The Outlands Ch. 01

Most people imagine it would be quite difficult to abduct a stranger and get away with it. After all, everywhere around us are security camera systems, doorbell cameras, and a zillion smartphones taking pictures and shooting video constantly. If you watch any of the popular forensic shows, you are aware how much evidence is generated from GPS-enabled cell phones and how the constant digital footprint people leave from financial transactions and social media interactions can betray keeping one's activities secret. Thus, most people assume when someone disappears it's merely a matter of time before law enforcement determines what happened to them and who was responsible. Well, I'm here to tell you most people are wrong -- at least with respect to those of us who know what we're doing and plan accordingly.

I should know, you see, because I'm a member of an elite guild of hunters who stalk and abduct women and sell them for profit. My name is Gunner Johnson and I've personally bagged dozens of ladies and girls without so much as a close call with the authorities. I expect about now some of you reading this are wondering how you can sign up or, at least, get on our mailing list. All joking aside, we're a small, secretive community of outcasts operating from a remote wilderness area living under the cover of being a logging camp and forest preserve. We call our collective the Outlands, although you'll never see it on a map or read about us online.

Unless you grew up out here, you'd probably find life in the Outlands to be somewhat unsettling -- even barbaric. It is true we don't use motorized vehicles within our core boundaries, although we maintain some jeeps, snowmobiles, and a few other assorted forms of transport when travel is necessary. For example, my partner and I use a Ford panel van when we go on hunting missions for the guild.

In the Outlands we prefer using hand tools and elbow grease instead of powered appliances whenever possible. Thus, everyday life has a rustic character making you feel you might be in a period movie or book. We do have electricity and modern plumbing -- along with the comforts of many manufactured goods brought into the community from time to time. Some of us even use burner cell phones, believe it or not. We just prefer generally to live a simplified existence that puts us closer to the land and more in touch with our friends and neighbors than the life you have in your so-called modern cities.

Our founders were a motley collection of miners, prospectors, fugitives, and wilderness men of every stripe. Over time they carved out a surprisingly complex and smooth functioning society that has stabilized today with about a hundred cabins scattered across a series of mountain ridges in a deliberately unorganized fashion. You see, isolation and disassociation from the outside world are the basis upon which our little world was built. We live and govern ourselves with the intent to remain unknown and invisible to polite society and have done so for more than a century.

We've gone to great lengths to conceal ourselves and have erected props and signage that portray our boundaries as a protected sanctuary for the benefit of any misguided traveler who might wander through our neck of the woods. Given our remote location, such accidental trespasses are exceedingly rare and generally are overlooked if the offender leaves as promptly as he came without disturbing us. On the other hand, anyone we believe may constitute a risk to our privacy will be dealt with harshly and permanently.

We designate ourselves as a sovereign and exclusive self-government with the specific proviso that any non-citizen found physically within our borders shall be stripped of all rights and protections. Thus, any true trespasser, whether willful or innocent, will potentially be subject to immediate arrest, confinement, and disposition per the whim of our council. The policy may seem extreme to you, but we know the discovery of our secrets would ultimately lead to the extinction of our way of life and our culture.

We are a paternal, male-dominated commonwealth with very few non-captive female residents. That is, in fact, the defining characteristic of the Outlands. Our constitution decrees it is lawful and appropriate for any citizen in good standing to take possession of any outsider woman (whether found on our property or hunted and captured in the outside world) and to use her as he sees fit. Keep in mind our community originated from a collection of antisocial mountain men with equal parts of belligerence, lust and aggression fueled by testosterone.

I suppose it would be fair to say the first law of our culture is selfishness. We feel entitled to have whatever we want, and we consider everything beyond our borders to be secondary and subordinate to our wishes and desires. We feel our societal structure is as noble and moral as the one that underpins Mother Nature's timeless architecture. We are convinced more societies like ours would be operating if politics, greed, and ego had not defined the system of nation states that dominate the world today.

