Posted by Kewpid on June 26, 20010 at 14:16:43:
BARE GAME
“I don’t like wearing suits,” confided Sherri in a whisper, though she looked both poised and perky in the one that she had on. “Oh, same here,” said Rosie. She was turned out just as smartly, but today was tee-shirt weather and she’d started to perspire.
At least the wine was cool, but she sipped carefully, not wanting to get giggly before the main event. Five of them had got through to the final interviews and been invited to this lovely country house. The building was impressive, set in miles of private parkland. A girl from a run-down estate could start to think she’d finally arrived.
Rosie ran a preening finger through her dark, bobbed hair. She was petite and winsome, though her bee-stung lips gave her a sulky look. Belatedly she hoped her gypsy earrings weren’t too chavvy. Forcing a smile, she glanced around. Small talk with rivals wasn’t her strong point.
Sherri twittered on. She did seem genuinely friendly, a cute little blonde with boyish hair and mischievous blue eyes. She had a sporty trimness and a healthy colouring, as if she’d just been for a run this morning. Rosie was just wishing she could smoke.
Lisa gave the pair of them a condescending smile. She was an elegant brunette, resplendent in a tailored trouser suit. Her haughty features radiated smugness, as if she thought the job was in the bag. Rosie smiled back tightly, like a rictus. She thought the posh girl was a snooty bitch.
Emma and Karen might have had a similar opinion, but the three stood close together chatting pleasantly enough. Emma seemed quite shy but was as pretty as a kitten, her dark brown hair cut pageboy-style, her eyes tinged feline green. She smirked at something Lisa said. Rosie felt a twinge of envy. Karen murmured something in an offhand kind of way. She was a well-built, shapely girl, her fair hair cropped and punky. Her glasses made her look po-faced, and she had a rather sullen air to match.
They all looked round as a woman came into the drawing room. She had long dark hair like Lisa’s and the same disdainful look. “Hello, I’m Clare,” she told the girls. “Thank you very much for coming.” Her tone was brisk and businesslike. Several men in morning suits filed after her. They lined up like a row of stolid footmen, their hands obediently behind their backs. Lisa gave a wry half-smile. Sherri glanced across at Emma and raised an eyebrow. Emma sniggered back.
“As you know, you’re here for the selection,” Clare was saying. “And our company has a unique approach. We don’t waste time on finding out what’s in those pretty heads because our clients only want to see your tits.”
The girls just stared, convinced that they’d misheard her till the footmen brought their right hands into view. Each man took aim with a Taser pistol. “What the fuck …?” said Rosie, and the row of weapons popped. They shot out pairs of wires with hooked electrodes which snagged on suit lapels and scoop-necked tops. The startled girls recoiled with yelps of protest. Then the Tasers crackled and they screamed in agony.
The blasts of electricity set fire to every nerve-end. The girls collapsed in unison, convulsing on the floor. Spilt wine started soaking through the carpet. Emma and Sherri wet themselves, but were barely conscious of their sopping briefs. The men began undressing their slumped victims. Dazed and snivelling, the girls were powerless to resist. In moments they lay grovelling in nothing but their panties, their suits piled up like jumble, shoes and stockings strewn around.
Clare clapped her hands and waited till they’d raised their tearful faces. It pleased her to humiliate complacent sluts like these. What happened next would please her even better. A footman opened the French windows, letting in the fragrance of the grounds.
“All right, girls,” she said, “we’re going to do a little field test. Let’s see which one of you has got the best survival skills. Shall we say ten minutes start before these gentlemen start hunting? These grounds go on for miles so you’ve got lots of room to hide.”
The girls were prodded to their feet, wide-eyed with shock and horror. They hugged their breasts instinctively beneath the footmen’s gaze. Sherri glanced down at her crotch and whimpered plaintively to see the soggy shadow of her pubic hair. Emma’s briefs had likewise turned translucent. She squeezed her thighs together, mortified.
The servants shoved them out on to the terrace. The flowerbeds were in full bloom and sunlit lawns stretched out towards the woods. “Best not to stick together,” Clare said dryly. “You wouldn’t want to make it any easier for them.”
