Hunted

A few days later, she received an email thanking her for her interest and letting Angie know that they appreciated taking the time to watch their video and inviting her to come for a tour sometime soon. They made a big point of explaining to her that they had day and night tour slots available and that she was welcome to come see the grounds and speak to one of their game wardens about the process or watch an actual hunt in progress from a safe distance.

She hadn't actually watched the video yet. Until now, Angie had done her level best to avoid it and tried to get back to normal. Begging her ex-boyfriend to choke her harder and tell her what a whore she was probably wasn't all that normal, though, and so far that had been the highlight of her week. Even that asshole wasn't rough enough to get this horrible urge out of her system, though.

So that night, she wasted half of her evening watching that damn video. She'd told herself that if she made it through without fingering herself, then she'd delete the email and block the sender. That hadn't happened, though. She'd finally been forced to start touching herself after a woman who looked just enough like her to pretend that she was the one being violently spit-roasted on screen in a dirty barn somewhere.

After that, she'd promised herself that she'd only edge herself and that she wouldn't cum. After she came once, she promised she wouldn't do it again. She couldn't keep any of those promises, though. By the end of the night, she was grinding her vibe against her sore clit while she rewatched the whole thing. She even came to the polite woman in the intro, warning her that what followed was "exceptionally graphic footage and that viewer discretion was strongly advised."

She just couldn't help it. Every part of this revolted her, but that revulsion somehow made her cum harder. She ended up falling asleep on her couch exhausted, and that night, she dreamed of having her face ground into the dirt while strangers she never even saw told her she was nothing but a hole.

She woke up in the morning feeling positively depraved. She hadn't been like this since... well, since college, probably. Her first instinct was to call in sick from work and invite someone over to help her relieve this stress instead. She didn't, though. Instead, she responded to the email and told them she'd love to attend a live show at their earliest convenience. After all, how could she turn down an invitation to watch the real thing after the videos of it made her feel like this?

A few hours later, she received a reply, confirming her appointment at seven p.m. on Saturday and instructing her to wear something warm and bright since the weather was cooling off and they wanted her to be easily visible.

That was great news, except for the fact that Saturday was still days away. Just thinking about that was enough to make Angie die a little inside.

'You want to come over and play hooky from work so you can play with me instead?' she texted her boyfriend, including a picture of her dressed only in her stained, damp panties. She looked desperate, but she didn't care. She just wanted someone to make this better.

When he replied with excuses about how he couldn't because he had way too much going on, she broke up and blocked him on the spot, which was enough to make her smile. She'd been meaning to end things with him for almost two weeks now. There really wasn't even a point in dating a man if she could get this horny.

Angie took a nice long shower, confident in the knowledge that she could now let whatever happened to happen on this tour without any guilt as a single woman. More importantly, though, she could figure out how to stave off her lust for the next few days.

Though she did end up going to work, she ended up getting very little done. Instead, she found herself sitting in her little cubicle, fantasizing about all the ways her tour could go horribly wrong, and talking to weirdos on Reddit and Tinder about the things she wanted them to do to her.

It wasn't a bad day. Unfortunately, the dates she'd set up for the nights that followed never materialized. She told the men who were close enough to bother with her that she wanted to meet somewhere public and get taken advantage of while she played very hard to get. On the other side of the screen, they'd all seemed eager enough and shared some delicious fantasies that had left her panties damp throughout the day. They'd never actually showed, though, which was disappointing.

One night, she'd waited at a hotel bar long enough to settle for some business-class loser who had at least been kinky enough to tie her to the bed with his tie while he threatened to breed her, and the next, she went on her jog where one particularly bold predator had promised to hold her down and make her scream on the lake shore, but he'd never materialized.

It was just fucking tragic, so by the time Saturday rolled around, she was practically climbing the walls, and there was no denying that her horniness helped dictate some of her choices when it came time to pick an outfit for her big night. She ended up choosing an old pair of black leggings that she shouldn't feel heartbroken about ruining in case she got lucky. She ended up pairing them with a tight pink shirt that was just thin enough that her nipples would be perfectly obvious in the cold. She didn't bother with either a bra or panties. There wasn't a point.

She did, however, put on a puffy silver jacket and a bright pink beanie because if she was really going to be outside for hours tonight, the heat of her lust wasn't going to be enough to keep her warm.

The drive there was uneventful, and her GPS never tried to get her lost, even on the winding mountain roads. She arrived promptly at 7 p.m. to find a mostly empty parking lot. The receptionist was a friendly woman who gave her some paperwork to fill out. Sadly none of it was a release form to get fucked or anything of the sort. Instead, it was mostly acknowledgments that what she would see tonight was graphic, along with some advertising information about how she'd heard of them.

