by Penny Birch
This occasion was no exception, with Amber trying her best to find out what she wanted without him getting involved and failing miserably. Rathwell happily admitted to having suitable land on his books, an overgrown airforce base in Norfolk, now a jungle of small trees and weeds. It sounded ideal, but inevitably he refused to even let us know where it was unless we gave him the full story and promised that he and the girls could come. With little choice in the matter, Amber gave in.
Not that it was Morris who was the main enthusiast. He wanted to come and promised to dress suitably and behave himself, perhaps sipping a glass of something cool in the shade. Melody took a far less casual attitude, especially when she heard that Vicky was to be the prey. Proving that she is stronger and fitter than Vicky is something of an obsession with her, and she was desperately keen on the idea.
That left me feeling pleased with myself for solving the problem and also for adding a more genuine element of competition to the fantasy. Melody scares me sometimes, but seeing her try and capture Vicky was going to be great fun, just so long as I could keep up. Only then did Amber point out that my own contribution to the piece was best done after the zebra chase, which was going to leave me the prime object of Melody’s attention and Vicky’s revenge on an abandoned aerodrome.
The day we had chosen was blazing hot, which was certainly going to help in our attempt to create an African atmosphere. Amber and I drove up separately, rising early to make good time and reaching the gates of the base before anyone else. It looked ideal on the map, entirely surrounded by farmland with a road on only one side and this minor. Even at the gate we could see very little, with dense stands of birch and hazel obscuring the view and a twelve-foot fence of rusting wire to prevent intrusion.
The Rathwells arrived close behind us, including Harmony, who was posted at the gate to let the others in. The interior was huge, a great wide space of flat land dotted with the mouldering remains of barrack huts and other buildings. There were even a couple of old aircraft fuselages, rotting slowly in the open air but still with their American markings discernible. To me it seemed ideal, but Rathwell was less enthusiastic, explaining that he was unlikely to have access for more than a few months and that it was too far from London and too run-down to be used as a venue for his clubs.
Anderson and Vicky arrived as we were looking around, along with Ginny, and lastly Amy and her crew: a photographer, Claudia, a make-up artist, Paulette, and Isabel, whose curiosity had got the better of her. Together we chose one of the hangars for our base, largely because most of its amenities were intact, if without water or power. Once settled, we began to prepare, Amy asking who was and was not prepared to appear in photographs.
Amber couldn’t: there were just too many of her respectable clients who were likely to read Metropolitan. Vicky was not in doubt, nor Anderson, neither of them caring in the least for public opinion. Ginny volunteered, with no real risk in being recognised, as did Melody, with enormous enthusiasm, Harmony also.
It took two hours to put Vicky’s body paint on, with Amber painting the stripes on with an eye-pencil while Isabel and Paulette filled them in with black and white paint. She started nude, elegant and muscular, but not dramatically different from any other six-foot woman with no clothes on. By the end she was truly wonderful, an exotic beast in black and white camouflage. Every stripe had been done exactly, from the fine detail on her face to the broad, bold bands that accentuated her hips and chest and the subtle tapering lines that made her legs seem longer and her waist slimmer even than reality. The lines swirled together on her bumcheeks, creating a subtle irregular target pattern that drew the eye to their firm roundness. White extensions had been plaited into her own glossy black hair, giving her a magnificent stripy mane that fell almost to her crease. A white tail bobbed over her bottom, seeming to sprout seamlessly from her spine, with the stripes following what looked exactly like natural contours. The final touch was her boots, her sole item of apparel, thick-heeled, ankle-length pieces in black leather, shaped like hooves at the toe and high at the ankle to make her calves, thighs and buttocks tense. Also to stop her vanishing into the distance so fast nobody could hope to catch her.
