Cloneworld - the Clone Hunt

The beautiful blonde ran desperately across the muddy ploughed field. Her hands were tied behind her, her bare feet slipping and scrambling in the muddy furrows. She could hear the baying of the hounds in the distance and the noise of a horn being blown. They were closer now. She knew that the hounds had her scent. She was nude.

Looking closely at the tearful beauty you'd no doubt recognize her. Despite the mud that streaked her face, body and hair it was obvious that she was an utterly stunning creature. Her figure was gloriously well-curved, full breasts that bounced provocatively as she ran, a trim waist, excitingly flared hips, shapely legs. Her emerald-blue eyes were long-lashed, her cheekbones high and delicate. Strangely perhaps, a pair of whiskers had been crudely drawn upon that achingly beautiful face, visible despite the tear-streaked mud that was caked to it in places.

You'd be right that she was familiar. Indeed, someone precisely like this had once been a famous actress. But that had been before cloning.

The mud-strewn beauty currently stumbling across the furrowed field knew nothing of the history - of Professor Thaddeus Jones and his technique to clone X chromosomes from single strands of DNA. Of his discovery in 2021 of a refined method that could produce a perfect female clone of any desired age from undifferentiated organic material; how the technique had been hacked and made public so that cheap female clones had flooded the market - even more so once it had been realised that clones could be made from other clones. Now there were millions of female clones and our fleeing prey was one amongst hundreds of thousands of clones developed from the single DNA donation of a one-time female celebrity.

All of them, like her, now cheap, replaceable commodities.

In Britain, fox-hunting had been banned in the previous century, but it had been established that there was no specific law banning the use of clones for prey, and hunting syndicates were eager buyers of clones for their now frequent meets. This was the first time they'd hunted this particular clone, and she was proving a good hunt so far.

The gorgeous blonde's mind was whirling as she fled.

"Oh God! They're closer now. They can only be a field or two away. Hunting me! How is it possible? The last thing I remember is going to that DNA test and now this! Have I been kidnapped or something? I must be able to find help somewhere. I just need to find someone else. Someone to help me. Oh God! It's getting muddier. I mustn't slip, yet I have to keep running, I just have to make sure I don't lose my bala - aahh!"

The leggy lovely stumbled, falling over one of the furrows, finding herself face down in the mud. Oh God! The hounds would soon catch her at this rate. She scrambled desperately to her feet and raced toward a wood at the edge of the field. She knew that with her hands tied tightly behind her she wouldn't be able to climb trees or anything, but at least she might find a bit of cover. Unfortunately between her and the wood was a large patch of stinging nettles. Afraid of her soft bare skin being stung, the nude beauty began to traverse around the nettles.

A loud "Halloa!" and another blast on a hunting horn told her that she'd been spotted and, throwing caution to the wind, the girl plunged headlong through the bank of waist-high nettles, trying hard to ignore the stinging barbs that now assailed her from all sides. She had to get to the wood! It was her only chance. Her body stung with a thousand tiny prickles from the cruel nettles but she made it through to the edge of the trees.

With horror she saw that that the wood was surrounded by a barbed wire fence. She looked back to see the horses now down the hill, only two fields away, and the hounds even closer, streaming through a gap in a hedge. Could she risk the barb wire? She had to. There was no going back now. At any rate she didn't want to face the nettles again.

She dropped to her back, and inch by inch, tried to find her way under the lowest strand of wire. She whimpered as a sharp barb pricked her left breast. She tried to wriggle lower, but with her hands trapped behind her it was impossible. For the first time in her life she cursed the shapeliness of her lovely figure. She certainly would not be able to go any further without the wire slicing into her tender flesh.

With difficulty the curvaceous beauty got back to her feet. She decided to make her way along the barbed wire fence. Surely there'd be a weak point somewhere? After a moment or two she came to a place where the fence was as sturdy as ever but the ground beneath it had been scooped out a little, a puddle forming there. It was of stagnant water, thick green scum pervading its surface; it stank badly, but the blonde beauty knew that she'd no choice if she wanted to get under the fence and into the wood. She lowered herself onto her back and, squirming, inched her lovely body into the disgusting slime. The water was about six inches deep, and she could feel the oozing mud beneath that.

Tearfully she wriggled her supine body under the wire, her prominent breasts now at the same level as the lowest strand of wire. She carefully manoeuvred herself so that her sensitive nipples passed between the wickedly-pointed barbs and eventually managed to get both breasts underneath the barrier. Her head was last, and entailed lowering her lovely blonde mane fully into the disgusting slime. The girl shuddered as she felt the stinking, stagnant water oozing into her ears.

Bravely the delectable blonde made her way through and, breathing heavily, her skin and hair an absolute mess, got back to her feet, at least now with some sort of barrier between herself and the ravenous, slavering teeth of the howling hounds that had pursued her fleeing form over hill and dale.

She began to make her way into the murky darkness of the wood.

The blonde beauty had time to think clearly now, to come up with a strategy. She had to get help. After all, from her own point of view she was a film star that had inexplicably been kidnapped and then told, incredibly, that she was to be hunted by hounds. At first of course, she hadn't believed it, but it'd soon become all too apparent that this wasn't a bad dream, or even some bizarre reality TV stunt. She was, it transpired, nothing more than an item of prey to be hunted.

She zigged and zagged amongst the trees, navigating through the thickets, her brain struggling for lucidity. First, she knew, she had to get out of the bonds which she'd been wearing ever since she'd regained consciousness. She'd come-to in a metal box, about three feet in every direction, and open at the top, so she could see that she was being transported by some sort of drone. A speaker in the box had informed her, to her horror, that she was to be hunted by hounds, after which announcement the bottom of the box had simply dropped away and she'd fallen.

