Voyager

I try to concentrate on what she was saying. There's a red haze over my eyes and it feel as if my entire body is on fire; I am also strangling ever so slowly as my chest muscles slowly give out.

"Would you like to use my shoulders now?" she asks. I nod in desperation and she moves in closer, positioning my legs on top of her shoulders. The burning subsides; it is like a cold drink in the desert. Even my cunt starts to throb again with life. I looked down; she is sucking me off. I can feel her tongue inside. I start to spasm and then black out for a few seconds; I have never come like that before.

The girl steps back. "Orgasms are amazing on the cross," she says laughing then walks away.

"Please..." I call after hoarsely. She looks back. "Please help my friend." I look in the direction of Tory's cross.

"Sorry," she said. "If they catch me interfering, I might be up there tomorrow myself." My rule is pussy, once-a-day. Then she laughs again and turns away.

The wagon seems to take a lifetime to return. The pain is constant and unbearable, I'm not sure I can last. I keep telling myself that this is all a big show; no one is in any real danger... I welcome my last twenty strokes. After this, it's over. This is my only thought. It is dark when we are finally carried back to our cell. I painfully climb into bed with Tory and hold her close to me as she cries.

In the morning, without any discussion, she walks out and asks to become entertainer. I cry for the entire day.

++++++++++++

Entertainment

I rest the next day, heartsick over Tory's decision. I don't blame her; the thought of the cross is terrifying and I'm not sure that I'm making the right decision for myself, but the thought of being a sex slave for guests is just as bad.

I try to concentrate on the next hunt. We came close...so fucking close. It isn't impossible; it's not... I need to overcome my fear, to stop worrying about the cross. Winners are not afraid of losing; it's just not an option.

Surprisingly, many of the other runners don't really think of themselves as winners; they view their time on the cross as payment for the privileges they have as runners. Sure, they try to evade, but there's no fire in them to win.

I can't accept this. I'd rather die on their fucking cross then give into this bunch of thugs. This place is operating illegally in clear violation of international law, Russian law, and our contracts. Their private rules wouldn't stand a chance in a fair hearing in front of an impartial court.

This growing fury is driving me these days. CELTs cater to two of man's most primitive drives--lust and power--and earn good money doing it. But there are limits, and these people are way over the edge. Keeping us incommunicado and prevent us from exercising our legal rights was, well...slavery. Something the world still abhors and something that I did not agree to in any form. There's not much I can do about it right now, but I am not going to become part of the system.

In the late afternoon, I dress and go for a walk. Another hunt is scheduled in four days; I should be exercising with the other runners, but somehow it's more important for me to have a plan. Winning here is not about muscle, it's about brains. The lack of any real intelligence about the terrain is the biggest problem. Frantically running off into the woods and hiding is not going to work.

I stop in front of the guest's dining area. Several girls are chained on the porch, waiting. I spot Tory. Her amazing silver-blond hair and dark skin stand out even from a distance. I walk over and stand next to her. Four other entertainers are also chained to the wall, waiting. A guard is lounging nearby.

She's naked with her wrists and elbows tied behind her back. Her nipples have been pierced and small gold rings inserted. These are attached to light chains that keep her face to the wall. A ball gag is wedged deep in her mouth. She turns and looks at me then drops her eyes.

"How are you?" I ask softly. It's painful for me to see her like this. She nods her head and shrugs, but still doesn't look at me. I know she is ashamed for quitting.

"It's okay, Tory," I say. "You needed to make the choice that was right for you." She nods again and shuffles a little. I can see that she's been here a while--her legs are tired. I slip my hand between her legs and massage her cunt, pushing my finger deep into her hole. She looks at me with longing and begins to move her pelvis, slowly sucking my fingers inside with her cunt muscles.

I glance over at the guard. He appears to be dozing in the afternoon sun. I rub her harder. The other girls on the wall glance over, but stay quiet.

Just as she is about to come, I hear men's voices and quickly step away. Two small, but powerfully built men walk onto the porch, drinks in hand. They are discussing something in a language I don't recognize...Farsi maybe? They sit down at a small table. I hang back on the porch.

After a few minutes, one of the men walks over and unlocks Tory from the wall. It's obvious that she is his, probably for the week. Girls as beautiful as Tory often stay with one guest for their full visit.

"Down," he says. Tory kneels on her haunches next to his chair. He sits down and resumes his conversation. Still talking to his friend, he pulls a leather strap from his pocket and wraps it around her neck. Then he starts to tighten. It isn't punishment or discipline, it's just sadistic play. Instead of prayer beads, he has a strap and a helpless girl. She is close to passing out when he finally backs it off then he starts twisting again. I glare at him. After a while the other man notices and points me out to his friend who turns around, curious.

"Is there something wrong?" he asks in English.

"No Sir," I say politely, trying to hide my loathing. I try to think of something to say that will get him to stop. "You may want to take it easy on her if you want her to last the evening." There's fear in Tory's eyes.

