My bra has come down because it is strapless, exposing my breasts. I adjust it to cover my nipples again, which are very erect because of the cold and excitement.
I look up. I am in front of a tree. Maybe that’s the best hiding place. Up above where the sturdy men on horses can’t get me.
I inspect the tree. I am a fair climber. There are enough stumpy branches for me to latch my feet on, and so I start to shuffle up the tree. I climb and climb as much as I can until the ground completely recedes from my view.
When I decide I’m high enough, I pause. I balance myself in between two branches and gaze out into the forest. I’m not high enough to take in the whole valley, but the view here is a lot brighter, thanks to a lot more sun.
I will stay here.
Let them find me, if they can.
I smile, envisioning those horses trundling below me and the young men astride their backs, unable to find me through the morass of trees. Oh yes, I can while the whole hour away like this. In fact, I have a fifteen minute head start.
This is totally a good idea.
It is then I hear the baying of the hounds.
My face falls.
5
Hounds! They brought hounds!
That isn’t fair!
OK, technically this is a hunt, and so they have a right to bring hounds. But hounds can sniff out my scent. My scent is all over my stuff in my suitcase, which I have conveniently left in the draughty guest room they allotted to me.
I can track exactly where they are by the yelping and barking of the hounds. They are coming closer. The hounds are picking up my scent. I cringe back into the tree, wishing desperately I can meld with the wood. I honestly don’t know how far they will go if I am caught.
The wind catches my hair and blows into the direction of the hunters. No! That is exactly not what I want. Maybe I should shimmy down the tree and run again and take my chances. But my thighs ache terribly, and I’m not sure I can run a hundred feet, let alone to the edge of the forest – wherever it is. I’m better off up here.
Or maybe not. I don’t know.
I’m scared. Despite telling myself that they are not going to hurt me even though I’m the designated fox here, I have seen enough of the hunting trophies on their walls to sincerely doubt everything.
The hounds are coming closer. I can hear the galloping of hooves now. Voices, shouting:
“Over here! He’s got something!”
I hug the branch I am on and try to flatten myself.
And then they are here. Right below my tree. I can see them and the hounds can see me. Two beagles and a bloodhound, yelping, whining. Their tails are wagging furiously as their paws scrabble against the bark below.
“She’s here!” cries someone.
The horses canter to a stop. Beneath my tree, horseflesh and men boil on the ground, filling the air with the smell of hide and leather and animal sweat. I can hear men dismounting.
“There she is!”
“Yes, you can see her legs!”
They crowd around the tree.
“Hey, Alice, you up there?”
Laughter.
“Who’s going to get her?”
“You, Billy. You were always the best climber.”
“Who gets to her first gets first dibs at her cunt.”
“But we can’t all climb up there. The tree won’t hold us.”
So one of them is going to climb up and get me. But not without a fight! Yes, I know I consented to whatever will happen to me here. I even signed the contract in front of Christopher. But it doesn’t mean I can’t put up a fight, just as it doesn’t mean they can’t put up a real hunt, complete with hounds and guns.
“Go get her, Billy. Drag her down for us and we’ll do the rest.”
Laughter.
Yes, Billy. Come right up. I’m waiting for you. A fox just doesn’t roll over and die that easily.
I brace myself as Billy – whom I can see as a blond head and a flash of tartan kilt – climbs up easily. It’s seven against one and I can do whatever I want, right?
Billy is getting closer. His blond hair catches a glint of sun. It occurs to me that I can really hurt him if we are staging this mock hunt. But if I hurt him by kicking out at him, causing him to fall off the tree, they can really hurt me too. All bets will be off.
Do I really want to drive a wedge between me and my possible benefactors?
Billy appears through the leaves. He is a broad-faced youth of possibly eighteen. Freckled complexion. Smiling. He has broad shoulders and long limbs, the testament of healthy country living.
“Well, hello there, little fox,” he says. “What are you doing up here so high up above the ground?”
“Come closer, and I will kick you off this tree,” I warn him.
He guffaws. “Little fox playing the part well, aren’t we? Let’s see what sort of bite you have.”
He comes closer, putting his foot against the bark. His large hands reach out for me.
I dance out of reach by ascending the branch I am on. We are quite high up. Twenty feet at least. I wouldn’t want to fall.
“If you want me, you’re going to have to come and get me,” I challenge him.
“I love all you feisty American foxes.”
He gets onto my branch. He is truly a hulking young man, and I fear for the branch as it begins to creak and flail with our combined weight.
“Don’t come any closer,” I warn.
“Why not?” He inches forward. The branch bends alarmingly.
“Because this thing is going to break and send us crashing down.” Isn’t it obvious, or is the guy dense?
“So you’re afraid of a little fall? Huh, little fox?”
Seriously, this guy is crazy.
I scoot to as far as I can up the branch. And then what I fear actually happens. The branch I am on cracks.
Unfortunately, it cracks not where Billy is, but at the juncture right between us.
I am too stunned to react.
I scream as I plunge to the ground with the branch.
6
I don’t know how I must have done it, but I manage to latch onto another branch lower down. There I am, holding on with my sweat-slippery hands. My feet are dangling just above the barking hounds and the men. I am aware of the sight I must present to them – Tarzan’s Jane and her twirling white legs.
