Hunting Season Triple M Pt 01

Two surviving coed roommates are escorted by a host of friends back to their housing after the successful indoor(!) Hunt of a third roommate.

The tiny Asian-American poetry lover has been Affirmative Actioned!

---Bagged and tagged in front of her laptop's web cam!

Her study group's chat sees it all. They are horrified:

"In the living room!" "In her flannel pajamas!" "Brutal!"

"We didn't know a Hunter can do that!"

Naturally they post it everywhere.

Naturally none of them take it upon themselves to call housing security and put a stop to it.

The four coed housing nest lost it's first roommate Friday afternoon.

Just yesterday,

The opening afternoon of fall semester's Hunting season, their blond, bimboish, now former, roommate is taken trophy #1.

She starts the short walk home immediately after her shift at the Hot 'N Tasty Café. She never arrives.

She is tagged, transported and processed almost immediately.

Now the poetry loving Asian-American is no more. They fear the target is stapled on their necks.

Internet chatter is positive the Hunter used the blonde's key to get into their housing.

It's the Internet. It's wrong:

"Fuck" "Fuck!" "Fuck" "Fuckity Fucking Fuck!" spits Madeline Macmillan generally known as Mad Maddie, or Mad Maddie Macmillan, living up to her name.

"I did this to her." "She's been Affirmative Actioned." "It was my turn to bring the garbage cans in." "I propped the door open." "My phone dinged." "I started reading texts." "I forgot!"

The redhead is crying, adding tears to rage.

"If I was home I would have kicked the son of a bitch's ass!"

"Took first during the regional tournament and third in the state at 148 lbs." "Lettered in wrestling my senior year."

"Tear his fucking nuts off?" "He won't Hunt again."

"Calm down Triple M" says Madeline's remaining roommate.

Their situation is too serious for her to take the easy shot: "chunky girl."

"Take a deep breath." "Maddie, we got to figure out what to do."

She grew up with the African- American perspective. Her ancestors suffered through race based slavery. They had ways to deal. Now it's gender and education based. Slavery is still Slavery.

Jayla's in ROTC.

Spring semester last year she had intro to Tactical Leadership. She learned EEE: Evaluate, Evade, Escape. Her cultural roots hold a multitude of tales, songs and historical examples suggesting how.

"If it's the same Hunter both times, and we got to go with it is."

"He's got some perverted kink for making roommates into slave sisters"

"It's our asses on the line."

"We got to go with he has more tags."

"Mads, we can't stay here!"

"He knows we have classes, his slaves know where we work and shop" "He'll make them tell." "He can stalk us all along the way!"

Evaluate done.

"I'm staying with friends."

"I'll print out some posters from the webcam."

"His white face will stand out in their neighborhood"

"It's a longer distance to campus."

"I'll take city buses, get escorts to and from bus stops."

"We just got to get through two more Saturdays and the season's done." "His tags are worthless after that."

Evasion planned. Escape in sight. For her.

"What you thinking Mad?"

What three M's thinking is: She can't go tonight. She has a hotel's night auditor job through work study.

She'll run for home tomorrow. Her parents aren't there, they're at some plastic paradise, some senior citizen vacation destination.

She's has their front door key. She'll let herself in and text them she's staying.

She can afford to cut classes for about three days. Her car isn't reliable.

She needs to find a closer safe place to stay.

She has another shift at the hotel on Wednesday.

If she can't find something better, she'll rent a room there.

Her parents home, next county over, is too far a commute.

What she also thinks is:

What the fuck was she thinking when she signed up for this Affirmative Action bullcrap?

The trad wife wanna bees at the private Fundamentalist Bible college back home think being tagged is romantic.

If some future preacher hits the lottery, buys a tag and staples their ear? They are half way to heaven.

If one doesn't?

The religious coeds use the freedom any adult female has, in or out of season: Go down to the DNR and purchase a tag.

That tag is only usable on herself.

The man they hand it to, has the choice of stapling it to their ear or throwing it away.

The hellstone and brimfire chaplain at the college is in his glory.

He watches a young woman led down the aisle, rough rope around her neck, by her closest male relative.

He climbs the stairs. From the pulpit he preaches a theologically sound sermon full of "Obey." "Increase and multiply." "Women be silent in church."

He descends. He ceremonially removes the rope from her neck. He takes the tag, clasped like a bouquet between her bound hands.

He presents a consecrated stapler and the tag to her future owner.

Her owner to be staples the doe's ear.

She vows to faithfully honor and obey.

He adds his part: "Yes you will." "Every time." "Always and Forever."

Attaches collar and leash to her neck. Leads her back down the aisle.

A very intense ceremony. People are shaken by the ritual.

Next stop is the DNR for processing. It is over. The man has a slave.

The man retains his rights:

To marry. To buy lottery tickets and win purchase opportunities for additional tags ---

She is gone.

She doesn't have the right to be properly cared for---

Her owner has the obligation to keep her healthy. His duty is to the state.

The state has a legitimate interest in healthy, useful, domesticated females.

Younger Maddie figures--- It's fine:

They want it. They anticipate it. They come asking for it.

She doesn't want it. She doesn't even know if she wants to eventually marry. Having a kid? No, not in her future. She'll never ask for it.

She is planning to graduate with a business degree, she is good with numbers. She's setting her sights on Financial Analysis.

Lots of Economics classes in her future.

No serious boyfriends for her.

If she gets married later it will be to a guy who says "yes dear" and follows when she moves to a different city after a promotion.

Younger Maddie can't picture a Hunter Hunting a coed who isn't asking for it. Why would a man do that?

