

THE HUNT CLUB 



by Pete Brown.  Petebrownuk @  pobox.com

Read all of Pete's stories in
groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories





Part 1 -  LIFE IN ENGLAND



I was 24 before I realised I had properly fucked up my life.  



I had always been a bit of a lad at school, and although I was
quite intelligent, it was "cool" not to work.  I stayed on,
though, until I was 18 because I really enjoyed all the sport -
I loved the gym, swimming, and, in the winter, I was a keen
rugger player and ended up captain of the team.  



I have always been a big guy, and in my last year I had grown to
6'1" and the constant workouts I did had given me a good
muscular body.  I could not get enough of rugger at school, and
had joined the local club, where, in spite of my young age, I
had made the first team - all the other players in the 1st XV at
the club were in their early twenties, and their bodies had had
time to put on those extra layers of muscle that only come when
a guy is a couple of years older.  They all had jobs, and a wife
or girlfriend.



Our team was at the top of the local league, and I think I was
in the 1st XV because the Club knew that I had the potential for
better things - I could try out for the county, and might even
make the England team one day.  They wanted to be associated
with this, and encouraged me in every way possible.  I got
special coaching, and the unlimited use of the Club's training
gym.



I really enjoyed myself that season - I completely forgot school
work, and spent almost all my time training and playing.  I
really enjoyed the camaraderie in the team - we were really
close-knit, and, especially when playing away, would stay on
late after the game drinking, singing, and swapping jokes and
stories in the way that rugger players do.  And, of course,
being in the first team I was the targeet of attention for a
number of the girls who hung around the Club - they were all
older than me, as their prime objective was to fuck with one of
the first team players who was in his twenties.  But once the
word got around that I was "available" (I had no permanent girl
friend), was  inexhaustible in bed because I was in such good
physical condition, and was "hung like a horse", I started to
get propositioned by these women who wanted to "scalp hunt" and
get all the team to have passed through their beds.



My mates all joked about this, and most of them, in spite of
having young families and so on, took the opportunity to fuck
round when we were away from home.  They kept advising me which
ones to go for, telling me about the special tricks some of
these girls knew.  I didn't really want to, because although I
had had a lot of girls whilst I was growing up, I had given up
sex in orer to concentrate on my game - I thought that being out
all night with a girl, having to take her to dinner, spending
time with her, and so on, would all take me away from focussing
on my training - and I really wanted to go on with my rugger.



We were away one weekend on tour, and after the match were in
the Club House of our host team, drinking a lot as usual and
singing and joking.  Some of the available girls from the Club
had of course followed us as supporters, and were in the bar,
too.  As the evening went on we all got drunker and drunker, and
the girls were clearly indicating that they wanted to pair off
with the team.  My mates suggested I stopped being so stupid and
worrying about my training - they all had their women, they
pointed out, and it didn't affect them.  And it couldn't be good
for me, they added, to have my balls full of spunk all the time.
  They needn't have worried, of course - one of the reasons why
I had strong arms was because of the constant pounding on my
cock, because I usually jerked off four times a day.  



Then the Captain went into a huddle with some of the other guys,
and the next thinkg I knew I was being held down on the floor
whilst my team mates stripped my clothes off me.  We often had
bits of mild "horse play" in the bar after a game, and on one
occasion the whole team stripped down to their underwear and did
a victory dance along the edge of the bar.  But it was usually
"together", and now it was only me. And they did not stop at my
boxers - I was left lying there totally naked. 



I got to my feet, cupping my hands over my genitals, and the
Captain said "Ladies - here he is.  The wonder boy of our team. 
He's too shy to ask you himself, so this is your chance to make
a play for him and show him a good time tonight.  I am going to
auction him to you, with all proceeds going to the Club funds."



There was a lot of laughter from my mates, and the girls were
all laughing too, and joking with each other about which one
wanted to have this young stud.  Then one of them said to the
Captain that it wasn't fair - they were going to have to bid for
me and they couldn't see all the goods because my hands were in
the way.  Two of my "mates" then laughingly gripped my arms and
held them up in the air, and I stood there totally naked in
front of everyone.  Through my drunken state I could feel a deep
blush rise up my neck to cover my face, and this started more
joking and laughing about my "bashfulness". 



I was made to get up on to the bar, so that everyone would get a
god view of me, and then the girls bid for me.



The guy with whom I was sharing a room did at least move out,
but my  team mates escorted me there , still naked, and tied my
hands above my head with a team scarf to the bed head.  Then
they told the girl who had "bought" me to get on with it, and
left us alone.  

It was actually a lot of fun.  She was a nice person to be with,
completely uninhibited, and a very good lay.  She crouched over
me, and fucked me totally.  I had never been restrained before,
and wasn't even used to the woman being on top - I always fucked
my women in the classic "missionary" position, or doggy fashion,
and this was a totally new experience.  I was completely unable
to control myself, and came very quickly, long before the girl
was ready, I know.



It was only when we were in the bath together after the match
that day that my mates really laughed, though.   She had given
me so many love bites all over as we thrashed the night away
that my body was covered in the little bruises that these leave
- not only on my neck, of course, but surrounding my nipples. 
One of the guys made me stand up in front of the others, as they
wanted to inspect me genitals to see if there were any teeth
marks on my cock and balls!  It was all good fun, though - this
is what being a member of the team was all about.



My school results were disastrous, and there was no possibility
of going to University.  My mom and dad wanted me to repeat the
year, and take the exams again, but I wouldn't.  I wanted money,
like all my mates in the first team, so that I could "stand my
rounds" in the bar after matches.  And by now I was regularly
fucking any of the girls who wanted me at the Club.  I needed a
place of my own, as I could hardly bring them back to my parents
house - although they were liberal minded and knew I was fucking
around, there is a difference between your parents "knowing"
this, and having them hear you on the other side of a bedroom
wall grunting and shouting as you vigorously shaft a woman.



So I got a job - the only one I could find.  Without any school
certificates, the only things on offer were as lowly paid shelf
fillers in the supermarket, and clerks in dreary offices.  I
didn't want any of that, but did manage to get a job as a
labourer on a building site.   My parents were horrified, as it
wasn't "a career", but I didn't care - it paid a "proper" wage
so I could rent a grungy room of my own, and it gave me every
evening free for rugger practice, a few drinks at the Club, and
then a good fuck with one of the available women.  



Best of all, it was hard, gruelling work:  up until now although
I was very fit and spent a lot of time in the gym and training
with the team, my muscles were "leisure" muscles.  As I wielded
my pickaxe and shovel, carried loads of bricks up ladders, and
generally did all the unrelenting hard work of a labourer, my
muscles gained a new strength and resilience and my body gained
new power.  It showed in my rugger, too, and I kept my place in
the first team.  In the communal bath after the game, even my
team mates noticed that there was a difference between the way
my hard body looked and their own - they used to ask me for 
training advice, but none of them wanted to exchange their
"good" jobs for one that would get them properly in shape!



So everything was going fine - I was independent, had lots of
carefree sex, and had a great team of real mates to train and
play with.  If I ever did worry about the future, I dismissed my
concerns, taking the view that "soon" I would get into the
County side, and my career as a rugger player would take off.



But I never did.  Although I was an excellent first team player,
"they" decided I lacked the vital spark that made a "good"
player "great".  And at 24 I therefore found myself in a
dead-end job, with absolutely no prospects.  In fact, things
could only get worse - I knew that my time in the first team was
limited, as there were always young players coming along behind,
and in spite of my superlative fitness, I probably couldn't
expect to hold my place much beyond 28 or 29.  And the women,
whilst a lot of fun, would never make it more than a one or two
night stand, or, rarely, sometimes, a week:  they were all part
of the "rugger set" of nice, middle class girls who just wanted
a stud to fuck them before they settled down to a marriage and
kids.  They had no intention of entering a long term
relationship with a labourer who only earned a fraction of the
money needed for a "proper" life in the expensive part of the
country we lived.