If Vicky was impressive, the twins were not far behind. They love their Amazon look, Melody especially, and this was the perfect opportunity to indulge it. Both were close to naked, their dark skin oiled and gleaming, black running shoes their sole concession to modern style, body jewellery their sole concession to modesty. Their heavy, powerful buttocks were nude, their big breasts also. Both had their hair in gold and turquoise beads, Rathwell’s colours, a feature Harmony had extended, beading her pubic hair and with her pussy otherwise quite bare. Melody was no more decent, with an elaborate collar and arm bracelets in the same colours but her pussy shaved and marked with brilliant yellow paint, as were her cheeks and breasts. Personally just looking at them made me want to grovel at their feet, but all they got from Vicky was a disdainful glance. Paulette was more impressed, fussing around them to help and asking endless questions, until finally they teased her into stripping off and joining them. Amy made no objection as long as it didn’t interfere with her work, and we ended up with three glorious black Amazon girls, although Paulette was smaller and kept a pair of tiny black panties on, which slightly spoiled the effect.
Anderson had been persuaded not to wear khakis and a pith helmet on the grounds that it might cause offence, and had gone for a less obviously colonial look, with light white trousers and a white shirt. Unlike the twins he had thought to bring equipment and had a bolas tucked into his belt. Ginny was also equipped, with a lasso, but was still less African-looking, with leather chaps that left her gorgeous bottom bare and a minuscule blue bikini top that struggled to confine her huge breasts.
The official photo-shoot went off well, with the girls behaving themselves and even Melody doing as she was told. They mocked up the chase, carefully keeping bits of aircraft hangar and so forth out of the shoots and plenty of flesh in them. With Amy’s enthusiasm for women’s right to show off, no objection was made to nudity, even with the girl’s pussies showing, and plenty of shots seemed likely to be pleasantly rude, even if they weren’t likely to be the ones published.
Vicky was chased, caught, roped and put in a wooden stockade, all very mild stuff with the tying obviously purely ritual and not a smacked bottom or a licked pussy to be seen. Despite the contrived way it had been done, all those involved were hot and flustered at the end, and ready to go for real as soon as they’d taken in a little water. With the cameras safely away I volunteered to join in, as did Amber. The rules were to be the same as for the fox-hunt, save only for the mad scramble at the end. When we caught Vicky, or rather, if we caught Vicky, her fate was to be more carefully accomplished, with first rights going to her captor and none of the make-believe that had characterised the photo-shoot.
Although I lack any real pretension to athleticism, I hoped not to be a mere spectator and had put a few useful items in the back of the car. Vicky didn’t know this and I was hoping she’d see me as a weak link in the hunt and so improve my chances. I waited until she had vanished among the scrub before going to the car and extracting a weighted net and two big rolls of sticky tape.
Back at the hangar I stripped quickly, feeling embarrassed in front of the magazine crew despite their indifference to all the surrounding nudity. Unlike those who had been photographed, I made no attempt at exotic costume, going for practical running shorts and top in a mid-green I hoped would blend with the foliage. Amber had made slightly more effort, choosing military shorts and singlet in grey and green which had much the same effect on me as the twins’ more revealing outfits. She also had ropes and a swagger stick, typically making sure she had something with which to dish out a bit of corporal punishment.
It took a moment for Amber to get the twins to follow instructions, so Vicky had plenty of time to get clear before we spread out into a wide crescent and came in pursuit. Melody and Harmony took the f
lanks, running ahead in the hope of scaring her into the centre where the rest of us would be coming up more slowly. It was the same tactic that had been used to hunt me, but the base was bigger, with more ground cover. Also, Vicky’s markings, although striking close-up and a clash with the green and yellows of the foliage, actually broke up her outline remarkably well.
I had soon lost sight of Amber and Ginny to either side. As we crossed the broken tarmac of a runway I glimpsed them again, moving forward into the next belt of young birch. I ran on, picturing the map of the base in my mind and wondering what I would have done in Vicky’s shoes, or rather hooves.
She’d want to get caught, eventually, but not quickly. Her pride would see to that, and if it was either of the twins who came up with her first she could be guaranteed to put up a genuine fight. She would want to be caught by Amber, maybe Ginny and myself, while it would also be a matter of pride for her to avoid Anderson. Undoubtedly she would guess that he and the twins would be on the flanks, probably Paulette also, who looked quite fit, and so would try and take cover in the centre as the first sweep passed her. If I was right she would be concealed in the scrub roughly in front of me.