The gasping, bleating candidates just stood and gawped at her until one man produced a stopwatch from his coat. He set it running and held it up. The sight cut through their numbness and they started backing off like frightened deer. Clare’s hands clapped like a pistol shot. They flinched, then broke and scattered. Sherri and Rosie turned and fled away towards the trees. Lisa hesitated, then went haring after them, while Karen scurried off around the house. Emma flashed a teary glare at her prim-faced tormenter. “You’ll pay for this, you bitch!” she sobbed and took off blindly in the others’ wake.
Clare just smiled and watched them disappearing, then sauntered back into the drawing room. The men had already stripped down to their shirtsleeves. Hunting bows and well-stocked quivers were being handed out. Each bundle of shafts had different coloured feathers, so every man could mark his kill – and claim the right to fuck her body first.
* * *
Karen hadn’t run towards the tree line. Sick with panic though she was, she realised they’d expect her to do that. Instead she hugged the building once she’d got around the corner, sidling along the wall in search of a way in. In ten minutes the hunt would start, ranging off across the parkland. They wouldn’t know she was behind them – on the phone and calling the police.
She reached another corner and peeped round it. The cars were parked along this side. They’d all be locked, of course. She felt her tears come welling up and bit her lip to quell them. Her large breasts quivered as she sobbed. She’d driven to this place with such high hopes …
Plucking off her glasses, she wiped her eyes. A warm tear splashed her cleavage. She put them on again and sniffed. The grounds lay empty, basking in the sun. But this side of the house was cool with shadow, a clammy dullness on her pallid skin. It made her nipples tingle as they hardened.
There was a servants’ door beyond the cars.
Swallowing, she slipped around the corner and cat-footed towards it, heart in mouth. Her chest constricted as she gripped the doorknob, then turned it cautiously and pushed. The door swung inward with the faintest creak. Stifling a whimper of relief, she ventured through it. The passageway beyond was silent, full of dim air like suspended dust.
She paused to listen, hearing her heart thumping, then started tiptoeing in the direction of the hall. She thought she remembered seeing a phone on a table by the staircase. While the kidnappers were having fun, she’d put the kybosh on their horrid game.
Her sense of direction proved correct. The hallway was deserted. And sure enough, the old-style telephone was in its place. Perhaps it was just there for decoration. She padded over, praying it still worked.
“Can I help you, Miss?” a nasal voice enquired from the shadows, and Karen’s bosom joggled as she jumped. She whinnied in alarm and swung towards him. It was one of the footmen with a Taser levelled at her chest. She cowered back in horror, still in pieces from the last one. “Has Miss come back for more?” he leered, and triggered it before she could protest.
She tried in vain to ward it off. One barb caught her right biceps while the other stung her left breast like a wasp. “Well, what a foolish cunt Miss is,” the servant said politely and squeezed the current down both filaments. Karen shrieked with pain and threw her head back, her body squirming in a paroxysm. The footman watched her wriggle for a moment, then let her slump on to the bottom stair. Karen grimaced, mewing like a kitten, her bosom heaving as she sobbed for breath. The footman felt his penis swell and stiffen. He thumbed the Taser to a higher dose.
It flickered, crackling as she squeezed the trigger and his victim arched her spine orgasmically. She writhed and flailed in agonised convulsions, but the footman kept the trigger pressed until her howl of anguish filled the house.
The others were too far away to hear it. Rosie and Sherri had reached the woods and were cringing, winded, in the undergrowth. As they peered back, gasping, at the house, they saw the group of hunters start to fan out and advance across the lawns.
“Jesus, they’ve got bloody bows and arrows,” Sherri blurted. There was a note of outrage in her voice, as if she’d just caught someone cheating at a game of hockey.
“Oh my God, they’re coming,” Rosie whimpered needlessly.
“Don’t just stand there,” Lisa snapped, her own voice almost breaking. She loped away between the trees. Sherri snatched at Rosie’s hand and followed her. It felt like they had plunged into a dappled, leafy labyrinth. The noise of their mad dash drowned out all sound of the pursuit. Soon they were out of breath again. Rosie clung to an old tree trunk and retched dryly, but the sickness wouldn’t shift. Sherri squeezed her shoulders. “Rosie, please … we have to hurry …” Her voice was hoarse and frightened, but she stayed with the brunette.