I pushed my worries aside, but in the Summer, after the end of
the season, when there were no games at the weekend and only
training sessions twice a week, I found it was no longer
possible.   Most of my mates were away - they could afford two
and three week vacations in the sun, but on my wages I could not
afford to go anywhere.  The awful reality of my life hit me.



I needed to do something to get back on track, and try to build
a "proper" future for myself.  I thought about asking mom and
dad if I could move back in to their house, and then go on and
actually do exams and get into University.  But this would be a
four or five year commitment for me, and it took me several
weeks to decide that this was the only thing to do.  I went
around to see them one Sunday, but before I could tell the my
plans, my parents told me their own - Dad had decided to quit
work, and they were going to live in New Zealand, and start a
smallholding, growing fruit and vegetables.



They were so happy with their prospects for a new life that I
did not tell them that I now knew they had been right all along,
and that I now wanted to go to university and live with them
whilst I was doing it.



All the next week I was in despair - I just toiled away, and now
of course in the summer the work was especially hard.  I didn't
mind the winter too much, as I could always put on extra layers
of clothes. but in the Summer I had to work all day under the
hot sun.  In spite of only wearing cut-offs and my work boots, I
was always covered in sweat.  But my body and legs did go a good
dark shade of brown, and when I was not wearing my workmen's
clothes, people seeing me on the street could think that I had
just come back from some exotic foreign holiday.



I was reading a rugger magazine one day, and happened to look
through the small ads.  There was one that caught my eye "Sports
Staff Wanted For Luxurious South American Sports Club.  Must be
fit, sporty, athletic, unattached men aged 20-25.  All expenses
paid and good salaries.  These are permanent positions.  If you
want a job where you can use your body and enjoy a healthy
out-door lifestyle in a fabulous climate, apply to box Z23."



I thought about it for a day or two, and the more I thought, the
more I wanted that job - it seemed the ideal solution to my
problems.  I could do a "sports" job for a few years, with a
"good" salary, and save.  Then I could pay to go to university
for myself, and by the time I was 35, I would be where I ought
to be, I thought.  



So I wrote a brief application, pointing out that I was a member
of the 1st XV of a well known local club.  I said I was
available to start "almost immediately", and gave them my mobile
phone number.



I waited eagerly for a reply, but none came.  I had given up
hope and several weeks had gone by, when out of the blue my
mobile went whilst I was on site working, and a girl asked me
when I would be available for interview for the South American
job!  I was thrilled - but then she said they were holding a
mass selection day the following week, and could I go?  They
understood I might have to lose a day's salary, but would
recompense me.  There was, she said, currently only one opening
and they had many applicants.  As they were looking for people
who were fit and sporty, but also ones who were reasonably good
looking, they had decided to hold a commpetitive audition.



I agreed to go, and then she told me that the interviewers would
need to see my body as well as question me, and that I should
take along swimming trunks or athletic shorts to change in to if
I got through the first stage of the selection process.



THE INTERVIEW



There were about 30 of us waiting in a large reception room at a
big London Hotel that morning, and waiters were serving juice,
coffee and biscuits.  I have to say that most of them did not
look very "sporty", and I could see quite a lot of people I
thought were distinctly over weight.  My spirits began to rise,
and I thought I was definitely "in with a chance".



The first round of interviews did not take long - I went to a
desk where there was a South American looking guy in his mid
thirties, who asked me the usual stuff like name, age, and
education.  I had wondered about this in advance of the
interview, but had decided not to lie about my academic
achievements - I told him how I had concentrated on sport so had
left school without any certificates, but that I had put all my
energies into playing  the game.  He noted all this down, and
told me to go through a door into another room, where I sat
nervously, trying to read a newspaper, but failing as I could
not concentrate.



As the morning went on, about six other guys came through the
door, and we sat there chatting - we thought we had passed the
"first stage", and this was proven to be true when a few minutes
later the South American guy came in and said that "the panel"
were now ready to inspect us.  They had asked us to bring trunks
or shorts, he said, but in the interests of fairness they had
decided to ask all of us to appear wearing "standard" trunks,
and he handed out what looked like Speedos.



We were all sportsmen, so were used to communal locker rooms,
and didn't mind stripping off our clothes to put on the Speedos
in front of each other.  As was the norm in our rugger club, I
stripped totally naked before reaching down for the Speedos, but
I saw that some of the guys dropped their trousers and
underwear, then wriggled into the Speedos before taking off
their shirts.  



The South American guy was watching us all, and making notes - I
don't know about what.



It was obvious that they had indeed chosen "standard" Speedos
for us, because they were absurdly small for my very muscular
6'1" body.   I had a real difficulty pulling them over my
muscular ass, and they simply wouldn't cover it - there was an
inch or so of my ass crack protruding at the back.  But worst of
all was that they had had the little "modesty" panels cut out,
so that my cock and balls were up against the fabric of the
Speedos, not the lining that is usually sewn inside.  Given that
I was anyway very well hung, I thought that anyone looking t me
could easily see my cock and balls outlined through the thin
elastic fabric.



I asked the South American guy if there were any others, but he
said "Don't worry.  The interviewing panel is all men.  And I
can see you've got nothing to be ashamed of!" - it was the sort
of joshing we did all the time to each other in the locker room
at the club - you never touched another guy's cock or anything,
of course, but if one swung against you as you were getting into
the communal bath, you might berate your mate for being
particularly caareless in letting his long one flop into you!



We all sat around, and went in turn into the next room.  There
was a panel of five guys - mostly old, distinguished (and rich)
looking men in the mid fifties and early sixties.  They asked a
few questions about my rugger, about my family (I told them they
had now gone to New Zealand), and my girl friend (I told them
that I was unattached at that moment, and bragged about the
availability of "one night stands" at our club).



Then the interview was over.  I went back into the room I had
come from and started to change back into my clothes, when the
South American guy  came over and said "The panel liked you, and
we like your honesty about your life so far.  We'll give you the
job on two conditions - they want a proper look at you, to make
sure those Speedos aren't hiding anything, and you accept our
standard contract of employment."



I didn't see what the Speedos could possibly be hiding as they
were so tiny, but at the South American's suggestion I took them
off and went back before the panel.  I was of course used to
standing naked with all the other players in the locker room. 
But the way that these men looked at me was in some way
different - I couldn't figure out what it was, but they seemed
to be appraising my body for some reason that I could not
understand. 



They asked to turn around, and then to do a few simple exercises
- deep breathing with arm pulls, press-ups, running on the spot,
 and so on - I could easily do this without even breathing hard,
but doing them nude, in front of the panel of curious eyes,
seemed weird. And of course the running on the spot felt very
strange - my cock and balls were usually well restrained when I
pounded up and down the rugger field, inside my jock strap.



But it was soon over, and the South American watched me change
back into my street clothes, and then sat down with me at a
table to go over my contract of employment.  He explained that
they were looking for tough games players, to help their members
with sporting activities at the Club.  Although he did not say
so in so many words, it seemed they had in mind Life Guards at
the Pool, Tennis Coaches, Personal Trainers, and so on. 
Although I was an excellent swimmer, I could not play Tennis. 
But I knew that my time in the gym and my love of fitness would
make me an excellent personal trainer, so I didn't worry too
much that I might not be able to do everything that was needed.



