QUARRY (multiple cases of M/m and M/M)

[Xtc]

This story has no sex in it but has a high level of unpleasantness.
Therefore, I shall post it in the "Adult" section.

Posts will be short and posting can be hastened by views and, especially, comments. (Hint. hint.)
If anybody thinks the tale has no place on this site, please pm me.

Well, here goes.
Wish Rhys good luck - or have you no heart?

[Xtc]

QUARRY (1)


Rhys in Waiting

As soon as Rhys felt the needle go into his arm, he knew there was no hope of remission of sentence. This being his second offence, he was officially considered to be a Hardened Criminal and was legally outlawed. The state had many “creative” ideas as to how such HC’s could contribute to society now that they had no rights whatsoever. Alright, he WAS guilty but he hadn’t even been allowed to defend himself against the charges because his mobile phone records had proved he was present at the scene of the crime and that was proof enough of his guilt.

When he came round, it gradually dawned on Rhys what his punishment was to be. At least he had a chance to avoid just being consigned to an oubliette until he died. The state didn’t usually like wasting resources like that and tried only to use that sanction on convicts who had failed to be of service to society. If the state could make money from using such non-people, that’s what it would do. Rhys thought that “7” was an excessive tariff but at least he might not die; if he was thrown in an oubliette, he certainly would and probably very slowly from starvation. When would he go up for sale?

Rhys was already prepared for market. He was naked with a spiked cage encasing his genitals. He knew about them; they allowed for micturition but, if the wearer started to become aroused, the internal spikes and the cramped device would soon make full erection impossible and any arousal extremely painful. It was held in place by an arrangement of rings and spikes. If any convict did manage to remove his cock cage, no one would bother to re-position it. It was easier to send the outlaw for castration.

While he had been unconscious, Rhys’s hands had been fastened behind him and riveted into a two-inch wide rigid clamp. It prevented any significant movement of the wearer’s arms and, although it had rounded edges, it eventually dug into the wearer’s wrists no matter how nearly to parallel he managed to keep his forearms. It also caused horrendous cramps after it had been in place for any length of time. His head had been encased in something resembling a mediaeval scold’s bridal. It was a metal device consisting of a band round the head that held a gag in place and a metal band going over the wearer’s head from the back of that band to nearly between the victim’s eyes where it split and passed either side of his nose and down to the horizontal band again. This thing had no adjustment, it was made to measure while Rhys was anaesthetised and riveted into place. It was immovable. The gag was the largest rigid silicone wedge that the fitter could get into Rhys’s mouth, which was then held in place by a latex pad onto which a metal plate was kept pressed uncomfortably against his lips by the metal band. The gag itself had a one inch hole passing all the way through it. At least Rhys was to be allowed water and, he hoped, some sort of nourishment during his ordeal.

Rhys knew that the cage, the clamp and the bridle were long term fixtures but he also knew that, if he managed to survive the first few chases, they might be rendered less strict for a while to make him fit for his remaining ordeals once his value had increased. As he came to, he could see the large black “7” that had been tattooed on his left pectoral muscle. That signified the number of times that he would have to serve as quarry. Each success would get a tally tattooed on his right pec until a total of seven tallies had been recorded. Of course, he might not last that long.

Rhys knelt in a tiny holding cage alongside the other potential quarry waiting to be taken to the sales stand. The cage was only just about high enough for him to kneel up in and only a couple of inches wider than his drawn back shoulders. His arms were pressed against the back of the cage but there was a little space in front of his knees. He could just about see four of the other HC’s who were also waiting. At sixteen years old he was neither the youngest nor the oldest of the ones he could see. Generally hunters wouldn’t buy boys who were too young, unless they were buying quarry for their less experienced offspring to shoot, because there was so little sport to be had from shooting such easy targets. Likewise, very few hunters seemed to be attracted to quarry that was more than about twenty-eight years old for some reason.

The salesman approached Rhys’s cage with his crook and pulled him to the front of the cage before slipping a thin wire noose round his neck. Any resistance now and Rhys had the choice between strangulation and decapitation. The salesman opened the door dragging Rhys out of the cage and onto his feet. There wasn’t much blood before he found his feet but Rhys was determined that there would be no more. As the salesman changed hands on the noose so that the door was no longer between him and his merchandise, his slave fitted the blindfold. The curved metal plate that he locked onto the front of Rhys’s bridle didn’t consign Rhys to darkness but, only being able to see light feeding round the edge of it, it did render him functionally blind. The salesman then handed the end of the wire lasso to his slave and told him to take Rhys to the sales stand and to make sure that he was displayed to best advantage if he didn’t want to occupy one of the vacant stations himself.