Lisa hadn’t waited; she was up ahead somewhere. Rosie swallowed, head still bowed. She could smell the blonde girl’s saturated briefs. Sherri’s fingers dug into her shoulders. “Come on …” she urged her fretfully. Rosie forced herself into a stumbling trot.
Behind them, poor Karen had stopped screaming. Her grimace had relaxed to a glum mask and her shadowed eyes were closed behind her glasses. They didn’t flutter as her flesh was groped.
The killer had unhooked the two electrodes. They’d left two pea-sized blisters, but apart from that her body was unmarked. Squeezing her upturned tits got no reaction, and nor did delving deep between her thighs. The stuck-up cow had pissed herself. Her briefs were warm and soggy. His fingers poked into her sex but couldn’t rouse her from her po-faced sulk …
Emma, meanwhile, was casting round in panic, aware the men were closing in but having no idea which way was which. For all she knew, the bastards might be waiting up ahead. Her stomach knotted at the thought and she whimpered miserably behind her hand.
Her olive skin was sheened with sweat and her fringe was damp and sticky. Her pee-soaked briefs were clinging to her crotch. A part of her was desperate to believe this was a nightmare, the product of a fever as she threshed in her own bed …
Then she heard the dry snap of a twig between the tree trunks. Her heart leaped and she looked round wildly. Shadows hedged her in, but nothing stirred. Fearfully she backed away, then took off like a rabbit, careering through the undergrowth, casting panicked glances back the way she’d come.
She tripped over a root and almost nosedived, fetching up on hands and knees with her pert bottom in the air. The unexpected tumble almost broke her down in tears, but as she raised her head, a bolt of inspiration struck. She hadn’t climbed a tree for years but had once been quite a tomboy, and the oak that loomed above her now looked almost welcoming. She struggled to her feet and stretched to reach the lowest branches. Catching one, she scrambled up, her bare toes gripping bark. She hauled herself into the fork and rested for a moment, then clambered higher up amid a cloak of foliage. Fifteen feet above the ground, she braced herself and listened. The rustling noises of her climb had faded to the breezy sough of leaves.
She wiped her cheek and waited, panting softly. The birds were singing in the canopy. Then she heard the stealthy crunch of footfalls. Her heartstrings tightened and she held her breath. She glimpsed the flash of a white shirt as someone passed beneath her. Her bare skin turned to gooseflesh as she had an icy flush.
The man stalked on. She pulled a face, still peering after him. He disappeared into the gloom. The birds kept chirruping. Emma sighed and settled back. Perhaps she should stay up here. Keep off the ground till it got dark. The bastards would have given up by then.
She thought she heard more movements in the distance and raised herself to get a better look. She didn’t see the arrow leaping upward till it struck her midriff just below her breasts.
The impact made her groan with pain, a punch that left her winded, but it felt as if the fist had gripped her gut. Grimacing, she clutched herself, her body hunching forward, and she bleated as she felt her balance go. Instinct said to grab a branch, but a pang tore through her body and she doubled up and pitched out of the tree. For a moment she was weightless, then the earth slammed up beneath her with a force that crushed the life out of her flesh.
Rosie and Sherri didn’t sense her murder. They were far too focused on the men who meant to murder them. Crouching in the undergrowth, they watched the figures coming, glimpsed starched white shirts and black bow ties beyond the screen of leaves. One of the footmen passed quite close, his bow half-raised and ready. A sheaf of yellow-feathered arrows bumped against his hip.
Rosie’s breasts pulsated as she panted. She knew this wasn’t some sick game; he’d put an arrow in her if he could. She was twenty and had never dreamed of dying, but suddenly the threat seemed all too real. She flinched as Sherri clutched at her bare shoulder. “Come on,” the blonde girl whispered, “or they’re going to cut us off.”
The pair of them crept clear, crouched down like bunnies. The leaves sighed softly overhead, but they heard persistent rustlings through the trees. Sherri went in front, whey-faced and pouting. The feel of her wet knickers made her cringe with self-disgust. Rosie followed, trying not to sniffle. She wondered where the others were – or if they had been caught.
The crackle of a stepped-on twig made both of them go rigid. Somebody was up ahead. They cowered lower, bosoms brushing grass. Then they heard a muttering of voices from behind them. Rosie peered back, petrified. Then Sherri gripped her arms.
