Slave Hunt

by J. A. Rock

  I threw back my head and laughed. “This is not gonna hurt. I promise.”

  I placed a hand on his left shoulder. Held it there until I felt the shoulder drop slightly. Then I slid my hand between his shoulder blades. Placed the other just above his right hip, and pressed gently on both points. “Breathe in.”

  He did.

  “Good. And out.”

  He exhaled.

  I shifted the hand on his hip to his lower back and had him take another deep breath. Worked my way around his torso. Most of his tension was in his upper body—I could feel the way he flinched when I touched his stomach. Sensitivity about his weight, maybe. But also, generally speaking, the belly was a very vulnerable body part. Displaying it was a symbol of submission, of course, and having someone touch you there left you less room to hide, or to detach.

  I thought about talking to him—explaining to him what I was doing. But he’d already started to relax. His head was bowed, and he wasn’t resisting me at all. So I stayed silent and placed my palm once more on his lower back. I increased the pressure between his shoulders with my other hand. He shifted slightly, then let his shoulders drop.

  It was very . . . I don’t know. Such a reward, each time I forged this kind of connection with someone. I knew the internal eye rolls I evoked when I talked about healing energy or directing someone’s life force. And I really didn’t see myself as buying into a lot of hippy-dippy bullcrap. But we all had the power to change the way someone else felt through the way we spoke to them or touched them or behaved around them. I liked to use that power, whenever I could, to help people.

  He got an erection, and he tilted his hips as though he hoped to hide it. But he continued breathing deeply, as per my instructions. I slid one palm to the right side of his abdomen and stopped when I felt a knot in the muscle, and a faint heat, like the area was inflamed. Shame, tension, old memories . . . I kept my hand there, and his body started to stiffen again, which was the opposite of what I wanted. “Can you let that go for me?” I asked, cupping my palm over the knot and pressing lightly.

  He tried another deep breath, but it was unsteady.

  Ah, okay.

  I repositioned my body, careful not to invade his space, but I wanted to get a little closer so he could feel the way I was breathing. “There you go,” I said as he took a breath with me. I remembered going through this process with Kamen, who’d had the least amount of tension I’d ever experienced in a human body, and who had complied so earnestly with my instructions that it had been hard not to laugh. Gould, while far less relaxed than Kamen, seemed to understand more organically what I was asking.

  His eyes were closed, and his breathing had slowed considerably. I did the other side of his abdomen. Breathed with him. “Perfect,” I whispered, as he let the last of the tension go.

  I worked a couple of trigger points on his shoulders, and he groaned. He was still clearly erect under his shorts, but he no longer seemed concerned about it. I rubbed wide circles on his back, and he went so limp in the restraints that I worried about the strain on his wrists.

  I didn’t want to take him out of this headspace, but a few people had gathered around, and it seemed invasive, somehow, to let others watch him during what felt like a private moment. So I whispered, “Do you want to stay up here? Or go rest somewhere?”

  He arched suddenly, like a cat, and his voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Can you . . . Can someone . . . whip me? Please?”

  I kept my hand moving in slow, steady circles on his back. “Do you want it to be me?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay. I’m gonna go get one of your floggers. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  I waited until he nodded. He didn’t open his eyes.

  I squeezed his shoulder and then went over to Bella, who helped me find Gould’s suitcase of gear. There were two leather floggers inside—one with thick, heavy falls, and one with thin falls. I started to take the heavier one, then grabbed both and went back to the post.

  The observers were keeping a respectful distance, and Gould was still slumped. He jerked sideways slightly when he sensed me next to him. I let him feel both floggers, dragging the falls of the heavier one up his leg, and then shaking the thinner falls against his shoulders. He let out a long sigh, swaying in the restraints.

  Miles and Bowser had trained me in dual flogger use, and I loved it. Lots of ways to play with rhythm and sensation. I started with the heavy flogger—a couple of sidestrokes across his shoulders. The flogger was nicely weighted, and the thudding sound was satisfying. Gould’s breathing didn’t even quicken. I worked his shoulders over with figure eights, and then paused, readjusted, and snapped the thin falls across the backs of his thighs. He jumped a little, and the post creaked. I struck with both floggers at once—shoulders and thighs.