She reads the disclaimer. She knows she isn't into it. She isn't asking for it. She doesn't anticipate it. She signs.

Maddie's not a quitter. She has drive. A destination.

She's focused. She's not dropping out. She's taking measures.

This Affirmative Action fucking bullshit is a bigger pile of crap than she ever imagined.

She'll kick it in the crotch and earn her degree.

What she says is: "I can't leave until tomorrow." "Let's pack."

"We'll stick together loading my car." "I drive you to your friends." "Then I go to work."

"Tomorrow I leave from there." "I stay at my parents house and cut classes until midweek." "I'll get back in touch then."

That's what they decide to do.

The Hunter is the only one of the trio to take enslavement classes.

While they're packing, the Hunter is sticking a generic locator tab on the underside of Madeline's car.

He's one step ahead of the female's plans. The girls are going to ground.

He's tracking where. Cell tower pings map his game's trail.

The Hunter has tasks waiting back at his co-op.

He needs to make sure Dyson didn't fuck up the janitorial.

He needs to make sure Cherry Blossom is busy organizing and printing out lecture notes for his Psych class.

He wishes she was a bit more of a stereotypical STEM minded Asian---

Intro to Statistical Methodology in the Social Sciences is just at the edge of his immediate comprehension.

He's jammed up. It's hard to fit in studying math right now.

He's got two slaves nearly broken but not trained and fully domesticated.

He's got two he has yet to take Affirmative Action on. They're spooked and they are running.

The season's not that long.

He's determined to have the complete set of former roommates QR coded by the time his tags expire.

He deserves some fun.

He's doing training too.

He's up on Dyson, firmly in her saddle, bringing her to a full gallop.

Cherry Blossom watches, breathing heavily, understanding another use he has for her.

After this ride, Dyson's mouth will clean him,

Cherry Blossom will practice on Dyson.

Cross training benefits everyone.

Once Cherry Blossom is saddle broken and knows Dyson's cleaning job, He'll use her to demonstrate just what's expected of Dyson's ass.

Tired, relaxed and self satisfied the Hunter wakes up early Sunday morning.

He puts Cherry Blossom to work at the laptop again. This time she's charting the pings from Maddie's car:

Madeline Macmillan, Mad, Mads or Maddie stopped for about an hour yesterday evening.

The tracking tag places that stopover about five miles beyond the opposite side of the campus.

Android maps, plotted on satellite pictures reveal a densely populated urban area, mostly duplex and four-plex buildings crowded as close as zoning allows.

It's a majority minority neighborhood. It must be where Jayla is taking cover.

By city bus it's around an hour to either the university or the commercial district where she does work-study.

The Hunter 's not focused on that. The earliest the mail can deliver his final tag is tomorrow, Monday.

He'll have a lot of scouting and serious prep work to do before he takes Jayla, his bonus trophy.

The chunky ginger Maddie is leaving town.

Mapping just moved her car's location from the work-study hotel's parking lot.

Now it's stationary at a travel plaza located just before the state highway entrance.

Gas and breakfast, then the long route back home---

The Hunter assumes Maddie skipped the dehydrated scrambled eggs and stale, over sugared pastries of a hotel 'continental breakfast.'

He knows, because he has Cherry Blossom, what Mads and Jayla are discussing as they go out the door Saturday morning:

They think Hunting season is a remote threat.

If this is a Hunting hotspot then what?

Jayla has friends across town.

Madeline grew up in a big town the next county over.

Mad's parents are away on vacation to 'something or other wood.' They sent her the front door key "just in case."

That's where she will go.

The Internet, tell all gossip that it is, lists the addresses of five different Macmillan families.

It also helpfully serves up old sports reports of home town heroine Madeline lettering in Volleyball and Wrestling.

Third in the state wrestling! It names her proud parents.

She's doxed!

He's got the exact address.

Maps plots a route along the state highway to her house.

The freeway entrance is close to the Hunter's apartment. Maps plots a quicker route for him.

He only has one thing to grab on his way to acquire her.

It's Sunday, traffic's light, state highway patrols are not working the area.

The Hunter, his bookbag backpack full of essential Hunting tools and his half eaten tuna sandwich get there first.

Her parents live on a corner, the county highway, turns into Main Street as it passes by. Their front door faces it.

Their yard is fenced facing the county highway.

Seen from the front a tall privacy fence blocks access to their yard.

There's a bus stop, offset from the corner, about halfway along it.

He notes it as a possible stake out position.

He continues his slow drive past. He's not scouting on foot.

His face is on the Internet, recorded by chat cam during Cherry Blossom's capture. His car is anonymous.

Right at the next residential street, right at the cross street and right again.

Things are going right he snickers to himself as he drives up the residential street approaching the Macmillan home from the rear.

It's not fenced at all.

A driveway leads up beyond the house and ends in a sort of car patio, a concrete slab large enough to park a van or two compact cars, roofed over like a gazebo. The slab is an after thought, he imagines.

Garages weren't considered essential in the middle of the last century.

A later buyer stuck a slab at the end of the driveway. Another roofed it.

No door opens into the rear of the house.

She has the front door key.

She can't go through the fence. She'll have to walk around the residential street side.

There's my first opportunity. Good visibility. If I have to I'll watch and wait for another.

Keeping things right he turns, drives a block, turns right and parks.

He gets out, wearing a light winter coat, a ball cap and his student backpack full of Hunting equipment---7

He looks ordinary.

He uses the bench and the bus stop sign pole to disguise his profile while he waits.

It's just a short wait.