Running through the Virginia wilderness like a hunted animal, with sweat pouring down my nearly naked body. Wearing nothing but leather riding boots and a furry red fox mask, matching the color of my long braided pigtails. I hear some horses whinnying on the other side of a small hill, mixing with the eager sound of barking "bloodhounds." This is just an elaborate kinky role-playing game, but it seems so real. It won't be long before I get caught, and get dominated like hell.
A "fox hunt" for a slutty redhead. This is so fucking crazy. How did I get to this point; so far from being a nice normal twenty-something cowgirl? Images from a wasted youth rush through my mind as I run toward a cluster of dogwood trees. I rarely paid attention in school; usually daydreaming about My Little Ponies and various picture books. My favorite book was
Where the Wild Things Are.
I desperately wished for my bedroom to be transformed into a magical jungle, so I could be crowned Queen of the Wild Things. (Far, far away from my abusive father.) In the meantime, I settled for riding horses and getting into all kinds of trouble, at school and beyond. I got smacked up by daddy even if I didn't get in trouble.
Then I hit puberty, caring less and less about horses, and more and more about boys. My definition of "wild" got a lot wilder.
"Wooooo-oo-ooo-ooo!" one of the "dogs" howls in the distance, raising my fear even higher. I soon reach the point of exhaustion, unable to run any farther on a sweltering summer day. I lean against a hearty oak tree near a babbling brook, savoring the cool shade. Accepting my fate as a submissive kink doll. The galloping and barking gets closer and closer, making my heart beat louder and louder. The "hunters" soon emerge over the hill and spot their "prey." Seven athletic cowboys, straddling seven mighty stallions. Wearing only brown leather boots and brown bloodhound masks.
They swoop in for the "kill," whooping and yee-hawing triumphantly. Spurring those majestic steeds in my direction, with their dicks rising to full mast.
"Circle the wagons round the ol' oak tree, boys!' ' shouts Blake McGraw. "That slutty vixen has met her match."
"Her running days are done," adds Travis Thomas.
"Hoo-wee, what a fantastic fucking fox!" beams Maverick Gibson.
This wild fox hunt idea gradually percolated in my mind over the past ten years, ever since I saw the music video for "What Does the Fox Say?" by Ylvis (and the series premiere of
Naked and Afraid.
) The kinky equine cosplay concept had a nice vintage British vibe. I've masturbated so many times while picturing myself getting hunted, caught, bound, gagged, whipped and gangbanged by a pack of alpha males.
"Hell of a hunt, bitch," grunts John Anthony Wayne. "Now you're our kinky fuck slave."
I try to think of a witty response, but my voice is frozen by a strange mix of fear and arousal. The seven riders form a circle around the tree, trapping me behind a solid wall of horses. They dismount the stallions and form a half-circle around my body. I shiver fearfully against the rough tree bark, sweating like hell behind a thick furry fox mask. I know it's just a game with my drinking buddies, but their realistic bloodhound masks deceive my brain into primal terror.
"The bloodhounds always win, like the fucking Harlem Globetrotters," remarks Dale McEachin.
"That redhead bitch is way better than the Washington Commanders," adds Travis Thomas.
"You mean the Washington
Generals,
" replies Garth Benson.
"Generals, Commanders, they're both bad teams with stupid-ass names."
"Hail to the
Redskins
. . . hail vic-tor-eee . . ." Dale sings comically.
"Come on, boys. Let's tie this fox up like a fucking hog," growls Robert Fitzhugh Lee.
"Yes sir, General Lee!" Blake chuckles. The masked dog-men swoop right in and grab my arms, yanking me up on my feet. John A. Wayne grabs some rope from the saddle bag on his horse and wraps it around my wrists, binding them together with strong multi-layered knots, like all those busty porn stars in over-the-top kink.com videos.
"Fuck yeah, bind her ass nice and tight. We're gonna break that dirty vixen like a green colt," mutters Robert F. Lee. My fear starts to fade, replaced by intense sexual hunger. I moan under my breath impatiently, with pussy juice trickling down my sweaty thighs. Bracing for the roughest ride of my life. I've been working so hard lately, riding my own horse on a nearby cattle farm, so I deserve this big reward. Brimming with anticipation for domination.
Blake jerks my arms up toward a tree branch and binds them to it with another rope. Garth grabs a spreader bar from his saddlebag and pushes my legs far apart, binding my ankles to the metal pole with leather straps.
"Gag her pretty little mouth," grunts Robert F. Lee.
Dale grabs a red rubber ball gag from his saddle, then he pulls my mask above my mouth and shoves it through my teeth. Fastening it firmly around the back of my head, rendering me completely helpless. He grabs my red bangs and yanks my face up toward his snarling face. Locking his brown eyes on my emerald greens.