We have a sophisticated farming system along with having numerous experienced hunters and woodsmen assigned to nine official hunting guilds whose collective efforts meet almost all the community's protein needs through the taking of fish, fowl, and wild game. In addition to these wildlife specialists, we also have three additional guilds devoted exclusively to the hunting and capturing of women and girls from the outside world who are sold either to the highest bidder or disposed of by private sale at the election of the individual hunters. As you might expect from my description of the community's residents, women rank high on the list of prized possessions. Obviously, the concept is politically incorrect, but captive females here are, quite simply, commodities and, not surprisingly, demand generally exceeds supply.

Women are traded, loaned, bartered, and put up as stakes in poker games along with every other conceivable form of exchange as commerce within the Outlands. We do have some rules regarding women captives. A woman may be owned by an individual for a maximum of two years, after which time she must be sold or exchanged. These transactions occur within our community or with one of several shadowy trafficking groups that we have come to know and trust over the years. My understanding is that eventually most women will end up in brothels or private collections overseas.

Each of our three woman-hunting guilds are distinguished by the age of the quarry sought. This categorization was implemented for both efficiency and to avoid competition among the guilds. For instance, Guild Principio members exclusively pursue and collect younger targets between the ages of 18 and 21. Members of Principio refer to themselves affectionately as the "Teen Bangers" and they have a loyal client base who prefer nubile girls -- especially virgins.

Members of Guild Morgan exclusively target women between 22 and 29 and pride themselves on their ability to fill "orders" for clients seeking a woman with specific characteristics. The customer typically provides photographs culled from the internet or magazines to illustrate the qualities and appearance of women they are willing to pay a premium for. Guild hunters then look for targets who resemble the women pictured in the client's examples to fulfill their clients' fantasies.

Finally, my own guild, Guild Conte, specializes in abducting women aged 30 and above who often are housewives or married career women. It turns out that several men here actually have a fetish for making another man's wife his personal sex slave. Make no mistake about it, though; nobody in the Outlands is looking for a wife. Captives are fuck toys and used accordingly.

Interestingly, many of our clients are younger fellows in the community who have a thing for dominating mature women, claiming it enhances their sense of conquest. Our guild nickname used to be "the wife-stealers," but now most people simply call us the "Wiffs." I'm pleased to report I've been working as a hunter going on four years now and, at 22, I will confess that subduing and dominating a woman older than me provides a rush that is hard to describe.

When an apprentice hunter applies to be a woman-hunter he is required to serve four months in each guild before being considered for membership. This allows the guild leaders to evaluate his talents while also giving the would-be hunter an appreciation of the varied methods and tactics used by each guild to find and capture its chosen prey. After serving my own apprenticeship with each guild, I discovered I much preferred hunting women in their thirties and forties to the younger targets collected by Principio and Morgan.

Let me give you a better sense of my world by describing my most recent successful mission bagging a 32-year-old brunette businesswoman named Beth Haley. I was working with my good friend and guild partner, Billy "Mac" MacGregor, on a spec mission trolling the parking lots surrounding a small shopping mall when we first saw her. It was the end of a long day and I have no idea why she parked in such an isolated spot, but we certainly didn't question our good fortune. She was clearly en route either to or from a formal event as she was dressed up to the nines.

She strode into view tall with shoulder length hair wearing an elegant gray sheath dress that floated above her knees to display a knock-out pair of legs clad in sheer smoky nylons that shimmered alluringly in the warm fading sunlight. Her black Louboutin stilettos with their signature red soles clicked temptingly on the asphalt parking lot and my hormones were in overdrive as Mac maneuvered us into position.

For this mission we wore very convincing private security uniforms and had slapped plastic magnetic placards on the side of our panel van with official-looking logos to sell our disguise. Mac and I have several well-rehearsed patters we use to approach our chosen targets depending upon the circumstances, and this time I put on my most sincere expression and told our intended prey we were looking for a little girl reported to be missing from the mall food court. Mac asked if she would mind looking at some security footage to see if she recognized the child or the man seen walking with her. We had an iPad propped up on a base just inside the sliding door of the van with a government-looking splash screen labeled "confidential."

