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Short Stories by DjEtla

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DjEtla

Magistrate
Melita on the Cross

When the soldiers set her cross upright Melita was stunned by the pain. She closed her eyes. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air. Muscles in her belly repeatedly flexed and relaxed. Her hips twisted left and right. She tried to struggle a little bit. She couldn’t move much and her feeble attempts to move just caused her body to wiggle in a way the audience liked to see.

She had attracted quite a few onlookers. It was a busy cross-road location – the usual spot for female crucifixions. When she opened her eyes and looked around she had a rush of emotions.

Melita was a slim, petite and rather short girl. She enjoyed being short. Now it was a strange feeling to be a 6 – 8 inches above all the people around her. She could look down to her left and right and see how many had gathered.

She was equally shocked at how closely they were watching, looking her over with rapt attention.

She had always been a high-spirited and flirtatious girl – as much as any lively, healthy teen. Once in awhile she'd have a private little fantasy about being naked in public. But now, doing it for real in front of so many people made her feel sick and vulgar and cheap – and maybe a little turned on too.

Nearly all her weight rested painfully in her shoulders. She realized her chest and her breasts were stretched upward and thrust out toward the crowd in a way that was almost obscene. Even worse, she realized that her nipples were fully erect and engorged and sticking outward, probably from pain and fright and all of the powerful mixed emotions of horror and terror, and maybe a touch of excitement too. Every inch of her glorious naked body was stretched out on full display for all to see.

She moved side to side a few times, first one way then another. It was like she wanted to twist or turn away from the gaze of the onlookers and get even a small amount of privacy. But with her wrists nailed to the cross beam over her head there was really nothing she could do. Her attempts to turn away from the crowd only gave a bit of side-to-side wiggle of her breasts and drew more attention to her body.

In spite of her pain she could see with a quick glance that the crowd had a variety of reactions. Some looked shocked and even horrified by what they saw. Some looked at her with deep worry and pity. Others looked on with a smirk and seemed to be quite amused. A few looked her over with obvious lust in their heart and in their loins.

One matronly woman had been watching Melita looking over the crowd and twisting on her cross. She curled her lip. “Look at her. She’s flirting. She’s showing off,” she said to her companion, a woman about the same age. “Even on the cross this little hussy craves attention,” she continued, shaking her head in disapproval.

Her friend nodded in agreement.

Melita looked again at the people gathered around to watch her agony. She recognized a young, handsome apprentice lawyer she had met two weeks earlier. He was looking closely. She felt mortified that he was seeing her this way, stretched out bare and in pain in front of a crowd. She tilted her head back and let out a huge groan of pain and frustration.

She wanted to take a little bit of the pain away from her shoulders by flexing her leg muscles and trying to lift herself slightly. That worked but it came at the cost of terrible pain in her ankles where they were nailed to the cross.

One of the soldiers decided he’d have a little fun.

He walked up to Melita. He was wearing heavy combat gloves. He stroked her body.

She gasped at the touch. All her pain and terror made her normally sensitive body far more responsive.

Then he put his gloved hand on her belly. He moved his hand slowly down her body.

She could sense his intentions. “No! No! No!” she gasped, shaking her head strongly side to side.

He smiled. He kept moving his hand slowly lower.

When he reached a very sensitive spot she said, “NO! NO! NO! Oh please!” even louder.

He moved his gloved hand in a slow, rhythmic circle.

She tried to tilt her head back but couldn’t do it much because of the cross behind her. She lifted her chin as much as she could. She gasped again and again, taking in big gulps of air, trying to deal with all of her overwhelming feelings.

The soldier continued to move his hand in a firm, rhythmic way. He could sense the effects he was having.

After a few minutes of this, to her incredible shock and horror, Melita realized she couldn’t stop herself from rocking her hips rhythmically and pressing herself against his hand, soaking up the amazing stimulation. This was the ultimate pleasure and humiliation.

The soldier smiled. He kept a smooth, circular motion and he didn't let her get too much pressure.

For the first time during her ordeal she wanted to burst out in tears at the overwhelming shock and humiliation of showing herself to be so aroused while a crowd of people stood around to watch.

He was careful not to stimulate her body too much. When he had done enough he smiled and took his hand away.

“AHH!” she exclaimed. The touch of the soldier had given her a momentary distraction from all of her incredible pain and fear. Now those feelings rushed back to her all over. Once again she could vividly feel the nails in her wrists and ankles, keeping her body stretched out painfully.

This was just the beginning of a brutally long ordeal for her. Being such a healthy, fit young woman everyone thought she might last a long time on the cross. They were right.

For the most part she tried to suffer in silence. Tears often rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t want to give the soldiers or anyone in the crowd the satisfaction of hearing her scream or cry out.

But at times she couldn’t help herself. She let out whimpers or sobs from her pain and despair.

She drank some water when one of the soldiers offered.

Melita tried to distract her thoughts from the pain she looked around at the crowd.

She noticed one pretty young woman nearby in a slave tunic, studying her closely. Melita had worn a slave tunic for months and hated every minute of it. Now it looked wonderful and she longed for a bit of clothing. Seeing it on another woman just made her feel even more sad, helpless, exposed and bare.

The slave girl was strikingly pretty. Interestingly, she was one of the few women who didn't seem to mind wearing a slave tunic - she seemed to wear it with good style and élan. What struck Melita most were her bright, inquisitive brown eyes -- she seemed highly observant and smart, taking in a lot.

One of the soldiers seemed to recognize the slave girl. “Eulalia!” he said in a cheerful greeting. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

She nodded. “The master wanted me to be here to observe. I'm supposed to watch closely and report back to him about everything I saw.”

“What do you think so far?” the soldier asked.

“She's cute,” she said with a gesture to Melita.

“She's a feisty one,” he said, “I think she'll last a long time.”

“The pain must be huge,” Eulalia said, almost as if talking to herself.

“Yeah I think so,” the soldier said. “But maybe there's a little part of her that's having fun too.”

Melita was stunned - stunned at the way he made light of her suffering or thought part of her was having fun. She was about the let loose with a string of invective and insults at him but realize how vulnerable she was to getting even more pain. So she kept her mouth shut.

The soldier said to Eulalia, “I heard a rumor about you,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked warily.

“I heard you're on our schedule,” he said cheerfully.

She inhaled sharply. She paused. “It's true,” she nodded. “Next month.”

“Wow,” the young soldier said. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I don't think I did anything,” she said. “The master said he thought it would be fun to see me a cross. He doesn't need any more reason than that.”

“You're going to do great,” the soldier said.

“What does that mean?” she asked. “You mean I'm going to suffer a long time?”

“Well, yes,” he said cheerfully. “That's the point of a crucifixion, isn't it?”

“I suppose,” she nodded. “I'll do what the master says. And maybe this is all a bit of a turn-on too,” she said with a nervous smile. “Anyway it'll be interesting. If it's my last experience on earth I might as well drink in all the feelings, good and bad, and make the most of it.”

“And don't go easy on me,” she said cheerfully, “I can handle a lot.”

“It's a deal,” the soldier said. “Well I have to go - I have to keep circulating. I'll make sure I'm on duty for your time on the cross. I don't want to miss that,” he said.

“All right,” she said with a hint of a smile.

Melita was stunned at the casual tone of this slave girl, or that anyone would think hanging naked from a cross was fun. She was close to sobbing with pain and frustration and struggled to keep a little bit of composure.

Every few hours one of the soldiers had a little fun stimulating Melita. She was incredibly sensitive and couldn’t stop herself from responding well to that.

In some ways this was a kindness because it gave her something else to think about than all of her pain. But in other ways this stimulation was a horrible torture because they never let her reach satisfaction. And when one of them stopped then all of the horror of her situation came back at her in a fresh wave of emotion.

That afternoon a vulture showed up, just one at first. Then two. They circled high overhead. Later a few more arrived and they circled lower.

It was an ominous sign.

The birds seemed to sense how their victim was doing. If the condemned person was weak or ill and declining quickly, they approached more quickly.

If the condemned was fit and healthy and likely to last a while, the birds were in no hurry. They approaching in a leisurely way.

At first Melita didn’t see them, her mind focused on so many other awful thoughts and feelings as she hung on the cross.

They descended quite a bit through the day before she saw the first one fly by near the horizon.

Her eyes got wide with fright at that. Her body tensed and shuddered.

She was badly alarmed. She scanned the sky to her left and right to see if there was another bird. She was horrified to see another, then another, then more.

Her breathing had slowed a bit. Now she gasped and gulped for air to deal with her new emotions.

Everyone knew the birds were a sign of death. But they were more than that. They were a sign of horrible new torments for the condemned. They wanted to eat. And when the time was right they didn’t a victim who was alive and aware did not bother them at all. For the condemned it was all part of the pain and humiliation of the process.

