The Most Dangerous Game

CHAPTER 4 - ONLY A JOB

I like to think of patience as one of my best qualities.

Impatient hunters rarely go far. The resistance may be a bunch of delusional women -- and the occasional male simp, no doubt -- but they mean business, and captured bounty hunters can't exactly expect mercy, or a fair trial. Even the feminists can't afford to be that stupid, these days.

I'm the best at what I do. I'm a woman in a man's business, a man's world, really. I am awesome. Ergo, it logically follows that I must possess the quality of patience, as well.

But this time, even I can feel the impatience starting to boil over.

I squint against the glare of the midday sun, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. Several days have passed since I left Ava and Sophia bound in that shed. Several days of trudging through increasingly difficult terrain, rationing my supplies, and sleeping with one eye open.

But I'm close now. So close I can almost taste it.

The mountains loom before me, their jagged peaks cutting into the cloudless sky like broken teeth. The air is thinner up here. My legs ache from the constant uphill climb, and my shoulders burn from the weight of my pack.

Still, I press on. The abandoned factory complex is somewhere at the foot of those mountains, and in it, my quarry.

The rebel cell's main hideout. The culmination of my hunt.

Truly, the hardest part of my work is almost done. I don't even need to fight anyone -- just spot them, and radio in the coordinates. Then... I'll do what the big male boss wants me to do, I suppose, be a good girl, step aside, and let the men handle the capture.

I ball my hands into fists just thinking about the Warden. One day, he'll regret forcing me to suck his cock. One day...

But first, I'll get my month of freedom, which is what really matters. I'll also ask him for the opportunity to rape my pick from the feminists they'll capture. You only live once, after all! Gotta enjoy the pleasures life throws your way.

It will also be a good opportunity to release some of my frustrations. Yes, I'm frustrated, and that's part of the reason why I feel impatient.

I'm frustrated that fucking Mireia almost got the drop on me. I want to do things to the Warden that would make even his regime flinch, for daring to touch me. I'm upset that Sophia successfully counter-ambushed me, until I put her back in her fucking place.

Everything always comes so easy to me. But for some reason, not this time. Why?

I pause to calm down and take a swig from my canteen, crouching in the boreal vegetation. It grows thinner the more I climb, as do the signs of civilization. I haven't seen a single human soul in days. If I didn't know better, I'd guess the entire area has been left uninhabited since... well, since the end, I suppose.

I guess that's rather the point. These rebels aren't stupid enough to advertise their presence. They've chosen this location precisely because it's remote, difficult to access, and offers excellent visibility of any approaching threats.

Threats like me.

I trudge onward, feeling the crunch of pine needles under my boots. My muscles burn pleasantly with exertion. I'm in excellent shape -- have to be, in my line of work -- but even I feel the strain of this climb.

I pause to survey my surroundings, taking in the panoramic view that stretches out below me. From this height, I can see for miles -- rolling hills giving way to distant plains, a silver ribbon of river winding through it all. Somewhere down there is Green Meadows, that pitiful excuse for a town. Somewhere down there, Ava and Sophia have probably already been processed, their minds being methodically broken and remolded to serve the regime.

The thought brings a smile to my face. I wonder if they'll put them on the same re-education schedule, force them to watch each other's demotion to nonhuman status. That would be poetic justice. Being transformed into rapemeat is just what they deserve for being so goddamn annoying.

They dared pose a challenge to me. Stupid sluts.

I shake my head, and resume walking up the incline. The path I'm following isn't really a path at all, just game trails and natural breaks in the vegetation.

Eventually, I round a bend in the makeshift trail... and I stop. The scene before me makes me pause in my tracks.

Well, this is unexpected.

A man stands with his back to me, pants around his ankles, hips thrusting rhythmically. Before him, bent over a fallen tree stump, is a woman. Her wrists are cuffed behind her back, and a thick leather collar encircles her neck. She's nude from the waist down, her clothes in tatters, her face a mask of resignation. The wet slapping sounds of flesh against flesh fill the clearing.

A bounty hunter?

I take a moment to observe the scene. The man's technique is not particularly inspired. The woman isn't screaming -- broken already, then. Probably been his captive for a day or two at least.

Then the man shifts slightly, and I get a better look at his profile. I'd recognize that weathered face, that salt-and-pepper stubble anywhere.

