The Hunt

By nutcracker sweet (part 1-2)

With one foot up on the log, I stoop to finish lacing up my moccasin-boot. Finely tanned doe-skin boots up to my knees. Over these, for sturdiness with stealth, a pair of low moccasins made from stout bull-hide. I stand and turn to you, standing there hunched over with your balls clamped in the Humbler, naked save the studded leather dog collar around your neck.

I chuckle. "You really want to go through with this? Sixty minutes to unload fifty rounds into your gorgeous gonads? Piece of cake!"

I adjust the crotch of my cut-off Levis. My cut-off Levis are a bucolic fashion style known in rural America as "Daisy Dukes": so short that half my ass is hanging out and the inseam rides right up into my crotch accenting my mons veneris. I am wearing the key to the lock that secures the Humbler hanging from a silver ring that is pierced through one erect nipple. Around my slim hips I buckle on a wide kilt-belt with a large silver buckle of Celtic design. From this belt I hang a simple leather sporran. I am wearing a man's white shirt, tied up under my breasts calypso-style and unbuttoned down to reveal what little cleavage I have. I roll up the sleeves. I wrap a Confederate flag bandanna around my head, and tie it off.

"Don't be so sure of yourself. You'll be able to move faster but I'm like a wild Indian in the woods!" you boast.

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter noncommittally. I pick up the box of paint-ball capsules and dump them out into the sporran. I pick up the paint-ball gun and commence to load it with ammo from the sporran. I hold one of the fluorescent-orange capsules up to you, "Hunter orange for safety's sake! Don't want some poachers thinking your Bambi and blowing you away." I fire one directly at you and it explodes on your chest, "See?"

"OW! Dammit!" your attempt to wipe the paint away only succeeds in smearing it. You wipe your hands on your thighs.

"Here, put these on!" I toss you a pair of clear goggles.

"Two minutes, Moira, you gotta at least give me two minutes head start."

As you are adjusting the goggles on your head, I step behind you and squeeze the trigger twice, in rapid succession. "Clock's ticking!" Two more paint-balls explode on you. One on your taut ass, and the other one directly on your testicles, which sends you off, down the trail, whooping and cussing me.

"Forty-seven shots to go!" I holler at your retreating back. I burst into laughter at the absurd view of your paint-smeared body waddling away.

Needledick departs as fast as he can, which is not very... due to the Humbler. As apprehension and adrenaline take Needledick into the forest, the last thing on his mind is much hope of getting into her cut-off Levis’ what with his balls locked in the Humbler. So, the excitement for Needledick is if he makes his wily escape he gets a big adrenaline buzz, but if he should fall victim to the wilier Huntress then Needledick gets a huge testosterone whack and some divine surrender in his humiliation.

"Wait a minute," Needledick leers hopefully, "Mmmh, maybe by then the Huntress might be horny from the chase."

Needledick loses himself for a moment in a stream of consciousness, with the awareness of his paint-spattered nuts standing out like dogs balls. Off, quicker than either Needledick, or the Huntress, thought possible and doing huge work on those nuts as they get stretched beyond reason. Every step is like one of Moira's nut-cracking ball-squeezes.

Needledick thinks, "Even if you don't catch up with me, I’ll be sore for days." Now this is your country, and Needledick doesn't know this country. Of course, he doesn't stay on the trail.

As soon as I am out of view, you move up hill. You drop to your knees to crawl through the brush, which proves to be a bit more comfortable than running with the Humbler, despite the awareness of your very exposed testicles caused by the cool forest breeze. You go for the high ground to seek a view for the creeks or rivers and the best low ground for cover. Your course must be quickly chosen, as you sort of knew Moira would be a bit eager for the chase and that you would be lucky to a minute and a half start. You are crawling through the underbrush, the branches raking your naked body.

"Hell's bells! Guys will do anything if they think there is a chance to get into a girl's pants" I idly scratch my ass and then replace the spent rounds, "Needledick's going to be soooo sorry, I almost feel sorry for him... almost. Even if he makes it the whole hour he's going to be in no condition to get it up." I smile at the thought of your balls, swollen purple and sore, under a thick coat of orange paint.

