The Bounty Hunt League

I hate living in London.

Everyone I met here moved with promises of a well paying job, a full career, and eventually a better life. On the other hand I was forced to leave my home town and go to the only place where I could get a job. Then, just to make things worse, every time I met someone new, they would flee London the moment their career moved to a level where they could get cushy work from home contracts, while I was stuck as a hospitality manager at The Royal Shaftesbury Hotel, a fancy hotel in Hyde Park, hardly the sort of job I could do in my pyjamas on a laptop.

This means that I was denied the most important opportunity, the one everyone I got close to would take the moment they could, the chance to move out of London.

So now I sit at night in a one bedroom flat in Barking, my only activities are staring at my phone and the shifts I go to work to earn just enough to pay for rent and certainly not enough to have a hobby that would get me out of the house to meet new people.

I am alone, alone in my house, alone in London, alone in the world. I try to look for jobs that will get me out of this stupid city, but I always end up comparing the salary with local living expenses and figure out it's not worth it. It doesn't matter what name is on the map if I'm still stuck at home with nothing to do. So for now I'm in a holding pattern waiting for a job that pays well in the hospitality sector where I have experience, but isn't in London. That's a tall order and it's been getting harder and harder to summon up the energy to do that.

In me, my depression takes an odd form, I could go weeks without having a single good thought, but give me breathing room and my brain only has one gear to switch to.

I get incredibly horny.

I've heard tell of people turning to addiction to break a cycle of monotony and mental illness. At least slamming a dildo into my pussy and turning the rabbit ears to their strongest vibration setting is cheaper than heroin.

It's when I feel my most alone that I do it. I'll get a couple days off work and knowing I will only leave the house to buy the cheapest groceries the supermarket has flips a switch. Soon I'm looking up porn on my phone and getting ready to be unable to walk straight for a day or two.

During those times my relationship with the outside world becomes similar to that of an atheist's relationship with god. I stop believing in its existence. Others believe in it, others have experienced it, and I have played along with being in its presence, but it doesn't exist for me when it gets in the way of my pleasure. If I have a wave of memory of the outside world, if my belief flourishes, then I move on to hating it.

So in those days, every blemish and sun stain on my bedroom wall becomes as etched into my mind as the feel of smooth latex gliding inside of me. The walls close in until my world is just a room to hold my pleasure and the outside is a void to threaten my isolation.

Then I discovered porn of women desecrating the outside world with naked displays of brazen defiance. Of course I got hooked. Every picture of a woman flashing her body outside felt like another "fuck you" to the expanse of space isolating me in my room.

I started off scattershooting myself around the internet, bouncing between a variety of different websites, finding my favourites and stuffing my bookmarks full of smut. But one day I found the singular website to occupy all my spare time.

The Bounty Hunt League was a simple concept, using competition to drive women to more extreme feats of exhibitionism while monetising the content through getting users to pay to commission photos to their specifications.

The way it worked was simple, there were a series of leagues, women competing to earn the most points to win the prizes that come with being league winners. Anyone could pay to put together specifications for a photo or video, the site moderator would compare the component parts of their request to a price list to figure out the value of their request. Once they have paid, the bounty goes live and the competitors earn points by fulfilling those contracts, the general exchange rate being 1 point for every $50 spent on the picture, but there are bonus points for the quickest, the commissioners favourite, and the winners of audience votes.

What really intrigued me was that the site operated like a sports league, with a top division of 20 elite competitors, and 3 lower leagues in a constant scramble to either get promoted or at least avoid relegation. And because they didn't want professionals, but real women from all walks of life, the commissions were divided and made available to the appropriate leagues so winning became a matter of quality rather than quantity. There weren't enough bounties in each league for a woman with a lot of spare time to win through quantity of low value photos, they had to go big with each upload.

With progression and competition, I was able to pick out women and see their rise and fall. I could support performers like a sports team and thrill every time they release their latest bounty claim. Plus I knew I could not watch for a while during my depressive episodes, come back when hyper, and delight in catching up on the risers and riders.