Marcus.

Bounty hunters work together just as frequently as they betray one another. Honestly, sometimes I think I'd enjoy working more frequently with other hunters -- it would give me the opportunity to do some healthy backstabbing myself, and that just sounds so fun -- but my survival instincts always prevail over that impulse. As a general rule, I'm better off alone.

Marcus, however, is a bit of an exception.

My mask slides on.

I don't know when I learned to do this, exactly. I suppose it was always second instinct to me. People like to think they're complex, but for the most part, they're predictable things. All you have to do is arrange your facial muscles just so, and they'll start making all sorts of crazy assumptions about you: that you're emotionally invested in them, or that you can be trusted, or that you mean them no harm. That goes double, if you're a pretty girl.

It's truly bizarre. But since it makes my job so much easier, I'm not going to complain.

I clear my throat loudly as I step into the clearing. "Well, well. Small world, Marcus."

Marcus doesn't even pause in his thrusting as he glances over his shoulder. When he sees me, his face breaks into a wide grin.

"Larissa!" he calls out, as casually as if we'd bumped into each other at the grocery store. "Fancy meeting you here, kiddo!"

It takes all my self control not to roll my eyes at the "kiddo" -- he's been calling me that since our first hunt together three years ago. For some unfathomable reason, something about me seems to trigger his paternal instincts. Not that I mind -- his misplaced affection has proven useful more than once.

I don't reciprocate it, of course. I don't even know how that's supposed to feel like. Fortunately, you just need the barest imitation of friendliness to fool most people.

I laugh at his mediocre jokes, pretend to seriously consider his advice, and nod at all the small talk he makes, and that seems to do the trick.

Humans really are such cattle, on average.

The captive woman's eyes meet mine, wide and desperate. For the briefest, most beautiful moment, hope flickers across her face. Aww! The dog thinks I'm here to save her. Another woman in the wilderness, surely I must be her salvation, right?

Oh, I am going to enjoy this.

I allow a genuine grin to spread across my face as I look at her. Then, making an affectation of casual friendliness, I turn towards Marcus with a sly smile. "You're catching up on your cardio, I see. By all means, don't stop on my account!"

He laughs, a booming sound that echoes through the trees. Still fucking the rebel woman, he gestures for me to come closer. "Come, come! Don't be a stranger."

The girl is confused, now. She's trying to rationalize my relaxed posture, the casual way I'm chatting with her rapist. She's trying to rationalize it, and failing.

I stride over, but my eyes aren't on Marcus, they're on the girl. I want to catch the exact moment that the realization hits her and she breaks. There's quite nothing like the slowly dawning horror of a dumb farm animal like her, realizing that the wolves are at the door for real this time.

She's young -- early twenties, maybe -- with a lean, athletic build. A fighter, or at least she was. Now she's just another piece of meat being tenderized before processing.

Ah, there it is.

It really is like light has just gone out of her eyes. They look dull and hopeless now. Vacant. She deflates, slackening against the tree stump, relaxing into her rape.

I love that this is my job.

I saunter closer, circling around to get a better look at her face. She's got the thousand-yard stare of someone who's retreated deep inside themselves. I reach out, almost absently, and stroke her hair.

Like one might pet a dog while chatting with its owner.

"Fresh catch?"

Marcus grunts, adjusting his grip on her hips. "Three... ugh, uhm, days ago. Part of a foraging party, separated from the main group. Not too bright, this one."

"You know, they never are," I say, continuing to stroke the woman's hair while Marcus rapes her. Her skin is clammy with sweat, and I can feel her trembling beneath my touch.

Interesting. So the rebels are sending out supply parties. That confirms they're established enough to need regular provisions, which matches what Ava told me.

It also lines up with rumors I've heard from bounty hunters performing check-ins on the radio. The feminists must truly be overly emboldened up here. There's even rumors that they've conducted a frontal assault on a re-education center, though I'm not sure if I believe it. There was speculation as to whether this hypothetical raid was about freeing specific female cattle, or stealing something from the prison itself.

Though I don't really know what a re-education center holds that could possibly be of any value to the resistance.

"She give you any trouble?" I ask, lifting the woman's chin with my finger. She shivers beneath my touch, a full-body tremor that seems to start at her neck and ripple all the way down to where Marcus's hands grip her hips.