“I’ll try and lead the sods away,” she said, her hoarse voice catching. Rosie blinked back tearfully, not sure what she could mean. Sherri’s face was pale and very earnest, her dimpled cheerfulness a world away. “You take care,” she blurted out, then crawled off through the bushes. Rosie goggled after her. “Come back,” she hissed. “You can’t …” But Sherri straightened up and padded onward, her bare feet crunching on the fallen leaves. The man who’d been ahead of them moved sharply, and Rosie pressed her hand against her mouth.
Sherri heard the noise and started running, her lithe form twisting through the maze of trees. The other hunters followed like a wolf pack, spreading out to try and head her off, leaving Rosie cringing in the undergrowth.
Sherri pelted headlong through the wood, not glancing backwards, because nothing mattered now except how far away she got. Her breath rasped in her throat, her heart was racing, but she wasn’t scared and knew she wouldn’t be unless she stopped. Instead she felt a wild exhilaration, the shame of her soaked briefs forgotten now. Something yellow streaked past like a meteor, and an arrow with green feathers struck a tree. Despite herself she glanced over her shoulder, glimpsed figures through the foliage. She whimpered and ran on. The ground was rising and she scrambled up it. She’d almost reached the crest when something hit her in the back.
The blow was like a horse’s kick: it almost crippled her. She sobbed and stumbled onward, feeling something snagging sharply at her lung. The crashing in the undergrowth came closer. Her breasts swelled as she wheezed for breath, and then a tearing pain engulfed her chest. Stricken, she reared back and stuck her tits out, her elfin face contorting wretchedly. Her chest was flooding, smothering her heartbeat. She forced herself to lurch a few more steps. Then she lost her balance and pitched forward, her body flopping over the far bank. She came to rest head-down, her limp arms dangling, the arrow jutting stiffly from her back.
There was a whirr of startled wings, a minute’s deathly stillness – then a hunter gripped a fistful of her hair. He lifted her bowed head and Sherri’s mouth fell open dumbly, her tongue protruding pink and moist, her pale bosom pressed against the soil. He let her slump again, her final sacrifice unheeded. A silly cow who’d lost her nerve was all she was to him.
Lisa was too far ahead to thank her for it either. In any case, her only thought was for her own escape. She’d reached a ditch, too wide to jump and full of weedy water. The trees beyond loured gloomily, as if defying her to try and cross.
She leaned against a tree to get her breath back, her firm breasts heaving as she filled her lungs. Her long dark hair was sweaty and bedraggled. She drew it back behind her ears and tied it in a scruffy ponytail. Her stomach felt as if it had been stamped on. Her eyeliner was running, like a pierrot’s painted tears. Pouting miserably, she glanced behind her, then ventured closer to the ditch and moved along its bank.
Soon she reached a narrow road which crossed in front of her. There was no sign of traffic, and she guessed it was still part of the estate. A small bridge spanned the ditch. She thought of crossing for a moment, then peered into the shadows of the weathered redbrick arch. The sense of being a hounded deer was horrid. Much better if she went to ground and let the hounds go past.
Chewing her lip, she clambered down the bank into the water. Its murky coldness made her wince, but she forced herself waist-deep. Chilled, her vulva puckered up beneath her sodden panties. Grimacing, she groped into the dimness of the arch.
The air was dank. She hugged herself, indulging her self-pity. How dare they put a girl like her through this depraved ordeal? Her muscles were still tingling from the Taser, but a part of her was desperate to believe it was a prank.
Then she heard the growl of a car engine. It was coming up towards the bridge. Her forearms squeezed her breasts. Quivering, she raised her eyes as she heard it pass above her. It stopped and sat there idling. She whimpered to herself. Her skin began to crawl, but then the car moved off again, its engine snarling like a beast as it faded through the trees.
Her breasts subsided as she sighed. The wood up top was silent. But Lisa didn’t dare to move. She’d linger here till nightfall if she must. How dare that bitch Clare lure her here? How dare she …? A muffled noise made her look round. It sounded like a splash.
She peered along the ditch and saw no sign of what had made it, but then a patch of colour caught her eye. A lump of matted fur was drifting sluggishly towards her. She put one hand against her mouth. It was the sodden carcase of a fox.
