Hunting Her Own Kind

Bad Things Happening to Elves

Hunting Her Own Kind

I was not surprised when the Masters told me that Iliria had run. She was used to her lot in life by now, but still futilely bucked against it whenever she thought she could. It had caused her no small amount of unnecessary hardship over the years with the Masters. All of that would now pale in comparison to what awaited her when I brought her back, however.

I was in my cell when the news came, having just received my daily rations from Master Vald, one of the slave keepers. It had been a while since one of the other slaves had tried to escape, and so I had not been on a hunt in quite some time. Master Vald, aware of this, made me work for my meal today in other ways to keep me from growing complacent in my position with the other slaves. He told me as he held me down that it was important I not forget what I was really worth to the Masters.

I agreed with him, and when he was finished with me, I thanked him for his personal attention in this lesson. Unlike many of the rest of my kind, I was under no illusions of importance. I knew my place.

Master Vald left me alone with my meal afterward, his semen still dripping down the brown skin of my thighs and breasts as it cooled. I had no sooner taken my first bite when my cell door opened again to show the tall and imposing countenance of Master Harken, flanked on either side by two of his handpicked guard with their hands on the hilts of their swords.

I dropped immediately to my knees before him, pressing my forehead to the cold stone floor of my cell in supplication, my lavender hair making a fallen curtain on the flagstones to hide my face from his gaze. Master Harken was above even most of the other Masters in their organization. He commanded the slave keepers as they commanded us, and he was one of few whom they acknowledged as having any authority over them. If he were visiting me personally, it was a great honor indeed.

"Rise, elf," the Master commanded me, his voice deep and regal in tone, brooking no argument.

I did as I was bid, keeping my eyes cast down and my head bowed. "I am not worthy, Master," I spoke truthfully.

"No, but this is a delicate matter, and one for which your special talents are demanded. Leave us," he added with a gesture to his guards. They bowed quickly and stepped away as Master Harken closed my cell door behind him, leaving the two of us alone in the small room together.

I said nothing and made no movement, waiting obediently for his next words. Master Vald's seed still ran slowly down my legs as I stood. I hoped silently that my untidiness would not offend Master Harken.

If he noticed or cared, he made no show of it. Instead he simply said, "One of you has escaped. We found her cell empty this morning when we went to collect her for the group show, her participation in which was specifically requested by one of our clients." He took a step toward me, towering a full head over me. "We managed to replace her, but the client was not pleased."

"I am deeply sorry, Master," I said quietly, my face burning in shame for my misguided slave sister.

"As you should be," the Master gruffly replied. "Our treatment of you elves is no less than what you deserve, and yet so many of your kind persist in thinking and acting above your station. I cannot fathom what leads so many of you to such brazen displays of disobedience."

As he had not asked for my opinion, I did not give it. But silently to myself, I believed I had a better understanding than he of what caused this occasional insurrection amongst my slave sisters.

Master Harken stepped back then, sizing me up with his gaze. "Finish your meal without delay," he commanded. "I will leave a guard here with you to escort you to the courtyard when you are finished, where your gear shall be returned to you. Master Faron will then describe the missing property to you, as she was his charge before her disobedience. You are then to head out at once. Do you understand, elf?"

I bowed my head yet deeper. "I do, Master. I am your humble servant."

He nodded. "See that it remains that way. And remind our young runaway of the dangers of behaving otherwise."

With that he left, sending one of his guards back in afterward to oversee me as I readied myself for another hunt.

***

I am unique amongst my slave sisters in the responsibilities that I am given by the Masters. I alone among my kind am granted the honored position of slave huntress. I alone among my sisters am responsible for finding them when they run away and bringing them back where they belong for their punishment.

I cannot remember a time when I was otherwise. I cannot remember a life before being a servant of the Masters. I am not sure that I ever had one. If I did, it has long since been washed away.