I scream again.
“Hang on now, little fox,” says someone from the ground.
“Hush!” someone else tells the barking dogs.
The bough I am hanging from bends.
Oh no.
All too soon, before I can regain my composure, it breaks off. I plunge again – right into the waiting guys.
A pair of arms catches me and breaks my fall.
“Ho!” cries my captor.
Hands clamber all over my body.
“No, no, no!” I cry out. I know, technically, once I am caught, I have to give in to whatever they want to do to me. But I intend to put up a fight.
Someone rips off my fur brassiere.
I kick out, flailing and punching.
“Wow, what a bitch!”
“Hold her.”
“Pin her down.”
“Are we supposed to do that? What if she doesn’t want it?”
“She wants it all right. She signed on the dotted line. This is all play.”
I am getting excited despite myself. The mock rape is very real, and I’ve always entertained fantasies of being captured and ravished. I think I’m about to get my wish.
They hold me down – these young men in kilts. Off comes my fur bottom. I am now naked, and they are splaying my legs apart. So many hot bodies crowding around me. So many men in kilts. Fingers and thumbs tweak my nipples. Hands pry apart my pussy lips and display me. Finger pads rub my clit.
I recognize Billy and Philip among the faces. So Billy has shimmied down and joined in the conquest.
“Wait. Don’t fuck her yet. Let’s play w
ith her first.”
I gaze at all their faces. They all resemble one another. And why shouldn’t they? They are all brothers, ranging from ages eighteen to twenty-nine, I believe.
“Look at her, she’s beautiful.”
“Look at her tits.”
It’s like they haven’t seen a woman before. I can’t see the telltale bulge in their trousers because they all wear kilts. But their pupils are all dilated with desire as they gaze down at me. Their breaths form streams of mist in the chilly air.
“How shall we play with her?”
“String her up.”
They haul me up. There’s a lot of activity going on as some of them tether the horses. The dogs have wandered off somewhere, thank goodness. I wouldn’t be able to stand the cacophony. Someone returns with a coil of rope.
They grab me and tie my wrists up. Then they throw the other end of the rope over a branch and tighten it so that I’m almost standing on tiptoe.
“Higher,” says someone.
They pull on the rope. My arms are stretched over my head and my arm sockets are jerked almost out of my shoulder joints.
“What are you doing, you freaks?” I say.
My feet are now dangling off the ground. I am hanging from my wrists, and the rope strain on them is great.
“That’s what we do to foxes,” says someone. “We string them up.”
“Yeah, real brave of you,” I say, wincing in pain. “Especially when the fox is dead.”
“Oh no,” he says, coming close to me and seizing my pussy. “You’re very much alive.”
He worms two fingers deep into my pussy hole. I gasp. Someone else comes behind me and plunges two fingers into my asshole as well. I’m doubly penetrated as they finger fuck me, and all while my legs are still quivering and kicking feebly. It is a heady, erotic feeling.
“Tie up her legs,” says someone.
I don’t know anyone here except Billy and Philip, and even they are lost in the blur. The boys seize my legs next and bend me double so that my legs are compressed against my torso. Ropes are snared around my ankles and similarly hauled up above the branch. I am now hanging, with my pussy and ass on perfect display.
The boys inspect me. To my embarrassment, my betraying pussy is now leaking cream. The creams pool at my vulva – white, glistening, and testament to my own lust.
They laugh.
“Look at her cunt.”
“The bitch wants it.”
“She plays hard to get and all that, but she’s really a bitch in heat.”
I say, “Don’t bet on it, you dickheads.”
“Shut up her up,” one of them says cruelly. He is the tallest among them. A giant actually. Well over six feet six. How do they make them so tall in this country?
Philip goes behind me and brings a piece of cloth. He gags my mouth with this and streams out my hair from the binding, ensuring that the gag is strapped tightly around my skull.
They all begin to shed their tops. I watch them, unable to say anything. They all have nice chests with little blond hairs. My pussy juices are still flowing and leaking down the undersides of my buttocks. They strip everything they have on – shirts, belts, caps, shoes, socks. Everything except their tartan kilts.
What was that saying about Scotsmen again? A true Scotsman only wears a condom under his kilt?
Well, none of them are wearing condoms under their kilts, I’m sure of it. None of them are taking off underwear either – signifying that they have no underwear to shed.
When they are finished, they turn their attention back to me.
“What do we do with her?”
“I want to lick her,” says one. He is a curly-haired, blond youth. More freckled than the rest, and looking like he has just returned from a prep school.
He kneels before me and starts to ply his tongue on my pussy. His tongue is soft and pink. He applies this appendage to my clit, flicking it back and forth with little butterfly strokes. My clit is already engorged, and this stimulation of my nerve endings expands it even further so that my little sliver of quivering flesh becomes even more swollen, if possible.
Oh, but he is good at this for one so young. His tongue licks and delves into my labial grooves, deftly massaging the areas between my leaves. Then back to my clit – compressing the bulging little morsel of flesh. And onto my folds again. He circles my pussy and dips his tongue into my cream-soaked well.
