Chapter 14 - Helping Hand
Yorotani Island - The Hunting Grounds
The watch beeped again, and Amelia cursed, hoping none of the nearby hunters were close enough to hear it. She looked down at the screen, and a countdown was displayed along with the new boundaries the hunt was taking place in. She was already well inside the new area, and on her way to the end goal but the more she looked the more she felt like she was being toyed with. The zone had all the feel of some invisible snare ready to snap shut at a moment's notice, trapping the prey inside. She allowed herself a brief snort of amusement. She knew that's exactly what it was already, she had from the beginning. Pussiana was rigged against women and this little outpost of all its very worst excesses was absolutely no different. To her, though, even the worst odds could be bested if you were simply willing to do what it takes.
She was at least making decent time through the undergrowth. She'd seen most of the runners stuck to cleared paths, or the lighter vegetation of stream banks as she passed them, moving from shadow to shadow amidst the foliage. They were, doubtless, faster than the route she was on, and less demanding but tropical sunlight glinting off sweat covered skin stood out in the open like a sore thumb. That same sweat beaded over her as she moved, and she was thankful for the shade of the foliage. When the hunt had begun the cool ocean breezes had promised some comfort but here the heat was beginning to become oppressive. Already so far today she'd watched from the shadows as women had been caught. She'd stayed stock still as one was hit by a tranquiliser dart. Amelia saw the colourful little tag of the dart as the needle hit her in the base of the neck; the woman had barely had time to register the shock of the impact before she toppled into the dust like a puppet with its strings cut.
Knowing any movement might give her away Amelia had little to do but watch as the woman lay there in the dirt. The woman's eyes had been open in terror as the hunter approached, his clothing a patchwork of mixed greens, and strange pieces of cloth that looked for all the world like leaf and moss cover. If he stood still Amelia could barely see him even knowing where he was.
Calmly and efficiently he'd bound her so she could be worn almost like a backpack, he'd talked the whole time as tears rolled off the immobile woman's face. He'd talked of a lost love, dead many years ago now in the Revolution. She was a spirited and fiery woman, determined to stand up for herself and others, to resist Fist and Arrow with all her might. He talked longingly of her figure, her breasts, the way she moaned as he treated her like a whore in private. Something about the way he talked, though, was disconcerting. Wrong. Deeply wrong. Rooted to the spot, careful in case even her breathing gave her away Amelia listened closely as the story went on to explain how he, as all civic minded men of the time were encouraged to do, had joined the party. They were in government now, the Compulsory Female Slavery laws were enacted. He mentioned he'd tried so many times to stop her being the activist she was, but it drove a wedge between them. She grew cold, distant...
He came home one day to find her gone. Her clothes, her bags, her motorcycle. She'd had no family, so when the CFSL was enacted she was registered with him as her CMR much to her disgust. He'd called the BFA. The Bureau had been more than happy to hear there was a woman on the run against her CMR's wishes, and they'd taken care of it. At this point the women of Pussiana knew very little of the laws passed to restrict them, and the technologies to control them. She'd been apprehended at the airport, charged with property damage when she'd punched a check-in slave after being told she couldn't leave Pussiana without her CMR's express written consent.
By the time the BFA returned her she was a mess. Bruised, lacking clothing, zip tied at the ankles and wrists she was reduced to a shuffling hobble. With every move the ties rubbed a little more and threatened to overwhelm her with pain. As she was pushed through the door of their home the BFA officer offered him something that he'd taken in a rage, and how he'd enjoyed watching the dawning realisation on his love's face. The band had tightened like a noose around her neck, choking her spirit out of her, barely touching the physical thing but crushing her soul. From that day on she was never again capable of being the woman he loved. Everything he said, ever last word made it clear that it was her fault for making him do it.
Now, he continued, here on this island with all the savings from his retirement after military service he'd come for someone with that same fire, that same passion for freedom, the same beautiful breasts, and she could be all his, all over again.
His captive was now bent backwards, immobile, ankles linked to wrists, propped up on her knees so he could look at her. Amelia was pretty flexible but the pose would have left her screaming, and the woman's breathing was strained. He gently pushed her dark hair from over her face and smiled. His mood turned darker as he looked at her. Even at the distance she'd been watching Amelia could see the change. He slapped her face hard enough the girl's unresisting head whipped to one side and lolled there. He took a handful of her hair and began screaming in her face, asking why she'd left, why she'd made him do this. What was so wrong with her that she thought she could change her world and destroy his. The slapping continued across the face and breasts, leaving the woman's skin blossoming red rather than the dusky olive it had been.
He flipped her over and let her face fall to the dirt of the forest floor, hanging limply in the woman's temporary drug-induced paralysis. For a second he stood over her, his eyes so fixed it was like he was boring holes in the woman's neck as he took deep uneven breaths laced with the red mists of fury. Amelia began to wonder if she was about to become witness to something much worse than enslavement but the man's face slowly changed again, his breaths evening out as he did. Amelia saw something like rainclouds parting above his eyes, that same red mist that had descended in his mind evaporating in sunlight. He apologised, again and again and again, over and over to the still drugged and paralysed woman but she was in no position to respond. As he waited for a response she could not make the pendulum of his mood swung around once more to frothing invective laced rage. Within moments he was behind her, his trousers undone, using the rope that bound her arms to her ankles to pull her up and force her ass onto his cock.
All the time he fucked her his mouth was at her ear, telling her she wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, lacked mental clarity, didn't know when to admit defeat. This new woman, it seemed, was getting the full projection of his lost love. The woman had no option but to lie in the dirt, filthy, tears welling in her eyes, being penetrated by a cock that, to Amelia's eye, was certainly capable of making someone uncomfortable if that was the aim. She winced slightly as he began to fully insert himself and wondered if, even paralysed, she'd be able to handle a cock of quite that magnitude.
Eventually he finished, his rage seemingly drained. It didn't take him long to gather up his gear, mount the woman like a backpack, and head off in what Amelia presumed was the direction of one of the banding stations.
Amelia had waited a few minutes as the woman was carried off before moving again. She knew the men hunting them were basically just rich assholes, and she didn't want to be owned by any of them, but that guy seemed very much on the end of the owner spectrum that ran through slave girls very very quickly, and messily.
Luckily she hadn't run into the pair again after that, but she'd been sure to be more careful, after all if a hunter who was working on a budget could afford camouflage like that then what toys could the rest of the spring for? It didn't take Amelia long to realise, however, that at this pace she was never going to outrun the gradually tightening snare around all the women. She had to pick up some pace. Slowly she began to feel more and more oppressed by the heat, the growing humidity, the slow change of the air to one that almost burned to take deep lungfuls of.
It didn't take long at this new pace to come across a new obstacle. She hadn't realised it, but she reasoned she must have been following a steep incline for some time, hidden by her progress through the trees. In front of her the ground dropped away quickly, and had she not noticed it in time she'd almost certainly have been sent tumbling down the steep embankment. She peered down. The foliage at the base was shorter, less like the forest on the rise she was on. She'd have to hunker down to hide, or spend an age finding another route. She groaned to herself, and then spotted something. Pale skin amongst the plants and dead trees fallen from the rise. Arms splayed, unmoving, she could see an unmistakable path of broken branches and crushed greenery leading to them; clearly they had been less observant or less lucky than she.