I began to zig-zag, peering into the denser copses with my eyes peeled for the vivid black and white pattern of Vicky’s skin. Several times I was deceived by shadows thrown in bright sunlight, and after crossing a great area of barren tarmac where two runways met I began to wonder if my logic was right. At that moment I saw her, or rather her lower leg. She was crouched among a dense stand of birch at the apex of the scrub opposite me, where the runways divided, a clever psychological choice as anyone approaching was likely to take the easier path to either side of her hideaway before pushing into the trees.
As I was fifty yards away and out in the open I walked on, doing my best to pretend not to have been seen. She stayed still, although I was sure she could see me, making no sound whatever as I walked past her and behind a stand of hazel. I pulled my net free, turned back on my tracks and dashed straight at where I assumed she was. Her reaction was instant, breaking through the birches away from me, towards the open ground. My small size and head start were a help for only a moment, but it was long enough. A moment before she gained the tarmac I had flung the net over her, and myself a moment later.
I threw my arms around her and held on for dear life as she went down, full length on an area of grass between the trees and a gorse bush. Her arms were trapped but she still managed to throw me off, only to find the net tangled in gorse. I climbed on again, felt my bare arms slide in her grease paint, grappled her and tried to get at my tape. She was impossibly strong, kicking her legs up to lift my full weight with ease and turning me back on to myself. Her legs closed on my waist, catching me as if in scissors and throwing me to the ground.
Her thighs tightened on my body, long and hard, pinning me in place as she struggled with the net. I was face down, pulling a tape roll from one arm. The tab gave and I pulled myself in to her, slapping the tape on to the coarse surface of the net and wrenching out a length.
If she had pushed me away with her legs she would have been free, but she closed, trying to grapple me through the net with her fingers. She caught my singlet and I felt it tear, but my arms were around her and my fingers fumbling for the tape roll. I found it, pulled and wrenched myself back. My singlet came away in her fingers, leaving me topless, but the tape was around her, pinning her upper body into the net. She went back, preventing me from making another turn, rolled up her legs and pushed. I fell hard, dropped the tape roll and landed with a squeak.
Vicky was on her feet before I was, running, but still in her net with a twist of tape hampering her movements. I came after her, ignoring scratches in the heat of the chase, breaking out on to the tarmac and putting every ounce of strength into it. With her fancy hoof boots and the net she had to be slower than me, but it wasn’t by much, and as we sprinted across the runway I wondered if I could actually catch her.
I thought she would take off down the runway, but she dodged into the scrub at the far side, stopped, struggled with the net and threw it off as I reached her. We grappled, her arms locking around me. An instant later I had been thrown to the ground; she had turned me and swung a leg across my back. My wrist was caught and twisted high into the small of my back and I was helpless.
Quite casually, she tied me with my own tape. My protests that I was supposed to be hunting her were ignored as she pulled the roll off my arm and lashed my wrists together in the small of my back. With that done she settled her weight on my shoulders, took hold of my shorts and tugged them off, my panties coming with them. That was it for me. Having my bum stripped was just too strong a feeling for me to try and hold whatever vestige of dominance was left to me. I stopped trying to struggle and lay limp, resigned to the humiliation of being stripped and tied up. My singlet was already gone, torn free and discarded somewhere out on the runway, leaving me bare with my front pressed to the warm ground and the grass tickling my nipples and between my thighs.
I could feel her painted bottom sliding on my back, with her hot, damp pussy right on my spine. She taped my ankles up, rendering me completely helpless, then rolled me over and stood up, smiling down at me. Her body paint was a mess, the black and white stripes smeared into grey where we had wrestled, while a good deal of it had come off on me. She was sweating, too, plastering her mane to her skin, while her beautiful tail was a bedraggled mess and hanging at an angle. For all that she looked magnificent, and I felt beaten and submissive, ready to be taken advantage of. Sticking my tongue out, I wiggled the tip at her, making my willingness plain.
