The Hunted

[wormee]

He tried to catch his breath, but he had been running for too long without a break. His legs felt tired, weak, but he still forced them to continue. Running, running. His ribs felt as if they were going to burst out his chest, they hurt so much. But he could not stop. They were close behind.

Why, he asked himself. Had he been such a bad person? He was just an ordinary businessman. Was this some kind of revenge for something his company had done, something he had no hand in? Guilt by association.

He stopped in an alley. Surely he had lost them by now. He slumped down behind a dumpster and tried to control his heavy breathing. He just sat there for a moment, too tired to do anything but suck air back into his lungs. He looked around and saw the alley did not open up on the other end. He was trapped, trapped like a rat. Was that it? Did he unwittingly divulge some company secrets and this was their way of plugging the leak? He thought again. He wasn't given that kind of clearance. What did he know about the company's secrets? Had he dishonored them, failed them in some way? No that was ridiculous. This wasn't a spy movie, though it felt like it.

He tensed up and held his breath. A sound was heard outside the alley. Had they found him? They couldn't have. He strained to listen. He heard the click-clack of heels on the concrete sidewalk. It could be them. Laughter followed. Not cruel and malicious, but uplifting, like someone had just told a humorous anticdote. As the conversation grew louder he learned it was just a couple enjoying a night on the town. He breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Hello, Simon," came the taunting female voice that made him jump out of his skin. He turned his head to glare down the barrel of a gun, held by a beautiful Asian woman. Behind her stood her two friends. To look at them you would think they were just your typical young women out bar hopping. You would believe they were at least seniors in collage or starting exciting careers. Maybe they could have been fashion models, or had even started their own business. That could have been true, he just didn't know who these women were or where they came from. But he did know one thing, they were deadly.

"What a lovely hunt you've led us on, although it was a bit short," the gun-wielding vixen told him.

"You could always let me go again," he said nervously, nervously and desperate.

She turned around to her friends and looked at them, as if to ask for their opinion. "But we still have so much to do with you," she said, toying with his fear.

"Please, just tell me what this is about," he begged them. "If I have hurt you in any way…"

"Oh you've done nothing wrong," said one of the other women. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"We're bored," explained the one with the gun. "And you, my friend, are our sport."

"I'm being hunted for sport?" he said with a deep uneasiness filling his stomach. All three nodded in agreement with cruel smiles painted across their lips.

Simon grabbed a trash bag and threw it towards the woman with the gun. If nothing else he felt it would take the bullet for him. He ran out the alley as the women were distracted by the bag.

He thought it would be a big kick six months ago. Accept a transfer to Japan, go back to the homeland he never knew and trace his roots. But now this, hunted down like some wild game in the streets of Tokyo. He ran out into the street. Surely they wouldn't chase him out there. He looked up the street and saw a couple walking out of a building. He ran up to them. They would be his salvation, he knew it.

"Help me!" he frantically begged them in his native English. "I'm being hunted by three young women!" The couple looked at him strangely and opened up the door of their taxi. He tried to climb in too but was pushed out by the man. He heard the woman tell the cab driver to drive away and he complied.

Simon couldn't believe it. He was on his own again. He looked down the street and saw the three women walking towards him. The gun was pointed at him and he heard a silenced bullet whiz through he air past him. He ran, the only thing h could think of. Ran like a scared animal. That's what he was.

He turned a corner and ran into another man, nearly knocking him to the ground. He struggled with the man for a bit, trying to get him out of the way.

"Help me, please help me!" he said again in English, his mind to panicked to focus on the native tongue. The man's English was not very good and he asked him to repeat himself. Were Simon more aware than his current state allowed him, he would have seen that this man looked concerned over his own safety than that of Simon's. He had no idea who Simon was or why he was screaming and holding his arms, but it scared him.

The three women rounded the corner and the gun wielder quickly hid her weapon upon sight of the new man. One of her friends went up to the man and in Japanese calmly explained that her male "friend" here had too much too drink. She and the others pried Simon off the man and told him to come along. They were going to take care of him. They apologized to the other man and led Simon away. He stared at the man in disbelief, but who was he to believe. The crazy man who ranted at him in a language he barely knew, or the three beautiful women who had calmly given him a plausible story. Besides, it was no longer his problem and he could go on with his life now.