The slave was only about thirteen years old and was, of course, shaven-headed and naked except for his cock cage and the tight two inch metal collar round his neck but, not being able to see and having the little kid pulling the wire noose tightly round his neck, Rhys tried his best to follow where he was being led. The trek took only about ten minutes until Rhys was told to kneel. He felt the metal clamp fastened tightly round his neck. One of the correct size had been fitted while he was anaesthetised and allowed no room for movement even without taking the sharp edges into account. The slave then adjusted the height of the clamp, which ran up and down between two posts at either side of the merchandise. Rhys’s head was forced higher until he had to give some serious consideration to trying to crouch rather than kneeling but eventually the slave inserted split-pins through the uprights preventing the clamp from dropping. He also inserted pins above the clamp just in case the merchandise decided to try to stand up,

Stretched like that, Rhys’s well-formed abs were shown off well even if his shoulders had been drawn severely back by his wrist clamp. His chest was forced out and the slave thought that his master would be well pleased with his work so he returned to collect the next auction lot.

Rhys had to wait nearly an hour before all the merchandise was displayed and the sale could start.

The Rules

The clients were allowed in to the sales room and the rules were outlined. Everyone was perfectly familiar with the rules but the law required that they be read before anyone could secure a purchase.
1) Any item of merchandise can only be used for the purpose detailed in the judgement against him.
2) Quarry will be taken to the hunting reserve where they will be released fifteen minutes before the buyer is admitted.
3) Byers shall be issued with a high-powered hunting rifle.
4) The purchase price allows for only one shot once the practice time is over.
5) There is a three hour time limit on the hunt.
6) Any number of quarry may be purchased for any session.

Five buyers turned up to inspect the merchandise. Three of them expressed an interest in Rhys so the metal blindfold was removed while the prospective buyers inspected him and appraised his physique. The blindfold was locked on again and the customers retired to the salesman’s office to make their bids. Rhys was an easy sale but was left stretched in the sales stand awaiting his transport to the hunting reserve. The sales continued

TBC

[blackbound]

Wow, damn. "if he managed to survive the first few chases" sounds real harsh - are those real bullets??

Good luck, Rhys.

[Xtc]

Oh, yes, @blackbound, indeed, real bullets but, be fair, only one per "go". Wouldn't do to be too harsh.

[Bradstick]

This is a really interesting story! I’m excited to see how Rhy does being hunted and if he will make it out unscathed!

[Xtc]

I suppose it all depends what you mean by "unscathed".

[harveygasson]

Wow I doubt he's going to make it through all 7.

[Xtc]

Better get your bids in soon, then.

[Xtc]

Thanks, @blackbound, @Bradstick, and @harveygasson.

Next chapter about to be posted.

[Xtc]

QUARRY (2)


The Journey Starts

Eventually the sales came to an end and any merchandise that had attracted a sale was loaded up ready to be taken away. The criminals who had not been bought would be thrown away into an oubliette later. There were no second chances. By now not only was the clamp round his wrists and the enormous, tight gag stressing Rhys’s body more than he would previously have believed possible but the neck clamp had allowed him virtually no movement for a good two hours while the customers haggled over the rest of the merchandise.

The salesman’s young slave returned to Rhys. He undid the neck clamp and pulled the vicious, lacerating noose tight around his neck again. This was a dangerous task for the anonymous slave: he needed to get Rhys loaded for transportation but, if he damaged the purchase, he would not only have to take his place but would have to spend some time recovering from his more immediate punishments before being fit to do so. Rhys’s tortured body tried to cooperate but, having had no time to recover from the long immobility it had recently suffered, it didn’t perform as efficiently as Rhys would have wished. Eventually, he was hauled to a stop and manhandled to make him turn round. As he was pushed backwards, Rhys felt something against the back of his legs. One further push and he found himself sitting on some sort of metal mesh. He only wished his handler would tell him what to do; he was sure it would be less painful that way but that didn’t seem to be high up on anyone’s list of considerations.