My contract of employment read:



THE HUNT CLUB OF SOUTH AMERICA



CONTRACT OF EMPLYOMENT



The Hunt Club Of South America ("The Club")  is an exclusive,
members-only sporting and leisure club.  The Club's objectives
are to provide a secure, welcoming environment in which its
members can enjoy their love of sports in an atmosphere of
luxury, security and exclusivity.  Providing for its members
needs is the primary aim of the Club, and the employee agrees to
do everything possible to ensure that he Club's atmosphere is
maintained for the enjoymnent of the members.



The employee agrees to perform the duties of Player in one or
more of the sporting activities that take place at the Club.   



The employee agrees to maintain the Club's standards of
appearance and dress by :

1. Wearing the uniform provided by the Club for employees
performing his work

2. Agreeing to have his hair cut as often as necessary to
maintain a tidy, orderly appearance

3. Being readily identifiable as an employee of the Club, and
not a member.



The employee's hours are irregular, as members may fly in at any
time and expect the meticulous standards of service that the
Club provides.  Consequently the emplyee agrees:

1. To be available for work 24 hurs per day if required

2. Not to take vacations during his employment period.  Vacation
days will be paid in addition to regular working days.

3. Not to leave the Club's grounds without permission  from the
Management   



The employee will be provided with:

1. A lodging on the Club's premises, commensurate with the
employee's duties

2. All food and drink, at no charge



The employement is for a fixed term of three years.  At the end
of that time either the employee or the Club can extend this
contract in periods of one year.  There may be as many such
contract extensions as are required.



The employee will be paid $75,000 per year for each of the three
years of the initial contract period.  If the contract period is
extended, the employee will receive $75,000 increased by the US
inflation rate for that period for each year. If the employee
fails to complete a contract period, all payments under this
contract are void.  The Club will arrange to pay the employee
any sums owing under this contract to a bank account in a
tax-free regime.  



The Club will provide the employee with first class air travel
between the UK and the Club's premises at the start and end of
the employment period.



The Club may terminate the employment of the employee for
persistent and flagrant breaches of the Club's rules and
regulations, or breaches of the terms of this contract.



This contract is written under the commercial code of Upper
Amazonia, home of the Club, and its provisions apply to this
agreement between the parties.





Signed ......................                                   
     Signed................................



Name (print)					    Name (print)

						    For the Hunt Club Of South America



In the presence of :

(affix notaries stamp).





I could hardly believe my eyes! " You mean, sir,  I will get
$75,0000 a year, with all my food, clothes and lodging found for
me?  And it will be tax free?  And free  first-class travel to
and from South America. And I can extend the contract year by
year if I wish?", I said.	



"Yes", said the South American.  Now what we would like you to
do is go off and discuss this with your lawyer.  Then, if you
want to take the job, bring it back, signed and notarised by
him.   



"I don't need to do that, sir", I said, "I'm happy with
everything.", and I reached down and scrawled my name.  



The South American said "I am an officer of the Club and am
authorised to sign on their behalf.  But I am concerned that you
have not had a lawyer review the contract for you.  I must
however insist on having your signature properly witnessed, as
it must be clear that there was no coercion or misrepresentation
used on you."



We talked on for a few minutes, then went out of the hotel until
we found a lawyer's office. We went in, and I re-signed the
document in front of one of the lawyers, and the South American
additionally asked the lawyer to write a letter "to whom it may
concern" noting that I had signed freely and had not wanted
further advice.  The South American paid, in

cash.





As we left the lawyers, the South American asked me when I
wanted to start work,.  I said "as soon as possible", and we
agreed that a ticket would be couriered to my home for a flight
to Upper Amazonia in one weeks time.  That would give me time to
pack my things and say goodbye.  The South American gave me an
advance, in cash, of $3000 for "expenses in the interim".  I
asked what clothes I should pack, and he reminded me that all
the necessary clothes I needed for my new job would be provided.
 So I thought I would just "pack light" and take a few casual
things - I could, I supposed, buy any other things I needed when
I was there.



We had an amazing "goodbye" party at the rugger club the
following Saturday night, and I used most of my advance to pay
everyone's bar bill.  It continued well in to Sunday morning,
and I still had a nagging hangover when I boarded the British
Airways flight to Upper Amazonia early on the Monday morning.  I
had decided to bring almost nothing with me, and just had my
address book, shaving kit, rugger boots, spare trainers, a
couple of T-shirts, a couple of pairs of boxers, and a spare
pair of trousers in a carry-on bag.



THE HUNT CLUB 



By Pete Brown     p.b.@pobox.com



Part 2 - AT THE CLUB



ARRIVAL AT THE CLUB



The flight was uneventful, and after a couple of glasses of
champagne and an excellent meal, I slept most of the way across
the Atlantic - being in first class, I could turn my seat into a
bed and change into the airline-supplied loose sweat clothes in
order to be able to sleep. 



I awoke really refreshed.  Of course I had an erection on
waking, and there was a feeling of illlicit pleasure as I pushed
down the loose sweat bottoms, let my cock bounce up free, then
wanked myself under the blanket, keeping my movements very small
and only using just my hand and not my whole arm, to avoid
making it clear to other passengers what I was doing.  



When we landed, I was impressed to find that I was singled out
for treatment even better than the other first-class passengers
got:  a man was waiting on the airside of customs, and he took
me straight out, avoiding customs and passport control totally,
into a waiting limo.  As we got in, he asked me for my passport
so he could go back and have it properly processed, and I would
get it back at the Club.  I gave it to him, and the limo swept
off.



We went around the airport, and moments later I was getting out
and up the steps of a helicopter, which then took off and flew
for about 2 hours across dense jungle until I saw, in the
distance, a huge lake.  In the middle of the lake there was a
large island, and at one end of this island (which was probably
about  three miles log and one mile wide) were a series of
luxurious-looking buildings set in impressive gardens.  We
landed at a helipad in the grounds, and the same South American
who had recruited me in London came over and led me into one of
the buildings.  





INDUCTION



Inside, we went down a corridor and into a room marked "Medical
Centre".  There was a doctor in the usual short white coat in
there, and he told me to get undressed so that he could examine
me and make sure the medical reports he had already had from
London were OK.



I thought it was a bit strange having he South American in the
room, but he showed no signs of going, and I took off my
T-shirt, undid my shoes and took them and my socks off, and
dropped my jeans to stand there in my boxers.  



"No, all the way", said the doctor, indicating that he wanted me
to take my boxers off as well, and as you do when a doctor tells
you to do something, I slipped them over my hips and they joined
my other clothes on the floor.  I felt strange - of course I had
been naked in front of a doctor before, but I had never had
anyone else watching.  Usually it's just a one-on-one with you
and the doctor.



He took a blood sample, then asked me to give a urine sample
into a plastic cylinder.  This too was odd, as usually you go
off to the lavatory to give your sample, but here I had to piss
in front of both of them.  But when he snapped on a plastic
glove, I knew he was going to do a rectal exam and as usual I
felt my anus tighten.  I'd had one before, but I wasn't use to
bending over and exposing my anus in front of a "civilian"
whilst the doctor did it.



When he had finished, I went to put on my boxers again but the
South American said "No, come first to the barber".  I thought
that was a bit odd, but as he had left the room, I had no option
but to follow him, across the hall into a room with a barber's
chair and a barber waiting, with electric clippers.  There were
also two guards in the room, with guns - odder and odder, I
thought.  



I sat down, and without asking me how I wanted my hair done, the
barber quickly stripped most of my hair away to leave a spiky 1
cm bristle.  He took out a cut-throat razor, and razored the
back of my neck and cut my sideboards crisply, too.



But then the strangest thing happened - he asked me to raise my
arms, and when I did he took the clippers to the long hair in my
armpits.  I started to protest, and the South American snapped
at me in anger "Why are you stopping him from doing his job?"



