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From: shaw.alphamale@gmail.com
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Subject: {ASSM} "THE HUNT GIRLS" (M+/F/F/F: nc)
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Date: Mon, 09 Jul 2007 00:10:03 -0400
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"THE HUNT GIRLS" (M+/F/F/F: nc)
BY

DAVID SHAW
shaw.alphamale@gmail.com

www.alphamalestories.com
THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Three British girls arrive at the stables to collect their horses for
a day's fox hunting. What they don't know is that the anti-blood
sports league is waiting in ambush for them. There are two packs
hunting today, and both them have their tongues hanging out.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
We arrived at the riding school on a bright summer's morning, Sandra,
Melissa and myself, Kate. We're all instructors at the school but we
had no pupil appointments that day because the local hunt was meeting,
and we were riding with it. In England, horse riding and fox hunting
are so intertwined that not riding to hounds would cut us off from
most of our business contacts.
Sandra was driving a Landrover and I had my old Landcruiser because we
needed to tow two horseboxes to take our three horses to the hunt
rendezvous. Nothing had seemed unusual until we opened the stable
door. Inside, hanging from the wooden beams, was a long banner with
hand painted red lettering on it: "THE LEAGUE AGAINST BLOOD SPORTS".
"What the hell is that doing here?" Sandra had demanded angrily. Tall,
strong, and always the dominant one, she led us inside the stables.
We all knew about the league. They're violently opposed to fox hunting
and game bird shooting. We also knew they'd been active around the
district for a while, mainly spreading false scents for the hounds
during the hunts. That wasn't something which bothered us personally,
but what had upset us was finding some tripwires tied between trees
where the fake scents had been laid. It seemed strange behavior for so-
called animal lovers to set traps to kill and injure our horses, let
alone the people riding them.
So that was why Sandra was so concerned about finding the banner in
our stables. It wasn't the league's attitudes towards fox hunting
which worried us, it was the fanatical and dangerous lengths some of
them were going to in promoting their cause. If the ones who had
broken into our stables overnight were as plain nutty as the wire
riggers there was no telling what damage they might have done. But
somehow it never occurred to us that maybe they hadn't gone away after
putting up their banner.
It wasn't until we were well inside the stables that we realized our
mistake. Somebody shouted out, the top and bottom doors of the nearest
loose boxes were thrown open and a bunch of people came charging out,
each of their faces hidden by a party mask shaped like a dog's head
and all of them wearing identical blue overalls as if it was a kind of
uniform. They looked -- and acted -- like a bunch of bank robbers
working to a pre-arranged plan. As they surrounded us they grabbed our
arms, dragging us towards the tack room. I could hear Sandra shouting
with anger and Melissa squealing as well, but none of our assailants
took any notice.
It seemed there were perhaps eight or nine of them altogether. Most of
them were males, young strong ones, but at least two of the blue
overalls were also covering what were obviously girls' bodies, though
they seemed to be holding onto us just as tightly as the boys were. At
any event the three of us were completely surprised and overwhelmed by
the totally unexpected assault. It just seemed so organized that it
was unbelievable -- right down to the odd fact that each of the
overalls had a name tag pinned to them. Incredibly, I saw Stormer,
Vanguard and other pack names which were all traditionally given to
fox hunting hounds.
We were pushed and shoved towards a big table which had been moved to
the middle of the room and now had some horse blankets spread out on
top of it. The gang clearly intended we should bend over the table,
but we finally started fighting back as much as we could. Sandra was
making the most determined efforts to get loose, aided by her height
and strength. She's almost six foot tall, a horsewoman so good and so
athletic she has a genuine chance of riding in the next Olympics.
One of the men, taller even than Sandra, appeared beside her and did
something which made her yelp.
"Bend over you stubborn bitch" he snarled. Sandra whimpered and then
leaned forward over the table without the slightest sign of any
further struggle.
It seemed incredible to me to that she could have been dominated so
easily. Then I saw the shiny pair of pliers in the hand of the man
standing next to her. The kind of pliers with long thin pincers that
electricians use. The man was gripping Sandra's left earlobe with them
and that was why she'd had no choice but to obey him. I soon found
that out for myself, because one of the anti-hunting people next to me
held up another pair of pliers and pinched my own earlobe with them.
"Bend over the table, you fucking apology for a human being." The
sheer venom in the voice was almost as shocking as the steel biting
into my flesh. Perhaps even more unsettling was that the voice was
feminine.
Having no choice I did as Sandra had done, lowering myself beside her
with my forearms resting on the coarse blankets. The table creaked
under our weight, then again as Melissa leaned over it as well.
Another pair of blue overalls came close to me at the side of the
table as the female behind me let go of my ear. It made no difference
to the situation though, as yet another pair of the pliers was
immediately applied to my left earlobe by the other thug.
Although I wasn't in much pain right then any real pressure on the
pliers handles would certainly cause me instant agony. And I'd seen
three pairs of pliers already, each apparently brand new, as if bought
especially to use on us. Was everybody involved in this lunacy
carrying them? What the hell did they think they were going to do, and
how many real crazies were standing around us right now?
I was frightened, badly frightened, and I wanted to look around yet I
couldn't move my head because of the grip of steel on my ear. From the
corners of my eyes I could get a glimpse of Melissa's face. She'd lost
her riding hat in the struggle and some of her dark curls were
sticking to her sweat streaked forehead. She also looked as totally
shocked as I felt, and no wonder.
"Good morning, girls," a jeering male voice said. It was coming from
behind us, close behind. A sound of a sharp slap came next, with
Sandra gasping and cursing.
"Tut, tut, well bred young ladies like you shouldn't know words like
that", the man answered. Presumably he was the one who'd just slapped
Sandra's bottom and I'd have bet he'd never have dared to do it under
any other circumstances, for all his contemptuous attitude.
I tried to see Sandra's face by squinting sideways in the other
direction but my view was blocked by the body of the man - woman? -
holding the pliers on me and standing close to the table.
"Before we go any further, perhaps I'd better tell you that I phoned
the Hunt Master's house this morning and apologized on your behalf for
not being able to attend the hunt today. Apparently some of your
horses aren't feeling quite the thing, so you've got to baby sit them
until the vet arrives. I think I sounded convincing enough to be sure
that nobody is going to come looking for you when you fail to arrive
at the meet. Oh, and we've padlocked the road gates to the stables as
well."
