It was a simple blind date, set up by Lucy, a girlfriend of mine.  She said Bob was just this guy she knew from high school.  She said it would be nice if I showed him a good time.

That was easy, I liked him from the start.  I especially liked his scent, which was very musky and I guessed not from any bottle.  He was dressed in tight Jeans (Wow) a fitted western shirt, and pointy toed, high heeled cowboy boots.  We went out to dinner at the Top of the Mark.  He wined me and dined me and then he charmed me right out of my freedom.

Somewhere after midnight my fourth drink tasted kind of funny and then a few minutes later I fell down.  When I woke up I was gagged with a large sponge and hogtied in the totally dark luggage compartment of what sounded like a small jet airplane. 

Worst of all, I'd been split up the middle with a bungee cord cooze cutter that rubbed my clit constantly.  Thus, every twitch of my pinioned arms was being delivered straight to my pussy. 

Screaming for help was senseless.  We were obviously airborne, between the roar of the jet engines and the sponge in my mouth I could not even hope to be heard in the cabin.  And the cabin probably didn't have any potential friends of mine in it anyway.

After first convincing myself that I wasn't going to escape my bondage, I settled down to fantasizing about what would be done with, to and for me.  Hope springs eternal.

You see, I thought I knew what was going on.  Lucy knows my secrets.  We two first met at Molly's North Beach BDSM bar, and within a month we'd shared our first session on stage, bottoming for Bull, Molly's big studly friend from Portland.  She knows I like pretending.  I convinced myself that sometime very soon I would discover it was all brain fucking, as Molly's jenny calls it.

The Moll Flanders Empire has grown to cover the globe now.  She has BDSM clubs in most major cities, plus ranches, farms, camps, cruise ships and castles all over.  Her gross income almost qualifies her for admission to the G8.  It is just amazing to me what people are willing to pay for sexual fulfillment.

The wheels went down and a few seconds later the runway came up and squawked the tires.  We taxied for a long time and when they opened the hatch I realized for the first time that I was in a dog crate.  I'd been stripped to my bra and panties, my elbows had been drawn tight together behind my back, and my wrists had been bound down between my ass cheeks with a rope running between my legs and up through my sex.

Through the thin black cloth fixed over the crate's breathing holes, I could see seven more crates just like mine being loaded into a truck.  The plane was parked inside a hangar, well away from any possible witnesses.  I was lifted by two men and carried up into the back of the truck.  I got a quick glimpse of a big sign that said Welcome To Missoula and then the truck's back door was closed down.  In the darkness I tried again to find a way out of my fix.  I kicked and squirmed, gaining nothing but more rope burns, and the kindling of a small fire between my legs. 

I had to ask myself, even if I did get free of the ropes, could I then escape the heavy-duty crate?  And if I got out of the crate how would I then get out of the truck?

There were no answers.  I could only lie there and think.

The truck had springs like a truck and we must have hit every bump on that dusty dirt mountain road. 

We got to the ranch just at dawn.  When the door opened there were about fifty applauding, camouflage wearing hunters waiting for the eight of us.  Each of them was wearing clown makeup and from their voices I deduced they were mostly male but with a seasoning of dyke.  If ever I could have broken free, that would have been the moment, for the surge of adrenalin I felt gave me the strength of ten hogtied young women.

Our crates were carried into a stable office and stacked two high against a wall.  When the workmen left I was able to look out and see that we were alone with a man, dressed in camouflage and masked in the pure white slap that only Mr. Whiteface, the boss clown, wears. 

I wondered briefly if Lucy told him I am terrified of clowns but after hearing the gag muffled sounds of panic coming from the other crates, came to the conclusion that it is probably a common phobia.

"Welcome to my mountain, ladies," he said with Bob's voice, "I am called Mountain Man and I think I can guarantee you will find the rest of this week to be highly stimulating."  As he spoke he was opening cages and carefully lifting out each of the half naked, gagged and hogtied captives in turn.  "At the end of the week each of you will be returned to your former lives, unharmed but probably changed in several important ways." 

"You will be held in bondage.  Your week will be highly eventful.  You will be sexually tortured but no lasting harm will come to you.  Under pain of balancing, the guests will treat you with care, while at the same time fucking you silly.  Some of you will want to stay longer or come back.  I'm sorry but we have one strict rule here.  The Man on the Mountain experience is a once in a lifetime event.  No one ever, and I mean ever, gets two trips to my mountain.  This is because I have far too many people waiting for their turn for anyone to be taking seconds."