"At first," Marcus says with a chuckle. "Feisty little thing. Tried to stab me with a hunting knife. And she tried to bite, too!" He reaches down and slaps the woman's ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. "Didn't you, sweetheart?"

Her only response is a soft, desperate whimper. I nod in appreciation -- he must have promptly taught her better.

I cup the girl's face in both hands, squeezing slightly. She flinches slightly at my continued touch, but doesn't pull away. She can't, really. Pinned between Marcus's thrusting hips and the tree stump, she's at our complete mercy. Just another piece of feminist meat ready for the re-education grinder.

There's a strange intimacy to the moment, the three of us isolated in this clearing, miles from civilization. Just us, the trees, and the dismantling of another woman's very personhood.

That's fine. She wasn't doing much useful with one, anyway.

"Heading north?" Marcus asks, his breathing growing slightly labored, as I continue kneading the cheeks of the sow he's currently raping. "Last I heard, you were down south, hunting... umph... for some high-value target."

I shrug, letting my fingers trail from the woman's hair down to her neck.

"Mmm," I confirm, noncommittally. Marcus is more predictable than other bounty hunters, but I don't really do trust. Never saw the appeal in it, even before the end. "Just following a lead. You?"

He grins, seeing right through my evasion. "Who are you trying to fool, kiddo? I know the bounty you're after. Don't worry, I'm not here to steal your glory."

I blink, momentarily taken aback. Have I overestimated my discretion?

I raise an eyebrow. "Word travels fast."

"In our line of work, it always does."

That is true enough. But I'm in no mood to just let that go. What gave me away? It must have been the damn radio call sharing Ava and Sophia's location. I'm not exactly the sharing type.

Maybe other hunters have done two plus two in their heads -- if I was leaving two captives behind, it could only mean I'm after something even more valuable.

Maybe. There could be other explanations, too. Maybe the Warden has sent out other hunters. Or his superiors have. Or who knows. Either way, it irritates me, because I don't feel like the smartest person in the metaphorical room, and that's just unconscionable.

I can't exactly take my frustration out on Marcus, either. He may mean nothing to me, and be ultimately disposable, but it doesn't mean he's useless.

Fortunately, there's someone I can totally take it out on...

My fingers drift lower, tracing the woman's collarbone through the tattered remnants of her shirt. She's trembling now, little shivers that run through her entire body. Whether from fear, cold, or some combination of the two, I can't tell. Not that it matters.

I rest my hands on the swell of the whore's udders.

"If you're not here for the bounty, why are you here? Just passing through?"

He slows his thrusting for a bit, gathering his breath. I suppose he isn't getting any younger.

"Something like that. There seems to be a lot of back and forth of feminists in this area, more than there used to be. I thought I'd get an opportunistic catch before the bitches can go to ground again. I was hoping to go for two, but this fucktoy here is so low in the foodchain that she barely gave me any useful intel. I'll squeeze a few more rapes out of her, and into re-ed she goes."

I cluck my tongue in mock disappointment, giving the woman's tits a sudden, vicious squeeze. She yelps, the sound high and panicked, like a wounded animal. "Not being helpful, are we? That's not very nice."

Well, if she's withholding info, the re-education center will get it out of her. If she's just that useless, she can always make up for it by being a good fleshlight.

Her eyes meet mine, wide and pleading. Somehow, that just makes me even more upset. Hasn't she learned that hope is useless? That putting faith in others is stupid?

Maybe I'm in the wrong, here, to be fair. I'm giving her too much credit. I must assume that she's not capable of learning through logic, the way a thinking being would. She can only learn the way an animal can. Through, say, association and reinforcement.

Let's try.

I pinch her nipple hard through the fabric of her shirt, and twist.

The girl screams, a delicious, high-pitched sound of pain that makes me want to ride her face into oblivion.

"Music to my ears," I say, releasing her nipple only to grab both tits and squeeze them brutally. "Sing for me, little rebel."

She does, her scream even louder this time. Her body bucks and writhes between us, but there's nowhere for her to go. Marcus grunts in approval, his pace quickening.

"That's it," he says, his voice rough with exertion. "Tighten that cunt up for me, sweetheart. Milk my cock."