Melita couldn’t help crying out at this new sign of torment, and whimpering after that while she tried to breathe deep and get some control over her runaway emotions. All her life she had an excessive fear of birds. Now the sight of the vultures circling slowly was just about more than she could bear. She was so terrified that she partially forgot a little of her physical pain.

Now her body felt incredibly vulnerable – her breasts, belly, abdomen, and every other inch of her bare body was just a stationary, helpless target for whatever the birds wanted to do.

The soldiers on duty could sense her strong emotions and they could see her looking around wide-eyed. A couple of them smiled. They thought it would be good entertainment to see her reactions as the birds got closer.

They were right.

That evening the first one came into land. Melita let out a shriek and shuddered, even though it was quite some distance. She watched with absolute horror as the bird cried out twice, then stretched his wings, made a run and took to the sky again with a big ruffle of his feathers.

It was her first chance to see one on the ground. It was much bigger and uglier than even her fevered imagination had guessed.

Darkness was falling fast, the end of her first day on the cross and the start of her first night.

The soldiers had not said much to her all day. Around sunset she was startled when one spoke - a young man not much older than she was.

“So you don't like the birds?” he asked.

“I hate them,” she gasped out.

“Well sometimes they don't strike the first night,” he said, “so you might have some until they do.”

“They'll definitely come for you by the second night,” he said with a chuckle.

Melita gasped.

“What you really need to watch out for are the snakes,” he said.

She looked at him with fresh horror.

“Yeah,” he said, “some of them are really big and slimy and vicious. They'll jump right up on a cross too.”

Melita wiggled and squirmed at this fresh horror. She was so upset and horrified and terrified by everything she had been through so far that she had no idea he was joking.

The fresh terror in her eyes told him she believed him. He made an effort not to smile.

“Well,” he concluded, “my buddies and I are making some dinner so I have to go.”

“Umm,” he said, “take care.”

He went away leaving her mostly alone in the darkening night.

By then most people were home for the night. The soldiers made a bonfire some distance away. They talked and joked the way soldiers do and cooked some food.

The night was warm, without much moonlight.

Melita imagined she could hear the birds land around her from time to time but she couldn’t be sure. Sometimes they’d land and call out, closer each time, then take off again. Sometimes she thought she could hear one behind her. She tried frantically to see but she didn’t have any good way to look behind her.

It was a horrible night for her of tremendous pain and even more fear.

Then it happened. One of the big ones landed on top of the cross, just above Melita’s head.

She screamed and she shrieked and she cried out with all her might. She shuddered on the cross but the nails in her body were firm and didn’t budge.

Some of the guards had been dozing and this brought them awake. They were amused to learn this petite young woman could make so much sound.

They drifted over toward Melita to watch her reactions.

Morning twilight was just beginning.

The bird above Melita took off without touching her. He made a flap of his massive wings and he was gone.

Melita gasped and gulped for air. She tried to regain some composure but couldn’t do it – all her strong emotions and pain and fear were far too much to bear and she burst out sobbing. In her shock and despair she called out her mother’s name. But her mother had died three years before. She called for her father but she knew he wasn’t there and wouldn’t help her. Their final conversation had been painful to her.

She never felt such helplessness and nakedness before, realizing there was nothing she could do but wait.

As daylight arrived people started moving around. Women were always crucified by a big shade tree, near a busy cross-roads location just outside of the city wall. It could be a busy place with many people passing by. The location was used so that a woman on the cross would get lots of onlookers -- she'd have some kind of audience to watch all her suffering every minute of the day. The shade tree mostly protected her from the blazing sun, which also helped her survive and suffer for the longest possible time.

Melita was unusually pretty in spite of the torments she’d been through so far. Plenty of people wanted to pause and watch her ordeal for awhile.

A vendor with a cart came by and stopped some distance away. He was a regular at this spot, selling small meat pies and a certain kind of cheap, strong sweet wine. He catered to travelers, and to those who wanted to stay and watch the crucifixion for a while. He was in a good mood – a pretty girl on the cross was good for business.

A few people bought his food and drink. Some of them stood around Melita, watching her as they nibbled their food or sipped a beverage.

He poured one full cup and offered it to a soldier with a gesture to Melita. The soldier nodded. He went over to her and held the cup over his head, close to her lips.

She nodded to say she’d drink it.

She opened wide and he poured it all down her throat at once, none too carefully. Some of it dribbled onto her bare chest and mingled with the sweat and dust on her skin. But she was able to swallow most of it and felt grateful for this small kindness.

The strong wine had a big effect on her petite body.

After a few minutes it seemed to ease her pain a little. This was heavenly for her.

It didn’t reduce her feelings of being incredibly helpless and vulnerable, hanging naked from the nails in her wrists. But for a while it helped her feel that being totally helpless and vulnerable might feel a little bit fun and sexy. She had a little fun wiggling and twisting just a bit for the onlookers to show off how helpless she was and get the best views of her body.

The effect of the wine wore off in time and the full sense of pain and dread returned to her.

The birds circled but with they were in no hurry to land, especially with all the people around. Melita’s heart was filled with dread every time she saw them because she knew they’d be back with darkness and they weren’t going to hold back.

Most of the day was excruciating for Melita. A few minutes nailed to a cross will feel like an eternity. She knew she had countless minutes, hours and days ahead. There was nothing for Melita do to but try to deal with feelings.

Her mind started slipping at times. She imagined she was at her old house, cooking or sewing with her mother, feeling loved and safe and happy. But these dreams never lasted long. After a few minutes her mind would snap back to reality and it was almost like rediscovering once again the horror of her situation.

Even small things kept her from letting her thoughts drift too much. Insects buzzed around her all day. There was an unusually large fly that just wouldn't go away. When it buzzed by her face she tried to shake her head back and forth to discourage it. But the fly didn’t seem to mind and continued to buzz near her. She watched once as it landed on her left breast. She tried to shake it off but she couldn’t move much – her breast swayed gently and this probably just made it look like a more appealing target. The onlookers liked to see her shake her boobs helplessly.

A while after that the fly landed on her right breast and the pattern repeated itself. Then the fly bit her hard. She gasped and shuddered. There was nothing else she could do but absorb this new pain and indignity, and wait helplessly for more to come.

A fly or two continued to buzz around her after that – maybe the same one or maybe new ones were arriving. She couldn’t do anything but hang there. Other insects would bite or sting from time to time, whenever they wanted. She was a helpless target.

[continued]
 
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[continued from above]

And as the afternoon shadows started getting long she was filled with new dread and that gave her mind new fears to worry about.

Sure enough at dusk the vultures came close again. Clearly they were feeling far more confident, aggressive and hungry than the night before. They landed with impunity on the ground near the poor girl, moved in close as she screamed and panted for breath, then took off again. Quickly two of them landed on the cross bar where her wrists were nailed. She shrieked and cried out. They took off but came back again in a few minutes.

The first strike caught her by surprise. With lightning speed one bird drove his beak deep into her left eye socket before she could react. The pain wasn’t great at first – in fact it took her a minute to realize what had happened. Then she really sobbed. A few minutes later another bird tried to strike her right eye. This time she was ready. When he tried to strike she shook her head violently and made him miss. She avoided him two more times but the outcome was inevitable. She blinked just as the bird struck a fourth time. He buried his beak deep into her eye socket, destroying her right eye as well.

Now blind, Melita could do nothing but hang there an imagine the worst. She didn’t have long to wait. The birds took turns landing on the cross, making a mean and painful peck on her exposed arm or face or shoulder or chest, and flying off again. She never knew when the blows would land, or where.

About an hour later she was surprised to hear one of the soldiers. He seemed to be approaching her.

“Get away!” he hollered. “Get away! Get away you spawn of the devil!” he shouted over and over.

He seemed to be driving the birds away. Her heart jumped at that thought. Her heart raced. “Oh gods -- that would be fantastic!” she thought.

She also thought, “Why didn’t you drive them away sooner you bastard!!??”

He came close to Melita. “Drink wine, girl,” he said very brusquely.

She knew what to do. She nodded her thanks and hoped he would see her gesture in the pale light. Then she opened her mouth wide. She wanted to be nice to him. She wanted him to stay around.

Like before, the soldier poured a big glass of cheap wine into her mouth all at once. Some of it dribbled down her chest once again but she managed to catch most of it and swallow it.

The soldier stepped back. He was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. “Okay all you bastards,” he said, speaking to the birds again but using a softer tone this time, “I’m going to sleep. Resume what you were doing.”

Melita’s heart sank.

“And don’t go easy on this one,” the soldier said with a chuckle. “She’s a feisty little wench. She can handle a lot.”