"This is a pay as you play facility." He continued, opening the cages and removing each captive's gag as he spoke.  "The fact that you are here means someone knows of your sexual preference and has paid a substantial fee for you.  You can bet that person is most likely one of the paying guests here, you will probably guess who he or she is before the week is out."

I looked at the other girls, half expecting to see Lucy among them.  She was not.  Was she one of the dikes in the crowd?  It didn't seem likely, after all she is a pure bottom, not a switch like me. 

Moving from one prisoner to the next, Bob was giving us each a can of chocolate flavored Nutra-Shake as he explained, "Now, here's the deal. We have 36 square miles of heavily forested game preserve here.  There is a four-meter tall, electrified fence around the whole place.  You will be turned out, dressed and bound as you are but with your legs free.  If one of the hunters catches you he or she gets to keep and use you until the next dawn."

"Obviously the longer you spend in the woods, the shorter the time you spend back here at the weigh in party.  You may use that fact in your thinking, one way or the other.  At the weigh in, once everyone has been brought in, the guests act pretty much like untamed perverts.  That can be pretty hard on a small group of young, helpless captives but I know you will find it . . . interesting.  Each of you are known pain sluts.  Each of you has been sponsored by someone who has sworn that you will enjoy this week in orgasmic sub space.  

"At the crack of each dawn, you will be released for another try inside the fence.  Any questions?  Good, now go out there and give them a run for their money."

Ten minutes later the eight of us were lying on a strip of lawn, outside the old barn.  Each was dressed in nothing but panties and a bra, each hogtied as I was, bound at elbows and wrists and fixed with a cooze rope so that to struggle was to be cut up the middle.  Our legs were still folded tight and bound so that our heels were held tight against our bottoms. 

Standing in a big semicircle around us were the fifty "Hunters".  Each of them was armed with a lariat and completely unrecognizable in slapstick makeup.  Several of the men were already tenting their cammies.  The sight of them standing there, obviously filled with naked lust, made my pussy juice gush out to soak my cooze rope.  You could watch their eyes and see when each one of them got the first whiff of us.  Even through the clownish make-up, you could see the nostrils flare, the pupils dilate and the look in the face sharpen into one of intense purpose.   I bet you could smell the eight of us a mile down wind.  I mean, there were more than 25 feet of cock and strap-on dildos among them and chances were we were each going to get fucked by the lot.  Who could blame us for juicing up?  

"We are going to cut your legs free now and give you a few minutes head start." he said, slapping a riding crop against his palm.  "We will fire the signal gun when we are coming.  Remember, the fence is electrified and you do not, under any circumstances, want to touch it.  If a hunter captures you, you will then be his prize to use and share as he sees fit.  He will own you for the rest of that day and the following night.  Then, at the crack of dawn he will be required to let you go again so that someone else will have a chance to catch you."

When Bob cut my legs free I tried to get up on my feet, only to discover my long-folded legs were not exactly up to the task, especially with the high-heeled pumps I'd been stupid enough to strap onto my feet yesterday.  When he'd cut the last girl loose he came back and began helping each of us up, steadying us on our feet and patting our rumps in encouragement to run off into the surrounding forest.

After a few steps on the sandy forest trails and mulch covered forest floor, I knew that my shoes were going to be the death of me if I didn't find a way to get out of them.  But they were strapped to my feet, buckled tightly around my ankles, clearly out of reach of my tightly bound hands.  To keep from losing my balance and leaving tracks, I had to stay up on my toes.  I ran as fast as I could, despite the way that bungee cord cooze rope was cutting me up the middle, making me feel the punishing pressure in my loins. 

As soon as the trees shielded me from the hunters I changed direction, leaving the trail and heading up hill in the hope that most of the others might take the easer, down hill direction.  About thirty minutes later I heard the crack of the signal gun.  I was close to a small spring and quickly drank my fill to hold me over until dark.  Then I went to ground in the center of a large thicket of nettles and brambles.  With my hands bound behind me it was a very painful place to get into but I figured they might skip looking there for that exact reason.

After a half hour of uphill sprinting in unsuitable shoes I was exhausted.  I squatted down in the leaf-dappled briars and looked around.  My head was still plainly in view.  I didn't want to do it, but I was going to have to lie down if I didn't want to get caught.