They walked down the street, the woman with the gun leading the way, one with her elbow wrapped around Simon's, and the other walking behind them. They walked down the streets plain as day. Because it was 2 in the morning, there were hardly any people around. It had rained that afternoon and puddles still lay on the ground. Simon realized this when his feet got wet as they marched through a rather large puddle. The women all wore tall black leather boots, and paid little attention. Then a car drove by a little too fast and splashed the group. The women cursed him as him sped off but not Simon. It had been enough of a distraction to allow him to escape once again. He ran from his captors and leapt off the edge of a small bridge they were about to cross. The women ran after him and saw him land awkwardly on the wet grass below. The woman pulled out her gun and took another shot at him but missed, barely. Simon rolled out of the way and dove under the bridge for protection. He had not noticed that the bullet again made no sound, but he had other concerns on his mind.

[wormee]

He got to his feet and started to run. He only got to take one step before falling down to the ground again. He had twisted his ankle from his leap. He would not be running to fast now. He knew his only hope lay in finding a hiding place and waiting them out. Up above he heard the women's boot heels echoing on the bridge as they made their way towards him. He hobbled off as quickly as he could manage.

The park was deserted at this late of night. Everyone was safely home in their beds. Simon wished he was too. He looked around for a good place to hide. He was scared of these women, over what they accomplished so far, but it was the fear that was motivating him. He looked at the pond, but knew he could not hold his breath that long. The park benches held no shelter for him. Neither did the trees. He stumbled further along until he came to a tool shed. He thought about hiding in there, but then wondered if that was too obvious. As he drew nearer he found that it wasn't going to be an issue for the door was locked. He began to despair until he noticed a large pile of folded up boxes next to the dumpster. He had the idea of hiding himself under those boxes until morning. He lay down on the ground against the trash box and covered himself with the boxes. His urgency allowed him to ignore the smell of the garbage. He lay as still as he could and waited.

He did not now how long he waited, every second seemed like an eternity. But he dare not move to look at his watch. He heard their foot falls outside, their voices whispering in the wind. They were close now. He froze out of pure terror, afraid of having his hiding place discovered, afraid for his life. He heard them walk around, looking for them. They tried the tool shed. He wished they would leave but they didn't. It was like they could smell him. They knew he was here, somewhere. He wanted to move. His muscles screamed in agony, wanting to just leap out of their hiding place and reach out for the sun. But he was too paralyzed with fear. A pair of boot heels came closer. He mind raced. Had they found him? Was it over? He feared for his life. Is this how it was going to end? Millions of miles away from home, shot through the head like some wild game and left to die in the garbage?

Relief came over him as he heard the boot steps grow fainter. They were finally leaving. He was now safe and breathed a sigh of relief. Wait. Did the boxes just move with his breath? They didn't see that did they? Maybe they hadn't gotten far away yet. He wasn't out of danger yet, and his relief may just have put him back in. He remained still, perfectly still. Not breathing not moving. He didn't even think. He wanted to make no noise what so ever, nothing to betray him. He listened. Nothing. Perhaps they had gone, perhaps now he was safe. But what if he wasn't? The thought crossed his mind. Were they far enough away now? Should he move? They could come back. If he got up and left now, would they see him and begin the chase all over again? But if he stayed, would they eventually figure it out and come back for him. That reasoning told him to go and find another hiding spot. But what if he walked away and ended up going in the same direction they went. He would be delivering himself right into their hands.

The possibilities ran rampant throughout his mind. Every option he came up with had the potential to lead him to danger. He wanted to scream out, but knew that would definitely bring them running. He needed more information. Where were the women? He knew they weren't around him, he had heard them leave. Did they go down to the path on the right or the left? If he knew, he could go down the opposite direction and they would be none the wiser. He would be free; every step either of them took would bring him that much closer to freedom. He would be able to go home and sleep. He was so tired.

But they knew his name, didn't they? How did they know that? What else did they know? Did they know where he lived? They could be there right now waiting for him. Waiting for him to walk through that door expecting to find sanctuary, and find his huntresses instead. Damn them, this was driving him insane. He wanted to scream again. One thought ran through his head, the agonized scream he wanted to let out so much.

He wanted to leave, get up right now and jump on a plane for San Francisco. That's what he'd do. Fuck going home. He wouldn't fall into their trap. Straight to the airport. But he'd left his passport at home. Would they even let him back in the country without it? So that was it then, he was trapped in Tokyo. He calmed his racing thoughts down. Better to take one thing at a time. Yes, he'd rather be sipping a cappuccino on Fisherman's Wharf, but he had to get out of this park first. If he only knew where his pursuers were.

