Content Notice -- skip past if you don't care about content notices
This is a story of dubious consent, featuring many, many partners, submission, BDSM, public play, humiliation, freeuse, cumplay, and more. The setting is lightly surreal.
PART 2
Before long, Georgia had made it to another dense patch of woodland. Her feet had been grateful for the stop inside the tower -- even on this soft, forgiving ground, a barefoot walk for hours and hours was wearing her down. She winced as her ankles flexed, and her knees. Worse still was the weakness in her legs from her orgasm. Georgia was, plainly, tired. She proceeded nonetheless, stopping to soothe herself every few minutes or so.
The two had said their sheepish goodbyes at the door, the field darkened again. Opposite directions, they agreed. Georgia had found a flask for water in the tower, that she'd managed to loop round her shoulder with a strip of shredded bedsheet. And that was that.
It was different, without Alice. Georgia had seemed to draw stamina from her excessive endurance. All the girls were very fit -- it was just Georgia, who managed a trip the gym once a week and phoned it in more often than not, who lacked the resilience for hours of flitting through the undergrowth.
But the eroticism was fading, too. Without a partner to admire, who gave off sexuality and looked impossibly beautiful doing it, it was less easy to feel sexy and adventurous while being naked in the woods. Past a certain point, she had begun to feel stupid; wandering around with nothing on, waiting to get caught, knowing she wouldn't really be able to outrun anyone.
The excitement of that prospect had also faded. Georgia looked down at her muddy feet, barely visible in the blue haze of the night. Scuffed up to her knees with scratches from passing shrubs and brambles. She made a little "hmph" noise. The night had been a thrill; but, again, it had been a thrill thanks to a blossoming friendship. She had taken pleasure in the sight of the others being used because Alice did. It dawned on her that her newfound availability to this experience wasn't out of any particular interest in welcoming a mass assault on her person -- but in the knowledge that Alice, and perhaps the others, would see and enjoy her this way, too. That she'd be welcomed into their collective sexuality, no longer a bystander, but one of the girls. Alone in the woods again, the sense of being left out was creeping back with familiar quickness.
She stalled for a moment, further admonishing herself for putting petty spurned feelings before the fact that she was being actively hunted. But the thought grew and nagged at her -- had Alice simply gotten rid of her? She remembered the sweaty euphoria they'd shared before parting. No.
But even so, maybe...?
Why had she not wanted to be touched? They were both right there, turned on, ready, and relatively safe. In the moment, it had felt like a plateau of new, vulnerable intimacy, both exposed to one another, free to enjoy themselves together. The more Georgia trudged, the more sore she became, the thought nagged at her that she'd somehow been an intrusion on Alice's fun, and her unwilling companion had found a way to make her keep to herself. To what Georgia knew was her own chronic, neurotic insecurity, it looked increasingly unlike a coincidence that the experience had resolved with Alice fleeing.
She fumed with resentment as the thought stewed, her better reasoning growing quieter, more distant. More brambles whipped at her legs. Abandoned.
Why did Alice feel so entitled to win? Georgia hadn't questioned it before, given her accidental participation at the start, but with time alone to think about it, it seemed ridiculously arrogant -- entitled -- that she had expected Georgia to accept for herself the fate they'd witnessed for the other girls. Would Alice have given her up, for the money? Would she understand if expectations were reversed, and Georgia won? From their conversations all night, and Alice's typical aloofness towards her, Georgia suspected that it would be a source of real hostility.
Georgia dwelled momentarily on the possibility of winning a hundred grand and watching a weakened and exhausted Alice take cock after torturous cock in her place.
She found herself in the middle of a particularly brambly patch of undergrowth, dozens of fresh scrapes manifesting on her shins and stinging to a tiresome degree. She paused, widening her eyes as much as she could and attempting to shield her chest from the breeze until she had a better sense of her position. She took a guess:
that way
, and, resolving to sustain whatever scratches the plants had in store for her, strode purposefully in the direction of what she thought might be the closest break to clear ground.
Seconds later, her foot snagged on an errant root or stone or
something
and her momentum hurled her forward, landing on her side on top of and amid the mass of twigs and bestowing an additional tapestry of scratches across the length of her body. Her hip hurt, and her shoulder. She stifled a sob, but pain and humiliation ached together all the same.
It was long past her bedtime, she was alone, and the situation had tipped into lonely and boring with remarkable quickness. Lying in a Georgia-shaped hollow of brambles, she contemplated how bad it would really be to just go back to the house, and get it over with. If she could even figure out which direction it was.
She lay there for a little longer, waiting for the initial stinging and annoyance to subside. It was, at least, fairly peaceful, and she guessed that she might be partially obscured by the growth of ferns and twigs.