I said I had never heard of anyone having their arm pit hair
cut, and the South American said "He is fully experienced.  He
is working his way down your body, and he will also trim your
pubic hair into a more seemly shape.  And of course he will
shave your ass crack."



I told the South American that this could no be happening, and
he said "You have no choice.  In your contract of employment you
agreed to have your hair cut as often as necessary to maintain a
tidy, orderly appearance.  I told him that hair was one thing,
having your ass shaved was another.  And anyway, what did it
matter - no one was going to see my pubic hair, or up my ass, so
being "tidy and orderly" was hardly the problem!



"No ", he replied. "You're wrong there.  In your job, they're
going to be looking at you there all the time.  You do know what
you're here for, don't you?"



I said of course I did.  I was a "player in the sporting
activities of the Club", so I would be playing tennis and golf,
and stuff like that.



"My friend", he said "Why would we have you play tennis or golf?
 Are you a world champion at those sports?  Our guests can
afford to employ the world's best professionals if they need
coaching with their game!"



"Your only talent is to be a hard, muscled rugger player.  And
this is not one of the games we play at the Club.  So we will be
using your abilities in our prime sport - the Hunt itself."



"And if you are going to expose your body to our members
totally, they deserve the best - trimming your pubic hair is
aesthetically more pleasing, and, incidentally, a properly
shaved ball sac looks a lot better in its own right, as well as
providing a better background against which to display your
cock.  You'll also find it's more fun in bed - when you grab a
properly shaved sac, your own included, it feels soft and silky
and not all wiry."



"And you surely don't want the audience to see hairs all up your
ass crack?  And how will they get a good view of your anus?"



I looked at him in disbelief and said "Stop right there.  No one
is going to be looking at my anus!   You'll be telling me next
that this 'Hunt' is something to do with me being hunted, I
suppose!".



"You've hit the nail on the head, my friend", the South American
said. "All the other sports we offer here and the displays like
nude wrestling are just things to pass the time between hunts. 
All our members have hunted every conceivable type of game
across the surface of the planet : bears in Russia,  polar bears
in the Arctic, salmon in Canada, big game of all types in
Africa, tigers in India.... and of course they have fought every
type of fish in all the major oceans of the world."



"These are the world's wealthiest men, and they need the
stimulation of special prey to hunt.  They have done everything
else, and there's only one prey left worthy of them - a clever,
fit, naked man.  We offer them the experience that they can get
nowhere else - being able to hunt and track an intelligent prey,
one that can be as smart as they are, with the same type of
thoughts and feelings."



"The men we select to be prey have to be tough, resourceful,
have great stamina and strength, and, of course, have
great-looking bodies.  As a really good rugger player you have
all those qualities, and you have a pleasing, handsome face. 
But we do need to properly trim all your body hair, as the idea
is for our members to hunt a 'civilised' man, not someone who
looks like a wild 'savage'".  



I started to shout at him at this point, but he silenced me with
 a wave of his hand. "Now listen ", he said "I advised you to
have a lawyer look at the contract you signed to work here.  Let
me point out a few things to you".



"Firstly, you're here for the rest of your life.  You will
notice that the contract is for three years, and we have the
option to renew it after that yearly.  We will always do that,
and you have no way of preventing us from doing so.  There is no
right of either party in the contract to actually cancel it, or
not renew!  The contract specifically says that it is subject to
the laws of Upper Amazonia.  We pay a lot of taxes here, and the
courts will enforce our contracts for us.  If you are in
default, you will be hauled before the courts and they will
order specific enforcement of it - i.e. they will make you do
the things specified."



"You will see that you agreed not to take vacations, not to
leave the Club's premises, and to be available for work 24 hours
per day.  You agreed to take employment and partake in the
sporting activities here at the club."



"In effect, therefore, you are a slave here - you will do the
sporting activities we specify, you will do them whenever we
want, you will do them 24 hours per day if we require, and you
can not stop doing them, because we will renew this contract for
ever.  Although you think you are clocking up some enormous
salary, in fact under the contract the whole sum is forfeit if
you do not complete a contract term - and, as we have seen, you
will never do that!" 



"You agreed to have your hair cut.  And we're going to do it. 
You agreed to wear the Club's uniform appropriate for your
duties - and for your duties, that's nothing.  We like  hunt
prey to be naked, and so the appropriate uniform is your bare
skin.  Occasionally, at 'ladies' nights' at the Club, you will
be presented for display before the event with a tiny loin cloth
covering your genitalia.  But that's it - you don't need more
clothes in order to function, and, indeed, you function better
without them because our members want the pleasure of seeing
your body."



"After we have finished shaving you now, we're taking you to be
marked.  You agreed to be readily identifiable as an employee,
so that you can easily be distinguished from a member.  And as
you'll be naked, the only way to do this is to have very
distinctive tattoos on you.  We used to give our slaves - sorry,
employees - 'dog tags' like the US Forces do, but on the Hunt
even the faint noise of a chain and a tag can give the hunter a
clue to your position, so it's kinder just to tattoo you."



"And then we're taking you to your room.  You agreed to use the
accomodation provided by the Club, and, in the case of Hunt
prey, that's a cage in our 'wild man' section of the barracks. 
You'll live in that cage from now on."



I started to scream at him that I would do no such thing, and he
gestured to one of the guards who stabbed at me with his gun
barrel.  I didn't think they'd shoot to me, and in fact
discovered that the barrel was electrically charged, like a
cattle prod, because I fell to the floor writhing in pain.



The guards dragged me to my feet, and into the next room where,
still naked, I was made to sit on a leather -covered examining
table.  The guards and the South American were talking in rapid
Portuguese, laughing at something, and we waited until a man in
a neat T-shirt and jeans came in.  He took out instruments, and
then started to tattoo me.



I've never been tattooed before, and hadn't realised it could
sting and hurt quite so much.  They tattooed a band around my
left upper arm, with a design sort of like spiky barbed wire,
and in the middle was the motto "HCSA - Registered Prey".  Then
I was told to lie down, and a cushion was placed under my
stomach so that my ass was pushed up into the air and stretched
tight.   My right ass cheek was being done, I could feel, and it
took a long time.



When it was finished, a small mirror was produced and I could
see that a circular design had been inscribed on me, about 7 cm
in diameter, with my name in the middle and "Hunt Club Of South
America" running around the outside.



I was then made to lie on my back, and the same design was
tattooed on my right pec, finishing just above my nipple.



"There", said the South American, "Now there's no doubt.  Anyone
seeing you from in front or behind can see the Club's logo and
your name.  And a hunter capturing you in the hunt has a clear
indication that he has captured a proper prey, and not one of
the tame estate workers!".



The guards then gestured at me with their stun gun, and we went
off down a corridor and through a door into a large room.  This
had what looked like police cells down one side of it - cages
made of iron bars, and one was unlocked and I was pushed in.  It
was about 2 metres square, and the floor was bare concrete. 
There was a hole in one corner, and above it, a sort of nipple. 
When I looked closer at this I saw that I could get water out of
it by sucking.



I stood there, naked, and then sat down.  The bare concrete
wasn't particularly cold because of the general heat, but it was
uncomfortable to my naked butt (and, remember, I had no covering
of fat - I was lean, hard muscle).  But there was nothing else
to do - I tried shouting, but no one came.



After about two hours, the door to the corridor opened and the
guards led in four other guys, each of whom was locked in one of
the cell-like cages.  The one next to me came over and said "So
you're the new prey.  They said they were getting fresh flesh in
today.  We've just come back from training."



I looked at him, and saw that he was a trim 5'9" guy, lithe,
blondish, and tanned dark brown all over.  Like me, he had the
Hunt Club tattoos on his arms, butt and pec.