Rhys was sitting on the top of a transport cage; he fell backwards landing painfully on his immobilised arms as the slave lifted his feet and swung him round until his legs hung down inside the cage. Rhys was quite tall for a sixteen-year-old and he required considerable crumpling as the slave folded him down into the cage, lowered the door and padlocked it before returning to the sales stand to collect the buyer’s next purchase.

Rhys could gather very little about his surroundings but he was obviously in a cage made of heavy gauge corrugated wire. He could just about sit up in it but it didn’t seem to be too much wider or longer than the length of his legs. The material of the cage made occupancy for any longer than a few minutes a painful experience as the ridges in the metal base dug into the occupant’s body wherever it rested causing him constantly to need to readjust his position. That was tolerable until the others arrived.

Rhys heard the hatch in the top of the cage being unlocked and heard the crash as it fell back to rest on the top. The next thing he felt was a bone-crunching electric shock spreading from his belly as he heard the instruction to move over. He frantically tried to wriggle away from the direction of the shock until he was as close to the side of the cage as was possible. As he lay curled in a foetal position in one corner of the cage dreading a repeat of whatever had just been done to him, Rhys felt and heard what was obviously another grunting body being forced into the cage alongside him. Once more the hatch was padlocked and the slave departed to collect another purchase. The two distressed purchases struggled for space and eventually found positions where they intruded onto one another’s bodies as little as they believed to be possible.

With the sound of the hatch opening again, Rhys tried to flatten himself against the side of the cage before anyone felt the need to shock him again. His unknown companion was not so lucky and lost control of his bladder with a gut-wrenching scream that belied the fact that he had been gagged just as cruelly as Rhys. He obviously wasn’t as quick on the uptake as Rhys had been because another scream followed and Rhys could no longer feel the other purchase because he had retreated into the opposite corner of the cage. Even in that confined prison, space had appeared under the hatch.

Another purchase was then obviously dropped into the cage but his gagged cries of distress sounded more like squeals and he fitted into the space that the previous occupants had vacated with comparatively little difficulty. By now the cage was more cramped than a student’s car on the way to a party with no prospect of the pleasurable outcome to follow. Rhys only hoped there was no one else left to arrive. The sound of the hatch slamming shut followed by an unidentifiable noise as a rod was fastened through loops on top of the hatch and more loops on the cage followed by the more easily identified noise of a padlock being forced shut seemed to indicate that no more arrivals were expected.

There followed much jockeying for position with accompanying grunts and relatively even more soprano squeals as feet and other extremities involuntarily explored the bodies of others. This cage wasn’t designed for long term occupation for even a poodle, let alone three human beings. But the state considered these HC’s to have surrendered their human rights.

Eventually the occupants of the delivery cage felt it being hoisted onto the back of a flat-bed lorry and heard it being clamped securely into place. The journey was a good sixty miles and, even though it was mostly on good roads, the three purchases spent more time in intimate contact with one another than any of them would have chosen. By the end of the journey, the smell of three the young males and their various emanations were unpleasant enough for one another so that it was fortunate that the cage was not an enclosed crate. One of the occupants hardly stopped crying throughout the journey, when he wasn’t yelping, so that it must have been a close run thing whether he would suffocate or not. No one would really care if he did; the purchaser could sue the delivery firm and there were plenty more where he came from.

TBC

 

[Bradstick]

Dang that cage sounds quite uncomfy, poor Rhys! Can’t wait to see what happens next!

[Xtc]

. . . But being constructed like that makes the cage much easier for the staff to handle.

[blackbound]

Wearing the prey down ahead of the hunt, eh? Nasty.

[Xtc]

That's what the punters pay for.

[Xtc]

About to post the next chapter.
Thanks to @blackbound for convincing me that someone is reading it.

Anyone else out there?

[Xtc]

QUARRY (3)


The Holding Pen

The three purchases heard a heavy gate clang into place behind them and the lorry came to a halt. The hoist was engaged and the delivery cage was swung to the ground landing none too gently thus jolting its contents and triggering the inevitable muffled screams and causing indiscriminate, random bruising to all three items. At least Rhys was pleased that he seemed to be on top of the other two.