The trusting beauty didn't suspect a thing and said she would be happy to assist. She stood next to Mac looking over his shoulder as he leaned in to begin scrolling through footage showing grainy views of the mall courtyard pretending to look for the clip showing the supposedly lost kid. This gave me time to retrieve a large burlap bag from the passenger seat of the van. Concealing it under my arm, I positioned myself behind her and studied the way the sunlight played over her gauzy hosiery.

A specular sheen followed the contour of her calves glittering down the length of each leg making my heart race with anticipation. I let Mac improvise more of his story about the poor little lost girl while I examined how her close-fitting dress clung to her rear and tried to determine whether she wore stockings or pantyhose underneath. Mac glanced at me and gave me a knowing wink with a smile. He and I would often bust each other's balls over our fetishes and kinks, and he knew I had a thing for professional women wearing nylons.

While our prey continued watching the iPad with rapt attention, I carefully unfolded the bag out of her view. I knew we had her in a position now where escape would be impossible. She didn't know it, but she was already good as caught. In a flash, I had the elongated gunny sack over her head then tugged it all the way down to her hips in a single motion. Confused and startled, the disoriented woman got out a partial cry of alarm before I clapped a hand over her mouth muffling her with the coarse burlap while Mac helped pull the bag's cinch rope tight to effectively pin her arms together at the elbows. We lifted her into the van as she kicked and squirmed to no avail and, just like that, we had her inside with the sliding door closed behind us.

We worked together to get her out of the gunny sack and proceeded to secure our terrified captive with soft rope. Mac worked a silicon ball gag between her teeth while I tied her wrists behind her back. We had her sit on the floor's padded carpeting with her back against the side of the van while using a couple soft pillows to help her get comfortable (well, relatively speaking). Meanwhile, Mac went back outside and pulled the magnetic signs off the sides of the van while also retrieving her handbag and one shoe that had come off during the struggle.

When he returned, Mac handed me her handbag and then took her foot to slip the missing stiletto back on. We both loved the look of long legs in high heels and especially appreciated how sexy the Louboutin pumps looked on her. As I rifled through her bag, I found a small wallet with a bunch of twenties and enough identifying information for us to get a fair sense of who we had taken. Mrs. Beth Haley lived in a tony part of town according to her driver's license. Despite the gag, her iPhone's Face ID worked when I held it up to her and we were soon perusing her phone's photo library and reading her texts and emails.

Our lovely captive was a corporate executive married to a handsome financial planner. Judging from the size of their home, the Haleys did quite well for themselves. We found she had a penchant for attending charity galas and work-related events that allowed her to dress up and she invariably chose cocktail dresses and gowns that flattered her impressive figure and emphasized her legs. She was active in her community and clearly was respected and successful in her field while devoting time to feminist and liberal causes.

As we got a sense of who the striking woman in our van was, my erection stiffened and I pictured her home doing her makeup, sliding on her nylons, and stepping into her elegant pumps not knowing she was about to fall into the clutches of a pair of woman hunters intent on turning a profit from her sale. She was, quite simply, a knockout and I felt another adrenaline rush as it dawned on me just how truly spectacular our trophy catch was. My buddy poked me with his elbow to get my attention as he used both hands to ruck up her dress exposing her shimmery thighs for my benefit.

"Nice, huh?" he grinned. "You like your ladies wearing pantyhose, don't you, buddy?"

"Higher, please," I said with a smile.

Mac was only too happy to accommodate the request. With some tugging, he pulled her dress from beneath her until he had it bunched up in disheveled folds around her waist like a makeshift tutu. The moment was electric for me as I stared spellbound at her impossibly long legs sheathed in sheer-to-waist tights that were virtually transparent save for a center seam and small cotton gusset. To my delight, she wore nothing underneath and the sight of a neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair compressed beneath the diaphanous nylon made my erection throb. I caught her gaze as she looked at me with pleading eyes. Her expression was so forlorn and desperate that a part of me sympathized with her and felt bad for her plight, but I was so goddamned turned on those feelings evaporated quickly.