Melita could hear him walking away, leaving her alone in the darkness with the horrible creatures moving all around her.

In spite of feeling so helpless over the last day or more she quickly realized how much she relied on her eyesight to help her make sense of the world around her. Now with all her eyesight gone she felt even more alone and helpless.

The birds closed in around her.

* * * * *

In the end Melita lasted almost a week before she expired. It was a remarkable record of stamina and will to live.

She never exactly seemed to lose consciousness. At times she seemed to drift away into fevered dreams or some type of insanity for a short time. But mostly she seemed to be conscious and aware of what was happening. She seemed to react to bites from the birds and the bites or stings of the larger insects that gathered around her.

After the first couple of days much of her beauty was gone. Her body was disfigured by the bird bites and blood, plus her sweat mixed with dust from the air. But those who looked carefully could still see the underlying beauty of a pretty, healthy young woman.

For some years afterward, when a young woman was due to be crucified, the judge told her to think about Melita – think about how brave and feisty and tenacious she was and how she gave a great show for all those who wanted to watch.


[END PART ONE]

(I usually post stories and art to DeviantArt, same username. Part 2 is available there -- just look for the link at the bottom of Part 1.)
 
Please post all parts here!

Sure, no problem.

MELITA ON THE CROSS - Part 2

The officer in charge was Braccus. He had received a bad leg wound in battle and had a limp. Being a good leader but no longer fit for front-line infantry duty he was assigned to supervise crucifixions.

He took the job seriously. Some soldiers on crucifixion duty became bored and impatient with the process. They would try to speed up death for the condemned – they could beat or stab the person, or build a bonfire below the cross and hope the smoke would speed up death.

Braccus did not approve of that sort of thing. He felt that high-quality crucifixions helped to reinforce the dignity and power of the government. So he never let his troops or anyone else try to speed up the process. Once the condemned was set up on their cross they wouldn’t get any aid to help them die – they would just have to endure as long as it took to expire naturally.

For a young, healthy person this could take quite a while.

Of course he didn’t mind if his troops wanted to have a little bit of amusement, especially with a woman on the cross. He felt it was all in good fun to give some stimulation to a woman to feel her squirm and wiggle for the crowd.

Sometimes they had fun doing the “honey treatment,” especially on any girl who wasn't being lively or entertaining enough for the crowd. They'd rub a good amount of spiced honey onto her most sensitive, private area and massaged it well into her folds and creases and around her sweetest spot. As the honey dried it tickled and itched – that gave her some difficult, challenging feelings to think about besides the pain in the rest of her body and usually got her quivering and wiggling her body quite nicely. Better yet it eventually attracted insects. Over time that could really keep her awake and aware. It could really get her squirming quite vigorously -- her hips moving in a lively way, her belly muscles flexing, and her tits swaying too as she writhed and struggled to deal with the strong feelings. It was a lot of fun to watch.

There were other ways to have fun with a helpless woman on a cross. They had a few very slim, very sharp gold needles. One through each nipple gave the young woman some new sensations in her body to think about. It was a pretty little bit of decoration that would sparkle in the light and draw the gaze of on onlookers to her tits.

Usually the crowd gave the troops no trouble. Most people had no wish to tangle with imperial soldiers.

A year ago one young man, Nikitas, was incredibly distraught when his fiancée was condemned on some vague charge – perhaps she had refused the advances of some powerful person in the government.

She was Irini. She was a quiet, poised young woman. She was breathing hard as she approached her cross, which was laying on the ground, but otherwise kept herself fairly calm. She got undressed without being told and lay down on the cross in the proper position.

Nikitas watched closely. He was horrified to see how she gasped when one of her slim wrists was nailed to the cross with an iron spike, followed by her other wrist.

When the wrists were nailed in place the soldiers like to take a break and let the condemned get used to the feelings of being naked and unable to move much.

When the time was right they continued with the process and nailed Irini's ankles in place. That was the time for the condemned to feel extra helpless with no way to move any limb.

The Nikitas watched in horror and he got more upset when the cross was set upright. He could see how much pain she was in as she gasped for breath and tried with all her strength to stay stoic.

The soldiers were in a good mood. One laughed and said something like, “She’ll last a long time – she’s a healthy-looking little whore.”

That set Nikitas over the edge. In a moment of passion he shouted angrily at the soldiers and started throwing punches.

The soldiers were more amused than shocked. A couple tackled him with gusto and subdued him easily.

They tied his hands behind him and tied his ankles too. They did their best to calm him down. Over time he got control of his emotions.

They kept Nikitas with them for the full crucifixion. He realized there was nothing he could do to stop it so they eventually untied him. They shared food, talked with him, and eventually they all got along well as they kept their watch over Irini as she suffered more and more. The troops made sure he was near to Irini and got a great view of all of her suffering. At night they also stayed close to the cross so they could hear her gasping and sobbing, sometimes crying out for her family for help, or crying out to the gods for relief.

Of course she got the honey treatment. The soldiers laughed as it was rubbed in well, plus a couple of daubs on her perky nipples for good measure. It didn't take very long until she starting having strong reactions to that. Over the next few days she sometimes gasped and panted and shrieked as she wriggled and writhed and tried to deal with all of the feelings in her body.

When it was all over and she was obviously gone the soldiers gathered up their weapons and other kit. They walked back into town, taking Nikitas with them, to report to the judge that the execution had been carried out.

When the judge received their report he needed only a moment to pronounce his sentence on Nikitas for trying to interfere with a lawful execution.

He took the news with admirable calm. It was what he expected to hear.

A week later Nikitas was brought out to a barren hilltop. It was the traditional spot of crucifixion for men, away from most people and fully exposed to the bare sun, wind and more. No one kept this site clean so there were bones all about, a bad smell in the air and plenty of extra insects. He was forcibly stripped naked, roughly nailed to a cross, and set upright for his own crucifixion. As the cross was lifted in place it fell into its hole with a "thud." He howled in pain. The pain didn’t decrease over the coming hours and days – it only grew worse. He hung there a long, long time.

* * * *

Four months before Melita's date with the cross, she and her father stood in front of a judge.

Her father made his complaint – that she refused an arranged marriage he had in mind for her.

The man he had in mind was a retired army officer in his mid 50s named Lucius. He was also a successful trader, and had a farm with a house and servants. He offered her father a substantial payment for such a pretty and lively girl. He could offer Melita a comfortable life.

She thought he was elderly and disgusting. She thought is was weird and gross that a man is age would be interested in a girl of 18. She wanted nothing to do with him.

The judge gave her a chance to reconsider.

With a gulp she said she respectfully that she wouldn't change her mind.

When her father saw how determined she felt, even when she was in great peril, she was sure he would drop his complaint.

The judge asked Melita's father if he wanted to drop his complaint.

He said, "No."

Melita was incredulous. She was stunned and short of breath.

The judge told Melita she could plead for mercy from the court.

In a burst of stubbornness and pride she lifted her chin and tossed her hair and said she had no wish for mercy.

The judge nodded calmly. He'd seen this before. Every year there seemed to be one or two strong-willed girl who refused to obey her father or husband. His own daughter was getting close to a marriagable age and he wondered idly if she was going to be defiant.

He pronounced Melita's sentence.

The weather at that time of year was still cool – not the best time for crucifixions since the condemned would simply die too quickly from the cold.

He gave her a date near the popular mid-summer festival and told her to surrender herself to the court at that time. That way she could expect warm weather for her crucifixion and she'd have a good audience to watch the whole process.

She nodded nervously to say she understood. She was tempted to ask if it was too late to make that plea for mercy. She inhaled and operned her mouth as if to speak. But then she decided that would be undignified and she didn't want the judge or her father to sense how scared she was. She closed her mouth and said nothing.

As a convicted and condemned criminal she would have the same status as the lowest slave girl until the execution.

The judge dismissed them and moved on to his next case.

She went home with her father.

She changed into a slave tunic later that day – she was so scared about doing that that she didn’t want to put it off until the next day.

She hated the garment at once. It was just a rectangle of cloth with a large oval for her head and neck, tied off with a cord around her waist. It hardly provided any coverage, especially when someone saw her from the side. But there was no avoiding the tunic so she tried to make the best of it. Mostly she hated it. Once in a while, in the right mood, it could be a little bit fun.

She tried to continue to be a dutiful daughter in spite of everything that happened. She cooked an evening meal like she always did. She continued to cook and clean and try to keep a nice house for her father, and mend his clothes. She wondered what he would do when she was gone. Would he get a servant or a slave? Would he make do on his own? She didn’t know.

She tried to stay pleasant with her father. He mostly he did the same. Overall their life went on just as it had before except for the tunic she had to wear and her sense of doom about the future.