The transport cage was opened and Rhys, being nearest to the hatch in the top, found a wire noose slipped round his neck once more before he was pulled up through the hatch and made to stand unsteadily for some seconds to regain his balance following the cramped journey. A voice told him to step out of the cage, not an easy task blindfolded and with his arms clamped into near immobility behind him. Whoever was supervising the unloading of the quarry, it certainly wasn’t the salesman’s slave. The voice implied that it came from an adult but not as emphatically as when the athletic Rhys felt two huge hands grip him under the armpits and lift him over the side of the cage with no difficulty at all. Landing outside the cage, Rhys instantly crumpled to the gravelly ground that marked his knees as though he’d stamped them with several orienteering markers. The supervisor lifted his client’s purchase unceremoniously to his feet again using a ring attached to the top of Rhys’s bridle and supported him for a few seconds before leading him to the holding pen using the customary wire noose.

Rhys was trying to cooperate, he wanted to minimise his pain and he knew there was nowhere to run, but he’d have been able to cooperate more if only someone would remove the metal plate that was curving from ear to ear and causing his head to droop through its sheer oppressive weight. If only he was better able to cooperate, he thought he might lose less blood as the noose tightened and twisted around his neck. Every time he felt it sting, he knew he’d been cut. The cage had been dropped near to the holding pen so Rhys didn’t have to suffer the noose for long but his next experience was in no way preferable to it.

The supervisor inserted the hook from a hoist into the large ring that passed through Rhys’s wrist clamp and started raising it. Soon Rhys was swinging in the air and screaming as his arms were wrenched upwards like the strappado that the Catholic Church used in ancient times to convert heretics. It didn’t last long but it lasted long enough as Rhys was swung over the trap in the top of the holding pen and lowered into it. By the time Rhys had crumpled to the ground once more, the chain was loose and, after a bit of shaking, he felt it disengaging itself from his wrists. After a few minutes and even more agonised but muffled screaming, Rhys felt the next purchase drop down more or less on top of him as their bridles clashed. More jiggling of the chain left another HC lying on the soft, sandy floor (absorbed the blood better) awaiting the call to the hunt. In all his own pain, Rhys’s stomach still churned as he heard the soprano squeals of their fellow quarry as he was dropped into the holding pen after them.

Unseen to the quarry, the supervisor then operated his hoist again. This time a young slave carrying a satchel on his back held onto the hook as he was lowered into the holding pen. Being over eight feet deep, the holding pen was too deep for the underweight twelve year old to jump down into if he was to be able to do his job afterwards. Upon landing, he slipped the satchel off his back and tried to ease the metal collar that was nearly throttling him. Then he got down to work for fear that he would be beaten or even made to join the quarry in their next chase. He took a small bottle containing a medicated preparation and an assortment of sealed fabric wipes and plasters and arranged them carefully on the open bag. The next quarter hour was spent in his applying the medication to the cuts round the quarries’ necks and the abrasions on various parts of their bodies. That stuff stung in the open wounds no matter how minor they were. After the cleansing and styptic treatment, the slave applied surgical dressings on the less responsive cuts. The cruel toothed clamp that prevented him from fully withdrawing his tongue helped to remind him that he was supposed to work in silence this time. He only hoped that, if he got this job right, not only would he not be beaten or made to join the hunt but that, at last the wretched device would be cut from him. Perhaps such excessive drooling would not normally be considered a desirable trait in a first-aider but he would have been expected to re-direct it from falling on his patients and no-one expected them to last long anyway.

Wound dressing over, the slave replaced his medical supplies in the satchel and removed the key-chain that he wore round his neck. Starting with the smallest quarry and finishing with Rhys, he unlocked the curved metal plates from the fronts of their bridles and placed them in his satchel before strapping it onto his back again and holding onto the hook. He was quickly hoisted out of the pen and took his position on the ground. He knew he shouldn’t look up unless addressed directly but, if he was, he’d better look his superior in the eyes all the while he was being addressed. The supervisor merely tipped his head and indicated that the slave should go indoors. He scrambled to his feet and ran to do as was indicated.