Like everybody else in England, I can usually tell pretty closely from
the way another English person speaks what class they belong to, what
education they've had, even what income they earn. If some working
class yobbo with a back streets accent had phoned a message like that
through to Sir Roderick's house it might not have been believed. But
this guy talked as if he was out of the top drawer. With a sinking
heart I had to accept that such a message would almost certainly been
taken at face value.
Even as I was trying to think this through I felt a hand stroking the
bottom of my tightly stretched jodhpurs, and the same voice said:
"What extremely big arses you riding ladies do develop. Most enticing.
You're Kate, aren't you? Kate Mowberly?"
With those pliers still nipping my earlobe the only response I could
possibly make was to admit to my name.
"How nice to meet you, Kate. And this must be Melissa Winton." I felt
the table move under my arms as somebody resting on it stirred and I
was certain that the guy was rubbing Melissa's bottom as well. "And of
course, the other one is Sandra Keating, the local Olympic hopeful."
The drawling insolence in the way he said it produced some chuckles
amongst the rest of the gang standing around the table.
"Sandra, whatever your hopes for an Olympic medal, you're certainly
our best hope for a very nice little publicity stunt we've got in
mind. It may offend you quite a lot I'm afraid, though I don't know
how much it takes to upset somebody whose idea of recreation is
watching a live animal being ripped to pieces by a pack of hounds."
"You've got it all wrong," I answered loudly. "We're only members of
the hunt because we run a riding school and we get most of our pupils
from the families of those people. It's a business thing for us, not a
sport we enjoy!"
"Well, that's all right then, Kate, isn't it? I'm sure the innocent
animals you torture to death would feel a lot better about things if
only we could explain that so many of you hunt supporters don't really
enjoy it at all. But we're going to do something about the whole
horrible business today and I think we might certainly enjoy what
we're going to do."
I could hear several chuckles and a bark of laughter. The anti-hunters
seemed to think that he was making a great joke.
"It's what we call the Lady Godiva project. As you know, that good
lady wanted her cruel husband to abate his taxes on the townspeople of
Coventry and to prove her sincerity offered to ride naked on horseback
through the streets of the town. In turn, to show their respect, the
townspeople shuttered all their windows and refused to look at her.
Except, according to legend, one evil little blighter called Tom who
took a peek and was promptly struck blind by heaven in retribution.
Hence the term, 'Peeping Tom'."
A pair of legs had moved round in front of the table, walking up and
down, or rather strutting up and down as the smug voice continued
lecturing us.
"Despite that awful warning there's never been any shortage of dirty
minded peeping toms. They can provide a very useful source of cash and
publicity, and what better way to sell into that market than to offer
some nice shiny pictures of another totally stripped down Lady Godiva?
Especially if she's quite a famous horsewoman in her own right. A
horsewoman being ridden hard."
Sandra screeched with anger, then abruptly stopped with a gasp. It
seemed that she was still being held the same way that I was. Again I
tried to look sideways at her and again all I saw was blue cloth but
this time it wasn't quite as loose fitting as it had been before.
There were two things I now knew for certain. One was that my own
particular captor at that moment was definitely a male, and I also
knew he was getting excited by what was happening.
"You know, it's a shocking thing, the number of publications there are
nowadays which would be only too happy to publish those sort of filthy
snapshots, especially with a well known face in them. They wouldn't
even mind if our publicity banners were in every photo, giving us lots
of free exposure -- though obviously not as much exposure as you'd be
showing."
More chuckles; oh, he was a real comedian, this one. Absolutely and
totally self assured though, I had to give him that. He was laying his
spiel on us like a professional actor.
"It would ruin my career, my business," Sandra protested, much nearer
to begging than I ever imagined I could ever hear from her.
"Ah well, in the pictures the pliers won't be visible. They'll still
be there of course, either holding a sensitive part of your anatomy or
very close at hand ready to be used if you decide on some foolish
resistance. But to all outward appearances you won't seem to be being
forced to do anything. So I think your best way out of it would be to
say you volunteered to take part in our little photo session as a way
of registering your personal protest against hunting. At least that
would give you a little undeserved moral stature. As for your
business, I'm sure that the publicity will bring you plenty of eager
new clients -- all men, of course."
"The Olympics! My selection!" Sandra wailed desperately.
"Oh, I daresay the national selection committee will be broadminded
about it all. There's hardly a good looking woman of any sporting
ability anywhere who wouldn't happily strip down to the buff for a
centerfold shot. At the right price, of course. The only drawback for
you, Sandra, is that you're not going to get paid for your raunchy
pictures. Still, it's all in a good cause, so there's your
consolation. Now, look over against the wall."
"Lift your head up," the guy next to me said, relaxing his hold a
little. His voice sounded husky.
I raised my head and looked towards the wall. The row of pegs where
the saddles hung were empty. Except for three left there, side by
side.
"That's where we're going to perch you, ladies. Sandra in the center,
and Kate and Melissa on either side to add a touch more excitement.
You'll be put on wearing your boots, your caps, and carrying your
riding crops. And for your first shots you'll also be wearing your
underwear. By the time we lift you off you'll have nothing on but your
boots and hats. That's when we take the riding crops off you, bend you
back over this table and give each of you enough of a spanking to make
sure you won't want to sit on another saddle for a day or two."
There were mocking cheers in the background for that announcement and
it was clear that the guy next to me was getting even more excited
about the situation.
"And afterwards we'll all have a nice cup of tea."
An outburst of ironic catcalls and mock protests came from the mob:
"What, you guys want more? Oh well, I suppose we might get around to
taking some even more interesting pictures later on. The ones we
really can make a few quid with. I believe there's a thriving market
for that sort of thing in places like Soho."
I couldn't believe I was hearing this.
"On the other hand, if you ladies don't make any stupid attempts to
bring the police into this, we'll probably keep those particular snap-
shots as souvenirs for our own stud books."