She'd come here hoping it was seedy, but instead, she'd only found sedate. That didn't change when Jon walked into the waiting room and introduced himself.

"I'll be your escort for tonight's festivities," he told her very politely before going through the rules and the safety precautions.

He was handsome in that 'I used to be a somebody when I was a high school athlete' sort of way. He looked like a washed-up cowboy two steps from alcoholism, but that was okay by her because that was exactly the sort of vibe that she'd been hoping for tonight.

"So you're familiar with everything we do here?" he asked, reviewing the paperwork. "Just how close do you want to get to the hunters and their prey tonight?"

"Well, what are my options?" she turned it back on him, answering his question with a question of her own.

"Well, around nine o'clock, both groups will start rolling in," he said, "The men will meet up to discuss the event in the barn, and the women will attend a similar briefing in the lodge. Then, at nine-thirty, the girls will be set loose to get a head start, and the guys will get set free five minutes after that."

"So I could go sit in the barn with the guys? Wouldn't they get the wrong idea?" she asked.

"They would," he agreed. "The best I can do for you there is let you watch the stream. In fact - that's a great idea, let's show you Orwell's room."

"Orwell's room?" she asked. "Like the writer?"

"Exactly," he said. "We have like 300 cameras on the property, and they all tie in at a couple places, but that's the most important one. Our guests pay good money for the hunt of a lifetime, and we like to make sure they walk away with an extra souvenir... for an extra fee, of course."

She laughed at that, but once they reached the definition, he squashed her before escorting her inside. "Candidate tour," he whispered as they entered, letting the three guys know it was perfectly safe to ignore them as the door swung silently shut behind them.

Jon hadn't been kidding about the room. The rest of the building she'd seen so far had been quaint to the point of being dated. This place, though, was more high-tech than anything at work. Almost every wall was plastered with monitors, big and small. Most of them flicked between one point of view after another every few seconds, but a few of them were in fixed locations. One of those was a monitor that had a bunch of men standing around in a circle while another washed-up cowboy-type lectured them all. Angie couldn't hear them, though. Not until Jon plugged in a pair of big, old-style headphones and handed them to her.

"Alright, boys - just to sum everything up. Don't be rougher than you have to be because most women like the idea of pain more than actual pain. Lean into the fear instead. Threaten as much as you want, cum where ever you want, and make sure to have a good time with the first girl you corner - because at midnight, we all turn from prince charming's into pumpkins again."

Everyone laughed at that joke, even though Angie didn't think it was very funny, but when the laughter died down, he continued. "Two and a half hours may sound like all the time in the world, but it goes by quicker than you think, and I've seen plenty of men waste most of that time looking for someone with bigger tits or what have you. We got a lot of lookers tonight, so let me just be upfront with ya - being picky ain't worth it."

After that, they switched to questions, and Angie had him switch to the lady's version, but it was already wrapping up. There, the women were milling around nervously in a nicely appointed room as they watched a large countdown clock tick down from seven minutes.

The man hadn't been wrong. There were definitely a lot of beautiful women in attendance tonight. She'd assumed there would be a lot of desperate women here, whoring themselves for a quick payday, but that wasn't the case at all. The brand names on the jackets and the running shoes said it all. This was a room full of bored housewives and career women here for the thrill, not the cash.

That excited her and made her feel more normal, somehow. It was so easy to imagine herself in that room. That was when she noticed the whiteboard on the wall behind her. She could only see it in the reflection of the monitor, but she instantly knew what it was. The men working this booth, and probably other workers too, were betting on who the last one standing was going to be.

It was a sick sort of game, but somehow, the idea still appealed to her. The game itself wasn't as twisted as some of the names they'd chosen, though. Rather than put their last names on the board, they all had much more derogatory names that made it easy to guess who they might be referring to. Some of them, like Blondie, the milk made, or bubble butt, were fairly innocuous, while others, like Russian slut or that bitch in pink, were rude but straightforward. There were weird curveballs, though, like the feminist or the dyke that were harder for her to guess at.

It was only when she finally tried to put faces to names and decide who it was that she thought would hold out the longest that she finally recognized Sarah in the mix. That was enough to make Angie do a double take.

"Is she actually trying to get pregnant?" Angie whispered to herself as she did the math in her head. It had been exactly four weeks, so if Sarah was still as regular as she remembered, then it stood to reason that she was coming here every 4 weeks with a purpose.

Suddenly, Angie became a lot more interested in how tonight was going to play out. She leaned forward, willing the clock to tick down faster as she wondered if the staff would let her place a bet on her friend, to lose, of course. She'd seen the clips on the website, which meant that she'd been up here three times at least now, and right now, Angie wanted nothing more than to see Sarah running for her life and then used against her will; it made her wet just thinking about it.