The Trophy Rack by Matt Nicholson Page A

ruin
things, too. Holding his breath, he watched, praying she wouldn’t
bolt. Then it was there.
    Ignoring the hard thumping in his chest, he
drew a deep breath and held it. Thinking about the fun he was about
to have, he carefully pulled his fingertip back.
     
    ~~~
     
    Faline broke through the underbrush, wiped
the light sheen of sweat from her forehead, and then quickly bent
to retie her calf-high moccasins. The thin boots were the only
things she wore besides the tag that pierced her left labia, and
they’d been worth twice their weight in gold this time around. The
guy was good; he’d even tracked her down the stream she’d used to
loose several hunters before. Nevertheless, he wasn’t so good that
she couldn’t have lost him a half dozen times if she’d wanted.
    Still, were it not for the flesh-colored
suede, her calves would have been scratched raw, and the light
scratches here and there over the rest of her body spoke of the
several times she’d thrown caution to the wind to give him a good
chase.
    Once she caught her breath, she edged up to
the ridge and peered through a break in the thicket. He was still
where she’d last seen him, half a football field down the
mountainside, scanning for her with his laser scope. It was then
that she caught the red beam moving up the rocks just a couple feet
in front of her. When she looked down, a bright red spot of
glittering light danced in a half-inch circle over the wrinkles in
her areola a quarter inch below her nipple.
    She started to panic, thinking back to the
second time she’d been shot. The hunter she’d chosen turned out to
be a tit man with an itchy trigger finger. Given her assets, they
were always tit men, but instead of waiting for a better shot, he’d
darted her breast from only a dozen yards away. There wasn’t enough
handsome alive that could have made the bruising ache that came
later worth it, and she’d vowed to make sure she gave the hunters
only select targets to dart from then on.
    Ignoring the dot, Faline gritted her teeth
and turned, slowly walking away. Deciding it was time to let the
man have his glory, she let her bottom fill his scope. Holding her
breath, she imagined him waiting for a better shot, hoping he had
plans for more than just her boobs. It was only a couple seconds
later that it hit, slamming into the upper part of her thigh just
below her ass.
    Pain or not, she almost cried out in thanks
as she yanked the dart free, wincing at the sharp sting as she
tossed it aside. She had a couple minutes, at best, before the drug
made it dangerous to run. But that was all the time she needed. She
had just the outcropping in mind to sprawl out on so her big bad
captor could claim his prey.
     
    ~~~
     
    A combination of sensations helped wake her.
The first things Faline saw as her eyes began to focus were the
trees—pines and aspen—though the angle was all wrong. She lifted
her head and looked up to find out why her wrists were hurting. As
her awareness returned, she realized she was hanging by her wrists
and ankles from a horizontal pole. Two men carried it, one on each
end. A third man, carrying a rifle, walked beside the pole handler
at her feet. Her head now clearing, she remembered she’d been here
before.
    Besides the dull pain her wrists, her
shoulders ached, and the outside of her left thigh felt as if it
had been hit with a baseball bat. Her bottom, nearest the ground,
swung from side to side along with her long, dangling blonde hair.
Both occasionally brushed across a small shrub or seedling pine as
they strode through the woods toward camp. Every now and then, a
taller weed or seedling slapped her bare labia. A light stinging
swathed her pussy lips and the tight, lower curves of her rear,
suggesting she may have found a nettle plant some time earlier.
None of the feelings were necessarily bad. In fact, as she became
more aware, she started to get aroused.
    The needles of a sapling pine dragged down
the inside of her left