The voice continued rolling on, unstoppable in its self satisfied
gloating: "Let me explain the ground rules for what happens next. Each
of you is going to be taken away by a group of escorts who will get
you ready for the first photos on the saddles. They'll tell you what
to do, and any of you hunting girls wants to put up a fight you're
welcome to try, even though you'll have about as much chance as a fox
cornered by a pack of hounds. Incidentally, we've got some of our own
girls here to help take the photos we want. They may introduce
themselves later on, while the gentlemen will eventually make
themselves known to you in the usual way."
More good humored shouts and cheers. The last time I'd heard anything
like it had been at a hunt ball where four young male members of the
peerage had decided to pull the panties off an elegant mid-forties
divorcee. The only one who hadn't realized what was being planned was
her, not until she'd been lured into the billiards room and found
herself getting snookered behind, between and above the eight balls.
The shouts of male triumph which had come out of that room were just
like the noises we were hearing now.
"OK, gentlemen, please come and collect your baggages from the table
and start unpacking them."
God, he was loving this, the sarcastic bastard. Now I was being held
by the right ear again, and given a tug to make me get up. The pliers
on the other side of my head were slow to release me and I yelped in
protest as my ears were stretched between them. Then that pair were
removed and I able to push myself back to my feet.
"This way, Kate."
Somebody was standing close to me, the one holding the pliers. There
were two other people nearby, and a tall figure beckoning me towards
him. The plastic mask on his head was perched up at an angle because
of the beard jutting out underneath it and the overalls were stretched
tightly across his arms and shoulders. The impression I got was of
being confronted by a Viking in fancy dress. He signaled in my
direction again and walked towards a corner of the room. An old
kitchen chair was set in it, close against the two walls.
"Sit on that."
Continually in the grip of the pliers, there was again no choice, with
my keeper gyrating around me like an fixed attachment as I turned
around before sitting down. For some crazy reason I remembered a job
description I'd seen on countless movie credits and never understood
the meaning of: 'Key Grip'. There seemed to be a lot of key grips in
this production and by now I understood exactly what their function
was.
The big man was standing in front of me, watching through extra large
eye holes cut in the mask, probably because of the problem with fixing
the mask over his beard. Like the others he was wearing a name tag.
His read Ravager.
"OK, Kate, I'm going to tell you what to do and I also say what
happens to you. Are you going to give me any problems?"
How could I argue in the position I was in? "No," I said, trembling.
"No."
"Good. Tracker and Vanguard, get her boots off."
Vanguard was nearly as tall as Ravager, slimmer, almost bobbing up and
down on his feet in excitement until he swooped down onto his knees to
pull one of my riding boots off. Tracker was stocky, chunky, probably
the one who'd been standing by the table, and he was just as quick to
tug away at my other boot. On my side was the gripper, much the
shortest of them all, with small breasts just visible underneath her
coveralls. If she'd been the one who'd snarled at me before in such
clear anger she was somebody to be careful of.
"Start undoing your shirt, Kate," Ravager said. Something odd occurred
to me, even in that situation.
"Weren't you the guy who was talking to us just now?"
"That's right."
"I thought Sandra was the one you were really interested in? Why
aren't you with her?"
He laughed at my ignorance: "Why aren't I supervising Sandra? Ah, yes,
it's Sandra I want pictures of. On the other hand, Kate, when I saw
the three of you riding at the gymkhana the other week it was you that
had far and away the best bounce on your tits every time you went over
a jump. I decided there and then I was going to handle you personally
as soon as the chance came."
More sycophantic laughter from Tracker and Vanguard, but no response
from the girl holding me. 1 reminded me of those old war films where
the Gestapo officer taunts his victims for his own gratification,
continually showing off his own cleverness and their helplessness at
every chance.
"Oh, God!" I said and stared down at the red brick floor as if I was
frightened now to look into his eyes.
With my mind finally starting to work again I'd decided the best thing
I could do was to play up to this man's self satisfied ego. As long as
he was getting the responses he wanted he might be a protection
against any of the anti-hunting fanatics who really wanted to hurt us.
There must be crazies like that in this gang and perhaps the girl next
to me was one of them, judging by the way she was talking.
I was very bothered about her being a female. Whatever these men
really thought about hunting, they'd probably be content to work off
their bad feelings against their female prisoners in the traditional
male way by fucking us. Motivation like that I could understand, but
not why the girls were here, unless they were either voyeurs or
lesbians, and I hoped to God they weren't dykes.
"Kate, I'm going to ask you once more for your shirt. If you don't do
as you're told then we'll start applying some pressure. Your choice."
Immediately I began trying to undo the top button but it wouldn't come
free. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said desperately as the pliers started
to nip harder, "My hands are shaking so much . . . "
"OK, OK, don't get into a panic, Kate. I'll undo them for you."
Ravager came close to me, holding the pliers up. He put them against
one of the buttons and snipped the bottom of the jaws together. I
guess the pliers were designed to cut wires as well as hold things
because the button fell off with only a few neatly severed thread ends
to show where it had been.
"Good job that wasn't a piece of your ear, hey?"
I shuddered in fear at the implied threat and stood completely still
as he cut off the rest of the buttons and lifted the front of the
shirt away from the cups of my sports bra, the one which was supposed
to minimize bounce but apparently wasn't doing much of a job. Tracker
pulled the shirt off my arms from behind me while Ravager and Vanguard
kept on staring at my breasts. Ravager took a small bottle out of his
pocket.
"Would you like a stirrup cup, Kate? Some rum?"
"Yes . . . yes, please." Anything to help me through this. Anything to
try and keep on friendly terms with these lunatics.
He gave me the bottle, and as I took a sip from it he put his hands
underneath the bra cups, hefting them slightly as if judging their
weight. The taste of the rum rolled down my throat like molten lava
sliding down the side of an erupting volcano. Tracker and Vanguard
moved closer, undoing the waistband of my jodhpurs, then tugging them
down around my knees. I felt stupid and humiliated, though knowing
this was nothing to what was coming. Then I heard a kind of squawking
sound, like a big angry bird . . . which was what it was, sort of.
Over Ravager's broad shoulder I could see Sandra on her back on the
table, with her bare legs held high in the air and wide apart by two
of the gang. Another of them was rubbing his hand against the tiny
white triangle of panties between her well muscled thighs; he was
doing it as if he was rubbing two pieces of wood together as hard and
fast as he could to raise a spark. Whether he was lighting a fire in
Sandra or not he was certainly getting a lot of noise out of her. She
was helpless to resist, of course. Another overalled figure standing
by the table was using yet another of the pliers to keep a grip on her
ear. These people must have made some hardware shop owner happy.