"
There
you go, you dirty fucking fox. Nobody can hear you scream way out here in hick country . . . but we wanna hear you
moan."
"Oooouuwaaah!" I groan gutturally through the red rubber ball.
"What does the fox say?" sings Robert F. Lee; awkwardly imitating a Norwegian singer with a southern Appalachian drawl.
"Mmmmmm!"
"Nobody will ever know," he snickers. "That song is fire, and so are you. I love whipping slutty fucking cowgirls like you."
Robert F. Lee grabs his long sturdy riding crop and swings the black leather tip firmly against my pale DD-cup tits.
"Aaaawooofff!" I groan, swinging from the oak branch in X-shaped bondage, savoring the sweet pain on my pointy pink nipples. He whacks them five more times, sending shockwaves throughout my body. One of the horses whinnies near the tree, while the others chew grass and drink from the babbling brook. Garth swoops in on my left side with his own riding crop, lashing my pussy just as hard, over and over.
"Wa-pa-pa-puh-pa-pa-pa-
pow!
Wa-pa-pa-puh-pa-pa-pa-
pow!
" he sings like Ylvis. Drool oozes through my red gag as he keeps whacking my sensitive pink folds. Travis and Dale get in on the act, whipping my well-toned abs and ass cheeks. John A. Wayne gets another length of rope and swings it strongly with an underhand motion, striking my pussy and asshole simultaneously, driving me even crazier.
I rarely use safe words, preferring to let men shut me up with a gag and do whatever the fuck they want. Leaving me nice and sore, floating on cloud nine. I'm a real glutton for punishment, just like Momma Jane.
"Your fur is red / so beautiful / like an angel in disguise
,
" Dale sings poorly, lacking a catchy Eurodance techno beat. "But if you meet / some big bad dogs
. . .
"
"Thwack!"
goes his riding crop, hitting me hard where the sun don't shine (except when I'm feeling naughty.)
"Aaaawoo-ho-hoooo!"
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
"Hoooo-woo-hooo-oooooof!"
Mister McEachin keeps whooping my twat like a circus lion tamer, while everyone else punishes the rest of my body. This is more exciting than I thought it would be last night, when we finalized our "game plan" at a roadhouse pub near the Kentucky border.
"If you meet a friendly horse / Will you communicate by mo-o-o-o-orse?" Dale croons.
Thwack-thwack, thwack-thwack-thwack!
"Mo-o-o-o-orse?"
Thwack, thwack-thwack!
"Mo-o-o-o-orse?"
Thwack, thwack-thwack-thwack!
"Hold your fire, boys!" growls Robert F. Lee. "Cut her down from that branch, and take off that spreader bar."
They untie me from the oak tree and un-spread my legs. I sigh in relief as lactic acid drains out of my muscles. My relief is soon interrupted by John A. Wayne and Robert F. Lee, re-binding me with heavy-duty farm rope. They wrap it tightly around my legs and torso, squeezing my limbs against my lean soft S-shaped body. Most sexy ladies like me get the hell out of the Virginia boondocks as soon as they can, heading to New York or Los Angeles (or at least Richmond) to cash in on their beauty. But I love being a cowgirl, and I love getting tons of action from rough sleazy cowboys.
"Get some more rope under those big tits. Raise 'em up real good."
They wrap the rough rope beneath and between my sore perky DD's, lifting and separating them nicely. A makeshift bustier, like those vintage "Roaring Twenties'' burlesque babes.
"Damn, I wanna bust my nuts all
over
them boobies. That bitch is so fucking hot," Maverick remarks.
"No kidding," Travis laughs. "She's sweating like a Budweiser Clydesdale pulling fifty kegs. Let's take her for a cool dip under that waterfall."
"Uhh-huuuh!" I groan with emphatic agreement. Blake picks me up and carries me a hundred feet upstream to a very small waterfall. He puts his bare feet in the rushing stream, hooting in surprise.
"Hoo-wee, that mountain water is cold and refreshing, like Coors fucking Light!"
He plops my ass down in the middle of the creek and pushes my torso backward, immersing my body underneath the falling water, from the neck down. The cold torrent makes me howl like Ylvis, surrounded by hound dogs. Dozens of whip marks flare up in the icy stream. An incredible sensation, racing right down to my pussy, seizing me with powerful perverse pleasure.
"Keep howling, ya fucking vixen!" Maverick growls. "We get off on pain too!"
The seven muscular dog-men finally step back along the shore, watching me whimper in pathetic bondage, stroking their dicks slowly in admiration.
"Good country girl, taking a bath after doing your chores on the ranch," Garth coos mockingly.
"Uh-
huuuh,
