well back from the basement stairs. She snuffled her tears away as she clambered up. The kitchen girls had reminded her to stay put till Master came and told her otherwise. “How long do you usually have to stay in the basement?” she’d asked.

One of the kitchen girls had looked horrified. The other said, “Til you’re dog food, stupid. Wake up, you’re dead meat now.”

“I won’t scream.” she thought, “If I don’t scream I bet he will change his mind and let me back upstairs.” She turned her head and noticed the girl in the cage. Wasn’t her name Brandy? Arlene started to get off the table.

“Hi, Brandy. You alright?”

Brandy shrank back against the far wall of her cage.

Arlene shook her head, but kept her perch. She’d heard some awful stories about what Master did with the girls down here but she’d never seen any proof. She figured it was like the Dungeon room at the Palace, she’d heard them talking in the kitchen about that– a few whips, they might brand you, and then you got to go back into upstairs service again. Michael was strict like that, but Arlene was sure she could prove herself. She hoped. No frown on her face, no matter what. No matter what he did.

“Ok, ok, but Brandy, what did he do to you?”

Brandy shook her head. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest.

“When do you get out of here? It’s gotta be soon, right?”

Brandy sobbed and turned herself to the wall.

Arlene couldn’t stand it. She hopped off the table and went to the cage and peered in at the quaking girl.

Brandy was covered with bruises and dried blood, her eyes were hooded but sparking fear. Her body was a mass of puffy welts and suppurating wounds. The girl had long, deep cuts all over her. Her body looked barely sewn together, black stitches pulling the tender flesh of her belly and breasts.

Arlene backed away from the suffering girl. She was beginning to think that maybe those kitchen girls told the truth.

Down in the basement Arlene lay waiting on the metal table. He savored her discomfort, her supple flesh, covered in goosebumps from the cold steel. He ran his hands along her skin, feeling the tiny bumps, smiling at the girl. Massaging her clit he watched her squirm, aroused by the sound of her meat slapping the cold metal. Bringing her almost to orgasm he stopped and almost nonchalantly began to bind her arms and legs, loving the look of her frustration and confusion, watching her bite her lip. As the strap bound her temple, she pleaded, “Please Master, I merely had a hair…” “Hush girl, you were fun, but I’m exhausted with you, besides that thing (pointing to the girl in the cage) has yielded nothing, should have just dumped her for dog food.”

The skinny young girl had been lurking nearby and cried out when he captured her two friends. He found her weeping on the ground, lost without them. Standing above her, watching her cry, pleading with him to free her friends… so very fragile. The emotions of the meat and how they could be manipulated and trained intrigued him. They were pets to him, to be raised, enjoyed, and then disposed of. Smiling at Arlene, stroking her hair, he lifted a thin metal blade and sliced open her vagina. She screamed and he bathed in her misery, licking the tears from her face, admiring the curves of her mouth as she weeped, playing with her soft lips, maneuvering her grimace into a grin. Opening his collection of needles, tearing open the wound he had created, he dipped the needles into her exposed muscles, advising her, “Now calm down and tell me what hurts more.” For the rest of the morning she would have a difficult time determined what hurt “more.”

“It’s so cozy here, like a roundhouse made of grass and dew and birdsong…” Marta trailed off, admiring the grass wall surrounding them as it shifted and whispered.

“You are so poetic for a Lost One,” Jeannie jabbed Marta’s side with her index finger, prodding just below her ribcage. Marta pulled off her clothes and rolled them into a pillow. Her breasts lolled lazy and full against her chest.

“We aren’t lost yet. Come here.” Marta grabbed Jeannie’s wrist and tugged her down to rest against her chest. After a few kisses, Jeannie reared back and peered into Marta’s face.

“I want to have a man, a real one!” A pair of doves flew up and resettled in the tall grass.

Marta reached up a hand to cover Jeannie’s mouth. “Shh, quiet! You’ll call down a hunter on us.” Marta smiled. Sooner than you think, my Jeannie.

Jeannie took Marta’s hand from her mouth and kissed each fingertip. “Isn’t that what you want, too? I mean, we come down here every chance we get.”

“We sneak down here past Last Grove to play love-games without the little ones shrieking and disturbing us.” Marta reached into her clothing bundle. The two were a pleasing contrast, one tall, blond and voluptuous, the other small, sleek and dark.

“Except our games–they keep getting more dangerous, don’t they? And we can’t seem to stop.” Jeannie sucked in her breath in tremulous waves as Marta showed her a long length of rope she’d concealed beneath her tunic. “Oh. Oh, Yes, Marta. Use that!”

Marta smiled at Jeannie, admiring her lean body and her lovely dark hair. Such a pretty little thing. She was sure the Hunter would approve. Marta made no move toward Jeannie. She only toyed with the rope and stared at the girl on the grass beside her.