Ravager glanced over at the scene and laughed, then nipped the tips of
my cups with his thumb and forefinger. "OK, Growler, that's enough fun
for now. Just get her ready. Kate, sit down again."
I slumped back into the chair and the other two dragged my jodhpurs
over my feet. Sandra was sitting up at the end of the table as the
league people guided her feet back into her boots. Flushed with anger
at her recent treatment, her fair hair in disarray, I could see
Sandra's fingernails scratching at the thick blanket beneath her in
repressed rage. She kept her hands down on the table though as the guy
squeezing her ear ran his other hand over her bra cups. But Sandra has
always had an intimidating kind of look about her, with her firm
chinned face and piercing blue eyes. Even in that situation, wearing
nothing but her bra and panties and being casually fondled she still
retained some dignity.
Melissa, by far the best looking of us, was surrounded by blue
overalls and groping hands as she was thoroughly touched up. Unlike
Sandra though she didn't seem overly unhappy. True, her china doll
face was flushed, her hair was in disarray and she was yelping a
little, but it was hardly a sustained outburst of vocal protest. Not
that I was doing any protesting at all myself, just putting my riding
boots back on as I'd been told to.
Ravager's mocking voice boomed out. "Right, will all the hunt ladies
please report to the saddling area?"
Tracker and Vanguard kept hold of my arms as I walked towards the
saddles. A pair of cameras had been set up in front of them on
tripods, with a bright light also on a stand and plugged into one of
the stable's power points. The gang's organization was still as
impressive as it had been from the beginning of this nightmare.
Ravager must be an efficient boss.
Sandra was dealt with first. Because the saddle was against the wall
she had to be lifted up and over the front of it, with four eager men
doing the job. You could feel the excitement in the room as she was
positioned for the hoist. Two of the men had their hands underneath
her bottom and the backs of her calves, whilst she sat up between them
steadying herself with her hands around their shoulders, her booted
legs stretched out widely in front of her by two more helpers, her
mouth agape as she was displayed in her near naked condition in front
of everybody like a captured trophy. Once again I wondered at what it
was about a pair of boots on a woman that was such a male turn on.
"Keep her like that."
Sandra was twitching around as if she was on an anthill as the hands
underneath her took full advantage of their positions. Ravager
followed his instructions by walking behind her, reaching around her
waist and making a great show of holding out the waistband of her
panties from her skin, then looking over her shoulder and down into
them. He held up his index finger in front of her face and told her to
lick it. She hesitated, just long enough to see one of the gang coming
forward with a pair of pliers poised in front of him. It was enough to
start her sullenly licking the offered finger, holding her tongue out
against it as if it were a lollipop.
"Good girl. Now you can have some of it for yourself."
There was a round of approving noises as he lowered his hand, slipping
it down between Sandra's taut stomach muscles and the waistband of her
panties. Then the talking stopped as the audience eagerly watched her
being fingered, a silence broken only by a series of sniffs and gasps
from Sandra as if she badly needed a handkerchief to help her through
her public humiliation. Behind each camera a photographer was busily
taking shots of the scene. It seemed to me that both of them were
girls because I couldn't see any stiff cocks underneath their
overalls. There were certainly plenty visible in the rest of the gang,
all the men apparently fascinated by the movements underneath the
fabric stretched tight across Ravager's knuckles. Sandra was lying
back with her arms still around two of her captors, eyes half closed,
then jerking them open as one of the boys holding her boots moved it
even further apart from the other one. She gave one last groan of
protest before beginning to twitch her hips in open response to the
stimulation she was getting.
One of the men holding my arm put his hand on mine and then rested it
against the erection underneath his overalls. He smelt of tobacco and
giggled as I rubbed my palm against him. The guy on the other side of
me had spotted what was happening and quickly took my other hand to
stroke his cock in the same kind of meet and greet ceremony. Both of
them grunted with approval, both at what I was doing and the sight of
Sandra's red-faced and blatantly erotic mid-air dance to the tune of
Ravager's  fingers.
"OK, hang her up to dry now."
There were chuckles at that, and at the sight of Sandra being placed
on top of the center saddle. The stirrups had been shortened to keep
her feet off the floor so her knees were high up like a jockeys.
Unbalanced, she had to cling to empty pegs on each side of the saddle
to stay in place, arms straight down and out. Ravager surveyed her,
then apparently satisfied, pointed at me.
"Come on, Kate, let's see what you like when you've been mounted."
The prat had more jokes than a professional after dinner speaker and a
much more appreciative audience. I was taken out in front of the
saddle on Sandra's left, the guys all crowding around me, glittering
eyes staring through the party masks. With nothing but my bra and
panties on -- and boots -- it was like being a stripper at a stag
party, and this was only the start of it, that was for sure. Kate
Mowberly, professional horsewoman and apprentice porn actor. One of
the gang nearby effectively distracted my thoughts with his pliers by
touching one of my nipples with it.
"Hand rubs all round again, Kate. Starting with me."
It was like an old coke advertisement, be the most popular girl at the
dance, only it wasn't bottles I was being offered. They all crowded
around for a stroke here and a touch there. It was like feeding sugar
lumps to a group of young stallions, each pushing against the other as
they all tried to get more than their fair share.
"Come on, people, get out of the way." A girl's voice, impatient, from
behind the men as she tried to use one of the cameras.
"Hoist her up, boys." Ravager was giving his orders again.
A hasty re-arrangement of my captors, a body on either side of me
again, others bending down to grab my boots. Hands were clutching my
buttocks, taking my weight and squeezing my bottom like a piano
accordion as I was lifted up and stretched wide open in the same way
as Sandra had been. The fox head masks leered at my predicament and
the bright light between the cameras made the morning sunlight in the
windows look pale. Two separate fingers at least were burrowing up as
far as they could get into the gap between my buttocks, stopped only
by my panties. Others were rubbing against the gusset, apparently
trying to find out exactly where I was most sensitive. No wonder
Sandra had squirmed around so much: I found myself doing exactly the
same thing, and gasping as well. Gasps counter pointed by sounds of
amused appreciation from several watchers. As if rewarding the
audience's reaction, the guys holding my legs moved them even further
apart until I felt like a wishbone at a Christmas lunch.