I moan against my gag.
Laughter again.
“Look at that bitch.”
“What a delicious cunt.”
All these vulgar words they are using on me only serve to increase my lust. It is as though I am merely a sexual object to them to be used and discarded. Nothing more.
“I want to lick that ass,” another youth says.
With his brother still pleasuring my pussy, he goes around to my back and starts to stab my asshole with his tongue. He is a good rimmer, and he circles my sensitive, puckering asshole, applying pressure to the edge so that I am squirming with the double stimulation.
“Ohhhh,” I cry softly. The gag prevents me from making more noises. So all I can make are mewling, throaty sounds.
They continue this until I’m a quivering mess. My clit is always oh-so-sensitive, and my shudders begin to build from my core, like the epicenter of an earthquake. My thighs shiver with excitement. The waves are starting to stream from my pussy – the eye of everything. Luscious waves with little white peaks on their crests, flooding throughout my groin and sending my synapses on fire.
I throw my head back.
“Don’t make her cum, the little bitch,” says someone.
And the spell is over. Tongues are taken away from my pussy and asshole. I am left bereft, my saliva-slicked genitals cooling in the wind.
It is chilly, but I have strangely not felt the cold since the hunt began.
The Giant comes up to me. Now I have nicknames for those who are not Billy or Philip. The Giant. Curly Hair.
“Look at her,” the Giant sneers. “All flamed up like a true bitch in heat.”
He stabs three of his fingers into my pussy hole. I cry out at the sudden intrusion. He stretches my vagina by spreading his fingers inside my tunnel.
“Still tight.”
“I want to fuck her so badly, Andrew.”
So that’s his name. Andrew.
“Wait,” Andrew tells his brother. “We need to stretch her out a bit. Let her accommodate more of us.”
I don’t know exactly what that means, but my pussy clenches with apprehension.
A couple of them busy themselves with fetching something from the horses. When they come back to me, they wield two long sticks. The ends of the sticks are encased in thick wads of gauze, which are in turn dipped in some sort of oil. As they come closer, I can smell the olive on the oil.
Andrew takes the bigger stick. The others crowd round. Their kilts are definitely tenting with their massive erections.
Andrew lifts the flaps of my pussy, opening it as wide as it can go. He nudges the wad end of the bigger stick against my pussy hole. It stops short.
“It’s too big to go into her,” says Curly Hair.
“Nothing’s too big,” Andrew insists.
He teases the oiled wad bit by mili-bit into my gaping hole. The wad stretches me, and my groin experiences a fullness I have never felt with a cock before.
“Ohhhhh,” I moan against the piece of cloth in my mouth.
Andrew pushes it in even further, and my vagina expands a little bit more. He does this – inch by crucial inch – until the entire end of the wadded stick is embedded in my pussy. My whole pussy is now so swollen that it is the only sensation I can fully embrace.
“See?” Andrew says in triumph. “A cunt can take anything.”
“Let’s put in the other.”
There’s another one? Of course there’s another one. My gut flips in consternation. Andrew takes the smaller stick. I know where this one is going to go.
“Hold this,” Andrew tells Curly Hair.
Curly Hair is left holding the stick in my pussy in place. My entire groin is facing front anyway with my two gaping holes. Andrew inserts the second wad into my anus, easing it in slowly with the same painstaking process.
I scream against my gag. The intrusion is not exactly painful, but my groin is now stretched to the max. The feeling of fullness invades my entire consciousness. My whole being is now concentrated in my bulging groin.
“Shove them into her,” commands Andrew.
Both boys began to pump those rods in and out of my holes. It is the equivalent of being doubly fucked by two gargantuan dildos.
My vaginal walls are so stimulated that my climax rises fairly rapidly. The friction is immense, and my entire nether region explodes in a conflagration of sensation and nuance and raw, rapturous power. I arch my back – my wrists and ankles severely strained by the rope – and scream. My scream comes out muffled, but I don’t care anyway. My groin is an amalgam of lust and bursting shudders and a hundred fiery sensations swarming all over.
It is the most violent orgasm I’ve ever had.
The boys do not stop. They go on and on, impaling me with those twin padded rods. My climax unfurls again, throwing me into another stratosphere, and yet another. I am blinded by successive orgasms, one after the other.
Colors explode.
All sorts of images swarm into my mind. Cocks, moving back and forth. Rubbing against my mouth.
It takes me a while to realize they have pulled both rods out of my well-fucked holes. As soon as the rod is removed from my pussy, my juices squirt out in an arc.
Titters all round.
“Just look at her squirt.”
“Almost hit you in the face.”
“Do we get to fuck her now?”
“I get first dibs.” Andrew moves towards my splayed pussy. He lifts his kilt, bends his knees and inserts his thick cock into my vagina. After the rod, his cock feels like air. I can barely squeeze my muscles around it.
Someone else moves behind me and does the same to my anus. Now I am doubly penetrated by two cocks.
“Let’s take her two at a time,” says another brother I shall call Bare Chest. That is because he has the least hair among all of them.
ALICE: SLAVE’S FINAL REVENGE Page 2