She was ten years older than we were, taller by almost a foot, and stunning with hair and makeup perfectly styled. Her gym membership had been a good investment as she could easily have been a swimsuit model with her body. For us to bag such a sophisticated beauty was thrilling beyond belief. On a scale of ten she rang the bell.

I growled softly in appreciation as I ran my eyes up the length of her legs, savoring how delectable she looked exposed this way. Ever a helpful partner, Mac gently pried her knees apart to give me a clear view of the thin cotton panel at the gusset of her pantyhose. It clung to the mound at her crotch outlining the subtle swale between her labia leaving little to the imagination. I've never wanted to fuck anyone as much as the craving I felt at that moment.

Mac seated himself behind her and had her lean back against his chest while he reached around and slipped his hand inside her nylons and began feeling her up. I slid the palms of my hands up the sides of her thighs while I watched Mac fingering her through her hose. God, it was sexy, and she got so wet I could hear soft, slippery sounds as he worked his fingers inside her. I would have given anything to impale her on my cock right then.

Sadly for me, our guild has a code with strict rules governing the behavior of hunters in the field and, believe it or not, we all follow it. While we are permitted to take some liberties with our captives, the code strictly prohibits penetrative sex and jealously reserves that right for whomever eventually is the purchaser. I fantasized over the prospect of buying Mrs. Haley myself so I could use and abuse her in marathon sessions of imaginative debauchery for hours on end in my little cabin in the woods. But, alas, I knew I could never afford her.

The one saving grace for me was the fact I would have a good hour alone with the gorgeous MILF while Mac made her car disappear. Mac and I had already worked out in advance that he would handle driving our captive's vehicle to a long-time associate who discreetly operated a chop shop in the high country. We agreed I would wait with our prize in the van for an hour before following him to pick him up at a prearranged point of rendezvous. Until then, the leggy Mrs. Haley would be mine to play with.

We did have one more item on the agenda to check off before Mac departed. He would help me inject our conquest with the powerful chemical cocktail we call "the mix." All woman hunters use this cunningly effective designer drug to subdue captives and convert them into the compliant commodities that are the foundation of our trade.

Once the mix is administered a woman is left in a state of complete tractability. Under its influence she won't be able to move easily on her own, but her body will respond to requests and orders given to her by any authority figure. She basically becomes a living mannequin who can be posed, manipulated, and positioned at her owner's whim and she feels a powerful compulsion to comply with whatever she is asked to do. At the same time, she remains completely aware of everything going on around her.

The drug doesn't change her predilections, desires, or preferences. Acts that would repel or offend her normally will still provoke feelings of revulsion or distaste. The drug simply disassociates her motor functions from her free will so she can offer no resistance. You can see why our customers are willing to pay a small fortune to indulge any fantasies they might have without any resistance on her part.

And last, but not least, the mix has some intriguing qualities that affect the victim's nerve endings, circulation, and, to some extent, her libido. By and large, tissues having dense innervation become more sensitive to pressure and, at the same time, capillaries become dilated resulting in increased blood flow. As a result of these elements, most captives find that even moderate stimulation generates heightened arousal involuntarily -- an unsettling experience for them that, frankly, I find to be a real turn on.

Mac got the kit from the glove compartment while I pulled the apprehensive housewife onto my lap. The mix is delivered subcutaneously to the abdomen, so I lifted her dress even higher to expose her bare belly. I used my free hand to pinch a fold of skin near her bellybutton for Mac to inject 10 mg of the clear solution with an insulin syringe. I knew the mix would begin affecting her almost immediately, so I held her tightly against my chest and listened to her breathing while I whispered into her ear to relax.