A pair of hands passed around my waist and underneath my bra cups. The
cups began to bounce up and down in slow motion as the man directly
behind me juggled them, first the left and then the right, as if he
was trying to balance one against the other. Another round of deep
voiced approval came from the watchers. Squinting down, I could see
that the gaps of paler flesh visible above the cups were gently
quivering in turn as Ravager played with me. I didn't need to see who
it was to know who it was. What I could also see were the defining
bumps where my nipples had begun to harden, visible even through the
thickness of the heavy duty sports bra. There were more chuckles as
the fingers reached up and stroked them.
"What's this, Kate? Not getting excited at the thought of entertaining
all these lads are you?"
It seemed too late for false modesty with so many hands already on me
but at least I tried: "No", I whimpered.
"In that case I'd better have a feel of your cunt to make sure
nothing's happening down there. Because, and this is our little
secret, your friend Sandra was beginning to lube herself up nicely
with my encouragement. Here, have a lick and then we'll find out."
He held up the index finger on his right hand before my face, then
placed it on my lips. Immediately I began licking it and he responded
by putting it in my mouth. As I sucked on it, Ravager called out to
the watchers.
"OK, who'd like to see Kate's bare tits shaken and stirred?"
The response was immediate and with no dissenting voices. Everybody
seemed to want to see that. Ravager's hands went around my back and
unhooked me, then pushed the shoulder straps down around my elbows.
"Throw her up and down, guys."
It was like being tossed in a blanket, with all the hands holding me
moving together in unison to give me a bucking bronco ride. I gasped
and clung tightly to the shoulders of two of the men as my breasts
began to take on a life of their own, the gang cheering them on as
each one fell out of the slipping cups. But it was no joke for me. I'm
big enough to really need a well engineered bra -- and without it
there was nothing to keep control of the hanging weights.
"Ah . . . ooh! No!" I squealed.
Both tits were keeping perfect formation as they flopped through
figure of eight patterns. At the top of the loops they were almost
weightless, then slam dunked down against the top of my stomach like
surfing waves hitting a beach. It was definitely a feedback situation,
because the higher and lower I bounced, the more inspired the guys
holding me seemed to become to make the tits bounce even higher and
lower. What you might call a booby trap situation.
"Stop it! Please, stop it," I screamed, literally with tears in my
eyes. If this went on I was sure my chest muscles would soon start
tearing apart.
"No more shaking." Ravager's command was a blessed relief. "Now let's
stir her up."
I was aware of him standing beside me, felt his fingers stroking the
bottom of my belly, then sliding down into my panties. My boots were
now as wide apart as they could go, the masks were watching me
intently, and one uncovered, shocked face -- Melissa's.
Ravager touched my cunt lips, running his finger tips up between them.
I cried out in not very faked excitement, jerking myself at his touch
and showing how eager I was for him to continue. Which I certainly
was, at least as an alternative to having my tits looping the loop
again. Anyway, there was no doubt about the attention my panties were
getting as Ravager explored them the same way he'd explored Sandra's.
'Going to ground' it might have been called, with his probing fingers
getting ever deeper, but the gang leader probably wouldn't have wanted
to use a fox hunting term. Still, he sure seemed to be getting a hell
of a lot of fun out of getting revenge for the local predators: as far
as I was concerned he was the biggest one I'd ever met. Eventually he
seemed to accept the whimpering approvals slipping out of my throat as
proof enough to the audience that he'd broken my spirit and withdrew
his fingers from my vulva.
"Put her up on the saddle now."
As they lifted me and onto the saddle my bra began to slip further
down my arms to the elbows. Like Sandra, I found the stirrups too
short to stay in the saddle comfortably and had to grip the empty pegs
on either side of me, the straps cutting into my upper arms and the
cups tangled around underneath my breasts. It was far more humiliating
than simply being stripped. Which was probably why Ravager seemed to
like the sight.
"Get Sandra's tit holders down as well."
Sandra could do nothing to stop them, even if the sight of two pairs
of pliers hadn't been enough to show the stupidity of any such action.
She just stared over the tops of the masks as she had her pert little
tits put on display. But even she looked down as Melissa had to take
her turn in front of the gang. Ravager varied the routine this time by
having her stand up and facing the onlookers as her bra was undone and
lowered.
"Cop those!" Somebody called out. I knew what the comment was about.
Melissa has unusually large nipples, large and dark, and I'd sometimes
wondered in the shower room what they looked like when she was turned
on. It seemed as if the anti-hunt protestors were more than willing to
take time out to answer the same question.
Ravager took a kitchen chair and sat down in it with his back to the
cameras. Melissa was made to stand astride his legs and face the gang
with a guard on either side -- both male. Ravager had each of them
take hold of one of Melissa's handfuls and knead away at them as he
moved his mouth from one nipple to the other, happily suckling each
one in turn as he rubbed his palm up between the fork of her jodhpurs.
Neither Sandra nor I could see from behind what effect all this had on
Melissa, but we didn't need to. The comments from the gang and the way
the camera girls were zooming in their lenses made it clear the rough
handed breaking in process was succeeding. And very soon afterwards
Melissa's head tilted back as she yowled like a tom cat seeking a
mate.
I wondered how she'd deal with the experience, and the others about to
come her way. In the months I'd known her she'd only had the one
boyfriend, but since he was good looking and from a rich family he was
probably all she'd needed. She came from a wealthy background herself
and it was almost certainly she'd ever been forced to do anything in
her life she hadn't wanted to. But saying 'no' wasn't an option for
any of us anymore -- the pliers were going to see to that. The message
that was coming with them was that a lot of hot spunk was boiling up
inside the stables and the three of us had better show willing to help
drain ever last drop of it.
Sandra had always had a taste for casual sex, I knew. It was about the
only kind of relationships she had time for in her busy life. But
she'd never really confided much to me about that side of her
character. As for me -- well, if you're a half way decent looking girl
who gets to meet some of the aristocracy, and they find out you don't
mind some serious fun, then you get some interesting experiences.