Disgustedly she backed away. The carrion floated closer. She caught a whiff of its vile smell. The thing was going to brush her as it passed. She waded clear, emerging on the far side of the arch, and someone’s hand came down to snatch hold of her hair.
She squealed with alarm and started flailing, but the fingers tightened, tugging back her head. A man was hanging from the bridge above her, his face distorted in a lustful leer. Panicking, she scrabbled at his fingers, her bosom lifting as she raised her arms. Belatedly she realised someone else was on the bank and taking aim towards her body with a bow. Lisa’s dark eyes widened and she wailed at him in horror, till his arrow whirred and whacked into her chest.
The impact broke her scream into a throaty cry of anguish. She twisted back beneath the blow, still clutching the man’s hand. But then her chest filled up with choking pressure, and her hands went to her straining breasts instead. She clawed them in despair, her face contorted, while the man above her clung on to her hair. He kept the mewling bitch’s body upright till she finished wriggling in his grasp and let her arms drop limply to her sides.
Then he let her go and Lisa flopped into the water like a mermaid floating face down in the weeds. The body of the dead fox nudged against her. “I told you that would flush her out,” a voice said gloatingly.
Rosie didn’t realise she’d outlived her former rivals. She was too busy wondering if Sherri had escaped. The blonde girl’s bravery had left her guilt-ridden and tearful. She wished she’d never seen the advert for that fucking job.
She waited till the woods had fallen silent, then crept off in the opposite direction, crouching low. A trickle of cold sweat ran down her backbone. Her skimpy briefs were soaked with it and sticking to her crotch. Her fear had turned into a queasy numbness, but as she pushed on dolefully, the sound of a car’s engine made her freeze.
It was growing slowly from the middle distance. There had to be a road ahead. She ventured closer on her hands and knees. Peeking through the foliage, she saw a narrow lane. The vehicle was still out of sight but she sensed the purpose in its slow approach. Frightened though she was, she felt compelled to watch it passing – to see the worst with her own eyes.
But she hadn’t guessed how bad the worst would be.
The car came purring into a view. It was a sporty Audi with its top down and four people in the seats. The driver wore a starched white shirt, a black bow tie and shades. The passengers wore shades as well, and nothing else at all.
Rosie clapped a hand against her mouth to keep from wailing. Three of the girls she’d fled with were slumped limply in the car. The sunlight gleamed on their bare breasts and shoulders, and their upturned faces seemed to bask in it. But underneath the shades they all had miserable expressions, like girls with tummy-ache on a long trip.
Sherri was up front beside the driver, her head tipped back against the padded rest. Lisa and Emma slouched inert behind her, their well-bred modesty unguarded now. Emma’s head had drooped to Lisa’s shoulder, as if the pair of them were special friends. The sunglasses they wore stared blankly upwards and all three remained as motionless as dolls.
Rosie watched aghast, her eyes like saucers. She tried to tell herself the girls had fainted or been stunned. The car went gliding past and braked a little further on. Rosie didn’t dare to blink, still less to draw a breath. The driver switched the engine off and sat there as if listening, then got out of the car and walked around it to the boot. He took a bow and quiver out, while Rosie’s skin grew colder. The man peered round, then moved into the trees beyond the car.
Rosie was about to make her arse scarce when a movement in the Audi caught her eye. She stared at it and saw Lisa’s arm twitch faintly. She waited – saw her stir again, like someone trying to wake from a bad dream. Rosie felt a surge of hope and horror. The girls must have been tranquilised, but how could they be helped?
She wavered, biting her plump lip. The man had moved from sight. She thought of Sherri’s sacrifice and summoned up her nerve. Easing through the screen of leaves, she scuttled to the Audi and grasped the posh girl by the shoulder. “Lisa, can you hear me? Can you move?”
Her hiss won no reaction, though the brunette was still breathing. Rosie’s heart thumped in her chest. She glanced towards the trees, then gave the girl an urgent shake. Lisa’s pampered bosom trembled, a quiver stirring Emma’s breasts as well. Rosie barely noticed that both girls had lost their panties. Their nude forms stayed recumbent and she whimpered to herself. An inner voice insisted that the posh bitch wasn’t worth it.
Then Lisa sat bolt upright and seized firm hold of her wrist.