None of this bothered Lucius at all. He found another pretty, bubbly teen who was willing, if not exactly eager, to be his wife. He went to the market and bought a gorgeous young slave girl. She was a blonde, obviously captured in a raid in the north and so she was rather expensive. He gave the slave girl to his new wife as a wedding present, to use or abuse any way she wanted.

Ironically, about two weeks before Melita was supposed to surrender herself back to the court, Lucius was out riding on his property when he was thrown from his horse, badly injured, and he died the next day. Melita realized that his young widow had just inherited quite a nice amount of wealth. If she wanted a man in her life then her combination of youth, beauty and wealth would be a powerful draw - she could probably have her choice of lots of men to marry. Or she could stay single, or spend more quality time with her sweet, golden-haired slave girl if that's what she enjoyed most.

In light of this death the judge in the case sent a messenger to Melita's father. He was an apprentice lawyer in training.

She noticed his nicely tailored, expensive clothing and guessed he was from a well-to-do family. Melita found him rather handsome.

She felt self-conscious and embarassed wearing her skimpy little slave tunic. She caught him making a sideways glance or two to check out her body which didn't have much coverage. This made her blush and feel nervous but she took it was a compliment too.

The young man asked her father if he still wanted the sentence carried out, or if he'd like to call the whole thing off.

Melita heart was beating hard. She watched her father with rapt attention and stayed silent.

Her father was thoughtfully silent a while too.

Then he inhaled and said, “Her defiance was not directed at Lucius but at me. She and I both understand there's a proper penalty for that.”

He looked over to Melita. “When we talked with the judge you were very brave and you told the him you did not want a pardon or mercy,” he said. “Isn't that right?”

“Um ... yes,” she said hesitantly.

Speaking to the young man again, her father said, “Please tell the honorable judge that my daughter wants the proper penalty carried out and I want the proper penalty carried out. We ask for nothing more and nothing less.”

The young man nodded. “I will bring that message back,” he said. “I think you're making the right choice,” he continued. “Many fathers would get squeemish in a case like this. But I think it's good not to go soft.”

To Melita he said, “I'm sure this must be very difficult and frightening. But you can be proud you're doing the honorable thing. You'll look fantastic and amazing. You'll probably get lots of onlookers. I may go watch for awhile myself.”

Melita felt rather stunned by all of this. She didn't quite know how to react. She just made a weak nod and said, “Okay.”

He turned back to Melita's father. “The birds are going to have quite a fun feast on this little morsel,” he said, gesturing to Melita.

“What??” she thought. “What does that mean??” She had always had a phobia about birds. She was stunned for a second. This thought was so scary she just decided to put it out of her mind.

The young man politely doffed his hat to both of them and left.

Then her father looked at Melita. “Bring me my supper, girl,” he said, as if nothing had happened.

On the morning she was due to report back to the court she was up well before dawn, far too nervous to sleep. She had never seen a crucifixion. She didn't know what to expect. She was a bright, smart girl. Her vivid imagination pictured many different, horrifying possibilities, and she worried that the reality was much worse than whatever she could imagine. Someone told her that birds were a threat to a person being crucified. That was among her biggest fears. She dealt with that fear by simply refusing to think about it.

She made a morning meal for her father, trying to concentrate on this routine task to calm her runaway worries. And she thoughtfully set out some food he could have for lunch too, after she was gone.

When her father was up she wanted to talk but didn’t quite know what to say. He seemed gruff and unfriendly for some reason.

As the sun started rising and the town started stirring, Melita knew it was time for her to leave.

Trying for some conversation she said, “I’ll miss you.”

He seemed angry. “Get out of my sight you little disobedient wretch. You’ve disgraced me in the eyes of my friends and I hope you suffer a long time. Go to your cross and think about the wrongs you’ve done.”

He went to the front door and opened it. Then he grabbed her by the arm, pushed her outside, and slammed the door behind her.

She didn't know what to make of this surprising outburst. It hurt her terribly. Earlier she had made a vow that she would turn herself in with dignity -- she would not cry or plead or resist the process. But she couldn't help getting tears in her eyes.

She knew that sometimes men had strong emotions that they would conceal by getting angry. That didn't make her feel any better or feel any less alone.

With some tears in her eyes and her heart beating with fear, she made her lonely way to the court to turn herself in.

They were expecting her. Within an hour she was at the execution place surrounded by a half-dozen soldiers with a no-nonsense attitude. One of the soldiers told her in a harsh, angry tone to get undressed.
 
Sure, no problem.
Hi DjEtla, you have developed an interesting concept.
Melita seems to be an ambivalent character - at once displaying defiance and submission towards her father's will.
It seems that she has plenty of opportunities to escape her ultimate punishment and the preceding humiliation, and thereby extend her defiance of this patriarchal society.
But instead, she readily submits to her fate, as if she has no alternative.

Perhaps she simply did not want to entertain any possible alternative...

Thanks for presenting your thought-provoking story. :)
 
Hunting Laura - A Dolcett-Inspired Story

“Okay, come out of the pen and gather around me,” Ann said in a serious tone to all the prey.

“I think you all know the rules. This is important so let's go over them one last time. Then you'll be on your way,” she said.

“I know you'll all be happy and eager to get started,” she said with a wry smile.

She looked at the note card in her hand.

"Timing: In a few minutes we’ll release you. You’ll get a four-hour head start. You're safe for that time.”

“Listen girls,” she said very seriously, “Each minute is precious so use each minute well. There’s no signal when the hunt starts so use your best guess. And don’t stick together – you’ll be caught easily. You need to disperse.”

“End time: The hunt lasts five days. When time is up you'll hear sirens -- they're all over the island and they're loud. If you're not 'harvested' or captured by then the sound means you're safe. You should move to any road or trail. Anyone who spots you will give aid and help you get back here. We'll be out looking for you.”

“Strategies: Some of the hunters will be stalking. Some will use dogs. Others like to get into a hidden position and wait.”

She looked around and could see we were all paying rapt attention.

“I'll let you all think about what strategies the hunters will use.”

She paused.

“You’re all smart. I’ll let you think about what your strategies will be to keep them challenged and keep you alive as long as possible.”

“After we took your clothes we spread them out for the dogs to sniff – about an hour ago. Oh Lord you should see them -- they've been having a grand old time just sniffin' and sniffin' their little hearts out! So if you're wondering, yeah, they have your scent pretty well in mind. You might want to think about that.”

“Rules: The dogs have to be on a leash and the owner has to hold the leash all the time. No hunters can to run -- they can move no faster than a brisk walk and we use GPS to prevent cheating. If you think you're being pursued I know it's tiring to move fast or far with your hands fastened behind you. But if you keep moving you might not be 'harvested.' Just watch out for the other hunters who are lying in wait.”

“Traps: We hidden a few bear traps around the island just to keep things interesting. This is a big place and you probably won't run into one. But you never know. It's something extra to think about as you're moving around. I think you all know what happens to those who are taken alive so you might want to keep that very fresh in your mind, okay?” she said, looking at all of us with a look of concern.

“Try your best. That’s the most important thing I can tell you. Even if you feel cold or ill or wounded or hungry don't despair. Keep trying all the time. The hunters are paying huge sums and they want a challenge. If you think you can’t go on, try to go on for a few more minutes – that might make all the difference,” she said with a tone of concern.

“Look,” she said, “If you survive the hunt there's a lot to look forward to. You'll get whatever medical care you need. We'll bring you back here to the holding cells. You'll get hot showers. You’ll get lots of great food. You’ll get to sleep at night a warm, soft cot. You can talk with the other survivors and hear the stories they have to tell, with important information about how you can survive in the future. It'll be a lot of fun to relax and recover from your ordeal. We'll keep you in the holding cells until the next hunt in a few months. We'll try to make it comfortable. So even if things look grim for you, keep trying your best every minute of the hunt and think about how nice it’ll be if you can make it to the end.”

“Release: If you survive 4 hunts this year you can be released. There's a prize worth five million dollars paid to you any way you like – in dollars, gold, Euros, bitcoin or whatever,” she said. “That sounds pretty good – doesn’t it?” she said with a smile.

“But look,” she said seriously, “I don't want to sugar-coat things, okay? You need to realize no one has ever made it. A few of our ‘prey’ have gotten close. Two hunts ago we had this one girl who made it to her fourth hunt. She was really excited, happy and bubbly to do her fourth hunt. I really thought she had a special talent for this. But I guess her luck ran out or she got overconfident. Anyway maybe one of you will be so skilled and so lucky that you'll pull it off. You definitely want to try very, very hard. And even if you don’t make it you should be happy knowing you gave the hunters a really tough, difficult challenge and that’s really what you’re here for.”

“We’ll get started in a few minutes,” she said.