"What's going on here?" I asked him.



"You'll soon find out, mate!", he said.  He told me his name was
Rich, and he was an Australian.  Like me, he had answered an
advertisement in a magazine, and had now been at the Club for
over three years.  He said that most of the guys were like us -
single, no close friends, parents dead or moved away, young, and
athletic.  He had been lured there, like me, by the high salary,
and now found that he was a slave with no prospect of leaving. 
He confirmed that our role at the Club was to be hunted by the
rich clients - I asked him why he agreed to do this, and, rather
alarmingly, he said "You wait and see!".



The lights went out then, and Rich told me it was time to sleep.
 There was no bed, and so I lay down on the raw concrete.  Rich
whispered through the bars that I would soon get used to it - he
hadn't slept in a bed since he got there, and it was anyway good
practice - when you were being hunted in the jungle, you had to
sleep in the open on the hard ground, and you were at least used
to it.



But I found it difficult to sleep, and simply couldn't get
comfortable on the hard floor.  And, of course, I was used to
sleeping with something covering me - it's surprisingly
difficult to sleep entirely uncovered, if you're not used to it.



The following morning it came light quite suddenly, as it does
in the tropics, and I realised that I had managed to sleep a
little, because as I came around into wakefulness I felt that
delicious sensation of the morning erection.  But as I
remembered my surroundings, I wondered what I could do about it
- there was of course absolutely no cover of any kind, and no
way of having even a tiny bit of privacy whilst I jerked off.
There I was, naked, in a cell, with four other guys all within
plain sight, and I was desperate for relief for my straining
cock. 



TRAINING



The guards came in at that point, and unlocked the cages and led
us out.  They kept their stun guns menacingly at  the ready, and
it was obvious that my companions never put up any fight.



We were taken "outside" into an open area that was covered by a
thatched roof, and which contained a number of the sort of
standard exercise machines that you see in gyms all over the
world.   Each of us was taken to a running machine, and when I
was on the treadmill a manacle was snapped around my wrist that
was joined by a short chain to the machine.  The guards said
"Right - your normal pre-breakfast run.  Five miles, fast, as
usual".



With that the treadmills started to move, and I needed to start
walking to prevent being dragged backwards and having my chained
arm pulled.  The treadmill speeded up, and soon I was jogging. 
Then it got faster, and I realised that this really was a "run",
not just a gentle exercise.   Whilst the roof kept the morning
sun off me, it did nothing for the heat and humidity, and I was
soon dripping with sweat.



I quickly discovered that there's a big difference between
jogging, or running at your own pace, for five miles, and being
forced to run at a fast pace for the same distance.  Even though
I was more than averagely fit, I was soon gasping for breath,
but there was no letup in the pace and I had to keep up with the
machine to which I was chained.  Even worse, my balls were
starting to ache.



Of course when I was doing rugger training I always wore a
jockstrap to support my cock and balls properly, and when I went
to the gym I usually wore those training shorts with an inner
mesh pouch that did the same thing.  I wasn't used to running
with my cock slapping up and down, and with my balls swing
wildly in their low-hanging sack and striking my thighs as I
pounded along.  It really was painful, and there was absolutely
nothing I could do about it.



As we all ran, I could see people strolling past.  They were all
men, with those expensively glossy clothes that only the truly
rich can afford.  Some of them stopped to watch us exercising,
and I heard one or two of them stop and ask the guards when "the
new prey" would be having his first outing.  One guy in
particular came up close to the treadmill and stared intently at
my body as I pounded along - he seemed to be appraising me, and
in addition to all my other difficulties, I felt a hot flush of
embarrassment flowing up my neck and over my face.  I hadn't of
course got anything to be embarrassed about, having a great
young body, liberally endowed, but it was just the thought that
the man was staring at me with absolutely no concern for my
feelings.  At least when I saw guys sneaking a peek at me in the
showers in the gym, they did it discreetly and turned away
quickly if I saw them looking - this guy was absolutely
unconcerned about my seeing him watching me, and it felt creepy.



I guess we had done five miles, because all the treadmills
started to slow down so we could "cool off" by slowing to a
gentle jog, then  a walk.  The guards reappeared with their stun
guns, and we were all four unchained and led off to an open-air
shower area in a corner under the roof.  We showered, and of
course I was used to being naked in the showers with a lot of
other guys.  But not, of course, with these expensively-dressed
men strolling past and taking a look at us!



After the shower the guards issued two of the others with
razors, and Rich came over and said he would shave me first.  I
realised I couldn't shave myself, as there was no mirror in the
open air, so he quickly lathered my face and shaved me.  I'd
never been  shaved by anyone else before, and Rich had to get
quite close to me so that he could reach.  Inevitably his body
brushed against mine as he moved my face from side to side, and
our cocks touched.  Again, I had occasionally accidentally
touched another guy's body in the showers, but never when that
guy was trying to do something so personally intimate as shave
my face.  



Then it was Rich's turn.  He said I needed to shave him, and I
rubbed shaving cream into the stiff bristles  on his neck and
face.  I'd never rubbed another man's face before, and the only
time I had ever felt the rasp of an overnight growth of beard
was when I had felt my own, or when occasionally I had
accidentally done so as we were playing rugger.  Somehow rubbing
my hands over the spiky growth was erotic.  But this couldn't be
- I wasn't gay, and I had never been attracted to another bloke.
 But I felt a faint stirring in my cock as I massaged Rich's
chin, and when I accidentally brushed against his hip with my
cock, it was all I could do to stop myself from getting an
erection. 



Breakfast was taken in the open air, too.  We had bowls of
cereal, juice, and as much fresh fruit as we could eat.  We sat
totally nude on the ground, and it felt strange to feel grass
sliding under my naked ass.  The other guys were absolutely
unconcerned by their nakedness, and their lack of embarrassment
helped me to feel it was almost "normal" to be sitting there in
the sun, as naked as the day I was born.  The other guys told me
that the food was very good at the Club - we were kept in prime
condition, and we were given lots of fresh fruit and vegetables,
and a lot of meat at the evening meal.  We were, they said,
never given hamburger, pizza, cake, or any other processed"
food.  They all were all desperate for a beer, though - they
really missed a beer to wash down the excellent food, but we
were allowed absolutely no alcohol or tea or coffee, only water.
 The Club wanted to advertise its prey as "natural", and
"organic", and didn't want us tainted by any manufactured food
of any kind.



After breakfast we were chained to "weights" machines, and these
were the latest models with electronic counters to keep track of
the number of reps.  I soon discovered that the electronics had
a special feature not found in normal gyms - the guards could
set a work rate, and then if I fell below that, the electronics
of the work-out machine would trigger a painful electric shock
through the chain which held me on the machine.



Lunch was again taken outside, and after salad and steak it was
time for our afternoon siesta.  The others told me that we were
allowed to "sleep off" our lunch and rest, by lying down for two
hours first thing in the afternoon.  The other four were chained
together in the hot sunlight, but I was chained for my nap to
one of the exercise machines, as they did not want my body to
get sunburned and I was not yet fully acclimatised to the hot
tropical sun.



I did drift into sleep, and, of course, when I woke up I had the
inevitable waking erection.  The guards who had shaken me awake
were laughing, and there was no way I could hide my cock as it
reared upwards.  I simply had to sit there blushing with
embarrassment until it subsided, brushing away a tiny pearl of
pre-cum with my finger.