The worst of it was, I was getting both more frightened and hornier by the minute.  On one hand I was terrified by the prospect of the weigh in party and its fifty drunken perverts.  On the other my hindbrain was on a tear, slavering for the mindless pleasure of surrender.

I might be a pain slut, but Fifty?

But my brain stem was not afraid, it was lusting, and there was not one thing I could do about it.   

I carefully got down on my belly in the thorn bushes, trying to still my panting.

It was about an hour later that I heard the twig snap off to my right.  I was looking in that direction trying to see what or who had made the noise when, a man shouted in triumph from my left.  "Talley Ho!" he shouted,  "There's mine, in the thicket."

From my right came a woman's voice, "Good hunting, you lucky bozo."

Uncaring of the nettles and brambles I staggered up and took off uphill again. 

It was almost a mile later when I found my way forward blocked by the fence.  I turned to my right, heading down hill for a change but soon found myself trapped in a corner of the high barrier.  I tried to slip around my pursuer on his right but the bastard must have known the lay of the land for he was waiting for me, his lariat all ready to take me into its painful embrace.           

Following my new Master back down to the barn, a rope noose on my throat and still hobbled by my high heels, I had no chance to escape.  I was covered in rosy colored nettle burns and thorn scratches.  I was bleeding in a dozen places.  I was half in shock, half in subspace, nearing orgasm.  I felt my body preparing for the gang-rape it knew was coming.  The cooze rope, still tight as a tourniquet and now soaked with my vaginal secretions, was quickly becoming my biggest problem.  As I walked my juices were dripping down the insides of my thighs leaving a scent trail in the still air a blind man could have followed.  I was as hot and horny at that moment as I have ever been. 

There were more than fifty of them and only eight of us.  We were going to be here for a whole week.  I thought, Lucy, I guess I owe you one!

I was slightly mollified when I saw that I was the last girl to be brought in.  Off to my right the signal gun cracked again, telling the unlucky hunters to come in and join the fun.  My seven fellow trophy girls were all hung up in a line.  It looked like a deer pole hung with carcasses in some large upper Michigan hunting camp.  I was led over there, pushed down to sit in the dirt and had to watch as my captor tied my right leg so that once again it was folded tight on it's self.  He then tied a second rope around my other ankle and a few seconds later I was upended, half naked and the displayed property of an unknown Master.

The crowd around us was getting thicker by the minute as hunters responded to the recall gun.

Then the half circle opened on one side to let Mr. Whiteface through. 

There was something about him now that made me want to run and hide.  I desperately needed to flee but of course I could only hang. 

He gravely nodded to two clowns who turned a fire hose on us, drenching the eight does in cold soapy water.  The stream was powerful enough to spin us around, we were screaming under the sensory overload.  When the cold water turned fresh I knew we were nearing the end. By that time I was probably as clean as I'd ever been.  

He walked over to the other end of the line and began to treat and test each of the hanging trophies in turn.  Twisting my neck, I watched as he treated, measured, weighed, inspected, caressed, and tickled the hanging girls.  The first girl tried to remain stoic, trying her best to deny him her passion.  This was not the best tactic, for when she did break down it was all the worse for her.  The second girl made the mistake of trying to fake orgasm too soon.  She did not enjoy the gag he inflated in her mouth.  Her real orgasm nearly made me come.

One by one, Mountain Man worked his way down the pole, carefully treating bramble scratches with NuSkin and then making each girl squeal out her need before moving on to the next one.  When he got to me I was near pissing myself.  His hands came and touched me, treated my scratches with care and skill, twiddled me, stroked me, diddled me and soon I too was begging for a fuck.

He turned his back to me and declared, "Of the eight of them this one has the best smelling pussy juice but for overall merit I say number three is the winner!  Her hide has twice as many scratches as any of the others."

Turning to the eight trophies, he said, "Never seen it fail, first day you does always try to hide in the brambles.  Bet you'll stay on the trails next time.          

The gathered clowns roared their approval and surged forward to sample the merchandise.  I felt my bra straps breaking and about five hands slipping into my underwear.  I screamed and wiggled, sure that I was about to be ripped to shreds.  Then my captor came to my rescue, pushing the others back and staking his claim.  "She's my trophy and I get to enjoy her first."

The others backed off, grumbling.  Then two bozos brought over a large trestle table, fitted with enough restraints to secure King Kong.