Dare he look? He worried about lifting up the top box a hair and taking a peek. Would they see the boxes moving and pounce on him? But they were gone, weren't they. How long had it been? How long had he been laying there thinking of all the possibilities of his doom? Had it been seconds, minutes, hours? They must be long gone by now. He hadn't heard their boot heels striking the pavement outside. They were gone, they had to be. Too far gone to see him peek out of his shelter.

He lifted the flattened box, only enough to look out of. He saw nothing but the park beyond. He looked around as far as he could. Ninety degrees and saw only trees, grass and moonlight. His pursuers were nowhere in sight. Maybe they had gotten tired of this and gave up the chase. Maybe they were waiting for him back at his apartment. How he longed for Fisherman's Wharf right now. Should he chance it or just stay here. The waiting was killing him. Not only were his muscles aching and cramped, but his mind was burning from the tension. He couldn't take it any longer. He had to get up and leave. Common sense said that they were long gone by now. But then again, common sense says that a human being won't be hunted down in the streets of Tokyo. He couldn't take the wait any longer.

But just to be cautious, better move the boxes without a lot of noise and movement. He would have to be slow and careful. Damn he was paranoid. But didn't he have every reason to be? He slid his left out under the boxes to grab the bottom edge and slide it off.

Pain shot through his hand, up his arm as one of the women stomped down on it. He was sure she had broken every bone in it. He thought he could hear giggling right before the boxes on top of him collapsed under the weight of another of the women who jumped on top of the heap and drove her heels into his stomach. The boxes were thrown off of him as he lay writhing in pain.
A kick to the head and another explosion of pain.

"That's for giving us the run around," shouted his assailant.

Another kick in the lower back, her pointed toe determined to snap through his spine. He cried out in pain, but the sound was half choked on the agony. A boot smashed down upon his hand again and ground the fingers under its heel. Were they snapped like twigs? Simon couldn't tell from the onslaught of pain he received. Another kick to his back. Fisherman's Wharf was a fantasy at this point, now he wished they would just shoot him and get it over with. Another kick caught him in the balls. There was only one thing on his mind now, pain. He curled up in a ball and tried to bury his face in the ground. Another kick to the side of the head. Another right into his ass. He hurt all over.

[wormee]

Why these women? Weren't they supposed to be the weaker sex? But here he was lying at their feet and being beaten like a dog. Or worse. All night he had fled from them in terror. He feared them. Right now, though, he had no opinion of them. He was suffering too much.

The assault stopped and he just lay there curled up. Was it finally over? He felt the hard leather sole of one of the boots being placed on his head, pinning him the ground with such simplicity. That's all it took, one foot resting on his head, and he was going nowhere.

The boot was lifted off. She had pushed off with force, contempt, letting him know who was in charge here. Letting him know his insolence would be tolerated no more. Letting him know how low she regarded him. He was dragged to his feet and led to a waiting car the third woman had brought over. They placed his battered and weary body in the back seat and sped off into the night, laughing in a victory celebration.


He didn't know how long the drive had taken, or were they were going. He had just one thought running through his head, an emotion: fear. This was the end of his life, he knew it. All his dreams, all his hopes, his ambition, were destroyed. He had hoped he would become a somebody, that if he said yes at all the right times, did every thing that was expected of him and more, that he would be moved up in the company. He had dreamed that one day he would be indispensable to them. He would get offers from the competition and upon hearing the news, his bosses would beg him to stay, shower him with money and gifts. A company car, they'd offer. An executive washroom for his own private use. A private office with a view of the bay. They'd ask him to name his price and he would stay, because he knew that one day he would be running this company. But the dream was now shattered. He had taken this assignment in Japan for that reason, to advance himself within the company. It didn't offer him his future, rather it delivered him to his demise.

The car stopped and the door opened. He was tossed out to the hard asphalt ground. The women got out of the car, one "accidentally" stepping on his hand and crushing his fingers beneath her boot.

"Sorry," she giggled not really meaning it, using it to taunt him. He was grabbed by the hair and lifted to his feet. A door opened up in a wall in front of him. So scared was he that he hadn't even noticed the abandoned warehouse. He saw the darkness of the night engulfing him, and heard the uneasy stillness of the air around him. He was alone and knew it. Just him and his captors. No one to come save him. No one to witness his final moment.