Rhys could now see his fellow sufferers for the first time. One was a strapping young man in his early twenties who, if he hadn’t been shaved would have had a dense thatch of black hair. He also had a dense, black “7” tattooed on his left pec but he already had four tally marks on his right breast as well. He must have cost their purchaser a small fortune. Rhys wished with all his heart that he could have got some tips from someone who had already escaped the gun four times. The harsh truth, though, is that, even if both purchases hadn’t been gagged in identical fashion, the more experienced quarry would have been more intent on escaping with his own life again rather than helping others to do so. As a Hunter, their purchaser was allowed only one shot and any quarry simply had to hope that someone else copped it before they did.

The little, quivering jelly wasn’t even old enough to need a cock cage but he’d still been fitted with a bridle and a clamp that had already bruised his wrists to beyond the purple stage. He was very pale and had a wide “3” tattooed where his pecs might eventually be. If he lived that long.

Having looked over his fellow quarry, Rhys examined the holding pen. It was about eight feet deep and round with a diameter of about six feet and was covered with a metal grid with a hatch in the middle. There was a gutter running across the middle of the floor with a drain at the end. It stank!

With the dark, the sleep of exhaustion settled over all but the pale youngster

TBC

[blackbound]

A chapter so nice, I read it twice! Things seem dire for our protagonist - I (slightly sadistically?) enjoy the wire loop, all of this is very well organized as I've come to expect from your various institutions.

Everyone else, barring those who have: comment, damn your eyes.

[Xtc]

The institutions have to be well organised or "something might happen to those involved.
Thanks fior the supprt, @blackbound.

[Xtc]

The institutions have to be well organised or "something might happen to those involved.
Thanks for the support, @blackbound.

[harveygasson]

Still going strong with this really unique story.

[Xtc]

Thanks for checking in, @harveygasson

[Xtc]

QUARRY (4)


The Release Pen

Even in his current predicament, Rhys was a normal, and still relatively healthy, teenage boy who got morning wood the same as any other. It was the pain as he expanded into the restrictive, spiked cage that was tormenting his lower abdomen that woke him up. Once all the quarry was awake in the morning, it became obvious that all three had inadvertently huddled together for warmth and comfort but, upon waking, the older purchases quickly distanced themselves from each other by as much as was possible in the confined holding pen. When the sun had been up for about an hour, the slave that had removed the blindfolds returned and was once more lowered into the pit with his satchel. A closer examination than he had previously been able to make of the slave’s arrival showed Rhys that he didn’t just have to hold on to the hook and hope but that there was a leather sling attached to the hook into which he could slip his wrist to help support his weight and that of anything he was carrying.

The slave laid his satchel on the ground and produced two objects resembling hydration packs. One contained water and the other the sort of compound that is fed to people in emergencies when they are in urgent need of nutrition. It’s not the sort of thing that one would choose to ingest but none of the criminals seemed to complain as the tube was inserted into the hole in front of his gag and the bag was gently and intermittently squeezed. There was obviously a fixed ration and, after each prisoner had been fed, the slave removed the tube from his gag and replaced it with the tube from the water container until he had finished drinking.

Before replacing the two packs in the satchel, the slave removed the curved metal plates that would soon blindfold the quarry once more. The smallest purchase started crying again and desperately turned himself to the wall and pressed himself as close to it as possible whilst urinating copiously.. The dark, muscular prisoner knew there was no point in resisting; he had tried that before when he was the only quarry. His gaoler simply flooded the pen until he was standing up to his neck in water. He held out for nearly a day before answering the supervisor’s question with a nod of his head. This time he was quickly blindfolded and the slave moved on to Rhys, who considered resisting. Reasoning that the more experienced quarry must have had cause to submit to such a slight boy so readily, Rhys decided against it. He was soon blindfolded and the slave turned his attention to the smallest purchase.

The small purchase resisted. The slave pulled his feet from under him causing his metal-bound head to crash into the ground. A few well-chosen words and only a moderate amount of pain later and all three purchases had been blindfolded. The words were, to say the least, indistinct due to the swelling that had not yet completely subsided from the slave’s recently freed tongue but anyone hearing them could easily have gathered their import from the context. The slave packed his satchel and hooked the largest of his charges onto the hoist. His agonised removal from the pit was soon over and he was left kneeling on the ground. Rhys was next and, once kneeling, he was chained to the darker purchase by the rings on the tops of their bridles. Following more severely muffled squealing, there were three targets chained together and ready to be released to further torments. A deep voice ordered them to stand and a slave took hold of the connecting chain, the end of which was hanging down in front of the largest purchase, and pulled the unwilling chain-gang forwards.