  Then I fell into a rhythm, landing one flogger after the other. He started swaying with each blow, but not in a way that suggested he was resisting or uncomfortable. He just went where the follow-through of each stroke took him.

  I moved both up to his shoulders and did alternating figure eights there. The skin turned pink, then red.

  I paused and shook both floggers up and down his back. Then I started in with the heavy flogger across the seat of his shorts. Back and forth, until he arched and squirmed. I put the handle of the flogger between his legs and nudged them farther apart. Then I swung the floggers simultaneously in rapid circles, one against each thigh. I was glad he’d kept his shorts on, so I didn’t have to worry as much about catching his balls.

  I liked the whap of the leather against his boxers. Liked mixing that sound with the sharper thwack of leather on skin. I stung him a couple of times with the tips of the thinner falls, making him jerk.

  He’d started breathing harder, his hips rocking, and I was curious to see if I could make him come like this. But he didn’t move his hips any faster, and I wasn’t sure what his pain threshold was, so I started winding down, finally dropping the thinner flogger and giving him a last few solid lashes on his ass with the heavy falls. I spent a few minutes rubbing his back with the leather handle, drawing patterns on the reddened skin. Then I dropped that flogger too and undid his wrist cuffs. I had one arm ready to support him when he came off the post.

  I turned him so we were side by side, my arm around his shoulders. “No rush. Open your eyes when you’re ready.”

  He blinked. Saw the people watching, and stiffened slightly. But I helped him over to the shaded area and put a blanket down for him. Miles sat a few feet away, watching. I was about to ask him if he could get us some water, when Gould grabbed my hand. I looked down, and he gave me this completely unembarrassed, open smile.

  “Thank you,” he said. “So much.”

  I squeezed his hand. “My pleasure,” I replied, and meant it.

  “I’m . . . supposed to offer you a bounty.”

  “And what’s your bounty?”

  He laughed. “It’s so stupid.”

  I didn’t comment.

  “Uh . . . I’ll have a conversation with you. About any topic you want.” He shrugged. “It’s really dumb, I know. But Kel said my bounty should be something that’s actually a challenge to give. And . . . yeah.”

  I sat on the blanket with him. “All right,” I said. “Let’s talk.”

  Five till eleven. I approached camp wearily. Saw Ryan sitting on a stump beneath a large oak tree at the bottom of a slope.

  “Ryan?”

  He looked up. “Hey, Dave.” He glanced at his gun. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to shoot you.”

  I sat on the stump beside him. “I wouldn’t mind if someone shot me, at this point. I’m so sick of the woods.”

  “Same. I’ve been sitting here for like an hour. I’m waiting for Kamen.” He checked his watch. “But I guess the hunt’s over.”

  “Waiting for Kamen?”

  “Yeah. He was supposed to meet me here at nine thirty. Then I was gonna capture him and grope the fuck out of him on the
post. Then I was gonna put him in that paddock thing and grope him some more. But he hasn’t shown.”

  “So all that time, he was pretending to be my ally. And really he had a pact with you?”

  Ryan glanced at me. “Sorry.”

  “No,” I said after a moment. “I’m sorry.” I told him about abandoning Kamen.

  “Then why isn’t he on the post if he got captured? I’ve been keeping an eye on the camp, and he’s never there. Do you think he—”

  “Got eaten by wolves?”

  “No. But—”

  “Squirrels?”

  “What about squirrels?”

  “Eaten by them?”

  “No.”

  “Lost?”

  Ryan sighed again. “I don’t know. I guess if he could be here, he’d be here. You know? Or maybe he was just . . . having fun, and he decided to stay out there.” He shifted. “I shouldn’t have pressured him into a pact with me. I should have just let him enjoy the hunt.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “I made a pact to elude D. To prove that I’m rugged. But I don’t want to be rugged. I just want D to kidnap me and beat my ass.”

  “He’ll find you. And Kamen’ll find me. We have to believe.”

  I checked my watch. “Three minutes.”

  We didn’t say anything for a while. I’d just gotten up, because I couldn’t sit still anymore with my pants throttling my kidneys, when we heard a call from the top of the slope.

  “Hey, perv!”

  Ryan and I both looked up.

  Kamen stood between two trees, waving.

  Ryan stood. “Oh my God. Perv!”