In the afternoon we were led off to the magnificent swimming
pool.  When we arrived the pool had the usual crowd of
mid-afternoon loungers you see at any country club - guys
stretched out on sunbeds dozing, some languidly swimming lengths
in no particular hurry, and some guys just standing around in
the shallows, shooting the breeze with others.  Most of them
were in their forties and fifties and were in quite good shape,
and there didn't seem to be a preferred style of dress:  some
wore baggy swimming shorts, and some had Speedos.  One or two
even had those very bright, almost fluorescent, tiny satin
pouches to conceal their genitals with a thong running up their
ass crack - I thought you normally only saw those in pictures
from the beaches of Brazil!



When we arrived, two Club attendants went around the pool and
asked guests to move so that they could rope off five of the
lanes from the rest.  Most of the dozing guys sat up and started
to take notice, and stared at us.



"Okay", said the chief guard.  "You know the form.  20 lengths,
and the last one back gets a dose of the stun gun!"



"On your marks, set, go!"



And with that we were racing down the pool.  I was a good
swimmer, but not a great swimmer.  And I could tell from the
pace that the other four thought it was really important to win.
 Again, there's a big difference between swimming for pleasure,
and swimming fast when you have to - and especially for 20
lengths.



The crowd of watching guys were cheering us on, and I could just
see as I turned my head from side to side as I went up and down
the pool that they were taking bets on us.  The Club was
obviously combining our training with a bit of additional
excitement for its guests.



By the end of the race I was totally exhausted, but fortunately
I wasn't last.  The other four of us stood there, flopped over
the lane ropes in exhaustion, as poor Rich was dragged out of
the water by the guards.  Two of them grabbed his arms and held
him to face the crowd of watching guys, then another guard
touched his testicles with his stun gun.  Rich screamed and
writhed, and when the guards let him go he fell to the marble
surround of the pool clutching his balls - he was obviously in
agony, as he lay there for some minutes with his legs twitching
and spasming as his screams gradually subsided into sobs.



All four of us had another bout on the exercise machines before
dinner, and then we were taken and locked into our cages for the
night.



Throughout the evening groups of men would stroll into the
barracks and look through the bars at us - it seems that it was
a popular thing to do after dinner, to go for a walk through the
Club grounds and then come to look at the "wild prey".   They
were all perfectly insensitive to our feelings, and discussed
the merits of our various bodies just as if we were animals: 
some liked small, compact, lithe prey, and some fancied my
large, hard muscled body for the additional stamina they thought
I would have, so that the hunt would be prolonged.  



We were occasionally told to stand up, turn around, and do
press-ups so that the guests could get a better feeling for our
physiques, and the Club had "thoughtfully" provided a stun gun
(only set to a minimal, but still painful, setting) for the
guests to use  if we appeared to be uncooperative.



I also found out what I was going to do about my erections.  As
the evening wore on, the groups of men coming around to inspect
us were drunker and drunker as they had more rounds of
after-dinner drinks.  They soon grew tired of just looking, and
in getting us to do "running on the spot" and press-ups.  



Two American guests, in their late thirties, I would guess, came
in and told us all to stand up and face the front of our cages. 
"Right, men, we want to see your cocks in action", one said.



"When I say 'go', I want to see you all erect.  Put your hands
behind your backs and keep them there. The last one with what I
think of as a proper hard-on, will get a little taste of the
goad."



"Go!"



I'd never really been erect in front of another guy in such a
blatant way before - any previous occasions had always been
accidental.  And I simply couldn't do it.  But the other four
could, and I could see them all standing there, hands behind
their backs, with their cocks standing out proudly in front of
them.



The American poked the stun gun through the bars of my cage, and
I fell to the floor screaming.



"OK, fellah", he said, "You're the new guy, aren't you?  Well
just this once, you can cheat.  Get up, stand at the front
again, and you can use your hand to get your pecker properly at
attention for us!".



He and his friend were laughing with each other, as they watched
me, flushed with embarrassment, stroke my flaccid cock until,
just by sheer force of habit when stimulated by my hand, it rose
up proudly.



"Right.  Now for stage two.  When I say 'Go', jerk off. The last
one to have his cum flying gets goaded!"



"Go!"



I was at an advantage here because my cock was already aroused
and stimulated, so I wanked away furiously.  It was more
difficult than I imagined - usually I can wank myself to a
climax after a very few strokes, but here it was different:  
mainly, I guess, because I was being watched.  But also because
I was standing up - I had only ever jerked off whilst standing
up once or twice before, as like most guys I like to loll in an
easy chair, or lie on my bed whilst masturbating.  I could feel
the muscles in the back of my thighs straining as I rocked
forward in an attempt to make myself come.



Thankfully, my couple of days of abstinence worked in my favour,
because I wasn't the last to spurt.  A great load of cum shot
out, and landed in the corridor in front of my cage.



The Americans came and had a closer look as my cock started to
go flaccid, and my cock head shrank back into the protective
cover of my foreskin.  I don't think they were used to seeing
uncircumcised guys, being Americans, because they seemed to be
very interested in me. 



They laughed a bit, and were obviously quite drunk as they
lurched along leaning on each other for support.  But mercifully
they went off to their room, and we were left alone to sleep.





MY FIRST HUNT





My training went on like this for several weeks, with every day
much the same.  The only change in our routine was when one of
the other guys missed out on a days training, because he was
being hunted that day.  



They would never talk about their experiences, but they always
looked slightly battered and bruised the next day, and their
exercises were painful to them.



The only real way of marking the passage of the days was that
every third day, in addition to shaving our faces, we had to
shave our ball sacs to keep them perfectly smooth.  We were not
given different razors for this, and after shaving Rick's face,
I had to use the same razor for his balls.  And then, of course,
he used that same razor on my face, and then on my sac.  The
first time this happened I shuddered as the razor slid over my
face but, as Rick pointed out, I was being stupid - we had just
showered, so his sac was as clean as his face, and there was no
reason for me to dislike a razor that had been over his balls
any more than I should dislike using the razor that had just
been on his face.



And, of course, the guests changed.  Most of them seemed to be
there for a week or two, but a number of the most wealthy came
for just a couple of days - we would hear a helicopter flying
into the island, and then we would see some important new guest,
and then he would leave again.  The whole setup was a very rich
man's paradise, but there were clearly some who were even richer
than others.



One morning I woke as usual and stood up to wait to be let out
to go to exercise and breakfast.  But my cage was not unlocked,
and the other four went off.  A few minutes later the guards
came for me, and one grinned at me and said "Well, this is your
special day, big boy.  Your first hunt!".



My heart raced - at last I would find out what the others
experienced so regularly.  What could it be?  What possible new
humiliations could I face?  How could things be worse than they
already were?



I was not allowed to shower or shave, and when we left the
barracks holding our cages, I was taken outside and standing
there was a pick-up with a cage in the back.  The cage was about
the size of a domestic chest deep freeze, and I was made to get
in.  It was such a tight fit that I had to sit with my back
against one end, and my knees had to be bent so that my feet
were crammed up against the opposite side.  The guards roughly
pushed my head down between by knees, and the lid was pushed
down on top of my head and curved back, and locked into place.  



The pickup roared off, and we were driven to the far side of the
island. When we arrived there were a lot of guards and Club
servants milling around, serving a luxurious breakfast to a
number of the members who had come to watch.



Four of the servants struggled to lift my cage down off the back
of the pickup - it was a real difficulty for them, as I was a
heavy guy.  The last few weeks of hard exercise and good food
had caused my already muscular body to really bulk up.



I sat there, crammed in to my cage, with my head down, my spine
pushing against the lid of the cage ,and my cock and balls
hanging down between my bent legs on full display for any of the
guests that cared to look. 



I was kept there for about half an hour, whilst the guests
finished breakfasting, and then the guards came and lifted the
lid.  I stood up, trying to get life into my cramped limbs, and
immediately a guard came over and put a leather collar around my
neck.  At the back of the collar there were hand cuffs, and I
was made to put my arms behind my neck and the cuffs were
snapped shut on my wrists.