He was thrown through the door and fell face first onto the hard warehouse floor. As he got to his feet the pointed toe of one of the women's boot smashed into his side. The spiked heel of another drove into his back and sent him falling back to the ground. He could only think about the pain. His body was already exhausted from the chase and the attack in the park. The new kicks weren't giving him much time to recover.

Another boot stomped down on his head and sent a rush of pain flooding through his nervous system. It lay there, pinning his head painfully underneath. The women laughed at him and giggled to each other in Japanese. His mind was in too much of a fog to fully catch what they were saying. He could figure out what they thought of him, weak, puny, they even referred to him as some kind of animal or bug. Were they going to squash him then? Like the bug they regarded him as. A tiny little insect to be crushed into a grease spot beneath their boot heel.

Another stomp on the head and this time she just continued through with her stride, stepping on his head as she walked on by. This is what it's like to be an insect, he thought. Trod beneath her boot as if he were nothing, insignificant. The other two stomped on his back and giggled the whole way through.

They pounced on him and tore his clothes off. He wanted to resist, didn't want to comply with them, figuring that anything they wanted couldn't be good for him. Soon he lay at their feet, bare, exposed and unsheltered. He felt diminished somehow, defenseless. Somehow, despite being unable to stop these women so far, his exposure made him feel defeatable. He had nothing to hide from them. His very soul now lay before them unprotected. Despite everything else they had done to him tonight, now they had taken his pride. They had won. He lay before them a defeated creature. Their captured prey.

The pointed toe drove into his stomach. He curled up in agony trying to hide away from the pain, the horror. The women talked amongst themselves, not giving orders to each other, but rather instructions to set up their next torture. He was laid out on his back. One woman grabbed his hands and stretched his arms above his head. She placed one slender heel into each of his palms to pin him to the floor. His hands burnt in agony, but if she noticed, she showed no concern. Another woman grabbed his ankles and stretched his legs out. She stood between them and kicked his ankles apart. He lay before them spread out, an offering to their mettle, their power over him. The woman at his legs drew her leg back and kicked him between the legs, smashing his manhood with her feminine foot. He screamed in pain and tried to flail around. His palms remained skewered to the floor and prevented him from showing the full display of his agony. The women above him just laughed at his predicament. Their triumph. The woman between his legs stomped down on his testicles, delightedly eliciting a further howl of pain. She may have damaged his future, destroying his chance at creating another generation to carry on his name. But she cared not for that, but only for her own perverse pleasure. She stomped down on his testicles a few more times, toying with him, creating a game out of it: see what kind of sounds she could make him utter, what kinds of distress she could cause him with just a simple and common movement.

[wormee]

The torture stopped and he thought of his aching scrotum. He thought of the pain and that was coming from the scrotum, and that is was filled his mind. He begged them to stop, to let him go. His pride was already stripped from him, why shouldn't he? All that was left to him now was pain.

He felt the heels lift off from his hands, but could still feel their pressure. He opened his eyes to look at the sky, hidden beyond the imprisoning steel of the ceiling. The ceiling disappeared and all he saw was the sole of a boot descending swiftly upon his face. His nose was instantly crushed and spouted blood as if a derrick had just struck oil. The boot pressed down farther, mashing his face into its tread. He thought he heard laughter from above, but couldn't be sure. His body was trying to loose consciousness, but couldn't quite go all the way. His ears were ringing, eclipsing any other sound. Or maybe the laughter was just a memory, a Pavlovian response to his pain. They had always laughed at whatever pain they inflicted on him. Why shouldn't he be hearing it again in his distress?

The pressure increased and he heard more bones crack. If they were broken, he didn't know. He wasn't in that much pain. She had stepped on him full weight, walked across his face just because she could. More laughter, more pain. His head started spinning, reality and darkness swirling about in his senses. He heard voices, women talking. They belonged to his captors, right? He wasn't sure, he wasn't sure of anything any more. What were they saying? He couldn't make it out, he couldn't concentrate enough. They were plotting, figuring out how they wanted to torment him next.

He felt their soft warm skin touch him. Their hands? Reality and consciousness were slowly returning to him. The women were rolling him over onto his stomach. Twin wooden spikes drove into his back. He screamed. On top of his back one of the women had jumped on him and landed with her heels first. She stood on him, digging the daggers into his flesh, impaling him with her boots. The pain was so intense he could barely scream. He could only gasp and wish for the ability to scream. One heel lifted up but then slammed back down in another spot on his back. She did it again and again, causing him to fear the condition of his internal organs.