The Masters have a special liquid, bright pink and crystal clear, which they sometimes make some of my slave sisters drink. As I understand it, the potion is meant to soothe rebelliousness and disobedience in the slaves that require such. Some of my sisters whisper fearfully that this is mind control, a way to brainwash all of the free will out of the elven slaves whose spirits are otherwise too unbroken.

I, who remember having consumed much of the liquid at a vague time earlier in my life, disagree with them. I view it instead as a kindness on the part of the Masters, an aid to realizing the truth. After all, what use is free will and rebellious thinking in us elven women, we who were born specifically to serve our betters though too many of us sadly do not realize it?

These thoughts passed through my head as I slipped into my hunting attire and Master Faron described my runaway slave sister and confirmed my hunch. Straight, neck-length hair of golden blonde, azure blue eyes, petite and slender, with high cheekbones and long, tapering ears even for an elf -- it is Iliria, no doubt. All of my other sisters who might fit such a description are more mindful of their station than poor Iliria, who feels for some reason as if she is being grievously wronged through her service here. As if she could have any better purpose. As if she were not an elf.

I slipped my knee-length hunting boots on over my legs as Master Faron described her escape. She had disrespected him last night by arguing against his commands, so he had taken her harshly in her cell, as was his right. It was not until she was found missing in the morning that he had realized that the key to her cell door was missing from his key ring. Either it had fallen off during their time together the night before, or else Iliria knowingly stole from one of her Masters.

As I strapped my belt on over the black thong bottom of my hunting outfit, I silently hoped for her sake that it was the former. A sudden act of foolish disobedience born from an unwise opportunity was less serious of a crime than premeditating such a rebellious and disrespectful act.

My hunting outfit, which was crafted to my exact measurements as a most generous gift from my Masters, consisted mostly of light and flexible leather, all of it dyed black. The top was a series of leather straps that attached to my slave collar and held my breasts in place during vigorous movement. The bottom was a simple leather thong, leaving my upper legs free from knee to thigh for more range of movement. Knee-high boots and elbow-length gloves guarded my lower arms and legs, and the belt strapped about my waist was sturdy and versatile enough to hold all of my necessary gear.

Master Faron handed me this gear now as he inspected my outfit. To my belt I affixed my whip, my bolas, a length of sturdy rope, and a small dagger. In a small sack slung over my back, I carried my provisions for the road, which mostly consist of simple yet durable foodstuffs to keep me going. As an elf, I have no need or expectation of luxuries such as a tent or a sleeping roll. I can make my bed as comfortably on the naked grass or in the branches of a forest as anywhere else.

One more item I carried with me, a small pouch hanging at my side on my belt. In it are a lock of Iliria's golden hair and an artist's likeness of her body and face. We all have such talismans secreted away by our Masters for occasions such as this, for when a slave forgets her place and decides to run. None know of them except those who have made the attempt and failed, however. And myself, of course, who have carried many such small packages out into the world before.

Thus provisioned, I turned to Master Faron, who was still eyeing me up and down, paying particular attention to my bare thighs. The remnants of Master Vald's seed lingered there yet, splatterings of white clearly noticeable on the dusky brown of my skin. As I was never instructed to wash it away, I did not bother to waste the time. Every minute that Iliria remained on the run was another minute that the Masters grew unhappier and her predicament grew more severe.

With this in mind, I bowed humbly to Master Faron, thanking him for the gift of my huntress possessions. I knew that none of them really belonged to me -- none of us slaves can rightfully claim ownership of anything, even our own bodies, as to do so would be to deny our place. Still, they adorned me familiarly, and I welcomed having them back.

I turned to leave when I felt the Master grab my wrist and pull me back around to face him, his eyes burning in indignation. "When you find that ungrateful cunt," he growled at me, "give her a backhand across the face from me."

I bowed my head. "As you command, Master," I replied. It was the only response available to me.

***

The Masters conduct most of their business, and keep most of their slave pens, in a large estate in a valley just beyond the forest's edge, the main manor house and its many smaller outbuildings visible for miles as one approached it from the road in either direction. I began my journey from here, lingering outside the gates and considering my options.