Remember the lady in the billiards room? I'd earned a very nice tip in
hard cash for luring her in there in the first place. And later on I'd
shared a bed with her, an antique four poster -- not to mention the
four blue blooded cocks we also shared.  The ones she'd already been
introduced to. Still, as one of the guys had said, in Nelson's time
seamen weren't allowed on shore and hundreds of men and women had
cheerfully fucked away below decks in rows of hammocks. Six on a bed
was nothing by comparison.
Maybe Ravager and his friends had read the same history books. They
certainly didn't seem shy about satisfying their lusts at any event.
But they kept to their plans though, finally hoisting a gasping and
well handled Melissa up into the last empty saddle. Then they made us
put our riding helmets on and brought the banner over, holding it up
in front of us against our breasts. Melissa and myself both had to let
go one of the pegs and use our free arms to hold it in place while
photos were taken of the three of us. Sandra's face looked as if she
was sucking up sour lemon juice through a mustard coated straw: I'm
sure she was worried sick about the chances of any of the shots
appearing in the press. 'HORSE & HOUND' certainly wouldn't print them
but there were several gutter press papers which would, and delight in
it too. Ravager was certainly right about that.
"Smile, Sandra," he ordered her. "A great big smile - or else." On the
guys held up the pliers he was holding and snapped the jaws like a
piranha's bite.
So Sandra smiled: all three of us did. Anything to keep those pliers
at a distance. Personally I didn't think that Ravager was bluffing at
all about using them and even if he was, I was bloody sure there were
others in the gang of fanatical anti-hunters who'd be happy to hear us
begging for mercy.
"OK," Ravager said. "Let's play the variations a bit now. Kate, hang
one of those big bristols of yours over the top of the banner -- no,
don't bother about doing it yourself, I'll be happy to give you a
hand."
A strong hand it was, a hand which made me gasp as it seized my right
boob and hauled it out from the cloth, then mauled it for good
measure.
"And I'll have one of yours on show as well, Melissa."
He took his time with her, more so than me. Perched on the saddle, her
tits were at the same height as his mouth, a fact he took advantage of
to bring the exposed one up to a sharp point again before stepping
back to give the cameras a clear shot. Something else that was clear
was that if the photographers had enough to do, the rest of the gang
were eager to move on to more interactive activities.
Ravager was clearly also aware of their feelings and when the next
series of shots were taken he left the banner lying on our laps at
first as all the guys were offered a chance to come up to the saddles
and suck on any vacant nipple they could find. The camera girls were
shooting that as well, all the time it was happening. I don't know how
many snaps they took of us, no more than I can remember exactly how
many mouths I had chewing and licking and biting me as I hung on
desperately to the saddle pegs. I do know that by the time it was over
I was cracking a huge wet and as ready for a fuck as any of the guys.
Sore in the teats and hot in the saddle was my situation. Distracting
as the attention was, I'd glanced over to the other two girls several
times to see how they were coping.
Sandra's reaction was a surprise. After she'd been double sucked a few
times she was giggling like a drunken tart. As for Melissa, she was
almost mooing like a cow as she bounced up and down on her saddle and
the hand squeezed in between it and her. She looked over at me and
gave a kind of 'what-the-hell-else-can-we-do?' look. I'd never seen
her eyes so bright -- or her face so flushed either.
But it was still a methodical business, holding up the banner again
with our tits on show like store window dummies, and then staying in
that position as Ravager came along the line with a pocket knife and
slashed at the sides of our panties. Then the rest of the guys crowded
around again, squeezing and sucking every tit on offer and pulling the
scraps of material out from underneath us so we were effectively as
naked as Ravager had promised we'd be. Then they took the last series
of shots before the real fun began. With the riding crops
The cameras and light were turned around to face the table and then
one of the girls left her camera and was given one of our crops --
mine, in fact. Ravager handed it over and the girl took it from his
hand as if she was accepting a school prize. And then he pointed at
me.
"Kate first."
The guys surged around the saddle, lifting me off the and holding me
up on my unsteady feet. At last the bra was finally pulled over my
arms and  thrown aside, busy fingers tweaking me all over and chuckles
all around as I was pushed towards the table. Nobody Every kind of sex
I'd had before had been as mild as milk compared to this experience.
Stark naked, except for my riding boots, I had to walk towards the
table and the girl waiting with my crop in her hand. At least I tried
to walk as proudly as I could, showing off everything I had to offer
and hoping the guys would push the girl aside in their eagerness to
have me. It seemed that might happen because already the overalls were
being stripped off -- but it made no immediate difference to my fate.
I was made to bend over the table again, facing a camera and the girl
using it. The other one laid the riding crop across my bum again and
again as hard as she could.
It hurt -- it hurt more than anything I could remember, especially
because this was pain somebody was enjoying inflicting on me. The
bitch had a hellish strong arm and before it became tired every stroke
had me yelping and shouting and begging for mercy. Apart from the
noise I was making I could hear one of our horses kicking impatiently
against the loose box walls, protesting at being kept inside on such a
fine day. I knew it was a fine day outside because I could see dust
motes floating in the sunlight coming through a overhead skylight. But
it was a bad day inside and getting worse. Then, thank God, I felt a
strong male hand stroking my cunt. Instantly I pushed myself back
against it and wriggled my bottom around to show them all how eager I
was to be fucked instead of flogged.
"OK, Kate, now it's your turn to do the work," Ravager said. The
riding crop was put in my hand and a big guy, a big naked guy with a
three-quarter-sized erection stood behind me with another crop held
ready as Melissa was bent over the table in front of me.
"Give her what you got and better, or you'll get worse," I was told.
Of course I had no choice but to put stripes across Melissa's bottom
as hard as I could. The rich young madam jerked around like a salmon
trying to swim up a waterfall and screamed out aloud about how she'd
fuck anybody who wanted her. Just about every male around the table
was rubbing themselves and unbuttoning their overalls as they enjoyed
the performance. Like me she rubbed herself desperately against
Ravager's hand when he pushed me aside to feel her snatch. She was
then allowed to stand up and the last riding crop put back in her hand
as Sandra was thrown over the table.
"Both of you -- give her the full monty or you'll be back on the table
with her."