"Any questions?"

[freeze frame – record scratch]

Yeah, it's me, Laura. You might wonder how a mild-mannered veterinary’s assistant ended up in this situation, naked with my arms fastened behind me and about to be hunted.

When I first learned about the hunt I was outraged. I thought it was horrible and unconscionable. I couldn’t understand how anyone could do this to another human being. And it was even harder to understand why anyone would agree to be hunted.

I guess my thoughts evolved. In spite of my shock I started to wonder what it would feel like. It became a fun little fantasy. I wondered how long I could last. “I'm smart. I'm tough. I'm comfortable outdoors,” I thought. “I bet I can do this.” Little by little I thought about it more.

I was starting to think about volunteering, then I learned a little more. I learned the “prey” is not only naked but have their hands and arms fastened firmly behind their back.

I was like, “No way – oh hell no!” That would make it much more difficult to move as far or as fast as I wanted. I thought that put the prey at far too much of a disadvantage and gave the hunters way too much of an advantage. Anyway, I thought, it’s humiliating enough to be hunted and to be naked – it’s horrible to be further humiliated that way.

Once again I guess my thoughts and feelings evolved. Having my arms bound back would be a big extra challenge. Since I wouldn’t be able to move quite as far or fast I’d have to use my brain and all of my other sense a whole lot more. I’d have to try far harder to really understand the terrain and figure out the best strategies to survive. Once again it became an interesting little fantasy. And on the positive side I learned the prey get to wear leather moccasins – that would definitely help me move around better than if I had to do it with bare feet. That would counterbalance some of the disadvantage of being bound. My mind inched closer to saying, “I’ll do it.”

I know this isn’t a smart decision. I know it’s not logical. Sometimes people are just quirky and complicated and not logical. Maybe there are other women who enjoy a fun little fantasy about being pursued. Maybe I just find it a little more fun than most. If I have to do it naked with my arms bound I guess that is quite a bit more scary but … somehow it’s really scary in a good way, and fun and sexy and extra challenging too.

I did some hunting with my dad when I was younger, with a pellet rifle or a small .22 – mostly rabbits, sometimes squirrels or whatever. God it was so much fun when I got one. Dad was so happy – he’d get a big, proud smile that just lit up the world for me. We’d clean it together. My mom and I would cook the meat in a flavorful stew with aromatic vegetables and herbs that filled the house with good smells. I’d feel so proud I was able to help with this meal.

Sometimes I felt a little bit sorry for the little critters. I used to wonder what they must think. Did they know they were prey? Did they feel shocked or frightened? I thought it must be scary, even horrible – but maybe kind of interesting too in a funny and exciting way. I guess I’m about to find out what it feels like.

The five million dollar prize would be extremely amazing and wonderful. I could pay off all my student loans in one swoop and have a lot left over. But deep down I didn't sign up for the money – it’s the challenge.

It's been fun and exciting so far. The limo to the airport was nice. They took me to the private jet terminal.

I went inside and the pretty young woman behind the counter said, “May I help you?” in a pleasant and crisp tone of voice.

I was feeling under dressed in a t-shirt, a denim skirt and sandals.

I wasn’t sure what to say. Was I supposed to say, “Um, I’m going to be prey for this strange hunt on a remote island….”

I thought for a second and said, “I’m Laura Simmons … and um … I think I’m supposed to fly to ….”

The young woman cut me off with a big, pretty smile and said, “Oh you’re Miss. Simmons. Of course we’ve been expecting you. Your plane is here and ready when you are. I hope you’ll find your flight very comfortable. Can I get you a drink while I let the crew know you’re here?”

I was surprised to get such a VIP reaction. I was flattered and a little uncomfortable. “No thanks,” I told her.

She told the crew I had arrived. As I was leaving the terminal the young woman at the counter said, “Take care.” She seemed to have a look of compassion and concern.

I wondered if she knew what I was in for. “Thanks,” I told her.

The flight on the private jet was a treat. The stewardess brought me a few little hors d’oeuves and asked if I wanted a glass of wine. I figured, “Why not?” and nodded to her. It was a lovely, cool and crisp white wine. I don’t usually drink much so it made me light headed. Later she brought a light dinner. For desert there was a small slice of a lovely fruit tart.

I was starting to feel like a princess. I thought, “When I was thinking about volunteering no one told me about the limo or the private jet. If I’d known about these things I might have volunteered sooner.”

When I got to the island they put me in a comfortable room by myself. It was a little bit like being in jail because I couldn’t leave. But it was okay. Ann came by to visit and chat each day. I had time for exercise on the treadmill in the room. I had access to books and music. The food and drink they brought were quite good. Dinner each night came with a small bottle of champagne – enough for a glass or two and that was really nice. I felt like a princess who was in captivity. The time passed quickly.

One day Ann came by and told me to be ready to leave. All the new prey would be moved to a holding pen the next day and the hunt would start the day after that. It was scary news but kind of fun too. Ann gave me a small package – she said it was the uniform I was supposed to wear the next day for the move to the holding pen. She told me to get a great nights sleep since sleep would be more difficult from here on out, especially during the hunt.

When she left I opened the package to see the “uniform.” I had to laugh. It was a pair of tiny, stretchy, little black booty-shorts. There was also a really small, stretchy white tank top. On the front and back of the tank top, in big black block letters it said “PREY.”

The tank top seemed like fun and I had to try it on right away. Seeing myself in the mirror was very cool.

There were a pair of leather moccasins too. They were simple but pretty with beautiful stitching that looked handmade.

The next morning I showered and gladly got dressed. I didn’t know if I was allowed to wear panties or a bra. I figured “probably not.” So I didn’t wear any. The tank top was kind of semi-sheer and it didn’t hide much – I guess that’s the point.

I didn’t know what the “holding cell” would be like. I was looking forward to meeting the other girls.

At mid-morning Ann came by and told me it was time to depart. I linked up with four other girls. We were all wearing our PREY tank tops and I had to smile at that.

As we moved toward the holding cell I could see other people moving around us. I wondered who they were. Where they hunters? Were they staff who help the hunt go smoothly?

Anyone who saw the five us together in a group would have no doubt about what we were there for.

I got to chat briefly with a couple of the other girls. We were all new at this.

One of them, named Maggie, caught my attention at once. There was something about her body language and the confident, happy way she wore her “prey” clothing that made her stand out.

I also noticed another girl, named Annie, and we chatted a bit. I got the opposite impression from her – she seemed extra nervous and worried. She seemed like a somewhat “fragile” personality if that’s the right word. I had to wonder, “Sweetheart, do you know what you’re doing? Do you realize what you volunteered for?” But I didn’t say anything like that.

We got to the holding cell soon enough. It was a simple outdoor pen made of steel bars, about ten feet square, with a ceiling of steel bars also. The floor was dirt.

Ann said there was no rush to go in. She wanted us to get some group photos first.

There was a photographer nearby who came over to us.

We gathered for a few pictures with Ann in the photo. And we took a few pictures with just the five prey girls.

The photographer was a young woman about our age. She was dressed differently – in khaki pants, brown shoes suited for rough terrain, and a denim shirt.

She seemed to know what she was doing. She helped us get into lots of different poses and took a variety of shots.

Then Ann told us it was time to go into the pen. She said it was traditional for all the prey to spend about 24 hours there before the hunt.

“So girls,” she asked with a smile. “Who’s the first one who wants to go into the cage? Who is going to set a good example for the others.” She looked at us all.

There was a pause. Maggie spoke up. “I’ll do it,” she said.

She walked over to the open door of the pen.

“Am I just supposed to get naked right here, right out in the open?” she asked.

Amy nodded.

Maggie turned to the rest of us. “Oh come on girls,” she said. “If I’m going to do this I need some encouragement,” she said. “I know you can all give me a cheer and some clapping.”

It was a great suggestion. The rest of us liked that idea – I think we all got a big smile, started clapping and cheering and whistling for Maggie. Someone called out, “Take it all off – you know you want to!”

She got a smile at that. “That’s better,” she said. She took off all her clothes without too much delay.

When she was done she lifted her arms as high overhead as she could and twirled around in a full circle to show off her bare naked body with a smile.

We all cheered nice and loud for her.

With a smile she walked into the pen. “See girls, it’s not that hard,” she said. “Who’s next?”

I guess I was feeling bold. Or I wanted to pretend I was feeling bold. “I’ll do it,” I said and walked over to the doorway to the pen.

All the other girls cheered and clapped while I got undressed. I was blushing like crazy. But I also had a big smile I guess. It was funny to be the center of so much attention while I was taking off all my clothes, maybe for the last time in my life.