I lean in close to the woman's ear, breathing in the scent of her fear, her sweat, her despair. "You hear that? You're being useful after all. How does it feel to be nothing more than a sexual prosthetic that fits snugly onto your rapist's dick?"

Her only response is a broken sob. I smile, satisfied, and straighten up.

Marcus watches me with an appraising eye, slowing down his thrusts. He looks thoughtful, and his hips now slam into her at intervals of a few seconds. I never thought anyone could make fucking look pensive, yet somehow, he does.

"You know, Larissa," he says, "I've never understood why you took this gig."

I glance at him, momentarily confused by the shift in conversation. "What do you mean?"

He adjusts his grip on the woman's hips. "The bounty hunting. You took the deal. It never made sense to me."

I bristle slightly at his words, instantly on guard. "We're both standing there because you took the deal, too. I'm sure we both agree it's better than rotting in prison."

"Is it, though? I mean, for me maybe, yeah, I was in for rape anyway. But you had a shorter sentence." He gives the female dog beneath him a half-hearted spank, which still elicits a deliciously helpless yelp from her. "You're a strong, badass woman who could physically bring most regular men to their knees if you wanted to. Women like that are rare these days."

I snort, turning my attention back to the girl. I sneak one hand in the space between her collar and her skin, and then grip her throat. Gently... for now.

"What's your point, Marcus?"

"My point is... there's always gonna be men who are into dommes and stuff," Marcus says in-between thrusts into his prize's cunt. I'm actually kind of impressed by his multi tasking here, it's fun. "Not exactly politically correct to admit it these days, but it's true. The dick wants what the dick wants."

As a fellow rapist, he would certainly know! I laugh, a genuine sound of amusement that startles even me. "Didn't know you were into femdom, Marcus. Should I be taking notes?"

He chuckles, but there's something serious in his eyes.

"Not me, kiddo. I like my women like this--" he gives a particularly brutal thrust that makes the girl cry out "--broken and compliant. But there are plenty who don't, and then what's a fellow to do? He can't exactly shop around for a domme. He'd get fined for incitement to sexual subversion, and the woman would go to re-ed. Or she'd be executed."

A charming prospect, as always. "With you so far."

"On top of that," he goes on, "a domme these days ain't exactly easy to find, yeah? Gals who go through re-education, that's bad enough, the stuff they spit out is more animal than human."

I briefly squeeze the girl's throat, as if to say, hear that?

"But you won't have much luck with regular womenfolk, either," Marcus goes on. "The ones who weren't actively part of the resistance? They're mentally intact, sure, but most of them are so broken and docile they might as well have done re-ed themselves. Even those with defiance deep in their hearts know better than to show it, and act all submissive."

"Correct," I comment, my tone deliberately casual. "By and large, my fellow women have gone quietly into the night of their own subjugation."

I tighten my grip on the woman's throat, feeling her pulse flutter frantically against my palm. With my other hand, I proffer two fingers before her trembling lips.

I probably shouldn't take the chance, but Marcus did say she doesn't bite, and right now, I really feel like humiliating her.

"Suck."

Her eyes, wide with terror and humiliation, meet mine. But the fight has literally been beaten out of her. Obediently, she takes my two fingers between her lips, and starts reluctantly bobbing her head in tiny motions, back and forth.

The feel of her wet, warm mouth is nice. But what's nicer is the way this looks. It's so... phallic. If I had a cock, I'd definitely force women to suck it. She looks so good like this, her facial muscles distended, her eyes closed, her lips propped open by the intrusion. Unable to speak, just reduced to a lapping dog.

"Good girl."

Marcus watches us with undisguised interest.

"See, that's what I'm getting at," he continues, his breathing more labored. His fucking is definitely not pensive, now. "You could've served your time, you know? What were you in for, some money shit, right?"

I jam my fingers deeper in the whore's mouth.

"Yeah, so?" I say, my voice deliberately casual despite the irritation I feel bubbling up. I don't like being reminded of my past life, of the mistakes that led me here.

"So," Marcus says, emphasizing the word with a particularly forceful thrust that makes the woman whimper around my fingers, "once you were out, you could've found yourself a nice, submissive guy to marry. The kind who's obviously not cut out for the whole dominant patriarch shtick. The kind who'd worship the ground you walk on."