Pulling up at the feed warehouse, he honked his horn, the attendant jumped up, “Michael Boardman I could shit myself, I’m your biggest fan!” He smiled back at him, “That’s great, listen I got a package in the back, grab it for me and see that it gets processed?”

“Sure Mr. Boardman!”, his smile uncontrollable.

“Call me Michael.” He liked having admirers, made him feel all warm.

The man lifted the trussed girl from the back, oblivious to the cuts and stitches all over her body, “Can you sign this mag… for my son” As Michael signed it Attendant Robson dumped the girl on the back of his electric cart, barely taking his eyes off his idol. Michael handed it back, handing him his money card, Robson swiped it and returned it in one motion, “Thanks for the help!” and sped off towards the woods.

Staring at the girl lying on the back of his cart, she had little meat on her, but a very wide and sensual mouth, “No one has to know,” he thought as he ran his fingers across her lips.

Pushing open a storage room door he propped her up, smacked her face a few times, “Come on dog food!” ramming his cock deep into her throat, he held up the signed picture of Michael; sighing as he humped.

“Do you want to?” Jeannie asked. She couldn’t take her eyes off the rope, or Marta.

“To stop? No. I want a hunter to find me. You know that.” Marta spoke almost to herself. Jeannie nodded and wet her lips with her tongue. “A hunter find me–oh yes.”

“Strip,” Marta said, standing up, holding the rope in both her hands. Marta’s feet were braced wide, and her eyes twinkled with barely suppressed amusement. One corner of her mouth twitched as she tried to work up a stern frown. She wants it as much as I do! She thought. This is perfect.

Marta stood almost six feet tall and naked in the warm rays of the early morning sun. Her shining blond hair was a beacon in the meadow. Prickles at the back of her neck constantly reminded her that she was not safe, standing tall in the grass, so far from the trees. She felt giddy standing there, a coil of rope prickling her belly, no clothes at all, not heeding any of the Lessons now.

Jeannie scrambled out of her clothes and knelt, knees sinking into the spongy surface. Her body was gold against the green, her small breasts up tilted, her belly muscles quivering anticipation. She glowed in the morning light. Jeannie raised her hands, palms up, outstretched. “This body I offer to you, my captor.” she whispered.

He pulled up to his private Hunter’s shack to change clothes and organize his weaponry. Swapping his sports car for an all-terrain vehicle he was soon on the cusp of the forest.

“Too easy, stupid cow,” he thought as he saw the blond haired beauty out in the open. Her body alight with the morning sun, it caressed her face, she seemed to be bathing in the light wind. He was as stealthy as a jaguar, standing close enough to breath her in, his voice caught her unaware, or did it? “It’s like some of you want to be caught?”

He grabbed her wrists, staring straight into her blue eyes, “You’ll be my meat girl.” He pushed her, she fell into the tall grass. He held her arms above her, kissing her hard, she was giving herself to him, “What are they thinking?” he wondered, pushing himself in, watching her arch, bite her lip.

Marta smirked, but played along. “You’ll be my meat, girl.”

Marta wound one end of the rope around Jeannie’s wrists. Jeannie stared at the rope as it bound her, feeling pangs of excitement race through her belly.

Marta drew the remaining length of rope slowly down Jeannie’s belly and through the wetness of her sex. She tugged and teased, then tugged again.

Jeannie’s breath came faster as Marta tugged the rope tighter still.” Marta took up the soft cloth sash and used it to blindfold Jeannie. The small girl shuddered and swayed on her knees. She licked her lips and whimpered. She turned her head to the right then slowly back again, listening.

“Marta, oh please don’t torture me! Don’t make me wait so long! Be my hunter now.” Jeannie’s cheeks were flushed pink beneath the blindfold.

She was so eager to please him, would make a nice addition to his collection, how far could he push her? Pulling out his member, dripping with her juice and blood, he wiped it clean with her hair. He stood as if to leave, “Where are you going?”, she begged to know.

“I need a special girl. What’s your name?”

“Marta.”

“Marta, can you be my golden girl?’

Marta stood above the bound girl. She lifted her arms high above her head and waved toward a copse of aspen and birch. “Forgive me!” she whispered.

A man emerged from behind the thickest tree. He waved once at Marta, his smile fierce even at this distance, and started running toward the girls. “Michael!” Marta whispered. He’d come, just as planned. Marta touched her belly, felt the bruises on her thighs again. He’d found her wandering here a week ago. Marta felt as if she’d been born then, the moment his hands gripped her shoulders and he tore off her clothes. She’d disappointed him, she thought. She had been only too eager to surrender.