When I was totally bare I copied Maggie’s example. I raised my arms up straight over my head as high as I could did a full-circle twirl in front of everyone while they clapped and whistled. I walked into the pen to join Maggie. She gave me a big hug – that felt funny since we were both bare but it felt good too.

[Continued below.]
 
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HUNTING LAURA - A DOLCETT-INSPIRED STORY (cont.)

One by one all the other girls got undressed and put on their little show before they stepped inside. I think we were all having a lot of fun clapping for each girl to encourage her.

I was a little concerned about Annie. I noticed she held back. When there was no one left but her to get undressed we all cheered extra for her. She seemed worried and nervous but also had a smile. She came out of her shell a little bit and managed to get undressed without too much trouble. Like the rest of us she held her arms high overhead and did a naked twirl when she was done. We gave her some applause and whistles. She had a smile but then buried her face in her hands from embarrassment as she hopped into the pen.

I heard there were a few other prey girls who had survived prior hunts and who would join us later. I’m not sure why those girls were kept separate – maybe the management didn’t want them to share any secrets with us about how to survive.

Ann told us we’d get plenty of food and water. She advised us to get all the food and water and rest we could, to be in the best possible condition for the hunt. She closed the door and put a big old padlock on it with a “snick.” She jerked hard on the lock a couple of times, making a loud banging sound each time. It was like she wanted to ensure the lock was closed up tight. And it was like she wanted to demonstrate to all of us that we were firmly locked in place.

“Look,” she said. “You probably have lots of really strong emotions. I know I would. You should work hard to stay upbeat – that will help you do your best. I mean obviously I think you should be frightened – it’s a frightening situation. But try to stay frightened in a good way if you know what I mean – realize the seriousness of your situation. Think about the challenges ahead with optimism and good cheer. Try to keep an attitude of ‘I can do this.’”

“Goodnight girls,” she said. “Tomorrow is a big day. I’m sure you’ll all do real well.” She left us alone.

Wow, she was right about having strong emotions. I had a tempest of strong feelings as I looked around at the cage and tried to collect my thoughts.

Part of me was confused and angry at the whole situation. I looked around at the other girls. They were all so different – all so gorgeous and smart and funny, so full of life and warmth. People with guns were going to hunt us – and kill us if they could. And for what – so some wealthy hunter could have a couple days of sport? It was incredibly outrageous. It was so unfair! People were going to have their fun by trying to hunt down each girl while she’s defenseless and take her life. The fact we were volunteers doesn’t make this okay or make it less horrible. I knew that if I kept thinking about it I’d get more angry and upset and frustrated about what was ahead for us. I didn’t want to start crying.

Also, okay, part of me was kind of turned on. Being locked up naked with all the other girls was kind of fun and sexy. Waiting to be hunted was an exciting feeling in a really dark way.

I thought about what Ann told us, about trying to stay optimistic. I promised myself I’d try to help the other girls stay positive, especially if having a good attitude might help them survive.

The other girls must have had some similar thoughts because everyone was surprisingly upbeat. With everyone in a really good mood I thought that our time in captivity in the holding pen might be a lot of fun.

In the end it was even better than I expected. We didn’t have any distractions like a phone or book or magazine. We had a chance to talk, laugh, joke around and share compliments. And we all had a chance to do … well, other things. It was probably the last few days of life for some of us. We all decided it wasn’t a good time to be prudish if you know what I mean. If I have to die maybe it’s nice to go with good memories fresh in my mind and a smile on my face.

I thought about the hunters. Did they get together the night before a hunt to share some food, have a drink and talk among themselves? If so I almost felt sad and sorry for the hunters because I bet they didn’t have nearly as much fun that we did locked together in the holding pen.

We talked and laughed until pretty late into the night. I knew we were supposed to get good sleep. I wasn’t sure how we could get comfortable for sleep while locked in a holding pen with no cots or anything like that. Well, I figured, animals don’t get cots when they’re in a pen or a stall. I guess animals have to figure it out somehow and we were being treated like animals. In the end we snuggled up. I wasn’t all that comfortable but it was fun in other ways and I think I got a few hours of sleep.

Pretty early the next morning, around dawn, Ann came over to the pen and opened the door. She was carrying a canvas case.

I had a hunch what was in it.

“Okay my gorgeous ladies,” she said with a smile. “I have good news. I know you’re all looking forward to this part.”

She looked around at us all and paused for a moment. “Annie,” she said, “You were the last one to go into the pen. Why don’t you be the brave one this morning and go first for us. How would you feel about that?”

Annie got a wide-eyed look of fright. I thought she was going to say, “No” or try to move away and hide in the back of the pen.

All the rest of us cheered for her and clapped and said, “You can do it.”

Reluctantly she went over to the door.

“Turn away from me, sweetheart,” Ann said nicely. “Put your arms behind you.”

Annie did what she was told – none too enthusiastically.

“My you have slim little wrists,” Ann said, “But don’t you worry your pretty little head. I have sizes that will fit you perfectly and hold you nice and firm.”

One by one we each got handcuffs fitted on our writs. It was a slow process. Ann took her time with each person to make sure she had just the right size and that they were closed up nice and snug.

The cuffs themselves were some kind of nylon that was reasonably soft and comfortable. They didn’t pinch or bind like steel police handcuffs do. I guess the cuffs have some kind of steel strap inside the nylon because good Lord they feel really tough and firm around my wrists – there is no way they are coming off. Between the two nylon cuffs there was one single link of chain. I could still move my arms a little but mostly I was quite well restrained.

The whole process of getting cuffed wasn’t as grim or scary as I thought it would be. Lots of use were laughing and talking and having fun. When it was my turn I guess I was pretty quick and eager to hop over to Ann with a nervous smile. I was quick to turn away from her and quick to put my arms behind me without being asked. I waited patiently while she selected the right size and got them fastened on me nice and snug. It was kind of fun and sexy to be handcuffed and naked among other beautiful women who were the same way I was.

After that we got breakfast. Ann told us to eat up big and drink lots of water. This would be that last regular meal and we’d need every possible calorie to have any chance during the hunt.

For breakfast they brought a short bench into the cell. The bench had five plates attached to it and five bowls also. They filled each bowl with water and put food on each plate.

I had to sigh. In some ways I didn’t want to eat in such an awkward and humiliating way. But I knew the food was critical. And anyway, it was all part of the process so I might as well try to do it and have fun. We all gathered together on our knees, shoulder to shoulder to take in the food and water. To anyone watching us we might have looked a little like five barnyard animals gathered together at a food trough.

The food was good – a breakfast hash with finely diced potatoes, meat, eggs, vegetables and more, nicely seasoned. I took it all in. I took in all the water I could too.

The next few hours were fun. We were all really nervous and excited – we talked a lot the way women do when they’re nervous. We all tried to keep each other upbeat.

I could see people milling around about a hundred yards away. I thought I saw one or two with rifles – they must be hunters I thought. Seeing the rifles made me almost gasp – the guns made me feel extra nervous and naked and helpless. Having my arms fastened back made me feel even more incredibly vulnerable. I felt like the handcuffs were gripping my wrists tighter than ever. I had no more chance to defend myself than the rabbits and squirrels I used to hunt. It was a struggle to keep an upbeat attitude.

I wondered what the hunters were thinking. What did it feel like to hunt down another human being?

Off in the distance I thought I saw a woman with a rifle. That was a shock and a surprise. I guess I had always assumed all the hunters were men. Was it possible there was a lady hunter too? It was an odd thought. I asked myself how I felt about that. If I knew I was being pursued through the woods would it make any difference if I knew the hunter was a man or a woman? It felt like the answer was definitely “Yes,” it would feel very different for me. But it was hard to explain exactly why or how it would feel so different.

Some of them looked our direction but no one came over to talk.

As the start time got close there was not as much laughter. I was thinking, “Wow -- this is real. These people are really going to try to hunt me and kill me.” And good Lord – I don't even want to think about the things that will happen to someone who gets captured alive. It's starting to feel ‘too real’ if you know what I mean. “Maybe this was not a good idea,” I thought, “But it's too late to back out now.” I just had to do my best.

Around 10:00 am Ann came over to the pen. She opened the door.

“Okay, come out of the pen and gather around me,” Ann said in a serious tone.

“I think you all know the rules. This is important so let's go over them one last time. Then you'll be on your way,” she said.

She went over the rules and asked if there were questions.

No one had questions.

“Okay here’s what I want you all to do,” Ann said. “I’ll release you all very soon, one at a time about a minute or two apart.”

“We have a fun little tradition called ‘running the prey,’” she said. “Do you see the chalk lines in the ground?” She pointed to them. There were two parallel lines about four feet apart. They went off into the distance as far as I could see.