She leapt off of him, giving him one last jolt of pain before parting. He prayed for it all to end, but deep down, he knew he was not that lucky. The next thing he felt was a gentle caress on his balls. If he was not so sore, he would have found it erotic. Even now his body seemed to be struggling to settle on an emotion, pleasure or pain. Her fingers gently covered his sack and pulled it out, laying it and his cock on the cold cement floor. He was starting to calm down a bit thanks to that caress. Starting to forget his torment.

Then it all flooded back to him, a pain greater than before, greater than he had ever experienced. Her boot had come crashing down, smashing his testicles between it and the hard floor below. His body convulsed, trying to stay conscious. She stamped down again, this time her flat heel squashing his cock beneath it. She ground it as if she were crushing out a cigarette, a useless piece of trash she wanted to get rid of. He wanted to scream, he wanted to scream so bad but the words just wouldn't come out. The pain choked off his cries and buried them in his throat. She lifted her heel and looked at the cock. It was bruised red from the crushed blood vessels inside. Blood was even leaking out from the cuts her heel made, her pressure causing it to just burst from the skin. But it hadn't been crushed enough for her satisfaction, and so she stamped upon it again and again. She leapt up in the air and came crashing down on his member. Her friends laughed giddily when they saw tiny streams of blood shoot out from under her heel as if she had just stomped a ketchup packet. His whole body shook from the shock, the trauma of his misery. The woman lifted up her boot and smiled at what lay beneath it. He was no longer a man. His anatomy had been destroyed, crushed into a pulp of flesh, blood and semen.

He was in shock. He was nowhere else but in shock. He had no concept of time or place. No memory, no awareness of his surroundings. No thought or emotion except that of pure, unadulterated pain. It flooded his mind, his body, his senses. It overcame every thing he wanted to feel, think or be. There was nothing except pain.

Boots were placed on him, women were standing on him. He could feel the treads on their soles, their hard torturous heels pressing down on his chest. (Had he been turned over on his back? He couldn't remember. Everything just hurt too much.) Another boot was placed roughly on what was left of his genitals. He opened his eyes (were they already open, he couldn't remember? It hurt too much.) He tried to comprehend what he was looking at, but his mind was racing too fast, trying to filter his thoughts through the pain. He saw leather (boots?) flesh (legs?) black hair. Were they standing over him? On him? What was happening? Where was he? A flash of light blinded his eyes. A camera, perhaps? Were they taking pictures to commemorate the occasion? Standing over their prey and taking a trophy for their memories? He begged for it to be over. But no sound escaped his mouth.

He started choking. A boot crushed down on his throat. He stared up at the lights in the ceiling. (Were they dancing?) His eyes tried to focus, to adjust. He stared into the face of a beautiful Asian woman looking down at him and smiling. She looked so happy and so beautiful. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her in his arms and caress her long silky hair.

Wait a minute. She was one of his hunters. Hers was the boot crushing the life out of him.

He heard sweet female voices clamoring excitedly above him in Japanese. They sounded excited and happy, like they were having an incredibly good time. They sounded so lovely, he wanted to join in their fun. What were they happy about. He struggled to recall the pigeon Japanese he knew. What were they saying. They were having a fun hearted argument… over… over…him. They wanted him. Wanted to be the one to …to… what was that word they were using? They wanted to kill him.

Kicks rained down on him all over his body. He felt his ribs crack and cave in beneath one pair of boots. He felt his testicles squash under another pair. He tried to scream but could only choke beneath the hard leather sole that was increasing pressure on his throat . More bones were smashed. More cuts and bruises ripped into his body. More pressure on his throat. He gazed up into he face of the Asian angel who hovered above him smiling and having fun.

Was it getting darker? Yes. It did.

[smotherman]

Great story Wormee.Thanks for posting it.


Peace
Smotherman

[hhhmmm]

I had read that story on your old web site. Those were some excellent stories that you had posted there. Is the site gone now? It's been so long that I have lost that web addy:( Due to computer updates and reconfig, I don't have it anymore . .

Was wondering if it was still around?

hhhmmm

[wormee]

Yeah, afraid the web space provider took down the site and it's just too much trouble for me to find a new space and put it all back up again. But I'll repost the stories here from time to time. There are a few more up here already.

[Tramplemenc]

Wonderful story, I love the hardcore stories..
Thanks,
:theband: :carrotdan