“Eek! Oh my sisters! The Hunter has me, oh gods, don’t hurt me!” Jeannie squirmed on the grass, fighting against her bonds. Marta watched Jeannie and bit her lip. It was too late to mull it over –she’d brought him the girl he’d demanded. And in return, Michael said he’d let her serve him. Marta quivered at the thought.

Her eyes widened. Michael had crossed the field in seconds, net in hand, his muscles working, bunching and stretching as he parted the deep grass.

“Michael!” Marta felt her soul catch fire. He smiled and winked and whispered, “Good girl.” A thrill ran down Marta’s body as he yanked her forward by the nape of the neck and kissed her rough and hard. Michael snatched the rope that bound Jeannie. He backhanded Marta and she fell next to her friend, the one she’d so easily betrayed. Jeannie called out, “Marta? What’s going on?”

She whimpered; felt the wind knocked out of her. “Why?” She sniffled, her cheek stung. She’d promised; she’d done just as she said she would. Brought her best friend to a Hunter. “I won’t run –I came back just like—just like I promised, didn’t I?”

Michael used his netting to bind Marta’s arms behind her. He pulled one of her ankles up high and bound it close to her wrists. She yelped and struggled as he bent her hard, but she could not loosen her bonds.

“Be still, you’ll get your turn,” he growled. “Watch. You might like this part.”

Marta pulled herself around so that she faced Jeannie. “You always said you wanted one,” she quavered. “I didn’t mean to—to—”

“Marta? What did you do? Who’s there?”

The Hunter leaned down to Jeannie’s ear and said, “Michael. I hunt little piglets like you.” He loved that line. Made him feel like the Big Bad Wolf. He’d have to remember it for his next interview. They ate it up, all those pencil pushing desk drones.

Jeannie shrieked and brought her bound hands up to her face to pull off the sash. The Hunter beat her to it. He grabbed both ends of the sash and twisted them together until he’d formed a crude noose around Jeannie’s neck. He brayed laughter as he reared back, hauling Jeannie up and off her feet. She struggled to remain on the tips of her toes as he held her aloft, letting her twist in an erratic circle.

“Stop, you’ll choke her to death!” Marta cried. She managed to get onto her knees. The Hunter shot out a hand and cuffed her, and Marta fell backward, landing solidly on the crushed grass.

“Marta?” Jeannie sputtered and kicked out her legs, scrambling for purchase.

“He caught me two days ago. Oh Jeannie. He made me—I had to promise him I’d bring you to or else he said—He said—”

“‘Said I’d make another little campfire right here, barbecue me a big blond girl.” The Hunter gestured to Marta, and then winked at Jeannie. “She’s going to cook up real good.”

Jeannie coughed and felt tears course down her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have run away with you, you didn’t have to—” Jeannie’s sentence trailed off in a series of choking coughs as the Hunter gave her sash a hard pull, then lowered her to the ground.

The Hunter smiled. “You would have run right into my net?” He prodded Marta’s sex with the toe of his boot, as if to include her in the joke. Marta moaned and squirmed.

Jeannie stuck out her lip and said, “Maybe.” She stared at him, her chest heaving, trying to breathe, but it hurt so much. She glanced at Marta. She acts as if she likes it! Jeannie thought.

She nodded, staring at him as he freed himself from his pants and forced her legs wide apart. He chuckled. “Would you? For this?” He held his cock in one hand and ran his free hand down Jeannie’s belly and into her sex. She shrieked.

“Enough talk. Let’s break us in a new Palace whore,” Michael said. He pushed Jeannie onto the matted grass with one strong hand on her belly. She fell with her legs wide-splayed. Michael laughed and rammed himself hard inside the elfin girl.

Marta balled her two hands into fists and watched. The Hunter dwarfed her friend. She watched the muscles of his backside as he gripped Jeannie’s shoulders and forced himself inside her. Michael brayed laughter as Jeannie screamed, and reared back several times to cuff her face, or bite her trembling belly, or crush and squeeze the small handfuls of her breasts.

“She’d be fun to slice, such taut skin,” he thought, and the image of her firm belly parting, and loosing glistening bowels—that thought made him shudder and fill her with his seed.

“Fucked by a Hunter, you might as well die and go to heaven,” he said as he stood. He wiped himself off on a handful of Jeannie’s hair. Jeannie sobbed into the grass. “Broke but good,” he smiled. He thumbed his lighter and lit a smoke, and sat back on his heels to regard the girls. The big healthy blond wanted to be his slave. Had plenty already, but she was a tasty thing. Still, it was against the rules to keep prime meat too long. Keep her the month, then cook her up. Get some service out of her first–field work, he was thinking. Yeah. The little one, he’d use her up then throw her out—to the Palace, where his broken toys were strewn.

Marta and Jeannie lay close together. The blond soothed the little dark one, saying, “It’s their way. But Jeannie, sweetie, look how he stares at us. He thinks we’re keepers.”