“Just stay between the chalk lines about a mile,” she said. They end in a clearing. After that you’re free to disperse any direction you want. The island is a big place and we only have a limited number of hunters so if you all get very widely spread out that’ll be the best chance for some of you to survive.”

“Now here’s the fun part,” she said. “As you run between the lines it’s a chance for all the hunters to gather along the path and get a great look at each of you. It’s their one chance to see all the gorgeous prey girls.”

What? I thought.

“We learned that when the hunters get a really good look at all the beautiful prey it helps them get focused and motivated to do their very best,” she said.

“Your most important task is to move quickly. Each moment is precious. You're literally running for your life,” she said. “But when you’re moving past the hunters think about making a good impression too. They’ll be watching you all very closely. I know you all want the hunters to do their best so this event will be really fun for them and as challenging and exciting as possible for you -- not just for you but for all the other prey girls too. So help the hunters feel motivated. Keep a good expression. Keep your chin up. Keep your shoulders back. Show them how extremely gorgeous and happy and high-spirited you are. They'll like that and it'll help them do their best.”

I had to smile and shake my head ruefully at that. I should have guessed there’d be some final humiliations in store for us as the hunt got started. Just thinking about the upcoming hunt made me feel sad and sick with worry. The thought of helping the hunters get motivated seemed horrible -- not just for what that might mean for me but for all of the girls. But on the other hand it was kind of a funny idea to let them think I felt really excited and happy about being the prey. I could try to keep my chin up and other great body language so they think I'm having a great time.

Up ahead, on either side of the chalk lines, I could see that people had gathered close to watch all of us as we moved along the path.

Behind us I noticed a pickup truck had pulled up. In the bed of the truck was a small jail cell and it looked like there were four women inside, naked with her hands bound back.

“Those are the survivors from previous hunts,” Ann told us. “We’ll release them as soon as all of you are released, so each one of them can make their run by the crowd.”

A few minutes later Ann released Maggie.

“I’ll see you all when the hunt is done girls!” she said in a big, fun smile. “Be good.”

She took off down the pathway between the chalk lines.

She’s a beautiful, graceful girl. But with her arms bound behind her she couldn’t run well. Her stride was an awkward, unnatural jog that called attention to her hips and shoulders and chest. If she felt embarrassed or reluctant to be seen this way by the crowd ahead she didn’t let it show. She moved out along the pathway about as fast as she could go toward the people waiting ahead of her.

Like many of us her hair was up in a pony tail. It was not the most sensible hairstyle for someone whose life depends on staying hidden. But hey, a girl likes to look pretty. Her pony tail swayed and bounced in a cute, eye-catching way as she moved.

Ann told me “You’re next, sweetheart,” She raised her hand. “Go when I drop my arm. Good luck.”

I was breathing really deep. I looked straight down the path, between the groups of people gathered on either side of the gauntlet. I could see Maggie off in the distance, moving quick.

God I never felt so scared and vulnerable in my life. Excited too. I turned to the others. “Good luck girls,” I said hurriedly.

A moment later Ann dropped her arm. “Go ahead,” she said.

Yikes. Here I go. Wish me luck.

[End of Part 1.]
 
“Okay, come out of the pen and gather around me,” Ann said in a serious tone to all the prey.

“I think you all know the rules. This is important so let's go over them one last time. Then you'll be on your way,” she said.

“I know you'll all be happy and eager to get started,” she said with a wry smile.

She looked at the note card in her hand.

"Timing: In a few minutes we’ll release you. You’ll get a four-hour head start. You're safe for that time.”

“Listen girls,” she said very seriously, “Each minute is precious so use each minute well. There’s no signal when the hunt starts so use your best guess. And don’t stick together – you’ll be caught easily. You need to disperse.”

“End time: The hunt lasts five days. When time is up you'll hear sirens -- they're all over the island and they're loud. If you're not 'harvested' or captured by then the sound means you're safe. You should move to any road or trail. Anyone who spots you will give aid and help you get back here. We'll be out looking for you.”

“Strategies: Some of the hunters will be stalking. Some will use dogs. Others like to get into a hidden position and wait.”

She looked around and could see we were all paying rapt attention.

“I'll let you all think about what strategies the hunters will use.”

She paused.

“You’re all smart. I’ll let you think about what your strategies will be to keep them challenged and keep you alive as long as possible.”

“After we took your clothes we spread them out for the dogs to sniff – about an hour ago. Oh Lord you should see them -- they've been having a grand old time just sniffin' and sniffin' their little hearts out! So if you're wondering, yeah, they have your scent pretty well in mind. You might want to think about that.”

“Rules: The dogs have to be on a leash and the owner has to hold the leash all the time. No hunters can to run -- they can move no faster than a brisk walk and we use GPS to prevent cheating. If you think you're being pursued I know it's tiring to move fast or far with your hands fastened behind you. But if you keep moving you might not be 'harvested.' Just watch out for the other hunters who are lying in wait.”

“Traps: We hidden a few bear traps around the island just to keep things interesting. This is a big place and you probably won't run into one. But you never know. It's something extra to think about as you're moving around. I think you all know what happens to those who are taken alive so you might want to keep that very fresh in your mind, okay?” she said, looking at all of us with a look of concern.

“Try your best. That’s the most important thing I can tell you. Even if you feel cold or ill or wounded or hungry don't despair. Keep trying all the time. The hunters are paying huge sums and they want a challenge. If you think you can’t go on, try to go on for a few more minutes – that might make all the difference,” she said with a tone of concern.

“Look,” she said, “If you survive the hunt there's a lot to look forward to. You'll get whatever medical care you need. We'll bring you back here to the holding cells. You'll get hot showers. You’ll get lots of great food. You’ll get to sleep at night a warm, soft cot. You can talk with the other survivors and hear the stories they have to tell, with important information about how you can survive in the future. It'll be a lot of fun to relax and recover from your ordeal. We'll keep you in the holding cells until the next hunt in a few months. We'll try to make it comfortable. So even if things look grim for you, keep trying your best every minute of the hunt and think about how nice it’ll be if you can make it to the end.”

“Release: If you survive 4 hunts this year you can be released. There's a prize worth five million dollars paid to you any way you like – in dollars, gold, Euros, bitcoin or whatever,” she said. “That sounds pretty good – doesn’t it?” she said with a smile.

“But look,” she said seriously, “I don't want to sugar-coat things, okay? You need to realize no one has ever made it. A few of our ‘prey’ have gotten close. Two hunts ago we had this one girl who made it to her fourth hunt. She was really excited, happy and bubbly to do her fourth hunt. I really thought she had a special talent for this. But I guess her luck ran out or she got overconfident. Anyway maybe one of you will be so skilled and so lucky that you'll pull it off. You definitely want to try very, very hard. And even if you don’t make it you should be happy knowing you gave the hunters a really tough, difficult challenge and that’s really what you’re here for.”

“We’ll get started in a few minutes,” she said.

"Any questions?"

[freeze frame – record scratch]

Yeah, it's me, Laura. You might wonder how a mild-mannered veterinary’s assistant ended up in this situation, naked with my arms fastened behind me and about to be hunted.

When I first learned about the hunt I was outraged. I thought it was horrible and unconscionable. I couldn’t understand how anyone could do this to another human being. And it was even harder to understand why anyone would agree to be hunted.

I guess my thoughts evolved. In spite of my shock I started to wonder what it would feel like. It became a fun little fantasy. I wondered how long I could last. “I'm smart. I'm tough. I'm comfortable outdoors,” I thought. “I bet I can do this.” Little by little I thought about it more.

I was starting to think about volunteering, then I learned a little more. I learned the “prey” is not only naked but have their hands and arms fastened firmly behind their back.

I was like, “No way – oh hell no!” That would make it much more difficult to move as far or as fast as I wanted. I thought that put the prey at far too much of a disadvantage and gave the hunters way too much of an advantage. Anyway, I thought, it’s humiliating enough to be hunted and to be naked – it’s horrible to be further humiliated that way.

Once again I guess my thoughts and feelings evolved. Having my arms bound back would be a big extra challenge. Since I wouldn’t be able to move quite as far or fast I’d have to use my brain and all of my other sense a whole lot more. I’d have to try far harder to really understand the terrain and figure out the best strategies to survive. Once again it became an interesting little fantasy. And on the positive side I learned the prey get to wear leather moccasins – that would definitely help me move around better than if I had to do it with bare feet. That would counterbalance some of the disadvantage of being bound. My mind inched closer to saying, “I’ll do it.”

I know this isn’t a smart decision. I know it’s not logical. Sometimes people are just quirky and complicated and not logical. Maybe there are other women who enjoy a fun little fantasy about being pursued. Maybe I just find it a little more fun than most. If I have to do it naked with my arms bound I guess that is quite a bit more scary but … somehow it’s really scary in a good way, and fun and sexy and extra challenging too.