In one direction lay a bustling port town, from which most of the Masters' patrons travel. Occasionally those slaves who were either purchased by one such wealthy patron or else found unfit for service on the estate were shipped off to the town, there presumably to be loaded onto the great ships and carried to parts unknown. The town and the Masters' estate profited greatly from one another and so maintained a firm alliance.

In the other direction lay a stretch of open road that cut into the forest, winding through it to other towns and villages. The forest itself had a minor reputation for occasional banditry, thugs who preyed on the wealthy and sometimes incautious clients who sought out the Masters' services and wares. Regular travel and increased guard patrols had mostly kept it in check, however.

Iliria had faced these same two choices when she ran. She was a bright girl for all of her misconceptions about her servitude, so she would not choose the port town, where her status as an escaped slave would be instantly recognized in a crowd and herself promptly returned. And as an elf, she like the rest of us very likely felt an innate affinity for forests and trees, which even now evoked faint stirrings of nostalgia and protection even from me, who knew better. Protection lay only within the Masters' walls, safety and security only ensured to those who embraced their slavery and did not strain against the chains of fate that could not break.

But Iliria was misguided and refused to see. The forest it was, then.

The first day of travel, I met a handful of travelers and riders heading in the opposite direction, toward the Masters' estate and the nearby port. Each time, the party in question would stop and stare as I approached, my outfit and exotic elven features no doubt standing out. Each time I would explain my purpose and produce both the drawings of Iliria and her lock of golden hair, inquiring whether any of them had seen a young woman matching her description.

Most times, the men in these traveling parties would lay their hands on me, caressing my mostly naked skin gently or roughly, squeezing my leather-clad breasts or a handful of my bare bottom, running their fingers along my slit through the fabric of my thong. I bowed my head and allowed it until they had had their fill. I was, after all, an emissary from my Masters' estate as much as a huntress, and I knew to behave toward any I met as if they were a potential client, as they very well may be. In this, they had more claim to my flesh than I could ever hope to, were I to hope for such things.

But though my body did not belong to me, it was still using it on a mission from the Masters themselves. As such, I politely stopped every traveler before they enjoyed me too fully, explaining my situation and that their needs could be slaked at the estate they saw behind me. Only once did a man ignore my explanation. He I deftly unhorsed, apologizing again as I did so for my necessary lack of hospitality. He made no more argument after that.

From the first groups of these travelers, I learned that a young elven girl fitting Iliria's description had indeed been spotted, albeit briefly, in the forests earlier this morning. The latter travelers had seen nothing, which told me that my quarry had abandoned the road at some point in the forest for lesser-traveled paths.

I made the forest by nightfall and traveled a good distance into it before stopping for the night and setting up in the canopy of a large tree just off of the road. I would not be noticed by any who passed by unless they climbed to my level, but at the same time I could detect any movement below me that may occur in the night. Thus situated, I slept soundly but for my continuing concern at Iliria's fate.

The next day I was up and moving again just as the sun was beginning to rise, picking my way through the trees with long-practiced skill. Most of my slave sisters, when they decided to run, ran through these woods, and so I almost always traversed them during a hunt. By now I could pick out familiar points along the path from memory alone.

It was one such spot that I stopped at to find where Iliria's trail had diverged from the roadway. Where there should have been two bushes of wild brambles, there was instead only one. The other had been roughly hacked down, and a slight path worn into the area beyond it. Somebody had been traveling this path with great frequency since my last hunt through these woods.

Clinging to a nearby bramble was a small scrap of pink silk. I remembered that the last time I had seen Iliria with one of the Masters' clients, she had been wearing a loose shift of silk this same color of pink. I picked up the scrap and examined it. There was a small drop of dried semen clinging to it yet, as well as a faint lingering trace of a familiar scent.