So Sandra got twice as many cuts, and she was soon screaming just as
hard as Melissa and I had. It was strange but after I'd landed the
first few strokes on her bare rump I quite began to enjoy doing it,
and I think Melissa did as well. Maybe it was because Sandra had
ordered us around so many times as the owner of the school. Of course
I had to hit her but I was surprised when I found I was deliberately
aiming at the same place each time, a large mole on her left buttock,
concentrating on welts which were already sore. Or perhaps it was
simply self preservation on my part, knowing we had to make her ready
to crawl on her belly to the gang, if that was what it took to stop
them hurting all three of us.
Anyway, if hearing Sandra begging for mercy was what the gang wanted
to hear, then they quickly heard  it.
"God, stop it, please! Please! I'll do anything you want me to! I'll
suck all of you off! Please! I'll never go hunting again -- I swear
it!"
Oh, it was music to the gang's ears, Sandra's pleading. They'd known
she was the strongest one of the three of us and now she was
completely humbled. Once again we were pushed aside, not only by
Ravager  but some of the other guys, all naked now. They grabbed
Sandra, lifted her up, dropped her on her back on the table, held up
her legs wide apart as Ravager  pushed between them, holding his cock
in his hand as he slid it into Sandra. I heard her give a great sigh
of relief at not being hit anymore as the leader of the pack began
fucking her.
Not that Melissa or I had any time to reflect on Sandra's fate because
with seconds we were sharing it. On our backs and sprawled across the
table ourselves, Sandra on one side of me, Melissa the other and our
shoulders touching. One of the gang stepped up onto the table from a
chair, dropping down lengths of rope which had already been tied to an
overhead rafter and left lying on top of it. Six of them fell and
dangled above us like hangman's nooses, and our boots were held up
like Sandra's as the loops were pulled tight around them, leaving our
legs high and wide apart. Ravager  stepped back from between Sandra's
thighs as the banner was re-hung again, this time to our spurs, while
another of the men walked behind the table and propped our heads up
with rolled saddle blankets stinking of horse sweat. They even put our
caps back on, which left us gaping at the cameras from underneath the
banner, still wearing our boots and riding helmets, our private parts
turned into our most public parts, on full display for everyone to
look at -- or do anything else with them they wanted to.
Once again Ravager  had proved his skills in advance planning. Now the
camera girls moved to each end of the table as the leader claimed his
right of first entry. Sandra again, his hands holding the ropes above
her feet as she gets a dozen hard strokes, making the banner wave as
if there was a wind blowing and I heard Melissa moan in despair.
Sandra was calling out at each plunging violation and the horses
stirred again in the loose boxes, knowing something unusual was
happening and uneasy about it. Sandra's hand was holding mine tightly
enough to crush it. Then Ravager  abandoned her in mid-fuck, walked
down the table and trailed his finger nails on my swelling snatch lips
as two more masks loom over me and my tits are grabbed again. Melissa
gasped as the same thing happened to her.
I looked sideways at her face, jaw agape as Ravager stood between her
thighs showing off his hard, red cock, shiny with Sandra's juices. The
hands squelching up her tits were large and strong and Melissa's
fingers stroked the forearms of the man playing with her big nipples.
She cried out: "Yes, yes!" as Ravager  took her in one savage thrust,
right up to his balls. And as he bent forward between her quivering
legs his fingers are prizing open my cunt and rubbing my clitoris.
Another guy leant over me, tugging on the nipples that protrude above
the clenched fists of the first claimant. Movement and voices are
around the table.
Somebody jeers and makes sounds like a hunting horn: "Gone away,
girls."
"Yes, yes!" Melissa sobbed and pinched her tight nipples with her
fingertips, making some of the men laugh. One of them was busy between
Sandra's thighs, exploring and delving with his fingers but still
waiting permission from Ravager  to have a turn with her. Ravager
seems to want to play the field thoroughly before any of the other
males get their turns.
Even above the rest of the noise I hear a sound like a gum boot being
lifted out of mud patch as Ravager  withdraws from Melissa. She is
whining with impatience as he leaves but he knows she'll always
remember he was the first one to fuck her on this day, this
unforgettable day. He leaves the bottom of the wet shaft resting on my
pubic patch as his hands played with the other two captured cunts.
Then his hand left Sandra for the moment to complete his triumph. The
tip of his cock is between my inner lips and driving further yet. As
he mounts me I know that his hands were making Sandra and Melissa yelp
again. We are all part of his big triumph, all three of us his
prisoners and unable to stop him doing whatever he wants with us.
In the back of my mind I had to recognize the truth of Ravager's
comparison with the killing process at the end of a successful hunt.
The gang are crowded around the table like hounds around a fox, and
the noises we're making are the ones that captured animals make.
"All aboard, guys," Ravager  shouted, letting his hunting pack off the
leash. "All aboard, the train's pulling out of the station."
The table began shaking as other men appear between the slung up legs
on my left and right. Now it's a free-for-all gang bang and I'm in the
middle of it, reaching up to stroke Ravager's beard and neck as his
cock seems to be travelling halfway up my spine.  What really excites
me is knowing that it's still hot and slippery from  being inside
Melissa and Sandra. As I come I wonder how many more men I can take
with my legs the way they are now, twitching like a frogs' connected
up to a battery.
Melissa seems to have an unexpected taste for rough love because she
is crying out her satisfaction only moments after I am. A short guy
with a fat belly and ginger hairs on his chest  is thrashing against
her fiercely. Two or three guys seem to be changing places with Sandra
too quickly to keep track of. One of the gang who has been massaging
my tits almost runs around the table to take Ravager's place after
he's finished with me but he's too late. One of Sandra's queue of
ravishers decides to give me the benefit of his prick instead -- he
has dark skin, lots of black body hair and his cock is one of the
biggest I've ever seen. When he rams it home I feel like a ship
torpedoed below decks.
Sandra begins bawling out wildly. I'm not sure if she's genuinely
having an orgasm or faking it to please everybody. There's no need to
pretend about the frenzy I'm getting into: the dark guy's tool is
squelching right into the g spot I was never really sure before that I
had. On an impulse I put my hand down on Sandra's belly and press her
clit against the cock working into her. She screams out again, much
higher and then her fingers are doing the same for me.