She nodded, glanced around, cocked a leg across my body and calmly sat on my face. I had a moment to take a gulp of air, another to admire her zebra-striped bottom as she squatted down, and then it was in my face, queening me. Her pussy was over my mouth, my nose pressed to her bumhole and her slippery buttocks spread across my face. She wiggled her bum, making my nose press into her sweat-slick bottom-hole as I began to lick, tasting pussy and grease paint.
It felt great, and verging on the surreal, queened by a girl painted as a zebra, captured and tied by someone who was supposed to be my prey, which made my helpless submission all the stronger. With my tongue lapping at her clit she was soon breathing hard, then moaning and at last coming with a long sigh of ecstasy as she squirmed her bottom in my face.
Even when she had come she stayed sat on my face for a while, indifferent to the fact that I could only breathe by gulping in air past my lower lip. When she finally did condescend to rise she made me kiss her bumhole, then took my own discarded panties and put them to my mouth. Knowing that once gagged I’d be unable to call for help, I tried to struggle, but she just pinched my nose until I was forced to gape and stuffed them in. I could taste myself as the little scrap of cotton was wadded into my mouth and tied off with tape, and tried to plead with my eyes, hoping she would at least bring me to my own climax before leaving.
She just laughed, fully aware of what I wanted but choosing not to give it. Instead she moved me into the shade of a birch stand, gave a cheery wave, checked that the runway was clear and loped off, heading back towards the buildings. There was absolutely nothing I could do, not even masturbate over my fate, which I badly wanted. Being taken unawares, handled so forcefully, tied and made to lick pussy, then gagged with my own panties was so right for me, and if I knew that being left helpless would make it all the better in the long run, then that was very little consolation at the time.
I lay there for what seemed an age, listening and hoping somebody would come across me. There was birdsong, noises that might have been the others, once the distant rattle of a train. Given the size of the base I was quite likely to lie there until evening when the game was over and Vicky came back for me. By then I would certainly have wet myself, maybe worse, and while having Amber find me like that would be no more than pleasantly humiliating, for it to be any of the Metropolitan crew would be unbearable.
/> My bladder was beginning to get tight when I decided I’d have to try and get free. The base was on chalk, with occasional flints, although none near me. I managed to get to my knees, but with an effort that left me sweaty and panting through my nose. Movement was hard, as all I could do was shuffle along on my knees, and I had to keep them spread to make any headway at all. This meant keeping my pussy wide and my bare bum against my bound ankles, adding to my feelings of sexual exposure and frustration. I was close to tears before I’d gone ten feet, in an agony of self-pity and erotic humiliation, not really sure if I wanted to be free or caught by one of the men, pushed forward and mounted from behind, even buggered as I squirmed in my bonds.
The need to pee was getting worse, too, and I realised I should have done it while I was on my back, rolling up to let it spray out clear of my body. Now if I went it would almost certainly go on my legs, and if I lay back down I’d have trouble getting up again. Wishing I’d drunk less water before setting out on the hunt, I pressed on, making my painful way through the scrub.
After maybe another fifty feet I stopped again, deciding to just let my bladder go and spare myself the growing pain in my tummy. I set my knees as far apart as they would go, relaxed and at that moment heard the sound of somebody coming through the foliage. I turned, trying to squeal through my pantygag, to snort, anything to attract attention. It wasn’t necessary. Melody was coming straight towards me, grinning from ear to ear at my predicament.
‘You should have stuck close to Amber, little one,’ she said. ‘Oh dear, I do wish I had the camera.’
I responded with a muffled grunt, the most noise I could make. She walked around me, her eyes sparkling with merriment as she took in the state of my body.
‘You’ve got big black and white targets on your face, you know!’ she laughed. ‘Vicky sat on it, did she? I bet you asked for it. There’s nothing you like better than licking another girl’s bumhole, is there?’