  “Sorry I’m late. Hi, Dave!”

  “Hi,” I said.

  Ryan aimed his rifle. “You have ten seconds to surrender, or I shoot.”

  Kamen unzipped his jacket and ripped the two sides open, exposing an old white T-shirt. “I’m ready.”

  Ryan fired.

  Kamen glanced over his shoulder. “Nowhere near me, Wheelhouse.”

  “Stay still.” Ryan fired again.

  Once more, Kamen watched the bullet fly past. “You hit a baby tree.”

  Ryan sighed. “Third time’s the charm.” He pulled the trigger.

  This one nailed Kamen squarely in the chest.

  Kamen yelled, clutching himself. He took his hand away and looked down almost lovingly at the paint on his shirt. He swayed dramatically for a moment, then dropped to his knees and started to roll toward us.

  When he got to the bottom of the hill, he lay at Ryan’s feet, gazing up at him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to find you.”

  “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”

  “Look.” Kamen reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of hot sauce.

  “You have hot sauce.”

  “I have hot sauce.” He returned it to his pocket. Stared up at Ryan again. “Take me to the whipping post, He-Manacles.”

  “Don’t you worry, Pellator. That’s where we’re going.”

  Kamen took Ryan’s offered hand and climbed to his feet. He glanced at me. “Dave. Have you escaped D this whole time?”

  “Yeah.” I tried to sound happy about it.

  “Awesome, dude. You’re the master of everything. And hey, it’s eleven. So enjoy the gift card.”

  “Yeah. Enjoy the whipping post.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  Ryan waved. “Catch you later, Dave.”

  They walked hand in hand back to camp.

  I FINISHED ATTACHING THE CUFFS AT THE TOP OF THE POST TO KAMEN’S WRISTS. HE DID NOT COMMENT ON HOW I HAD TO STAND ON TOP OF THE SNACK COOLER TO DO IT. WHICH WAS WISE, BECAUSE I WAS ABOUT TO UNLEASH A REALLY EXCELLENT HELL ON HIM.

  I STEPPED OFF THE COOLER AND GAZED UP AT HIM. I HAVE MAYBE NEVER BEEN HARDER IN MY LIFE. HIS LEGS WERE SPREAD. HIS ARMS WERE BOUND ABOVE HIS HEAD, BICEPS BULGING. HIS SHIRT WAS OFF, AND I WANTED TO ROLL FUCKING QUARTERS THROUGH THE RIDGES BETWEEN HIS ABS. PLUS IT WAS DRIZZLING, SO HE WAS KIND OF WET. LIKE A STRONG SWEATY PRISONER.

  “WANNA SEE?” HE ASKED, NODDING DOWN AT HIS CROTCH.

  “SHH. LET ME SAVOR THIS MOMENT.”

  I WALKED FORWARD AND STOOD RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM. HE HAS A GREAT GODDAMN LINE OF CHEST HAIR GOING ALL THE WAY DOWN HIS STOMACH AND TO HIS PUBES, SO I PUT MY FINGER ON THAT AND TRACED IT TO HIS PANTS. HIS ABS FLEXED.

  “GOOD BOY,” I SAID. ’CAUSE YOU REALLY HAD TO PRAISE HIM WHEN HE HELD STILL, OTHERWISE HE GOT FIDGETY. AND NO SHIT I LOVED CALLING THIS FUCKING GIANT MY BOY.

  WE WERE ATTRACTING A CROWD. I WANTED TO WARN THEM THAT PEOPLE IN THE FIRST TWO ROWS WERE IN THE SPLASH ZONE.

  I GLANCED UP AT KAMEN AGAIN. “BEG ME TO TAKE YOUR PANTS OFF.”

  HE PUSHED HIS HIPS FORWARD. “PLEASE TAKE MY PANTS OFF.”

  “WHY? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING UNDER THERE?”

  “IT’S A SURPRISE.”

  “AM I GONNA LIKE IT?” I PULLED SOME HAIRS ON HIS HAPPY TRAIL.

  HE STARTED TWISTING HIS HIPS. “YEAH. YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING LOVE IT.”

  “YEAH?”

  “TAKE ’EM OFF, RY.”

  “OKAY. THEN I’M GONNA MAKE YOU COME IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.”