She'd fully expected that the fall would kill her, and her screams had been heart-rending, but in fact she was only about ten feet above the ground, and her landing had been soft - the ploughed earth of a field. Seconds later she'd heard the distant baying of hounds, and quickly realised that she was fleeing for her very life.

Now, she knew that she had to think. If she could get her hands free she could at least climb a tree and perhaps be safe from the baying hounds. Would they be able to follow her scent off the ground? She hoped not. Desperately, she ran to a tree and, turning her back to it, scraped her arms against it, trying to scratch the material that bound her wrists. If it was rope she might have a chance of unravelling it. It didn't feel like rope, but after all, what else could she really do? She sawed her wrists up and down against the rough bark, trying to ignore the increasing pain as her arms were scratched and cut.

Suddenly her heart missed a beat and she whimpered and quailed, pressing herself against the tree. Watching her from the other side of the clearing was a terrible looking beast. It was vaguely pig-like but with a thick, coarse coat of bristly brown-black fur. There was a ridge of longer hair along its spine. It'e eyes were small, but in a large head. Most fearsome of all were two pairs of sharp tusks. The girl had never seen a wild boar, and perhaps did not realise that it wasn't a threat to her. At any rate she stopped trying to free herself from her bonds and plunged once more into the undergrowth.

"Oh God! What on earth was that? That snout! That bristly fur! And those tusks! Oh God! Is it going to eat me? Out of the frying pan into the fire! What sort of place is this? Oh God! I have to get away somewhere. I can hear it behind me. So close, almost snapping at my heels. It could kill me with those tusks."

She thought she could her the creature snuffling and scraping close behind her, as well as the sounds of the hounds, now more distant. She could feel mud beneath her feet which seemed to be getting deeper and more squidgy. Before she knew it, she was plunging in up to her ankles with every panicked step, and then up to her calves. When she found the mud coming up to her knees she realised that she was in trouble, even more so when she found herself unable to extricate her bare foot from the mud.

She began to struggle and flounder, the thick cloying mud slowly enveloping her thighs, making it impossible for the poor girl to move. There was no sign now of the boar, but she could still hear the hounds. She didn't realise that the huntsmen had stopped the hounds going into the wood because of the many quagmires that it contained, precisely like the one from which the blonde beauty was currently trying to extricate herself.

There seemed little recourse for her now except to call for help. She cried out, her screams and cries for aid seemingly muffled by the trees. But someone heard her - she was not the only one in the wood. A few hundred yards away a suspicious looking fellow was quietly making his way through the undergrowth. He was a hunter too, in his way, but he hunted with a gun, and his usual prey were boar, pheasants and partridges. But now he heard something different - the plaintive cries of a human being, a female.

He made his way to the clearing and chuckled as he saw the nude girl struggling helplessly in the mud of the mire. Even with the mud caking her body he knew who she was straight away - or at least who she'd been. He'd seen most of her films and licked his lips in anticipation.

He could hear the hounds baying and knew that they were at the edge of the wood. He also knew that they would be stopped from entering the wood. She must have got through the fence somehow. Well, well, this was much better than any pheasant.

He stepped out of the undergrowth so that she could see him. Her sobs were becoming ever more plaintive as she sunk deeper into the mire.

"Hullo," he said, trying to suppress a chuckle, "Need any help?"

The stunning blonde turned her mud-streaked face toward him. "Oh, thank God!" she exclaimed, "Please...please rescue me. I'm being hunted by a gang of maniacs."

The poacher stroked his chin. He could see she was hunting prey. The fox whiskers rather gave that away. He wondered whether she even knew that they'd been mockingly drawn on her pretty face.

"This is a private wood," he said, gruffly, "What are you doing trespassing in it?"

He didn't feel any compunction to inform the hapless blonde that he was as much a trespasser as she, relishing her all-too-obvious discomfort.

"Oh...oh God! Look, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to be trespassing. I was chased in here. You've got to help me, I'll give you all the money you want, I'm-"

"I know who you are," interrupted the poacher, smiling inwardly, "I've seen all your films."

He tried to conceal his delight. So she was a 'fresh clone'. That is to say she didn't even know that she was a clone. This could be delightful if he played his cards right, not to mention profitable.

He grabbed a branch that had fallen from a tree, and getting closer pushed it across the mud to her.

"Grab onto the branch as tightly as you can and I'll pull you out," he said.

"I...I can't, Sir," she wailed, "My hands are tied behind me."

"Hmm," he said, "We'll have to think of something else then."

He knew that the quagmire was only about a yard deep and that there was no chance of her disappearing into it. There was no need to tell that to the blonde beauty however. He got a length of rope from his haversack and tied it into a makeshift lasso, which he tossed so that it looped over the gorgeous blonde. He tightened it and pulled her a little way out. Then he inched along the branch himself, and, hauling her by her lovely breasts and then pushing between her long legs, was eventually able to extricate her from the quagmire.

She lay supine, gathering her breath, her breasts heaving delightfully as she gasped with the efforts of her pursuit and her time in the quicksand. Her legs were caked with mud, her blonde mane utterly dishevelled. She still looked lovely.

"Now," said the poacher, undoing his flies, "How about showing me how grateful you are for saving your life?"

She made to protest, but a stinging slap across her face silenced her. The poacher thought better of using her there and then, and instead got some rope and began to tie her ankles together, and then improvised a gag with some more loops of rope. After all, there was no rush.

There was a little bothy hut nearby where he could hole up for a few days, along with his new possession. Fresh clones were rare in those parts. He smirked as he put her over his shoulder, carrying her helplessly trussed body toward the little hut, ignoring her muffled screams, unable to resist spanking her shapely bottom a few times. By the time he'd finished with her she'd know that she was a clone all right.

After that he could sell her back to the hunting syndicate.