I know what you are thinking, I'm a relatively attractive woman, why not become a competitor myself? I didn't see that happening. You can support a boxer without looking to get punched in the face. I did sometimes wonder what it would be like for my d-cup torpedoes to grace the website I love so much, but I was certain in that mental state it would simply lead to regret rather than invigoration.

I was, however, completely up for scraping together some cash to pay for a bounty.

First I had to set up an account and pick my username. I chose Lonely_Girl, which was a bit on the nose but it was all I could think of at the time. This would be important as one of the enduring rules is that whenever a woman was fulfilling someone's bounty, they had to write that person's username somewhere on their body to indicate who they were stripping down for and to prove they were responding to a specific bounty and not using an old or stolen picture.

Originally I wanted to put a bounty on a picture with a London landmark in the background, but the Bounty Hunt League didn't allow for specific locations, both to maintain an international stable of competitors and for safety reasons. So instead my challenge was to flash tits and pussy in front of any landmark, candidates allowed to hide face.

I'd all but forgotten about my commission by the time I had rubbed my clit raw, showered off and gone to work. I spent the next couple of days focussed on acquiescing to the petty demands of wealthy travellers and sinking deeper into despair stood behind a marble desk in my uniform, a blouse, waistcoat, skirt and blazer combo that was a masterpiece of conveying formal subservience, blending with my hotel lanyard to clearly communicate that 'I am a high class person but am still below you in the pecking order.'

It wasn't until the following week that I had the time and mentality to return to the Bounty Hunt League. I felt the early rumblings of my arousal but I had to admit, what I was greeted with instantly pushed them to a full blown earthquake.

Waiting in my account notifications were 7 different women who had claimed my bounty. The moderators had decided that with tits and pussy both on display, and with the likelihood of discovery within view of a landmark, the bounty would be worth 4 points and would go out to the women in the 3rd division, who quickly obliged.

I saw a young woman lurking in an alleyway, her face blurred but her coat parted to show off her petite body as the CN Tower loomed over her shoulder. Another woman had managed to get a naked selfie from a boat with a grand glass building behind her that the caption explained was the Elbphilharmonie, Hamburg's biggest landmark. Each new picture showed a woman desecrating the outside at my command, Lonely_Girl stamped on their body to let everyone know it was me who sent them.

I was already ravenous over the situation, but I was driven into overdrive by the final picture I came across. It was an impossibly busty black woman, fully made up with her hair oiled and curled to perfection. She was in her mid-20s, not blurring her face even though she could have, she had dropped her coat to one side even though she could have just held it open, and she was standing naked, with a big grin, throwing up a two finger peace sign, right in front Big Ben.

There she was, at my behest, waving her naked body, resisting the oppressive London with her shameless freedom. And I had sent her. Lonely_Girl was written across her tits, London knew why she was there.

I know that area well enough to know she was taking her picture on Westminster bridge in broad daylight. There is never a quiet moment there, the only way she could have taken this picture was to not care about the various pedestrians and cars that would have been watching her strip down. She had made the space her own, despite all the people, she was alone and in charge.

I immediately clicked on her profile, she was going by the username SallyNoShame and at the moment she was top of the 3rd division.

"Of course she is." I said to myself. "A woman that brave is bound for the top league.

I went into her back catalogue and it was clear she was only so low due to having recently started. She had a smattering of pictures from a beach I didn't recognise, and then a couple of pictures taken in various parts of London, some that I knew I had been to before. She was bent over with her cheeks spread at a part of Camden market I had often shopped in, her tits were resting on the table of a café I once went to with my friends, I even got to see her naked and spread eagle by a tree in Hyde Park that I have to walk past every day on my way to work.

That night my dildo barely left me until its batteries ran flat.