  I WASN’T SURE HOW TO DESCRIBE THE NOISE HE MADE. IT WAS LIKE HEMSWORTH WATCHING SOMEONE EAT A CHICKEN FAJITA. OR . . . LIKE KAMEN WATCHING SOMEONE EAT A CHICKEN FAJITA.

  I UNSNAPPED HIS FLY.

  AND THEN, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I YANKED HIS PANTS DOWN.

  REMEMBER CRAYONS IN KINDERGARTEN? REMEMBER HOW CERULEAN WAS THE GREATEST GODDAMN BLUE? AND HOW SOMETIMES YOU ACCIDENTALLY PULLED MIDNIGHT BLUE OUT THINKING IT WAS CERULEAN, AND YOU WERE DISAPPOINTED BECAUSE FUCK MIDNIGHT BLUE?

  I HAD NEVER SEEN THESE PANTIES BEFORE. THEY WERE STRAIGHT-UP CERULEAN, AND THE COLOR LOOKED SO GOOD AGAINST HIS PALE SKIN, PLUS THERE WERE RUFFLES, AND A PATTERN LIKE FEATHERS IN THE LACE. HIS BALLS STRETCHED THE FEATHERS, AND I WAS WATCHING HIS DICK GET HARD BEFORE MY EYES, AND EVERYTHING WAS SO PERFECT I HALF EXPECTED THE CLOUDS TO OPEN UP AND FOR GOD TO STICK A GIANT ARM OUT AND GIVE ME A THUMBS-UP.

  I WALKED AROUND TO CHECK KAMEN OUT FROM THE BACK. THE RUFFLES RODE HIGH ON HIS ASSCHEEKS, SO HE LOOKED LIKE SOME FANCY, SEXY BIRD-PRINCESS. I REACHED OUT AND PINCHED THE LOWEST RUFFLE, TUGGING IT DOWN A LITTLE. HE CLENCHED HIS ASS BUT DIDN’T MOVE.

  I SLID MY HAND BETWEEN HIS LEGS FROM BEHIND AND CUPPED HIS BALLS. HE GRUNTED AND PUSHED HIS ASS OUT LIKE A DAMN WHORE. I RAN MY THUMB UP THE LACE, TRACING THE OUTLINE OF HIS DICK.

  “YOU ARE SUCH A PRETTY GIRL,” I TOLD HIM, BECAUSE WE LOVE SHIT LIKE THAT. WE WERE DOWN WITH EITHER PRETENDING HE WAS A WOMAN OR PRETENDING HE WAS A MAN IN WOMEN’S UNDERWEAR, SO IT WAS JUST A MATTER OF ONE OF US ESTABLISHING A GENDER AND THE OTHER ROLLING WITH IT.

  I STOOD DIRECTLY BEHIND HIM AND REACHED AROUND AND UP WITH BOTH ARMS TO CUP HIS PECS. I MAULED THEM, FLICKING HIS NIPS WITH MY THUMBNAILS. A COUPLE OF SPECTATORS WALKED AWAY, AND I DIDN’T CARE. I KNEW WE WERE AWESOME AND HOT.

  “YOU WANT ME TO SMACK THESE TITS?” I ASKED.

  “YEAH.” HE WAS PANTING. “YEAH, I WANT YOU TO SMACK THEM.”

  I SLAPPED HIS LEFT PEC, THEN HIS RIGHT. HE YELPED, FLINCHING BACK AGAINST ME SO HARD HE NEARLY KNOCKED ME OVER. I SLAPPED THE LEFT SIDE AGAIN.

  “GOOD GIRL. YOU LIKE THAT?” I REACHED DOWN WITH ONE HAND AND PULLED HIS PANTIES HALFWAY DOWN, SO HIS ASS CHEEKS BULGED OVER THE WAISTBAND. “DID YOU WEAR THESE JUST FOR ME?”

  HE TUGGED ON THE CUFFS. “YEAH.”

  I GRABBED THE LACE AGAIN AND YANKED IT UP BETWEEN HIS CHEEKS, WEDGIE-ING THE LIVING FUCK OUT OF HIM.

  HE CHOKED OUT A CRY.

  I JERKED THE PANTIES DEEPER INTO HIS CRACK. “TELL ME HOW BAD YOU WANT ME.”