When I was lying on the table, my left leg still stretched up toward the pole, my Master went to work on my bondage.  The first to go were the too tight cooze cutter and what was left of my panties.  Then he noosed my neck to one end of the table and retied my right leg down to the other, stretching me three ways.

He bent down and kissed my gaping pussy, getting his crimson clown slap mixed with my fuck me froth.  He continued to lick me, his hands sliding up and gripping my aching breasts.  I could not wiggle, I could not close myself or, in the end, stop myself from moaning and rubbing my sex against his mouth.

After a while he stood and took three little gadgets out of his pocket.  They were three disks of soft flexible plastic, the clear kind they make freezer curtains out of.  The bastard had cut three two inch disks out of a freezer curtain then slit them in a star pattern so that when they were pressed down over a nipple or a clitoris they would hold that nerve filled flesh in a ring of pointy spears.  It was instantly unbearable but there was nothing I could do about them.  He flicked each of them with his fingernail, causing me to pant in pain and nearly cum.  He grinned down at me, then, watching my eyes, pulled down his trousers, exposing one of the biggest, reddest, hardest cocks I had ever seen.

Stretched out on the table, one leg pointing straight up so that my pussy was completely exposed, I felt myself gushing fuck me froth.  I watched as my captor opened a can of Crisco and sat it on the table near my face.  I struggled against the noose to look down the line of trophy girls and saw that each of them was surrounded by suitors and being fucked by her captor.

My new Master was greasing up his big cock, and a good thing too.  He was hung like Bull, Molly's big friend.  Then he began spreading more of the grease on and into me, his fingers probing my swollen and oh so ready pussy deeply and knowingly.  It was simply wonderful.

By this time I was completely in my slave state.  I was his fuck toy to enjoy and share with his friends.  I was shorn of my will and left with nothing save carnal desire.  I was mewing and gripping my love muscle on his fingers, trying to entice him to fuck me.

He chuckled down at me and fitted me with a large ring gag that opened my jaws wide.  He then shoved his greasy, pussy juice coated fingers into my mouth and treated it to the same preparation he'd given my pussy.

"Her ass will be mine tonight so I will cork it with this." He said, holding up a mechanical pear with a key sticking out of its top.  "I'll keep the key so's you bastards won't be tempted.  This hole I reserve for myself alone, ladies and gentlemen, you may do as you wish with the other two.  But before I turn her over to you I will enjoy this sweet smelling pussy one time."

The surrounding people muttered amongst themselves and one dangerous looking dike snorted in disgust and left, her big spiked dildo pointing her way.  She said she was going to find a girl who's owner was less possessive.

I wondered if my next owner would be her and how possessive she would be, if and when she had the chance.

As the pear was shoved into my ass I thought my sphincter was ripping, I forgot about the big dike, the gadgets, my Master's big cock and just about everything else as well.  Then the bulb of the pear slipped inside me and I thought it could never be extracted.  Finally, he turned the key several times, expanding the condom covered thing within me, stretching my ass to what felt like the diameter of a sewer pipe.

Then, through the fog of my pain I realized he was getting into position, straddling my leg, his huge hairy balls resting on my inner thigh.  I looked up at him and mewed in desire.  He pulled his cock down and slid it into me, his girth filling my sucking pussy's every nook and cranny.  I gripped on him and screamed out my desire.  I had found the man of my dreams and intended to bond with him.  He thrust again, proving that he still had inches in reserve.  I kicked and bucked, wanting more.  And more I got.  I was so hot I exploded into my first orgasm in just a few seconds, almost before I knew it was coming.  And that was only the beginning.  The pain of the three gadgets on my nipples and clit was growing within me like a mushroom but before it could destroy me, it morphed into an intense kind of pleasure.  He began spanking me, each blow adding to my excitement.   With each thrust of his huge cock the disk on my clit was bumped by his thigh.  My tits were gripped in his strong hand, first one then the other, the gadgets biting like fury.

When he came it was like being hosed out, he had so much spunk that he overfilled his condom, forcing his jizzum back out to coat his balls.

But he did not stop there, oh no.  He merely changed to a spiked condom and continued to ride me, never giving me a chance to stop cuming.

And then I woke up to find a condom-covered cock in the back of my throat.  There were also far too many hands on and in my body.  My Master was gone, I'd been left to the tender mercies of the crowd, and to tell the truth, it suited me just fine.