Soon, men's voices, and a light. She rolled closer under a patch of leaves, and tried to calm her breathing a little, lying still. It didn't sound like many -- through the network of plants, the light didn't appear to have the concentration of many torches that the prior groups they'd seen had. She remembered Alice's suspicion -- that the majority were now back at the house, enjoying the orgy or more likely resting. This was not a big group. No, two or three.
They appeared to pass close by. The light gave her some idea of where the clear path really was. As their voices became distant enough that she was sure they wouldn't hear her, she picked herself up, and took laborious steps over the worst of the thicket. It wasn't too far until, scuffed though she was, she was free.
The light was still visible to her left, a dwindling pinpoint. She looked right, the path falling away into the blackness.
With no hesitation, she began to follow them, making up her own reasoning as she went. She remembered when they had encountered Christine: they had inadvertently been following behind the group of men that caught her. If she stayed behind this small party -- close enough for their lights to guide her, not close enough that they'd hear her footsteps -- she would theoretically avoid the paths of the other remaining men, while potentially following them to whatever prey might still be out here.
It wasn't a thought she was particularly sure of, and the exhaustion didn't help much, but it was at least a direction, something to do in lieu of aimless meandering and further faceplanting into patches of thorns.
Following them didn't prove easy, but they at least moved in a straight enough line that staying on the path -- or rather, to its side, behind the line of trees -- wasn't too difficult. As their voices drifted in an out of view, she became more conscious of her nudity again.
She caught snatches of their conversation -- they seemed to be discussing a workout routine at one stage, and then later, some drama with a girl they knew. They didn't have robust accents like Jörg. She made them for twenties, possibly thirties. It had seemed more thrilling when they had been anonymous, voiceless predators. There had at least been some exoticism to the whole affair when the uncomfortable woodland had yielded those animalistic rituals.
This was Georgia's main bugbear with Jägersmuth, and the so-called Bride Of The Land hunt in general. She wasn't a stranger to festivals, or to the folk horror genre. But the house had all the atmosphere of any other gaudy renovation. The event itself had been dressed more like a countryside retreat package crossed with an escape room than a ritual of primal, earthy sexuality. Money was a factor. Contracts. Waivers. Catering. Wherever they expected to find wild abandon there was organisation and convention. It felt regulated, and... cheap. Tacky. They'd tried to hide in a turret and found yet another cosy hotel. And these men at least dressed half the part of the sex cultists she'd been given to expect, until they opened their mouths and started sounding like every other guy she'd swiped left on since she and John had separated. It was hard to feel like they were sweeping across the untamed wilderness when urban norms were so close by. It all felt like there was probably an app involved.
She snorted under her breath, vaguely impressed with herself for having managed to acquire some level of jadedness towards a situation where she'd witnessed two gangbangs and was likely queued up for one of her own. If she had little hope of coming out unscathed, she could at least be Above It.
The path they took formed a wide crescent, and in perhaps twenty minutes, she found herself on the edge of woods, facing the turret once more.
The men ahead of her had walked well into the field, and she realised that it would be a mistake to follow them out into the open air.
She broke off from their trail, heading right, walking a little way behind the line of the trees, so that she could keep an eye on the open space and watch for approaching lights inside the woods.
Visibility seemed better. Georgia realised she'd lost track of time to such a degree that she hadn't known they were approaching dawn. She could see further ahead, and saw that the landscape was a little more complex than she'd assumed: there was the broad plain with the turret at the centre, but closer to where she stood, there were crests and sheer drops. Not particularly high, but enough for someone stumbling around in the dark to break a leg.
She squinted. The crest of the nearest slope arced around, roughly following the trees, until it faced her again. Just over the hill, she could make out a dark clump. The top of someone's head. Potentially, Alice and Aubrey both remained, and Aubrey's hair was too long to appear so fluffy. At the bottom of the slope, the two men had circled back round, sitting on the grass and chatting, with both Georgia and Alice watching them from above. Georgia realised that she was the only one who was aware of all three parties.
She walked slowly around, still staying behind the trees, until the rest of Alice came into view. She was squatted down on her haunches, peering over the crest, unmoving. Georgia found herself admiring the lines of her back again, her hands tracing her own belly and breasts as she took in the sight. They had shared something that felt sincere and real. It was very difficult for Georgia not to look sexually upon the young woman before her, but her time alone, stewing with resentful insecurity, had corroded her sense of affinity, her loyalty, to her friend.
Georgia felt herself stir. She recalled the realisation she'd had in the tower, and Alice's own unmistakable delight at seeing her friends restrained and abused. A delight that Georgia now knew how to feel for herself, and unmistakably wanted to taste again.
Alice's skin was a serene blue in the low light. She barely moved. The chatter of the two men became audible as Georgia softly approached her back.
Alice turned, giving a look of mildly frustrated surprise. Georgia froze, and gave a little wave, crouching a little lower as she moved up next to her friend.
"Hey."
"Did you follow me?" she hissed.
The accusation hurt. "No," Georgia replied, guardedly. "I was walking behind them and I saw you."