I pull out my pocket watch and check the time, "Fuck it! Close enough!" I reach behind the log to retrieve a strap-on dildo, which I tuck into the back of my belt. I step off into the palmettos to walk a line that runs obliquely to the trail down which you ran. Just like deer hunting with daddy. One step, two steps, three steps. Stop! Freeze! Nothing moves but my eyeballs; right to left, left to right. I take three more cautious steps and freeze. Again nothing moves but my eyes, right to left, left to right. This is how I continue to make my way slowly through the pine scrubs of central Florida. The small flock of scrub-jays takes to wing just about the same time that I hear the crashing sounds through the underbrush up on the rise. HAH! Heading for the high ground (all of about 28' above sea level), as most outsiders do, not being used to the abject flatness of this state. I smile as I recall your boast that you are just like a wild Indian in the brush. Yeah, right, if that Injun happens to be a drunken, one-eyed, half-breed!

I now move with more deliberation, but just as cautiously. My eyes focused on a spot in the brush about halfway between the ground in front of my feet and the spot where I heard all your noise. Peripheral vision tends to catch movement in the woods better than straight on sight does. Steadily towards the top of the rise, I carefully place my steps in the soft sugar sand or pine mat of the forest floor. Closer, I can smell you; the funk of sweat, fear, paint, lust and manly musk. You are on the other side of that big clump of palmettos. I can hear your labored breathing and your nervous fidgeting. I drop to a squat and slowly duck-walk around the brush.

There you are, looking back whence ye came! Not more than six feet away from you I take aim; your balls make an easy target! The first two shots are direct hits! Another shot explodes on your shoulder spraying the side of your face with the bright orange paint, and the next three pellets fly harmlessly passed you as you fall to the ground thrashing in your restraints! Not one to give up easily, and even with the nauseating pain radiating from your nuts, you quickly react by hooking your legs out, knocking my own feet out from under me. I crash flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me. Stunned, I work at not panicking so that my diaphragm will resume its normal rhythm. But I hear you crashing away through the palmettos and pines, so I scramble to sit up and fire off a few more shots at you! One hits your thigh, one hits your nuts and the rest pepper the brush on either side of you as you limp away, gasping through gritted teeth.

I roll to my hands and knees gasping as my breathing returns. I climb out of the sand to my feet, a wee bit shaky. Hands on knees I take breaths, slow and deep. "Shit!" I mutter, "Gotta admire the peckerhead's tenacity!"

I look the way you went. "But you're gonna pay for that!" I holler after you. "You hear me, Needledick?" roars the crazy woman in the woods "Your balls are mine!" I rub a hand across my face, "Here I come, lover boy!" Stepping out in long strides I take off after you. Kind of like tracking a wounded deer, but instead of a blood trail I can follow the splatterings and drippings of paint. Of course, that's not necessary because the path you've left in your wake by crashing blindly through the bracken and bramble is distinct enough that even Stevie Wonder could follow you!

Throwing caution to the wind, I pick up the pace, reloading as I walk. But wait! I stop and listen to the deathly silence. This wily fucker is not to be underestimated. This trail is too obvious; maybe it’s being done by design. Or is it? I shake my head. Damn, girl, that fall rattled your brain, he's just a dumb-ass city boy running scared! Now go get him! Right! I start off in hot pursuit! Wondering aloud, "Where are you, Needledick? What are you doing? What are you thinking?"

-Needledick-

Now where is the water? First question I ask as it was not visible from the heights of 28 feet above sea level. Would you believe it? There is a large creek nearby and I can now smell it. My old Boy Scout training tells me that all I need do is follow any incline downhill, no matter how slight and I will find water.

You know this scrub better than I do and can guess where I'm heading. So in hot pursuit you catch sight of me on an embankment above a creek of about three or four feet deep and say six feet wide. I am aware of you behind me; although you are quiet I can smell you.

As you take aim, you haven't seen anything like the long arc of an effortless dive before unless it was a dolphin leaping through hoops at Sea World. Adjusting your aim you shoot. Ouch! I feel a stinging hit to my nuts, a prominent target due to that Humbler and the curve in the dive and the snap of the body to cause my body to disappear into the water through the one point of entry with scarcely a ripple. That Humbler is going causing me no little grief...

But where have I gone? You stand on the bank scanning the creek, one hand on your hip, resting the paintball gun in the other. One cheek of your ass thrust out of your Daisy Dukes, exposed from the pursuit. A look of intense concentration on your face. You do not intend to let me escape. 15-20 minutes have now passed and you have scored several direct hits. How many rounds do you have left? Plenty!

I swim underwater quickly, using dolphin kicks only, for more than a minute which takes me almost 60 yards downstream. I land on the same side of the creek as you, as I think that you won't expect that. However, you have raced downstream, assuming I headed that way. I am just standing up when you spy me. I am down a few yards from you, standing ankle deep in the water.