The walk was certainly no longer than ten minutes in duration but, clamped, blindfolded and chained together, the quarry found making progress difficult and slow in spite of the electric shocks that even the smallest of them suffered every time the supervisor thought that they should be going faster. At the end of the walk, the three purchases heard a gate clang shut behind them shortly before their blindfolds were unlocked by another slave and they were told to “loosen up”. The oldest purchases took the supervisor at his word and started jogging and flexing their muscles as much as they could in the “release pen”. The release pen was simply a large, roofed cage about ten metres square, and most buyers liked their quarry to be exercised, within reason, before they were released for the chase. All the while the quarry exercised or, in one case, sat crying, the sound of gunshots could be heard. The Hunter would only be allowed one shot once he was on the reserve but before that, the purchase price included the opportunity to practice with the unfamiliar weapon for as long as the purchaser pleased.

When the purchaser was satisfied with his practice session, he approached the release pen to inspect his purchases. The slave explained the situation for the benefit of the newcomers. They would be released into a hunting reserve. It was about four square miles in extent and completely surrounded by an alarmed fence and copious amounts of razor wire. Inside the wire a strip about two hundred yards wide had been cleared of anything that could provide cover. If any quarry encroached on this “no-go” zone, a loud alarm would sound alerting the hunter of its whereabouts.

Following that explanation the supervisor arrived amid a confusion of barking. “Christ, he’s going to hunt us with dogs.” thought Rhys as he caught sight of the German shepherd on the end of a very substantial chain in the supervisor’s hand. The dog looked and sounded very keen to get on with her job and the supervisor unlocked the gate to the pen and told the dog to go “Down!” It did so but could obviously hardly wait to be released from that command. The supervisor locked the gate. “Go!” the dog arose and headed straight for Rhys who backed up so close to the fence that it left marks in his back later. With much barking, the dog came close enough to Rhys for him to smell its breath. Rhys lost control of his bladder but the dog ignored the resultant yellow shower while it stuck its nose into Rhys’s groin. “She’ll remember you now.” said the supervisor and he called his dog off. The slave took a cloth from his satchel and wiped Rhys’s groin. Rhys wondered what purpose that cursory toilette served and why all of a sudden hygiene had become so important as the slave consigned the cloth to a plastic bag before returning it to his satchel.

By the time the dog approached the smallest purchase, he was curled into the smallest ball he could possibly form and quivering uncontrollably. The supervisor looked at the slave and tilted his head towards him. The slave approached the purchase and forced his arms into a sort of full nelson hold. Even after the slave had lifted him clear of the ground, the diminutive boy tried to keep his knees to his chest as the aggressive dog continued to bark and sniff his backside. Once the dog had been called off, the slave simply dropped his burden to the ground, produced another cloth and wiped the distraught boy’s backside. Once more the cloth was consigned first to a plastic bag and then to his satchel.

Rhys noticed that the third purchase was not subjected to the canine terror.

The dog, the slave and the supervisor left the release pen and locked the gate again. The hunter said he was ready and the internal gate slid upwards. Rhys headed for the gate; he wanted the best start he could get. Before he reached the gate, Rhys felt a crushing sensation accompanied by an agonising pain in his ribs. The largest purchase had barged him forcibly into the solid iron bars of the pen. He too wanted the best start he could get and, if he could break a couple of Rhys’s ribs, it would make him a much easier target for the hunter than he himself. Rhys crumpled and his assailant made good his departure.

TBC

[Xtc]

Next part if you are interested, @blackbound @Bradstick and @harveygasson

QUARRY (5)


Rhys’s First Hunt

In spite of the pain, Rhys knew that he had to make good his escape but, as he did so, the pain of two broken ribs added to the lactic acid build-up in his arms to make him feel like just giving up and surrendering to the gun. He’d always been a stubborn boy and now that stubbornness cut in when it was most needed; he stumbled out or the release pen and went looking for some dense ground cover. He didn’t even look round at the sound as the dog was allowed to terrify the youngest purchase into running into the reserve.