In the days to come, my obsession with SallyNoShame grew. I started reading through all the captions and notes that came with her photos. It was clear she had someone's help as none of her photos were selfies. When I took a closer look I could see she was giving photo credit to other users. One was an older woman with the handle BustyBrenda, still in the 3rd division who mainly stuck to variations on her nudity in the same abandoned alleyway. Another was a petite girl with an Impossibly cheeky smile with the handle NubileKitty who had some pictures around London that were adventurous enough to get her in 4th place in the 2nd division.

Then finally I came across the user SallyNoShame was most excited to work with, CockneyCockNeed. She was currently 9th in the top division, one of the website's big stars and judging by her history, every bit as daring as SallyNoShame. They had clearly done a day trip to Camden together as on the same day as SallyNoShame's flashing in the market, CockneyCockNeed had uploaded her own picture from somewhere nearby I recognised.

She was a middle aged woman, if I had to guess she was in her late 30s. Her hair was long and coloured pitch black with vivid red stripes, her nipples pierced with chrome bars that ended in an elaborate and spiked pattern. This combined with a tapestry of tattoos, each unrelated to its neighbours but all in various aggressive designs painted a picture of a woman who had yet to grow out of her punk phase. What also painted her as a non-conformist was the picture of her stripped, handcuffed to a bench in the park just around the corner from Camden Market, with a dildo clearly left inside her pussy.

I felt an overwhelming wave of envy for the two women who had found each other through their deviancy, working together to tell the outside world to go fuck itself.

How do you even meet a friend like that? It's not like you can go to a bar, sit next to someone and casually ask if they are also into competitive exhibitionism. Even if you are already friends with someone, I couldn't imagine asking any of my few scattered friends if they wanted to grab a camera and take pictures of each other naked in public.

I wanted to meet them myself, be right there for their degeneracy, but unless I got a crystal ball, I didn't see how I could figure out where they would strike next.

I lost myself in fantasies of being so gratuitously not alone until I fell asleep with my fingers in me.

...

The next shift I had at work was the longest one of my life. I had fallen asleep before I had a chance to fully satisfy my horniness, so I had to do the painful transition from horny to depressed while sat behind a desk, covering a sick receptionist's night shift.

At 2am, the golden calm time comes over the hotel; too late for the people who don't party all night to be returning, but too early for those who's coke benders are only just beginning. The perfect time to drift off and look at stuff on my phone. In my inbox I saw an email that made me tingle a little, I was now on the Bounty Hunt League mailing list seeing as I had joined them to pay for a bounty.

The update was about the changing rules based on new demand for competitors. The 4 divisions were now completely full, the seasons lasting a month before each round of promotions and relegations. But there was now a problem of women going AFK and having to wait long times for them to drop through the relegations. So now if a woman doesn't score a single point they get booted from the whole competition, not just relegated and wait for them to drop out. To move people up and down quickly the 4th division was going to be all newcomers apart from the 3 relegated from the 3rd division. So once a quarter there would be open tryouts and the 17 best by audience vote would get to join the competition.

I had a pang of temptation, but quickly buried it.

Then the website, in a pitch to increase uptake, listed the benefits, below the cash prizes, personal betterment, and praise from internet perverts, a line struck me like a train made of lightning.

'A community of competitors that help each other out in a dedicated private chat group.'

The pang of temptation was now a flaming stabbing sword. All that obsession and isolated longing now forced into my face, a thin wall between myself and a world that had dominated my free time. I still wasn't sure, but I immediately scrolled to the bottom of the page and clicked the sign up link, just to see what I would need to do to qualify.

As I expected, once per season, everyone wishing to try out would need to submit a single photo with their own username written on their body. There was no more guidance than that. Viewers could add a thumbs up or thumbs down on each picture, and the 17 with the highest score would enter the league.

Then there was a sentence that shocked me out of inaction.

'Everyone who submits a picture will be added to the private competitors group, so even if you don't qualify, our experienced performers can give you advice on how to do better next time.'