You sneak into position quietly, and then let fly. One shot hits my goggles. I can not see anything except orange. Now you have me! You are above me in a perfect ambush! Hit after direct hit to my balls! As I turn to try protecting them you just move to follow the line of fire. As blindly I rotate you empty the best part of 30 rounds into my gonads!

You must be getting a bit bored with these easy hits, akin to shooting fish in a barrel.

I am feeling like a man suspended by his nuts, rotating slowly in the breeze as you have your target practice. Are you growing bored? Is this too easy? What do you do next?

-Moira-

I continue to squeeze off rounds as I crash through the brush, down the embankment, and break into the open along the "crick" bed. I stride up to you, jaw set, nostrils flaring, turn the gun end over end and slam the butt of the gun squarely into your balls!

"There, you sonofabitch! That's for knocking me on my ass!" I growl through clenched teeth, as you slump over, the color blanching from your usual ruddy, though now paint-splattered, face. You sink to your knees, sputtering and groaning.

"So you like to play rough, do ye?" You roll on to your side when I kick your ribs a couple of times. "Alright, you macho asshole, let's play rough!"

Cussing you out as I jam the last of the paint ball pellets into the gun. "I am sooo pissed at you, Needledick! I wanted to behave like the genteel Southern belle that I'm supposed to be, and now you've got me acting like a savage!" I kick your balls! You curl up like an armadillo, rocking and groaning.

I step back and begin to unload the gun at point blank range. Paint pellets stinging you as they explode across your head, shoulders back, ass, and of course, your balls! O' yes, I concentrate most of my remaining firepower on to your balls!

Your body is quivering and quaking as you roll in the wet sand. I finally notice the blood streaming down your chin because you have bitten down onto your bottom lip.

"Bwahhahahaha!" I laugh evilly, "That's right! You don't scream when a woman is giving your testes a goin' over, do you? Matter of some twisted, warped sense of pride, I suppose..." My booted foot connects with your testicles again. You make gurgling sounds behind your bloody lips, but nothing audible as a scream.

I drop to my knees. With one hand I viciously squeeze your gonads, digging my nails into your ball-meat. With the other hand I grab your hair to jerk your head up so that I can glare into your eyes.

"But you'll scream today, Needledick!" I twist and grind your nuts against each other. "Before we leave these woods today, you will scream for mercy! Beg for it, you will!" My eyes stare deeply into yours, searching for the agony and terror that I know is there. Seeing the pain and fear, I let go of your hair to backhand you across your face, and I stand up.

Breathing heavy, I retreat to a cypress stump to sit down where I remove my belt setting it and the strap-on dildo aside. I undo my cut-off Levis, wriggling them down my firm legs and off over my boots.

I get up and advance on you with my belt. I secure it around your chest and arms to pinion your elbows to your sides. By a handful of your hair I pull your face tight against my bare crotch. "You coulda been frolicking in here, if you'd been nicer." I push you over backwards. "But now things are going to play out a lot different."

Next I readjust your harness so that your hands are now secured tightly at your hips. With one hand full of your balls and one of your hair. I yank you to your feet and half drag you over to the cypress stump, pushing you back down on your knees and face down across the stump. Your balls swollen purple even through the orange paint, your body trembling.

"Stay like that!" I give your nuts a half-hearted kick. "Ever seen the movie, Deliverance?" I ask, picking up the strap-on. I fumble with the straps to get the latex 'cock' into place. "Well, you're gonna get to play Ned Beatty's part!"

I kick your ankles far apart, and kneel down between them. I work up a mouthful of saliva, spit it into my hand, rub it on the head of my 'dick' and jam the tip of the dildo against your puckered asshole. You make a funny little chirping sound.

"I wanna hear you squeal like a pig, boy!" I whisper into your ear, as I push the dildo deeper into you!

"C'mon, boy! Squeal!" You grunt, like a little piggy, but no squeal. I wrap my arms around your waist so that my hands can grasp your withered cock and I pull you back as I push my hips forward, working up a rhythm, while giving your cock a two-handed massage. Soon my own 'cock' is impaling your entrails and my sweaty groin is pounding your balls as I rape your ass!

But not so much as just little grunts and groans out of you.

Harder I rape your ass! Furiously pounding away, using your cock to control the rhythm and depth of my savage thrusts! I can feel your nuts splaying flat between me and the wood of the Humbler! Man, that's gotta hurt! But still, no scream from you!

I slump across your back as I cum in an explosive orgasm. I pull my 'cock' out of you, stand up and step around in front of you. I slap your face with the shit-smeared dick.

"Suck it!" I order. I reach over your shoulder to punch your nuts, "Suck it, I said!"