The Purge – Prelude
He propped his back against the tree, trying to slow his breathing. He could feel a small relaxation in his shoulders, slowly permeating down to the rest of his body. It was momentary, he knew, but welcome nonetheless for the few seconds he was allowing himself. His breathing adjusted and he took a few deep breaths. A film of sweat enveloped his forehead.
He could hear them moving through the trees, somewhere to the left. He estimated he was still ahead, although he couldn’t discount the possibility of a party ahead of him, lying in ambush.
Around him the last of the forest’s seasonal foliage stood still in the silent dusk of the autumn evening, the cover diminished by the seasonal changes now underway. The forest had that autumnal smell and feel, something which seemed to be accentuated at dusk. At another time he would have basked in a study of the trees and foliage, even in this fading light. But not now. The trees stood like sentinels, seemingly oblivious to the man hunt underway, or the slave hunt as his pursuers had described it.
To think that nearly three hours ago, he had left the office, calling in home for a quick change, before departing to his destination – a secluded estate in the country for what his host had told him would be 24-hours of debauched play. When the invite came a month ago, he hadn’t had to think twice about it. His Mistress told him it was a special event, styled on The Purge, a film he hadn’t seen but whose premise he had easily comprehended. She told him it would be 24-hours of femdom debauchery, in which he could indulge his wanton need to serve her and her Mistress friends in a concentrated space of time and location. He had jumped at the opportunity, greedy to indulge his kinks and peccadillos.
Now, he fleetingly wondered whether it a case of being careful what you wished for. When he arrived at the stately Victorian pile, they had gone through the pleasantries, introducing him to the Mistresses he did not know. He was naturally overawed to be in their midst, and this was mixed with the anticipation of what was to come. He had naively assumed this evening would be just a social, a breaking of the ice before the schedule took off tomorrow. He had the first inkling he was wrong when he saw the khaki outdoor gear they were wearing. Maybe an early evening hike, he had nervously giggled to himself.
He was soon disabused of this notion. As he was ordered to join the assembly line of seven slaves, Mistress Sidonia addressed the gathering, telling them in her familiar haughty tones that an early evening hunt was in the offing and ordering them to strip. They duly did, the surprise not confined to him but evident in the faces and expressions of the others. When naked, the Mistresses had conducted an inspection parade, each slave having to walk the line, strutting his stuff. The verbal humiliation was warming up as each slave came under review, with possibilities being voiced for the uses of each.
Mistress Sidonia once again addressed the slaves.
“Right fuck meat. We told you to bring some outdoor gear and footwear, go fetch it and put it on.”
They did as instructed. Once kitted out, Mistress Vivienne addressed them, informing them amidst her intermittent devilish cackle, that they were going to be hunted in the forest that stood on the estate. With that they produced the paintball markers and the game was afoot.
And now here he was. He knew that at least three others had been caught, the whoops of delight and satisfaction from the Dom Hunters telling its own story. He took a deep breath. He started as a twig snapped behind him. He stood still, afraid to make a move. Gradually he turned and cautiously peered into the growing gloom. Nothing, probably just a bird. In any case it was time to move. He could hear them getting closer, and there was always the possibility one of them was scouting ahead. He wanted to evade them as long as possible, his competitive spirit to the fore.
He moved again, moving as quickly as he could while minimising noise, careful of what was underfoot and trying to keep attuned to the environment around him. Suddenly up ahead he heard a shout and a reply. Obviously, another slave had been caught. Judging by the raucous cries of victorious delight, it was Mistress Vivienne. He made his way as stealthily as he could with the intention of skirting them.
“Down you bitch,” he heard Mistress Vivienne order, “we are going to take our spoils, aren’t we Mistress B.”
Again, he heard their laughter as they set about subduing their prey.
Despite himself he was curious. He knew instinctively this slave was firmly in their clutches and they were plundering him in some fashion. Abandoning his earlier plan to give them a wide berth, he now moved closer, using the holly bushes which dotted this part of the forest as cover. Up ahead, in a clearing, he could see Mistress B. He moved closer until he had a view of what was underway. The slave had been stripped and lay face down on a blanket on the ground. Above him lay Mistress Vivienne, her graceful lines moving rhythmically as she strap on fucked him. He could see that Mistress B was also going to partake, the strap on which adorned her testament to her intentions. The slave grunted and groaned. He knew him, had chatted briefly to him at assembly.
He started again as a branch snapped behind him and was pushed forward as the paintball shot found its mark on his lower back. He grimaced, turning around to face his captors. Mistress C stepped forward.
“Another one bagged,” she intoned in her dulcet tone.
Around him the forest seemed to come alive as two other Mistresses emerged from the shade. Their triumph was palpable. He felt like a cornered animal as they surrounded him and instructed him to fall to his knees. This was primal, he could feel it instinctively. Stripped to his core, hunted, what was a man. Nothing but an animal, in thrall to the higher sex but still perpetuating the age-old myth of male dominance. At least a few myths were going to be destroyed in the hours to come.
Mistress C leaned over him, grabbing his chin.
“Now you are going to be trussed up for The Purge,” she breathed into his face.
He made to reply, before he could say anything, she spat at him. Her companions giggled, their triumph manifest. “I need to take a pee,” said Mistress C. “Where can I find a suitable spot out her” she mused, looking around.
“Oh wait I know just where…….”
by slave p
Part of The Purge, femdom stories series
About Mistress Sidonia
Supreme Ruler of The English Mansion. Leather clad 'n' booted bitch, highly sexed, cruel male slave owner and trainer.
;