I did some hunting with my dad when I was younger, with a pellet rifle or a small .22 – mostly rabbits, sometimes squirrels or whatever. God it was so much fun when I got one. Dad was so happy – he’d get a big, proud smile that just lit up the world for me. We’d clean it together. My mom and I would cook the meat in a flavorful stew with aromatic vegetables and herbs that filled the house with good smells. I’d feel so proud I was able to help with this meal.

Sometimes I felt a little bit sorry for the little critters. I used to wonder what they must think. Did they know they were prey? Did they feel shocked or frightened? I thought it must be scary, even horrible – but maybe kind of interesting too in a funny and exciting way. I guess I’m about to find out what it feels like.

The five million dollar prize would be extremely amazing and wonderful. I could pay off all my student loans in one swoop and have a lot left over. But deep down I didn't sign up for the money – it’s the challenge.

It's been fun and exciting so far. The limo to the airport was nice. They took me to the private jet terminal.

I went inside and the pretty young woman behind the counter said, “May I help you?” in a pleasant and crisp tone of voice.

I was feeling under dressed in a t-shirt, a denim skirt and sandals.

I wasn’t sure what to say. Was I supposed to say, “Um, I’m going to be prey for this strange hunt on a remote island….”

I thought for a second and said, “I’m Laura Simmons … and um … I think I’m supposed to fly to ….”

The young woman cut me off with a big, pretty smile and said, “Oh you’re Miss. Simmons. Of course we’ve been expecting you. Your plane is here and ready when you are. I hope you’ll find your flight very comfortable. Can I get you a drink while I let the crew know you’re here?”

I was surprised to get such a VIP reaction. I was flattered and a little uncomfortable. “No thanks,” I told her.

She told the crew I had arrived. As I was leaving the terminal the young woman at the counter said, “Take care.” She seemed to have a look of compassion and concern.

I wondered if she knew what I was in for. “Thanks,” I told her.

The flight on the private jet was a treat. The stewardess brought me a few little hors d’oeuves and asked if I wanted a glass of wine. I figured, “Why not?” and nodded to her. It was a lovely, cool and crisp white wine. I don’t usually drink much so it made me light headed. Later she brought a light dinner. For desert there was a small slice of a lovely fruit tart.

I was starting to feel like a princess. I thought, “When I was thinking about volunteering no one told me about the limo or the private jet. If I’d known about these things I might have volunteered sooner.”

When I got to the island they put me in a comfortable room by myself. It was a little bit like being in jail because I couldn’t leave. But it was okay. Ann came by to visit and chat each day. I had time for exercise on the treadmill in the room. I had access to books and music. The food and drink they brought were quite good. Dinner each night came with a small bottle of champagne – enough for a glass or two and that was really nice. I felt like a princess who was in captivity. The time passed quickly.

One day Ann came by and told me to be ready to leave. All the new prey would be moved to a holding pen the next day and the hunt would start the day after that. It was scary news but kind of fun too. Ann gave me a small package – she said it was the uniform I was supposed to wear the next day for the move to the holding pen. She told me to get a great nights sleep since sleep would be more difficult from here on out, especially during the hunt.

When she left I opened the package to see the “uniform.” I had to laugh. It was a pair of tiny, stretchy, little black booty-shorts. There was also a really small, stretchy white tank top. On the front and back of the tank top, in big black block letters it said “PREY.”

The tank top seemed like fun and I had to try it on right away. Seeing myself in the mirror was very cool.

There were a pair of leather moccasins too. They were simple but pretty with beautiful stitching that looked handmade.

The next morning I showered and gladly got dressed. I didn’t know if I was allowed to wear panties or a bra. I figured “probably not.” So I didn’t wear any. The tank top was kind of semi-sheer and it didn’t hide much – I guess that’s the point.

I didn’t know what the “holding cell” would be like. I was looking forward to meeting the other girls.

At mid-morning Ann came by and told me it was time to depart. I linked up with four other girls. We were all wearing our PREY tank tops and I had to smile at that.

As we moved toward the holding cell I could see other people moving around us. I wondered who they were. Where they hunters? Were they staff who help the hunt go smoothly?

Anyone who saw the five us together in a group would have no doubt about what we were there for.

I got to chat briefly with a couple of the other girls. We were all new at this.

One of them, named Maggie, caught my attention at once. There was something about her body language and the confident, happy way she wore her “prey” clothing that made her stand out.

I also noticed another girl, named Annie, and we chatted a bit. I got the opposite impression from her – she seemed extra nervous and worried. She seemed like a somewhat “fragile” personality if that’s the right word. I had to wonder, “Sweetheart, do you know what you’re doing? Do you realize what you volunteered for?” But I didn’t say anything like that.

We got to the holding cell soon enough. It was a simple outdoor pen made of steel bars, about ten feet square, with a ceiling of steel bars also. The floor was dirt.

Ann said there was no rush to go in. She wanted us to get some group photos first.

There was a photographer nearby who came over to us.

We gathered for a few pictures with Ann in the photo. And we took a few pictures with just the five prey girls.

The photographer was a young woman about our age. She was dressed differently – in khaki pants, brown shoes suited for rough terrain, and a denim shirt.

She seemed to know what she was doing. She helped us get into lots of different poses and took a variety of shots.

Then Ann told us it was time to go into the pen. She said it was traditional for all the prey to spend about 24 hours there before the hunt.

“So girls,” she asked with a smile. “Who’s the first one who wants to go into the cage? Who is going to set a good example for the others.” She looked at us all.

There was a pause. Maggie spoke up. “I’ll do it,” she said.

She walked over to the open door of the pen.

“Am I just supposed to get naked right here, right out in the open?” she asked.

Amy nodded.

Maggie turned to the rest of us. “Oh come on girls,” she said. “If I’m going to do this I need some encouragement,” she said. “I know you can all give me a cheer and some clapping.”

It was a great suggestion. The rest of us liked that idea – I think we all got a big smile, started clapping and cheering and whistling for Maggie. Someone called out, “Take it all off – you know you want to!”

She got a smile at that. “That’s better,” she said. She took off all her clothes without too much delay.

When she was done she lifted her arms as high overhead as she could and twirled around in a full circle to show off her bare naked body with a smile.

We all cheered nice and loud for her.

With a smile she walked into the pen. “See girls, it’s not that hard,” she said. “Who’s next?”

I guess I was feeling bold. Or I wanted to pretend I was feeling bold. “I’ll do it,” I said and walked over to the doorway to the pen.

All the other girls cheered and clapped while I got undressed. I was blushing like crazy. But I also had a big smile I guess. It was funny to be the center of so much attention while I was taking off all my clothes, maybe for the last time in my life.

When I was totally bare I copied Maggie’s example. I raised my arms up straight over my head as high as I could did a full-circle twirl in front of everyone while they clapped and whistled. I walked into the pen to join Maggie. She gave me a big hug – that felt funny since we were both bare but it felt good too.

[Continued below.]
Nice start. Good writing and an enticing premise. I look forward to the hunt.
Not sure why the girls would have their hands tied. You don't hobble a deer before a hunt.
 
Love the concept. Nice writing and detailing. I wrote a story with a similar theme sometime back, entitled "And the Waters ran Red"


Eulalia also has explored the idea of a hunt with her linkie story.

Looking forward to how you develop this one.
 
Not sure why the girls would have their hands tied. You don't hobble a deer before a hunt.

Thank you for taking the time to comment.

I thought the purpose of the restraints was obvious but you're not the first person to ask. So the reasoning in the story must be vague.

It's harder and more tiring for the girls to move when they can't use their arms -- running is almost impossible and even jogging is more difficult and tiring. So it's a built-in disadvantage for the prey. It gives an advantage to the hunters that makes it easier for them to be successful. That's one reason.

Plus I think the female body looks best with arms bound back so that's how I wrote the story. I figure the hunters enjoy seeing the beauty and the look of extra vulnerability in the prey.
 
I love the tantalising unspoken "Fate worse than death" outcome if caught alive, and the very remote chance that the prey will be released with riches. Us readers can then imagine what fate we want to see, and calculate the odds on Laura being the first survivor. Active involvement in the story, even if only as brief thoughts while doing the washing-up, turn a tale into an epic.
 
It's always a treat to get a comment from you. Thanks very much. I liked writing this and so far it seems to be popular with a number of readers.

There's no "edit" button at this site, is there? I've been changing and developing this story at DA using their "edit" feature and I feel it's gotten better over the last week or so -- trying to highlight the mixed feelings of terror and excitement in the main character. I don't know if there's a way to post the most up-to-date version of this story here. If not -- no problem. I think the reader here will understand the basic thrust of the story.
 
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