Taking my cock in his hand to use as a guide, the guard then
pulled me across to where the guests were standing chatting to
each other idly.  When we got there, he commanded me to start
running on the spot - and "fast" he said, waving his stun gun
menacingly at me.



So with about 15 of the guests looking at me, I started running,
with my cock and balls flying up and down.  Fortunately they
were now used to this exercise, and the pain I had experienced
in my first week had diminished over time as I had got used to
running totally naked.



The sweat soon started to pour off me in the hot morning sun and
with the high humidity on the island.  One guest went up to the
guard and said "OK.  That's enough.  Stop him now, as I want
really good sport and I don't want him tired out before we get
going!"



The guard snarled at me to stop, and when I stood there
breathing heavily from the exertion with my ribs rising and
falling.  The crowd of men looked on appreciatively as he then
rubbed a piece of flannel over my chest and back, mopping up the
sweat.  They laughed appreciatively as he went around behind me
and pulled it down my ass crack to get at the sweat that was in
there.  And finally he came around the front again and rubbed it
around my groin, between my sac and my thighs.  As he did this
he explained to the crowd that he wanted to get my scent
properly onto the flannel, and, of course, the male sweat glands
are particularly strong in the groin and produce that special
male "sexual" smell that's impossible to disguise.



With another guard keeping me covered with his stun gun, the
first guard then unlocked my hands and took off the leather
collar, so I was standing there completely and absolutely naked.
 My natural inclination was to move my hands down to cover my
genitals, but the guard snapped at me to stand with my hands
behind my back.



He then came up to me with a medium gauge metal chain with a
small object, about the size of a wrist watch on it, and put it
around my neck and fastened it around me with a small padlock.



"That's a transponder", he explained, "so that we can track you
in the unlikely event that the guest fails to capture you before
nightfall.  You won't be able to get it off, as it's a titanium
chain and there are no tools on this side of the island strong
enough to cut it."



"Now you have 20 minutes lead on the guest.  After that time he
will come after you, on horseback, with a bloodhound.  The hound
will be given the flannel with your scent on it to help track
you."



"So make the most of it - get going!".



He slapped me on the ass, and now understanding what was going
on, I ran off.



It was glorious to be running properly, not chained to a running
machine.  I had always enjoyed track events, and the feel of the
wind against my naked body as I sprinted away was sensational. 
My legs pounded up and down, and I was really enjoying it - for
the first time in weeks I felt totally "free", I was my own
master, I could run where I liked.



But I knew the hunter was after me, so I ran into the jungle.  I
went slower there, and creepers and vines caught at my body as I
ran on.  But I thought it would be even more of a problem for a
man on horseback.  And when I saw a stream, I splashed my way up
it, hoping to throw the hound off the scent.



I ran on and on, into deeper and deeper jungle.   I started to
climb the mountain that was in the centre of the island, and
running uphill made me start to feel exhausted.  Sweat poured
off me, and my heart was racing.  My lungs heaved in and out as
I sucked air to keep my body moving - I knew I needed to go as
far and as fast as possible, to avoid the hunter.





I broke out of the jungle high on the mountain where the trees
thinned out to grass land.  I was so exhausted I simply had to
stop, and sat on the edge of a rocky promentary, looking down
into the jungle.  



Surely I had escaped?  Surely a huntsman on a horse could not
climb up through the jungle as I had?  Surely the hour or so
that I had trudged through the stream would have fooled the
hound.  I felt suddenly happy.  Life was good.  I was free.  The
sun was shining.



I lay back, throwing my arms above my head and squirming with
pleasure in the warm grass. This was life - this was what a man
was meant to do:  exercising until absolutely exhausted, in
glorious, unspoiled country. 



I must have dozed. I was so tired, because I woke with the sun
starting to go down.  What happened now, I wondered?  What did
they do when a prey escaped the hunter?



But then I heard a crashing, and a horse broke out of the
jungle's edge with a man astride it - a big, heavy-set man of
about 45, who was in good shape.



I shouted with surprise, and started to run off, but the man
raised a gun and the next minute I felt a sharp sting in my
thigh and looked down to see a tiny dart embedded in it.  I
tried to continue to run, but suddenly all the strength went out
of my body and I crumpled to the ground. 



The hunter came over and stood over me.  He was about 6' tall,
with black hair turning to grey.  His clothes were soaked in his
own sweat, and it was clear that he had been working hard all
day, too.  A mass of black and grey hair curled out of the top
of his shirt, where he had the top two buttons open.



"You put up a good run", he told me, as he stood there looking
down.  "But I've called the hunt followers and the helicopter
will be here soon".



He unbuttoned his jeans, took out a thickish circumcised cock,
and without a trace of embarrassment pissed onto the ground by
the side of me.  "I've been wanting to do that for a couple of
hours, but I didn't want to lose the trail so I couldn't stop",
he said.



I saw the steaming piss soak into the ground and smelt its
slightly pungent aroma.  I realised I wanted desperately to
piss, too, but I couldn't move any of my major muscles.  To my
shame, I felt the ground under my ass go warm and wet as the
piss came out in a warm stream from my own flaccid cock.  The
hunter laughed.



There was a slight sound in the sky and we both looked to see a
helicopter approaching.  It landed after a few minutes, and Club
servants pulled out the cage that I had been confined in earlier
that morning, and picked me up and stuffed me in.  When I was
securely shut in, with my limbs only just starting to obey me,
the hunter reached in between my legs and cupped my balls in one
hand and felt my cock with the other.  He pulled my foreskin
back, and brushed his thumb roughly over my tender cock head - I
winced.



"Don't have him cleaned up or anything.  I want him with the
stink of the hunt still on him", he told the servants.



With a lot of effort my cage was loaded into the helicopter, and
accompanied by the hunter, we set off back to the central
complex.  One of the servants stayed behind to take the horse
and hound back.



THAT NIGHT



After we landed my cage was carried into the main Club building
and then up in a freight elevator.  It was wheeled along a
luxuriously carpeted corridor, just as if I was luggage, and
delivered into an enormous state room.



The air conditioning was going full blast, and for the first
time I had been at the Club I knew what it was to be cold -
without clothes, the 65 degrees felt distinctly chilly.



The servants, accompanied by a guard, opened my cage and helped
me out.  My muscles were recovering from the drug, but I was
very stiff and cramped, both from the extreme exercise I had
been doing all day, and from the close confinement in the cage.



It felt strange to have carpet under my feet - in the weeks that
I had been at the Club all I had felt was concrete and dirt. 
Indeed, standing dirty and nude in a luxurious suite, I felt
more naked than I had at any time in the past weeks.  I thought
I had become completely used to being naked, but I now realised
that this was only because I was in the unaccustomed
surroundings of the wild prey barracks, the exercise yard, and
the jungle.  Here in a "civilised" room, my nakedness now seemed
unnatural again.  And I knew I stank of sweat and piss.



Without a word the servants took me into the centre of the room,
and opened up little flaps in the carpet to reveal small holes
from which they pulled cuffs.  I was made to kneel down, and
then my ankles and wrists were chained to the cuffs.  The
servants and guard then left, leaving me chained there in the
middle of the room, on all fours.



After what must have been an hour, the door of the suite opened
and the hunter came in.  He was still wearing his sweat-stained
jeans and shirt, but had obviously been having a celebratory
drink in the bar because I could detect the faint smell of beer
that you always get when a guy has had a couple.



He stood in front of me, and without a trace of embarrassment
shed his shirt, jeans, and boxers, to stand naked.  Then,
without a word, he turned and went into the bathroom and I could
hear him having a long, luxurious soak in the tub.