The guys laugh and get me to play with Melissa as well, and her with
me. We're past caring about anything now but our own self satisfaction
and as cock after cock gets inside us we wank ourselves into a three
hole fucking machine that takes on the gang's lust wholesale. Several
of the guys are wandering around in delight, moving from one to
another of our cunts and trying a few strokes in each before deciding
which one to finally service. Three or four men have de-spunked
themselves into me, I've lost count of the cocks which have actually
been in and out, or how many times I've come myself. What I am sure of
is that I've been hearing plenty of other orgasms from left and right.
I wonder how the camera chicks are feeling about it all. I wonder what
the footage will look like. Mind blowing I should think, and this time
that's God's honest truth.
After the first feverish round of fucking the gang lets us off the
table. The blankets are thrown on the floor, in front of a full length
mirror on the wall which we use to check our riding dress before
giving exhibitions. Now we have to give some more exhibitions. A chair
is put in front of the mirror, and Melissa has to sit in it, legs wide
apart. Sandra crawls over the blankets on her hands  and knees, then
has to lick Melissa's cunt clean. I have to stand ready with a riding
crop in case Sandra doesn't do her job properly. I see Melissa's face
staring at her reflection and at the cameras behind us, also aimed at
the mirror to record what is happening. At 1's insistence Melissa
catches hold of Sandra's earrings and holds them tightly until Sandra
makes her come. The gang love it, watching Melissa slumped back in the
chair and bucking at the blonde hair held tight between her quivering
thighs. As soon as she has finished calling out I have to take
Melissa's place.
It's not something I want to do, not at first, but again there is a
perverse pleasure in being forced to hurt Sandra and make her my
slave. I hang onto her earrings as if they were reins on a dressage
horse and pull  her mouth against me my swollen flesh. In the mirror I
see her tight little arse cocked up and her own white smeared cunt on
show as she desperately licks my clit. The face in the mirror doesn't
look like me at all,  the eyes wide and mouth hanging open as I grunt
like a pig. Melissa leans forward and brings her riding crop down in a
straight line between Sandra's sore buttocks. She squeals in between
my legs then tongues me in absolute fear until I feel the delicious
loss of control again -- and as my juices flow I look in  the mirror
and  see a row of cocks stiffening and swelling like desert flowers on
a rainy day.
Luckily, the rising level of male lust means that Melissa and myself
are spared having to lick Sandra. The guys were too interested in
having us all perform on them. Ravager  started the game again by
replacing the chair with the table and three guys sit on the edge of
it, facing the mirror. The order was to suck their cocks. We had to
lean forward for each man, resting our elbows on the edge of the table
as we take the cocks in our mouths, our bare arses making a pretty
picture in the mirror for their further delectation. Somebody passed a
bottle of cider around and the guys drink from it but Ravager  said we
were only allowed to drink from it to wash down a mouthful of come.
I have a raging thirst, and it seems the other two girls have as well,
judging by the way all our heads are jerking up and down. We're doing
our best but every time Ravager  raps his pliers on the table we have
to stop and lift our mouths up from the erections we're sucking and
remain bent over. Then he walks behind us with a riding crop and each
of the guys decides on how many cuts across the bottom we get: one,
two, or three. It depends on how good a blow job each one thinks he's
getting. The worse the effort the more strokes. I'm blowing the ginger
chest haired guy who was the first to screw Melissa -- he's a pig,
three strokes he wants for me every time, no matter how much I try to
please him. Only after the fourth caning do I finally get him to erupt
into my mouth, and only then do I get to swallow a precious mouthful
of cider mixed with come. Ravager  nearly chokes with laughter in
telling me I've just drunk my first genuine cocktail.
For some reason we all finished our men off at about the same time:
Sandra stood up with spunk dribbling out of her mouth and was allowed
just one swallow from the bottle before passing it to Melissa. Her guy
has wiped his cock off in her hair and across her nose. I heard myself
laugh at the sight and wondered if I could have somehow got drunk on
one small drink of cider.
Ravager  changes things around again. A man lies on top of the table,
his erection bent over his belly like a wind blown tree. Sandra kneels
down astride him, sixty nine style, and takes his cock in her mouth.
Melissa and I stand on each side of the table, each holding one of the
man's hands tightly against our cunts as he plays with us. Vibrators
appear: one is pushed up Sandra's arse, another in her cunt. Melissa
gets one up her back passage, then me. And still they keep coming: I
have two more applied, one at each nipple. Each vibrator is being held
by one of the gang and they work away with them, trying to see how far
over the edge we can be pushed. Then two more appear, one for each
still vacant pussy. They're pushed into us. I go off like a string of
firecrackers and Melissa faints.
The guys throw her over the table and revive her with some grease and
a thick shaft up her bottom. Sandra not only swallows her guy's prick,
she almost sucks up his balls as well. The gang position her on top of
the table on her back and bend her legs right back until her knees are
almost touching her face. Then Ravager  dribbles cider into her cunt
lips and I eagerly lap it up, taking turns with Melissa. Then it's my
turn to be used as a drinking fountain. Sandra eagerly lick up every
drop from my snatch as I give two men hand jobs and I get another
vibrator slid between my buttocks. I'm sure I'll never be normal
again, never be able to recover from the fuck-mad frenzy I'm in.
We do get a chance for a few breaths after Melissa's outraged squeals
have finally stopped -- a very brief chance. Ravager  lies on the
table on his back. He orders Melissa to lie on her stomach between his
legs and lick his balls. Sandra and I have to lean far over him to
take turns at giving him a two-mouth  blow job. Before we even begin
two more of the male fox heads appear behind Melissa, each with a
vibrator in his hand, each merrily buzzing. Perhaps they have been
changing the batteries. The humming noise rises and then falls as both
of streamlined tips are buried inside Melissa, then rises again as
another pair of men work the vibrators in their hands inside Sandra's
cunt and anus. The female yelps sound like a pair of questing hounds
finding a fresh scent. I look behind me and see two more of the shiny
metal cigars homing in towards my own snatch and arse. The men
carrying them grin at me without mercy from underneath their masks.
"Yoiks and tally-ho, Kate, old girl," Ravager  says in his plummiest
accent. "That's the really exciting thing about hunting -- just when
you think it's all over, it's only just beginning."

 THE END

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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