The hunter waited and watched. If he had the chance, he would try for the most experienced quarry but, if he was out of luck, there were always the other two. He only wished that the middle one hadn’t been damaged by the largest one on the way out of the release pen. Being a sportsman, he didn’t like the quarry to be that easy to shoot. The little one would be easy; he had no experience, very little strength and was nearly paralysed with fear. Nevertheless, he’d come in handy for the hunter if he had not succeeded in the first two and a half hours. He watched carefully as his purchases made their way into the reserve. From past experience he knew that it was unlikely that, once the smallest HC had found what he considered to be a safe hiding place, he would move far from it. He knew more or less where to look if he needed him.

Rhys made his painful way through the scrub and scattered woodland until he thought he was out of sight of the release pen, whereupon he took a sharp right and headed towards the edge of the mown strip. Having found it, he headed back into the cover and took a turn back towards the release pen for a very short way until he found a drainage channel. He shunned that as a place to hide because it was too obvious a place that the hunter was sure to know. Eventually, he found a rhododendron thicket surrounding a substantial yew tree. Even moving as clumsily as he was, he thought that it would provide the best cover he could find. He pushed through the shrubs, leaving hardly a trace on the greenery of where he had been. Being barefoot had certain advantages in spite of the spiky twigs underfoot. He knew he needed to stop soon; his ribs were screaming and he needed to stop aggravating his injuries.

When he reached the yew, he found a slight hollow into which he crawled. Just being able to brace himself against the developing internal trunks gave welcome relief as he considered whether this hiding place would also be known to his purchaser. Pain got the better of him and he decided to stay. Eventually, Rhys became aware of the smell. It was certainly more potent than the smell of unwashed teenaged male. Perhaps that which had been left by the local foxes would help him to remain undetected; for fuck’s sake it had to – he just couldn’t go any further. He settled into his niche and worked on controlling his breathing and examining his surroundings. He looked for any traces that he might have left, he looked for any easy access points that the hunter might use, he looked for alternative escape routes if he did. By the time he’d controlled his heartbeat, he was sure he could hear if anyone approached through the bush. He already knew that the adrenaline would not keep coursing through his system for ever; now he knew that he could not afford to sleep.

As he crouched in his own little womb, his senses sharpened and each natural sound became an amplified cause for alarm. Time slowed down. How long had he been there?

Then he heard the report.

At least he knew that he was safe this time. What should he do now? Suppose that sound didn’t come from his hunter’s gun? Was anyone hunting in the adjoining reserve? His breath control left him.

Rhys decided to sit tight and, after some time, he heard the sound of the dog as it approached. He heard the sounds as the beast crashed through the rhodies surrounding his tree. The adrenaline started to course through him again; fight or flight. The dog barked noisily as it found him and thrust its muzzle into Rhys’s groin. It was then that Rhys evacuated his bowels.

The dog suddenly became quiet and went down. Now Rhys knew why the slave had taken that swab. After about five minutes Rhys heard a voice, “Come out or I give the dog a treat.”

“Uuuww uuuww.” Rhys was shaking his head violently. Not that the Supervisor could see him, but he really did not want the dog to be given a treat. The best threats are never completely specified but Rhys’s damaged ribs burst into flame again as his head-shaking reverberated through his torso

He gradually uncurled himself, clumsily regained his feet and stepped carefully past the prone German shepherd who growled quietly as her potential plaything departed. “Come here, girl.” As Rhys carefully negotiated the tangle of undergrowth, he was overtaken by the somewhat disappointed dog. Emerging from the thicket Rhys saw the supervisor, the dog, who was once more prone but, to Rhys’s eyes, more than ready for a “treat” and the “first aid slave” who, by now, was in a bridle just like his. Christ, that must have hurt with his swollen tongue. The slave locked the curved metal plate onto the front of Rhys’s bridle and, instead of using the unforgiving wire noose, he slipped a choke chain round his neck and jerked him forwards.

Recovery Time

Once the party had reached the release pen once more, Rhys found himself being prodded and manhandled causing the pain in his ribs to intensify even more. Although unaware of the situation, he was undergoing what passed for triage to ascertain the extent of his injuries. Compared to his ribs, even the pain of having his arms reduced to near immobility for so long and his jaw forced open to the extreme had slipped almost from his consciousness. Rhys also slipped from consciousness at that time.