He came out, towelling himself dry, and said "That's better. 
All that effort of riding hard all day is really worth it when
you have a long soak in a hot tub to relax your muscles.  You
did well - I've hunted here lots of times, but I've never had a
prey like you who led me such a long way for such a long time. 
Well, fellah, you're going to get your reward now!"



He dropped down onto the carpet behind me, and lookinjg around I
saw he was on his knees, crawling up to me.  His cock was
massively erect, and the next instant I felt it stabbing at my
ass.



"NO", I screamed.  "Get away, you fucker!".



"So", the hunter said, "it's perhaps true what they told me. 
Have you never had a cock up your ass before?"



"No, never.  I'm not a vile queer.  No one has ever been up my
ass.  I've never had a man. Never ever."



"Well, sonny, this is going to be a day to remember for you", he
laughed.  "Your first hunt, and your first fuck."



And with that, he stabbed viciously at my anus.



As much as I tried to resist, there's no way that a guy chained
down on all fours can prevent a determined, strong, muscular man
from raping him.  It didn't matter how much I tried to keep my
sphincter squeezed tight shut, the remorseless pushing and
thrusting by the hunter forced penetration.



He wasn't at all gentle.  He made no attempt to moisten my
virgin ass in any way.  He made no allowance that my ass had
never had a cock up it before, let alone a big, thick one.



The  rape was brutal, and in spite of myself I cried out in pain
and anguish as it proceeded.



When it was over, he first collapsed on top of me, and I could
feel the wiry hairs on his chest rubbing against my sweaty
backbone.  Then he rolled off, and lay alongside me. 



He looked up into my face and said "Well, that's the first, and
probably the worst, time.  You'll soon get used to cocks going
up your ass, as most of us hunters like to fuck the prey when
we've captured them."



Tears were streaming down my face - I don't think it was the
pain from my ass, or the pain from the many small scratches and
bruises on my body from my flight through the jungle.  It was
more the shame, humiliation, anguish, and rage at having been so
brutally violated.  I was no longer a man - I hadn't had any
freedom since arriving at the Club, but now even my last
vestiges of independent manhood had been stripped away as my
virginity was taken.



I didn't think I could be more humiliated - but it was indeed
possible!



Leaving my ankles securely chained to the floor, he undid the
manacles holding my wrists down.  I went to try to stand up, but
he simply pushed me backwards so I was lying on my back, and
threw himself over my chest with a sickening "thud" that knocked
the wind out of me temporarily and prevented me from doing
anything else.



Whilst I was lying, he flipped open two more flaps in the floor
and cuffed my arms out above my head, so I was now lying spread
out, on my back.



He used an instant camera to take several photographs of me
lying there, taking a long view of my whole body, then close-ups
of my face, and of my tattoos.



He then knelt down beside me with a small piece of cloth in his
hand, and started to masturbate me.



I've never been masturbated involuntarily by another man before
- at school, when I was very young, I did once try jerking off
with a friend but I didn't enjoy it.  And, of course, I had made
some of my girl friends give me a hand job from time to time. 
But having another man bring me to climax against my will was a
new indignity.



As I started to shoot my load, he quickly put the piece of cloth
over my cock head, so that my cum spurted into it.



Holding up the cloth he looked at my semen stain on it
appreciatively, then he took the photos and the cum-soaked cloth
and put them into a book.  "This is my hunt record book", he
told me.  "I keep pictures and semen samples from all the prey I
capture here at the Club".



"Now that's all over, I think it's time to take a bit of care of
you.  Are you sore and stiff?"



I nodded, and he went to a drawer and came back with a pair of
normal handcuffs.  With extreme care he unshackled one of my
wrists from the floor, then pulled it over and used the cuffs to
shackle my wrists together.  Then he released my other wrist
from the floor.



I could sit up, and he crouched next to me and said "Well,
fellah, there are two ways we can do this.  Either I can have
the guards take you away to your cell now, and you can spend the
night on the hard floor, dirty, and running with my cum.  Or, if
you agree to be sensible, I will undo your ankle restraints and
you can soak in the hot tub here to remove some of the aches."



"Actually - thinking about it - I'm not going to give you the
choice!  You don't even need to be sensible!  I think you're so
exhausted that, provided you're cuffed, I can always take you
down!"



So saying, he undid my ankle shackles, stood up, and helped me
to my feet.  I followed his muscular, hairy back into the
luxurious marble bathroom, where there was a huge tub - it was
almost as big as the communal ones we used to have at the rugger
club, in my "old" life that now seemed so far away.



He ran it full of hot water, and I climbed in.  The stinging as
the hot water hit the small scratches all over me was unpleasant
at first, but I soon relaxed and felt the water doing its
wonderful work of easing my tortured muscles.  He then climbed
in, too, and, just for a few moments, I could almost imagine
that I was back in the rugger club, sharing a bath with a mate.



We hardly spoke, but he looked at me intently all the time as he
washed me - I couldn't of course reach my back with my hands
cuffed in front of me.  And it was strangely sensuous when he
gently massaged my scalp with shampoo.



The huge fluffy white towels were a delight, and he towelled
himself dry before gently - almost tenderly - he dried me.



He led me to the bed, and I started to resist.  "Don't be
silly",  he muttered.  "You don't want to go to that cell now.
Sleep in this comfortable bed - it's easily big enough for two,
and I'm not going to fuck you again - I only do that once, to
show my superiority over the prey. "



So I collapsed into the bed, and, amazingly, drifted into sleep.
 



I woke up with the guy "spooned" against me - it felt good to
have a warm body pressed against me in a bed again, and it was
almost as if I was back with one of my girlfriends.  But the
rubbing of his hair on my back, and the feel of his morning
erection pressed into the crack between my ass cheeks, soon
brought me back to the realisation of where I was.



He sat up, scratching himself casually under his arm as the way
a lot of guys do in the morning.  "Sleep well?", he asked.



I mumbled some reply, but then there was a knock at the door and
one of the Club servants wheeled in a trolley filled with an
amazing breakfast buffet.



We sat together in the bed, naked, eating breakfast.  He had to
fill my plate because I was still cuffed, but I was able to feed
myself.  It felt amazingly wicked to have all those things we
weren't normally allowed - a cup of aromatic, scalding hot
coffee was just about the best thing I have ever tasted!



But after breakfast, whilst I watched he went into the bathroom
and showered, and then came out and dressed in a beautiful white
silk shirt, a very expensive fine wool grey business suit, and
slipped his gold Rolex on his wrist.



"Ah well", he said.  "Back to the real world.  Good luck with
your future hunts.  I'm told they usually hunt you about once a
month, so by the time I'm next back here in half a year or so,
you will have experienced a few more.  I'm going to make a
booking to hunt you again for that time, and I'll be interested
to see if you have got more technique - you almost evaded me
this time, but it was more by sheer brute force and guts, rather
than skill.  And I'd advise you to practice stretching your ass
with a few fingers - most of us huntsmen fuck their prey, and if
you only have one cock a month up there, it will always be sore
and painful".



"One more thing.  So you have something to think about.  Next
time I hunt you, I'm going to pay whatever the Club asks for
your foreskin.  If I think you haven't run well enough, I will
circumcise you at the end of the hunt.  But if you give me a
real run for my money, I'll let you keep it.  That should
motivate you."



And with that, he got up and walked out.



LATER THAT DAY



Back in my cage in the wild prey quarters, I now realised why my
fellows did not say what went on - we all simply wanted to deny
being raped.  I was, just like then, scratched and bruised.



But the following morning, routine was restored, as I started
another day with the five mile run on the running machine.



This, then, was to be my life.



END.               

   





   



   



   



 