Later that night, after I'd been fucked at least twenty times, my Master came to me again, armed with the key to the huge pear in my ass.  Closing it down, he carefully extracted it from me and then, before my stretched sphincter could close, replaced the pear with his living member.  I wondered at how good his big greasy cock felt, after the stretching weight of the pear.  I moaned and clenched on him, the best I could, milking his cock and finding reserves of sexual energy I did not know I had.

He was slow and patient.  The cock in my shitter felt wonderful, sliding in and out on its coating of fresh Crisco and making me forget the gadgets still on my three most sensitive spots.  After a while a small, slap disguised dyke came armed with an electric toothbrush and a bottle of hot pepper sauce.  Things get a little confused after that but I do remember having the most sexually satisfying night of my life.

In the early light of morning, Mr. Whiteface came and fed us each another can of Nutrashake before releasing us from our tables and sending us each trotting back out into the woods. 

Again, I headed up hill, finding the running easier now that my feet were bare.  This time I stuck to the trails, heading toward a rocky notch far above the camp.  Without the hobbling shoes I was able to cover a lot more ground and before the signal gun sounded I had found a box canyon with a brush concealed shallow cave near its back wall.  There was a spring fed pool nearby and I was on my face, drinking my fill when the starting gun boomed out its warning. 

A few seconds later, I was back in the darkest corner of the cave, crouching in the shadows and wishing I could get my arms free. 

As I leaned against the back wall I made a surprising discovery.  The rock here was not rock at all.  It was wood that had been carved and painted to look like rock.  I moved along it, marveling at how perfectly it had been camouflaged.  In its middle I found a door that swung open when I pushed my shoulder against it.  Behind the door I found a circular room containing furniture, rugs, oil lamps and a surprised looking, naked young woman having breakfast.

"Hi, I'm janice." she said, getting up with a rattle of chain.  I saw that there was a steel anklet around her leg that was attached to the back wall by a long, lightweight chain.  It appeared to me that she could reach anywhere in the room except the door.  "How is the doe-hunt going?"

"Uh, good I guess.  What are you doing here?" I said, looking around and seeing that the room was equipped for both living and bondage games.

"I'm Mrs. janice Mountain Man." The woman said, walking toward me to the end of her tether.  "I'm staying out of the way this week as my husband doesn't need me right now."

"You are married to that hunk?"  I asked, moving closer to the chained girl.

"Ya, but I'm more like his sex slave, if you want the truth of the matter."

"I can see that!"  I said, looking at the chain.  "Is he as good as he smells?"

"Better." said janice, reaching out and touching my face with cool fingers.  "Would you like me to untie you?"

"Won't that get you in trouble?"  I asked, gratefully turning my back to her.

"No more than usual, sweetie," she chuckled, loosening the cords on my elbows, "no more than usual."

As the rope fell away from my wrists I was able to bring my hands around in front for the first time in over 30 hours.  I tried to itch my nose but failed, unable to make them work as yet.

"I bet you'd like a hot shower and a few hours sleep in a comfortable bed, wouldn't you?"  janice asked, her breath hot on my shoulder.

I turned and took her into my arms, kissing her in gratitude and in the process letting her know that I wouldn't mind sharing that bed if that's what she wanted as well.

Like most natural submissives janice was a wonderful bed partner.  She had no hang-ups, having been cured of all that horseshit by her Master.  She told me that she now liked serving her partner, whatever that person's sex.  Chained by the ankle she was mine to do with as I pleased.  I had always dreamed of having a slave of my own, someone to serve me any way I wanted.

It helped that janice was horny, having been left all alone in that cave for several days while her husband had been out around the country gathering does for the hunt. 

At first, when I picked up the ropes, she backed away, afraid.  But I reassured her, promising to satisfy her every fantasy.  Then she told me where to find the tack closet and suddenly I had the whole enchilada.

By sundown I was well fucked, fed, rested and ready to see if I could escape this loony-toons mountain.  I left janice the way I found her, chained by the ankle so that she could not quite reach the door.  It wasn't like I had a choice, the key to her ankle restraint was not in the cave, it was probably hanging around her husband's neck.

It wasn't that I didn't like the sex, fact is, the sex had been fantastic.  It was just those scary numbers. Fifty hunters, eight does.  The night before all eight of us had tag teams of lovers.  Unknown lovers in heavy, all concealing make-up.  Men and women who could and did use us in any way they desired, restrained only by the No Blood or Lasting Injury rule that applies in all Moll Flanders locations.