  HE SHIFTED HIS WEIGHT BACK AND FORTH, GULPING. “I WANT YOU SO BAD. SO BAD. PLEASE . . .”

  HE WAS HUMPING THE AIR IN A MAJOR WAY, AND SO I LET GO OF THE PANTIES. SLID MY HANDS DOWN HIS SIDES, OVER THE LACE, AND THEN ALONG HIS INNER THIGHS, SHOVING HIS LEGS APART. HE MOANED LIKE THE PATRIOTS WERE LOSING, AND THRUST HIS ASS BAC
K AGAINST MY CROTCH.

  I PUSHED MY HIPS FORWARD IN RESPONSE, HOPING HE COULD FEEL HOW HARD I WAS. “YEAH, YOU LITTLE SLUT. WORK IT.”

  I BACKED UP AND DUSTED THE SEAT OF HIS PANTIES WITH ONE HAND, FLIPPING THE RUFFLES UP AND DOWN.

  THEN I WENT TO STAND IN FRONT OF HIM AGAIN.

  AND I GOT BUSY GROPING.

  I DIDN’T REALLY KNOW IF HE COULD HEAR HIMSELF WHEN HE GOT THAT TURNED ON, BUT EVEN THE MEMBERS OF THE CAMP WHO WEREN’T GATHERED AROUND US WERE LOOKING IN OUR DIRECTION, HE WAS GROANING SO LOUD. AND THEN I STARTED RUBBING MYSELF THROUGH MY PANTS WITH MY FREE HAND, AND WE WERE OFFICIALLY A SPECTACLE.

  I STUCK MY THUMB BEHIND HIS BALLS AND GROUND THE LACE AGAINST HIS TAINT UNTIL HE DOUBLED OVER AS MUCH AS THE RESTRAINTS WOULD ALLOW. I STOOD ON MY TOES, TRYING TO KISS HIM, AND HE ABOUT UPROOTED THE POST LEANING DOWN SO I COULD REACH HIS LIPS.

  I COULDN’T LAST MUCH LONGER. I PUT MY PALM AGAINST THE BULGE OF HIS LACE-COVERED DICK AND JUST SCRUBBED THE HELL OUT OF IT UNTIL HE SHOUTED AND THE LACE GREW WET AND STICKY. KEPT MY HAND THERE WHILE I REACHED DOWN MY OWN PANTS AND BROUGHT MYSELF OFF.

  THE POST CREAKED STEADILY AS HE HUNG THERE, AND THEN IT STARTED TO FALL OVER—HE HAD TO TAKE HIS WEIGHT OFF IT QUICK. I GRABBED A HANDKERCHIEF FROM MY POCKET—WE’D BOTH TAKEN TO CARRYING THEM EVERYWHERE—AND WIPED MY HANDS. THEN I PULLED THE SNACK COOLER OVER AND STOOD ON IT TO UNDO HIS CUFFS. MY HANDS WERE SHAKING.

  HE BROUGHT HIS ARMS DOWN SLOWLY AND HELD HIS HANDS SORT OF OVER HIS CROTCH, LIKE HE COULD FOOL ANYONE INTO THINKING HE WAS MODEST. I STOOD A COUPLE OF FEET IN FRONT OF HIM AND HELD OUT MY ARMS. “C’MERE, BIG GUY.”

  HE STUMBLED FORWARD AND WENT TO HIS KNEES IN FRONT OF ME. HIS PANTS WERE STILL AROUND HIS THIGHS, THE RUFFLES OF HIS PANTIES STICKING OUT AS HE LEANED FORWARD AND RESTED HIS FOREHEAD AGAINST MY STOMACH.

  I STROKED HIS HAIR AND THEN SCRATCHED BETWEEN HIS SHOULDER BLADES. HE TURNED HIS HEAD TO THE SIDE AND PRESSED IT HARD AGAINST ME. “YOU’RE THE BEST,” HE SAID. “YOU ARE LITERALLY MY HERO.”

  I SCRATCHED MORE FIRMLY, AND HIS SHOULDERS ROUNDED AS HE TRIED TO SHRUG ME TOWARD THE RIGHT SPOT. I FOUND IT, AND HIS SHOULDERS COLLAPSED AS HE SIGHED.