Rosie gasped with shock and reared backward, but the other’s grip was unrelenting. “Let me go!” she blurted in alarm. But Lisa simply stared at her through shades like empty sockets. The smaller girl tugged desperately – then felt a jolt of terror in her gut.
It wasn’t Lisa – it was Clare. She had the same high cheekbones, the same dark hair, the same contemptuous look. Rosie gawped at her, too stunned to struggle for a moment, but then she glimpsed a movement from the corner of her eye. The driver was emerging from the tree line. He’d nocked an arrow to his bow and was slowly raising it.
“No!” squealed Rosie, panicking. She tried to wriggle free, but Clare held on implacably. The man was taking aim. “No, please!” Rosie begged them. “Nooo!” The driver loosed his arrow. The bowstring’s twang became a whoosh that ended with a thud as it struck home.
Rosie jerked back with a grunt of anguish, her free hand clutching vainly at her chest. The shaft protruded just above her cleavage, and its penetration made her mewl aloud. Clare hung on to the chav cunt, enjoying her convulsions – then let her go, and Rosie clawed her bosom with both hands. Snivelling, she slumped against the Audi and squirmed with pain while Clare smiled cruelly. The wound in her attractive chest was fatal and she drooped as life drained out of her, tits wobbling as she slithered to the road. “Oh no…” she bleated like a grieving infant – then flopped down heavily and wheezed her last.
Clare breathed out as huskily, but with a lot more pleasure. She settled back into the leather seat. Emma’s body lolled against her shoulder. The hunters had already had their wicked way with her. Beneath her matted pubic hair, her vulva oozed with semen, and a love-bite marked the flesh of one plump breast.
Fondling her own sleek boobs, Clare started masturbating. The sour tang of Rosie’s sweat still hung around the car. The doomed girl’s frantic pleas had only boosted her arousal, but apart from that they’d been a waste of breath. She stared at the back of Sherri’s head and the curves of her slumped shoulders. The cute blonde had been ravished too and her cunt was leaking cum over her seat.
I don’t like wearing suits, she’d said to Rosie. She wasn’t even wearing knickers now.
Clare smiled smugly to herself, her fingers probing deeper. She sensed the archer bend down next to her. The man took Rosie’s body by the armpits and dragged her on her arse around the car. Her breasts swayed as he hoisted her on to the Audi’s bonnet, to sprawl there like a shameless figurehead. Peeling off her sweaty Primark panties, he slid her vulva down over his cock. Her toned legs splayed around his hips and dangled. He grasped her thighs and started pumping her.
Rosie’s jaw was slack with gormless protest, and her big tits quivered with each grunting thrust. Clare looked on, still teasing her own pussy. Her breathing had grown rapid now, and her breast nudged Emma’s cheek with every gasp. The car began to creak on its suspension as the archer neared a climax with the corpse. Behind the windscreen, Sherri seemed to watch them, her pinched face looking almost peeved, as if she knew her death had been in vain.
The archer groaned as he spurted into Rosie. Her back arched on the bonnet as if proffering her breasts. He fell on her and bit deep into her bosom like a vampire feasting on a virgin’s throat. Rosie’s eyes stayed closed, her mouth wide open, as if she shared his ugly ecstasy. He could taste the perfume spritzed over her cleavage. The little slut had thought that she might score.
Clare came with a long, delighted shudder, exulting as she let her head fall back. Emma’s lifeless body sagged against her, as warm and comforting as a soft toy. The last contractions faded. Clare sighed deeply and relaxed. The stillness was idyllic. Birdsong twittered through the trees. The archer ground his pelvis against Rosie’s as he squeezed out one last globule of cum.
Satisfied at last, Clare stretched and climbed out of the Audi, not caring that she was completely nude. The archer eyed her with appreciation. He lit a cigarette for her. Clare pushed her sunglasses into her hair.
Rosie sprawled tits-up across the bonnet, her sticky pussy gaping wantonly. The arrow in her chest poked proudly skyward. The archer hauled her off the car and dumped her on the back seat in Clare’s place.
Clare breathed smoke, surveying the three bodies. So much for their ambition and their preening vanity. They hadn’t been selected for their management potential, but because they lived alone and had nice tits. Tonight she’d supervise the edit of their final moments.
And tomorrow there’d
be more CVs – more bright-eyed hopefuls waiting to be picked.