And that had been just the first night.  I thought that, as each day passed, things would get progressively rougher.  Each of those guys and gals had been performing for their fellow hunters that first night.  Each was trying to wring more passion from his or her captive than the previous person. 

Especially the women.

All three of the dykes that fucked me had been so macho that I wondered if they were mainlining testosterone based steroids.  The one I'd thought of as Dangerous Dyke looked like Miss Muscle Universe, nearly as tall as the average man, strong as an ox and wearing nothing except slap and a large red leather vibrating dildo in a holster strapped around her well muscled thigh. 

By the time she had been sexually satisfied I'd been hiding in my sub space for over an hour.  She'd been followed by a petite woman in slap who I suspected could have been Empress Molly herself, judging by her skill at stimulating helpless women.  Talk about passion, you would not believe what she put me through.

Fun is fun, but a girl gets sore.  I was not ready for six more days of this.   

But now that I was not bound, I was pretty sure I could get out of here.  I'd gotten a good look at that electric fence the day before and thought I'd seen a weakness.  Made of chain link attached to plastic covered poles, it was a formidable barrier.  But I realized that if someone were to jump up onto it so that they never provided a ground they could probably get over it just fine.

I left janice sleeping, still chained by the ankle so I knew she couldn't follow and headed down hill, following the stream from the spring.  I was dressed in a pair of janice's leather leggings and a vest I'd found in her closet.  My crotch was covered by a soft leather loincloth I'd fashioned from a piece of chamois they used as a gag and blindfold.  My breasts were likewise wrapped in soft leather.   On my feet were soft, calf-high hoof boots that had been designed for running while pulling a pony cart. 

In my long, pleasant afternoon with janice I had learned how she had become Mrs. Mountain Man by offering to pay off his back-breaking mortgage and become his business partner/sex slave.  It had been her idea to have these multi-visitor events so that they could afford some quality time to themselves.  This Hunter's Paradise week, for instance, was earning them more than eight weeks of regular one on one income.  There was also Rodeo Week, Race Week and Slave Auction Week.

As I circled around the camp I was careful not to make any more noise than necessary, not wanting to be recaptured.  My plan was to climb over the gate, walk down to the highway and hitch a ride into Missoula where I could get a flight home.  It wasn't that I hadn't had a good time, it was that I was afraid of what some of those clowns might do as the week progressed.

When I got to the gate I saw something I hadn't noticed before, up at the top of the mountain.  Capping the high chain link fencing were three strands of barbed wire strung on glass insulators.  Suddenly I realized I could never get over the fence the way I'd planned. 

I wondered if I could make it back up to the cave without getting caught.  I didn't see that I had a choice.  I certainly couldn't stay put, dawn was nearly here.

That which you fear most, comes up more often than not, I've noticed.  I was making my way toward the mountain, already well past the camp, hurrying because of the coming dawn.  Suddenly there was a lasso around my body, pinning my elbows to my sides, recapturing me as perfectly as a roped calf.  Jerked off my feet I was down on the trail and looking up at a shadow in the moonlight.  My captor was wearing what appeared to be a kabuki stage-hand black shroud.  Forty very busy seconds later I'd had my hands and elbows bound together once again.  Once I was helpless, my silent, masked captor turned to the task of binding my feet together. 

"Didja think we'd forgotten about you?" a woman's voice whispered from inside her all concealing shroud as she lifted me to my tightly bound feet and ripped away my makeshift bra.  "You thought we'd be partying with the other girls and you could just climb that gate and be out of here didn't you?"

I nodded, why deny the obvious?

"You should have known we were still looking for you, the signal gun never sounded."

I twisted around to look at her and said, "I thought I had a chance so I took it."

"This is the Mountain Man's place.  You never had a ghost of a chance." said the dyke.  "now start hopping, it's a long way to the weigh in, people are waiting things for you.  You wouldn't want to make them mad.  Trust me on this."

I started hopping, having no choice as she was leading me with the lasso around my neck.  It was exhausting, it was humiliating, it made my big tits flop like anything.  After a quarter mile I was wondering when I fell down if she was going to drag me the rest of the way into camp.  Then suddenly I was down, falling to the trail, the noose cinching tight around my windpipe.

