DISCLAIMER: I have thought long and hard about how to best introduce this story. I've written and discarded a dozen different versions of this intro before I finally decided to settle on a few fundamental points of information.
1. This is a story about a woman capturing feminists for the patriarchy. So while misogyny kink permeates it, and M/f scenes are present, many interactions will be F/f.
2. Mind control exists in this setting, and it's a crucial part of the regime's machinery of gendered oppression, but it's not readily available nor easy to implement. Think more MKUltra than hypnotic pocketwatch. As such, it will take a few chapters for it to appear on screen, but it *is* pivotal to the plot. If you're looking for a quick hypno story, this isn't it, but if you're happy to wait, the mind control will come. That said, on balance, I think the story belongs in the NonCon category here on Lit.
3. Our POV character is a really bad person. The limited first person POV structure could give the impression that her awful actions are being glorified - that is emphatically not the case. If you're not comfortable sharing the headspace of a ruthless predator with no capacity for empathy, give this one a pass.
4. As always with stories that feature misogyny kink (or more generally systemic oppression), I will point out that this is a fantasy, not a manifesto. As famous erotica author All These Roadworks usually puts it, "my kinks are not my politics" Do not use this story to promote a political worldview. Practice your relational life consensually, or not at all.
5. This one is less informational, more personal. I think this is my favourite out of all the erotic stories I've written so far in my career. Make of that what you will. Now stay safe, and enjoy the read!
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Chapter 1 -- Only A Terrible Thought
I love hunting women.
Men think that we women aren't dangerous, and I can certainly see why they'd think that. They have us in their power, after all. But as a huntress of women, I know better. I think of them as the most dangerous game of them all.
I should know. I'm a very dangerous woman, myself. Especially when I have a feminist in my sights...
Like now.
Although, admittedly, the woman I've been stalking for the past few days doesn't seem particularly dangerous.
I can't see much of what lies ahead. The tall trees block out the sunlight where the foliage is thick enough, and an icy wind bites at my skin. It is a sensation I welcome; it keeps me sharp, focused.
It's incredible how good this feels, when you've been intimate with prison for long enough. The fresh air, the way my body feels strong and responsive to my will, the thrill of the hunt, the promise of freedom...
Some days I ask myself if I was born to do this job.
The underbrush conceals many secrets, but I know the woods like the back of my hand, and when I hear a faint rustle nearby, I halt right away. My hand instinctively moves to the knife at my waist, but the real effort is the stillness. I don't move a muscle, letting the sounds of the woods swallow the totality of my perception.
Patience. Situational awareness.
Silence.
Then, movement again, somewhere ahead. I continue my stalking, slipping from tree to tree like a shadow.
My quarry is close.
She may not be especially formidable, by the standards of the bounties I normally collect, but it's not my habit to leave everything to chance. Things in life have a habit to go wrong even when you do everything right, and I'd rather not give the universe any more reasons to punch me in the face, if at all possible.
A flicker of movement draws my attention to the left. I crouch down, peering through the dense underbrush. There, in a small clearing, I finally see the target.
A woman, alone, crouched by a small pit in the earth. Her dark hair is long, falling in tangled waves around her face, and her clothes are worn and travel-stained.
One single look can tell you so much.
For example, it's obvious this woman isn't comfortable in the wilderness. She's shaking from the cold, struggling to start a fire before nightfall sets in, and repeatedly failing.
She's also wary. She spends as much time looking around her as she does looking at what her hands are doing, and her eyes are never still for long. Like so many of us, this is a woman who's seen the rougher side of the New Order, a woman whose heart is full of fear.
I suppose this is where a lesser hunter - or, even more relevantly, huntress - might feel some empathy for her quarry. I understand the concept of it, of course, on an intellectual level, at least, but that emotional response is just...
So bad for business.
I'm satisfied with what I've seen so far. This woman is no threat: she's so thin and weak, I could capture her without effort, even without a weapon.
But that's not the game I'm playing here...
Time to get the show underway. I take a few steps forward and deliberately place my boot atop a twig, before pushing down with all my weight. The snap echoes through the forest, and she looks up, startled. Even with this cue to guide her, it takes her an embarrassingly long time to spot me.
When she does, she freezes.
Her internal struggle is so transparent that it's almost endearing. Part of her is trying to convince her that she can relax: in a world of uncontested male power, what more natural ally for a female rebel than a fellow woman?
But the other part, the lizard brain... well, it's my job to handle that one, and that's best done by defusing it right away.
My mask slides into place.
It's an easy thing, really. I widen my eyes in pretend-surprise. My body language softens. My posture slumps. It's fascinating how much you can alter the average person's reaction with just a little control over your own body.
Give them a bit of acting and they'll just eat it up.
I raise my empty hands in the air, and lower my gaze to the ground - a universal display of lack of aggression.
"Sorry! I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to startle you. I've been wandering the woods and... I... I'm actually happy to see a friendly face. One who's not a... well, you know..."
A man. I leave the implication unspoken, hanging between us. It's always best to let the targets fill in the gaps in their understanding by themselves. Somehow, they always seem to choose the interpretations that leave them the most vulnerable.
Not gonna complain about that.
The woman's expression shifts, her wariness slowly giving way to cautious relief. "It's...it's okay," she says. "I just...I wasn't expecting anyone out here." She lowers her hands, which had been raised defensively, and gestures to the small, pathetic fire pit. "I'm Mireia."
I let her name hang in the air for a moment, as if I'm processing it. "Mireia," I repeat softly, as if the name means nothing to me. "It's a beautiful name."