Coming round again was a confusing, painful and relatively slow process. Rhys found himself back in the holding pen without the metal plate in front of his eyes. His torso had been wrapped round with several layers of tightly applied surgical tape that was supposed to hold his broken ribs in place while they started to heal. He could only catch a glimpse over his shoulder of the leather strap that was pulling his elbows towards one another. It stressed his shoulders and chest but was supposed to restrict his movements while the bones started to heal and it did relieve the stress on his wrists somewhat as well.

Rhys looked around and saw the older quarry who was still blindfolded and who had been chained loosely by his neck to the bars on the top of the holding pen so that he was unlikely to choke but was unable to sit down or even move very far. The purchaser had not been best pleased to find that one of his purchases had been damaged before even leaving the release pen and the supervisor had taken precautions to avoid it happening again. It took all the Manager’s persuasive skills to prevent the purchaser demanding the return of a large sum of money. In the end he had to make the purchaser a very generous offer. The purchaser went away somewhat mollified. Being unconscious at the time, Rhys had no idea what the offer was.

There was no sign of the smallest purchase.

The original slave was dropped into the pit with water and more of the nourishing mush that the quarry had to eat previously. Rhys sucked the tube until the full litre of water had gone and, even in his pain, made sure to take as much of the disgusting pap as he could face. The slave then inserted another tube in the hole in Rhys’s gag. The bottle was smaller but Rhys accepted even more water gratefully. Shortly afterwards, Rhys felt strangely disoriented. Shortly after that he was sound asleep on the reeking sandy floor of the holding pen.

Before he passed out from the effects of the pain-killing drug that had been administered, Rhys noticed the larger purchase being fed and watered but, as his hearing became fuzzy, he could not understand what was being said from above.

The slave was hauled out of the holding pen again and the second one returned with a very primitive piece of equipment and a bottle of special black ink. The device was about a foot long and was like two thin laths each about two inches wide and fastened together at one end. The other ends were separated by about an inch with one being slightly longer than the other. The slave applied ink to the double row of closely arranged spikes protruding from the longer lath and firmly placed the other against the chest of the older purchase. After a short period for fine adjustment, during which the unfortunate victim could be seen tensing his entire body, the slave punched the longer lath hard with the side of his fist. The dark quarry failed to suppress the scream no matter that he tried and, when the device was withdrawn, the blood oozing from the tiny wounds left a trace across the previous four tally marks. The tattooist wiped his work and examined it carefully before carrying on to his next task.

Rhys awoke suddenly. He could still feel where the adrenaline injection had been jabbed into his thigh. His arms and jaws still ached and his ribs still felt like they were trying to escape from his torso but the pain levels were noticeably lower than they had been before he drank the pain-killing draught. The intervening four hours’ sleep had done him no harm either. The new, sharp pain high up on his chest was new but, compared to the others, it hardly mattered. The metal plate was locked over Rhys’s eyes once more.

The other quarry was still blindfolded and chained by the neck and the hoist was lowered into the pen. First Rhys, then the other quarry, once he’d been released from the neck chain, and finally the “first-aid” slave were lifted out of the pen. The quarry was chained together and taken towards the release pens once more. Not that Rhys could see but they were taken to the one adjacent to the previous one this time so that the hunter could hunt on the other reserve. Once Rhys’s blindfold had been removed, he could see that the Manager had accompanied the Supervisor and the purchaser into the release pen along with the second slave. The curved metal plate remained in place on the other HC’s bridle; the manager was taking no chances this time.

The manager explained the situation to the two purchases. He had been forced to offer the purchaser a “free go” at the two remaining quarry because of the damage that had been done to Rhys between his purchase and his release into the original reserve. That free go was going to be now. The two quarry were separated, the gate opened, the supervisor’s dog barked and Rhys made good his exit. Shortly afterwards the other purchase was un-blindfolded and released.

The hunter waited and watched as his two potential trophies tried to get as far away as possible. “Good,” he thought, “They’ve both gone in the same direction.” He put down his field-glasses, smiled, picked up his rifle and, with a cursory nod towards the manager, set out on his hunt.

TBC

[blackbound]

I could've sworn I commented on the last one, saying something like "I foolishly expected the quarry to work together, but should've known better." Must've imagined it!

What an up and down of feelings for Rhys! The elation of survival going directly into the repeat because of the jackassery of his opponent.

[Bradstick]

Let the games begin! I’m excited to see what happens next with Rhys and his hunter!