She stopped but kept the noose tight enough to prevent my breathing.  "To keep you from making us even later for the party I will pussywhip you every time you fall."  She said, pulling a horsehair flogger out of her boot and yanking away my loincloth.

After a while she pulled me up and stood me on my feet again.  Off we went, me hopping like a trained dog, a bitch on a leash.

The weigh-in camp was like a different place from the previous night.  Instead of fifty half drunk bozos, tonight each person was wearing a black shroud and was being totally silent.  There didn't seem to be half as many as the night before.  I put it down to human limitations.  Some of those guys fucked like there was no tomorrow.  Perhaps it was because they knew that they wouldn't have the stamina to last all week.

The seven other does were still up on the pole, un-fucked and waiting with obvious malice for me. 

The close by sound of the signal gun startled me to the point of losing my balance and again I fell, feeling the noose cutting off my air.  My stripy pink ass and pussy were not ready for a second flogging but it didn't matter, the flogging came.  And before it was over so did I.

I came back to awareness hanging by my ankle again.  Standing close to me, someone who smelled very much like Mountain Man was toying with my body.  I opened my eyes and looked at him.  This time he was differentiated from the others by the color of his shroud.  Instead of black, like the others, his shroud was pure white.  The only parts of him you could see were his privates.  They were held outside the suit in an elastic ring, on display and ready for use.   His white gloved hands were still magic.  Sore as I was, he found my passion and exposed it to the crowd.

The twenty or so black figures stood in their half circle, the eight of us on the pole, helpless to escape, helpless to control what would happen, helpless.

Then the held breath moment was shattered as a helicopter flew over the ridge and turned on a floodlight catching the whole crowd in one flash photo.

From the direction of the gates I heard several quick explosions and suddenly the roar of lots of motorcycles coming up the mountain.

Having no voice in the matter, I hung around.  I watched as the hunters were herded together, the swat team troopers efficiently taking each shrouded customer into custody.

The cavalry had come, just in the nick of time.

The black shrouded hunters were each plasticuffed, coffled and herded away for the walk down the mountain.  Call me stupid but the fact that the troopers never exposed a single hunter's face hadn't hit me.  The fact that each FBI man was wearing a dark faceplate on his battle helmet escaped my notice as well.  Give me a break, I'd just been sex whipped to the point of passing out, I wasn't thinking straight.  My first hint that something wasn't right was the fact that they left the eight of us hanging while they dwelt with the hunters.  My next clue was a man's thumb being shoved into my upended bum.

As dawn of the third day broke I finally recognized the joke.  These guys were doing one of Molly's brainfucks on us.  The cops weren't here, these guys were the missing thirty hunters.

The cavalry hadn't come, it was just more damned Indians.

The Mountain Man came and explained to us the fact that the rites of ownership hadn't been "exercised" before dawn meant that we were going to spend the next twenty four hours right where we were.  What we'd avoided yesterday was going to make today three times as hard.

I just knew the No Blood line was going to be crossed, sooner or later.  I wondered what the proprietors would do then.  "Balancing" I think He called it.  I'd heard dark rumors concerning "Balancing".  I suspected Molly was there.  Would that mean she would perform the ceremony?

Just like Molly, I am a switch.  I think switches make better lovers than either pure Tops or bottoms.  When I am restrained I am a pain whore, at your service.  But if someone is helpless under my hand I become Lasher laFey, Head Bitch, Queen of Bondage Heaven.  I like it both ways, but prefer the bottom most of the time. 

Molly is a top most of the time.  She knows how to hurt you in orgasmic ways, ways that skip past the brain's upper functions and grab you by the gonads. Being brainfucked by Molly is like a carnival being set up in your hindbrain.

Being "Balanced" would be twice as bad, because her intent would be darker.

By this time I was pretty sure who'd paid my way up here.  Molly's élan couldn't be hidden behind slap, or in a shroud.  Her small size exposed her.  She is such a sprightly little package that you couldn't miss her in a forest of big strong dominates. 

Also, the way she moved gave her away, her petite body almost dancing through life.

I was pretty sure Lucy hadn't set this up, she didn't have the cash it would have cost. 

We'd made a lot of money from the live feed of our Bull session.  But her half of the money went right up her nose.

When we'd performed on stage as Bull's subbies, Molly had been running the producer's board, capturing our performance and net-casting the scene all over the world to pay per view perverts.

That had been a nice payday, not to mention two wonder filled hours with Bull and the film crew followed by a night spent with Bull, Molly and jenny in their huge four poster bed.