I recognized it as the scent of Iliria's young slit when it was dripping with passion. This, too, I remembered. We had once shared the same client, my runaway slave sister and I, and he had commanded that we clean his spilled cum off of one another as thoroughly as possible. As always, Iliria had protested even as I licked his seed from her throbbing and spent pussy. We had both been whipped afterward because of her protestations, though I did not hold a grudge against her for it.

There was no doubt, then. Iliria had gone this way. And from the evidence, at least one man had been with her, and enjoying her, when she had.

I set off down this new path, picking my way carefully lest I wander off of the newly carved trail. Several times I had to stop and look about me, searching carefully for the snapped twig or trampled leaf that indicated the direction in which my quarry had travelled. The makeshift trail wound deeper into the heart of the forest, well away from the main roadway. After an hour of tracking, I could no longer see the main road at all.

I travelled in this slow and methodical way for the majority of the day, making worse time than the day before but drawing closer to Iliria for it. By late evening I finally detected my first evidence of others in the forest with me, indicated by a faint rustling far ahead of me. Soon after, I began to hear the familiar screaming and crying of my unhappy slave sister.

It was sundown when I finally reached the camp where she was being held, the sky burned red-orange and the shadows already darkened beneath the treetops. I came upon them stealthily and silently, a feat made easier by the continuous noise of my slave sister. Four crude tents were erected in a circle of cleared space amongst the dirt and brush, with half a dozen people clustered around a fire in the middle. Four of them were dirt-streaked young men, each of them dressed in fur and tattered leather, most of them sporting visible scars. The fifth was a young woman in much the same attire, sitting on the lap of one of the men, her breasts bared beneath his rough hands, her low groans of pleasure adding to their cacophony.

The sixth figure was Iliria, my runaway slave sister, pinned squirming to the dirt before the fire by two of the men. Her outright cries for help had been muffled during my silent approach, and I saw now that it was because the man before her had his cock wedged firmly between her lips, slowly pumping away at her mouth while he gripped her wrists in one calloused hand and her golden hair in another. The man behind her held her spread and thrashing legs in his own hands, thrusting himself deeply into her cunt with a wet and rhythmic smacking sound and no hint of tenderness.

Iliria herself was mostly naked, the shredded remnants of her pink silk shift hanging loosely about her waist. Her small breasts bounced in rhythm with the men on either end of her, and her muffled crying matched the tempo, moaning out pitifully with each thrust into her. I could see the tracks of tears streaking her face in the flickering firelight, as well as patches of spilled cum splattering her bare body. She had evidently been with this group for a while now, and from the looks of her, she had done little during that time but endure their ravages. The two men and the woman not currently enjoying themselves on her body watched on in open entertainment, the woman slowly thrusting her own hips at the man beneath her in time with Iliria's raping.

Poor Iliria, I thought silently to myself. She broke every rule of the Masters presumably to escape this type of treatment, and yet here she was. Hopefully this lesson would serve her well and teach her the folly of trying to be anything other than what she was born to be.

I watched the sight a moment longer, feeling the familiar stirring in my own loins as I did so. Now was not the time, however; the Masters had given an order, and I was to comply as swiftly as possible. Stepping out from the shadow of my watching place, I approached the camp openly but cautiously.

All of them save Iliria noticed me instantly, even the two men currently having their fun with her, though they barely slowed in their activity. They watched my approach with equal parts surprise and amusement, their eyes roaming over my body and outfit. It was not until I had stepped into the firelight myself that Iliria opened her tear-filled eyes to look at me as well. When she did, they widened in recognition. I nodded slightly at her in silent answer to the question passing over her face.

"Well, well, what's this?" said the only man not currently occupied with a woman, stepping toward me and circling me like a hungry predator. "Must be our lucky day, huh? Now we got two new toys instead of just the one." I could recognize a familiar bulge beneath his breeches as he surveyed me. He was obviously eager for his next turn with one of us.

"I am sorry," I said, bowing my head to the lot of them, "but I have come to take the elven slave back with me. She is the property of our Masters, and she should not be here. Please understand."