That was all the drive I needed, one risky photo, not even identifying myself, just showing off a bit of my body, and I could swim in this world. I could chat with SallyNoShame and get on the inside track of women claiming the outdoors as their own. Immediately my brain was buzzing with what I was willing to do to join this world.

I put a neat little 'back in 10 minutes' sign on the reception desk and headed to the lift. I zipped up to the 6th storey, then round a corner to where the stairs were chained off with a neat little sign telling guests that access to the roof was 'staff only'.

The darkened roof was a neglected blind spot of the hotel, although the wealth and wishes of the clientele ensured the ubiquitous CCTV was often not recording anyway. There were usually only two reasons people used the roof. Sometimes it was for routine maintenance on the air conditioning vents and mechanisms, penthouse skylights, or the roof itself. But the most common reason people came up here was to add to the pile of spent disposable vapes on top of the seemingly ancient pile of cigarette butts that spoke to the longevity of the roof as a cheeky smoke break location.

My singular purpose overrode my hatred of the outside. I had started shivering long before the cold November air started licking at my face, begging for more flesh to make prickle with chills. I once again saw the beauty of the lights of London shining through the Hyde Park trees. I walked around the other side of the doorway and was faced with an evening brighter section of the city, Paddington Station and the surrounding buildings lighting up the roof. Suddenly the big wide world was on my side. London, my hated jailer, was now my partner in crime as I tried to deduce the best angle to expose myself at so I could penetrate the secret club I had been pressed up against the windows of so song long.

I figured out a good place to take a selfie, next to one of the air conditioning units with a clear view of Paddington station as a nice recognisable landmark. Then I chuckled at my realisation that I was still fully dressed and in no position to show off my body. So swept away in the fantasy I was forgetting the most important part of making it a reality.

Just taking off my blazer was toe curlingly embarrassing, not with any sense of exposure, just in anticipation of the completion of a process now started. My hands began to shake as I dropped the blazer to one side and began to unbutton my waistcoat.

I dropped the waistcoat on top of my jacket, transforming an errant piece of clothing to a pile that awaited more garments to join it. I unclipped the tie from my neck and made sure to tuck it into the pocket of my blazer along with my lanyard with employee ID, the wind wasn't that strong but the occasional errant breeze gave me a little worry even if my clothes were nestled in relative safety behind a section air conditioning vent. The next step felt like the biggest one, stripping off my blouse so that only my bra remained.

My skin prickled as I began to undo my blouse, exposing more of my skin to the winter air with each button releasing its pressure. Eventually a little squeal escaped my mouth as I realised there were no buttons left and now I was standing on the roof of my hotel with my shirt open. I relaxed my shoulders and let the cheap polyester slide down my arms before snatching it with my right hand before it fell on the floor. I tucked it neatly with my other clothes, then another breeze hit me, unopposed on my torso by any fabric but the small interruption of my bra, and I panicked. I immediately picked up my blazer and put it on.

'That's OK.' I thought to myself. 'I can just open my blazer for the picture. It doesn't need to be fully off.'

I took a deep breath and reached under my blazer fabric to unhook my bra. It took a lot of fumbling by I was able to pull the straps off my shoulders, and soon felt the bra disappearing up my right sleeve. As I leant over to place my bra on the pile of clothes, I felt my breasts swaying in their newfound freedom and a nervous giggle escaped my mouth. I thought about the brave women who would soon consider me one of them, held my phone at arms length, whipped open my blouse with my other arm, and took the picture.

It looked like shit.

For starters there was barely any light so I had to squint to make out anything. Holding open my blazer with only 1 hand meant the other breast was still firmly hidden, and the camera was so close to me the photo could have been taken anywhere, so what was the point in picking a nice space on the roof.

'Ah well, I just want to get into the chat group, it will do.' I thought to myself. I bent over to pick up my clothes and get redressed but my traitorous mind stopped me in my tracks. 'Do you want that terrible picture to be the first thing SallyNoShame sees of you? How do you think she'll react?"