Like I said, I'm a pain whore.

Anyway, there we were, all trussed up and hanging in a line.  By this time the shrouded hunters were walking back into camp, unfettered and laughing among themselves.

The white shroud wearing Mountain Man came and tested us, finding seven completely limp captives and me, also near my limit.  Turning to the assembled crowd, he said, "I declare today a break day.  You people will have to pace yourselves, the captives are only human."

"It ain't our fault!  She's the one who made us wait!  Said a big shroud covered man with a deep bass voice.

"Well then, what would you do, try to flog a dead horse?"  Mountain Man said, pointing at the eight of us.  "Those girls will be fine tomorrow, today they are nearly comatose.  Now go find someone else to do."

The assembled hunters muttered but they backed down.  When they'd mostly left, Mountain Man lifted us down and untied each of us in turn.  When he got me he asked, "How is my darling wife?  I trust you left her as helpless as you found her?"

"She sends her love."  I said, watching him shackle my feet together with a short chain.  "We had a grand time yesterday."  I added, watching his eyes.

Then as he untied my wrists and elbows I added, "She is really special, you know?"

We does were turned out to wander, wearing nothing except our ankle chains to keep us reminded of our slavery.  The hunters watched us like starving dogs watch the butcher but no one seemed to dare touching any of us.  I wondered at how well these perverts were kept under control then remembered Balancing and smiled.

Attracted by the smell of frying bacon I found several men making a camp breakfast.  When they saw me they offered to share.  I accepted, sitting down on a bale of burlap covered hay to gobble down eggs, bacon and hash browns, seasoned with fresh mountain air and hunger.  Still dressed in janice's boots, leggings and vest but naked where it mattered, I watched the hunters eating and shooting the shit among themselves.  Each had lifted the black veil that covered his lower face and I could see at least that much of their faces.  Thing is, they looked like regular people.  You could not tell which of these perverts had done what that first night.

After a while all the other does had joined groups of campers for the first solid food they'd had in thirty-six hours. 

I heard a snort and looked up to see Mountain Man dragging his wife into camp.

She was as naked as I'd left her and restrained in a set of hinged four by fours that held her at wrists and throat.  She was being led by a golden chain, attached to the ring pierced through her clitoris. 

The hunters all stopped talking and watched janice follow her husband into the camp.

Standing her up on a stump he turned to the gathering crowd and said, "In order to atone for the crime of giving a doe succor and thus causing our day of rest, this woman has volunteered to take their place in today's festivities.  Who among you wants the first fuck?

In the end it was settled by a lottery each dom paying a hundred bucks to get his number in the hat.

At dawn the next morning Mountain Man had us bound again and put back where we'd been 24 hours earlier, hanging from the pole.  Standing in the pure golden robes of an Imperial Wizard, Bob the Mountain Man said, "Rutting season is again open.  Be careful." before walking away to leave us to the perverts.

It wasn't a half hour latter that one of the does down at the other end began screaming in genuine distress.  I could not see it but I heard someone say someone had lost part of a nipple to the slip of someone's scissors.

Suddenly we does were forgotten.  The careless culprit was seized and dragged over between a pair of ten-foot tall telephone poles, fitted with spread-eagle restraint irons.  Soon the man was suspended, naked, his naked body wet with sweat, his face covered by a burlap sack tied under his chin.  There came an expectant hush then the smallest of the hooded Klansmen stepped forward and said, using Molly's voice, "You knew the penalty, yet you crossed the line anyway.  I suspect it was done deliberately.  I will act accordingly.

"Please Mistress Molly, It was an accident!"  Cried the suspended man.  I realized he was the man who'd captured me in the briars.

"Wordlessly Molly nodded to Bob and watched with a tight smile as a ring gag was strapped into the man's burlap covered mouth.  She started with a birch bundle, then switched to a riding crop.  Then came the pear, a cock flogging and a really great cock sucking.  Like I said, "Balancing". 

At the end of the week we eight were packed into the crates and sent home.

Lucy was the one given the job of uncrating me.  I could see that she'd found enough money to re-stock her supply of nose candy. 

I guess that was her reward for betraying me.

Mountain Man was right.  I have been changed.  For one thing, I'm a whole lot richer.  jenny, Molly's slave, netcast a live feed pay per view the last night.  My cut will pay for several years of the good life.  My star is rising.