"Thanks for the advice," he says then turns away and resumes his conversation. Pointedly, he also continues his idle strangulation. The guard is now fully awake and watching the exchange from across the porch. He says something softly into the radio on his shoulder. The girls on the wall glance back nervously.

I try to get hold of my emotions; runners can be punished for bothering a guest. Tory continues to look at me, pleading for me to back away. I stand where I am and continue to glare at the two men.

Nemov appears at the bottom of the steps. "Is everything satisfactory, Colonel?" he says, directing himself to the man at the table.

"Fine, Grigoriy, one of your runners seems a little upset with me," the Colonel replies evenly.

Nemov replies in Russian and all three men laugh. Tory and I have obviously been cast as Lesbian lovers. Then he says something to the guard who handcuffs me and leads me away. I don't complain or resist. All I wanted to do was to let that Iranian bastard knows that someone is watching him. Maybe he'll treat her a little better. At least I did something; what ever happens now is okay. The guard takes me to the guest quarters and up to one of the rooms where he gags me and chains me to a wall. What's going on, I wonder. Runners aren't given to guests; that violates one of their cardinal rules. Nemov wants me as a runner, hanging on his cross for a very long time. He's not going to be distracted from that goal this easily. So why am I here?

A few hours pass; two guards lead Tory into the room. Her arms and elbows are tied tightly behind her back; she's been freshly bathed. A guard picks up a length of black chain attached to a floor ring near the bed and locks it on her collar. Tory can kneel, but not stand. They leave. I move and she looks over, surprised. Our positions are now reversed; she can talk, I am gagged. In an instant she understands that I'm here to watch. "I'm sorry, Jesse, I just couldn't handle going back on that cross again." I nod amazed that she is still fretting about my feelings.

"I think I can handle life here as an entertainer," she continues. "It's not forever, just a few years. This is what I signed up for, right?" She smiles. My heart breaks; there is no way that she is going to come out of Turkslaw the same way she went in. She'll be broken in a month.

I shake my head. This is not what you signed up for, my love! There are rules, even for CELTs, and these bastards are breaking every one of them. I shake my head again in anger and frustration. She looks at me.

"Please don't be mad at me, Jess." There are tears in her eyes. I don't want to lose you; you're my only friend. The other girls... The gag is infuriating. It's okay, Tory; I love you! Fuck everyone else! But the more I struggle, the more it looks like I'm angry.

The door opens and the Iranian walks into the room. It's obvious that he's been drinking. He looks at Tory and then smiles at me. He knew I'd be here. This is not revenge for him. I'm not worth his revenge. He's just glad to have the opportunity to teach me some manners.

He walks over to Tory and runs his hands through her hair then plays with her breasts, rubbing her nipples between his fingers. I watch and he watches me watch, enjoying the look in my eyes. The message is clear--she's mine and I can do whatever I want to her.

He walks to the dresser and gets alligator clips for her nipples. She moans as they bite into her skin. I try to look unaffected. He just smiles; there's a riding crop in his hand. The Colonel stares looks down at Tory and then strips slowly, enjoying the captive audience. Grudgingly, I have to admit that he's in pretty good shape. He stands by her for a while and then inserts his penis into her mouth. Tory cock-sucking is unimpressive even to me; maybe she's embarrassed. He strikes her with the crop, then again, and again; finally she responds with significantly more enthusiasm, sucking him off with a fury. She has all the right moves, just needs a little more technique. In a few seconds, he comes in her mouth; she swallows every drop and sucks him dry. It's amazing what can be accomplished with a crop.

I stare at them and imagine myself holding the crop. She's incredibly desirable in her pain, too tempting for a human being to resist... How am I any different from this pig with thoughts like these?

Satisfied, he falls into the bed. Tory looks at me for a long moment and then curls up around the floor ring and drifts off to sleep. Near morning, the Colonel gets up to urinate. On his way back, he unties her and takes her into his bed. They fuck again. Surprisingly, their lovemaking is intense. Tory looks over at me just as she comes; her face is flushed with passion, the pain gone. I feel...envy. In a few hours, he wakes again and pulls a half asleep Tory to his crotch. Morning sex and good stamina for someone his age--the man is definitely a bull. Too bad he has such detestable habits.

In an hour or so, a black maid comes in and quietly straightens up the room, hanging up clothes, replacing towels, and chaining Tory back on the floor ring. A few minutes later, another guard comes in and quietly takes me off the wall. Tory's curled around the floor ring sleeping like a cat.

Nemov's object lesson is clear--I can't help Tory acting like her knight in shining armor. I need to become a Jäger.

++++++++++++

Teresa

I see Tory several times after that. The Colonel enjoys walking her around the resort on a leash, drawing envious glances from the other guests. I notice that he continues to use his strangle cord. I would happily murder him if I could. I can only imagine her agony being with this horrid man.

His sadistic habit is actually contrary to the resort's official recommendation which is to use casual pain only when the CELT is left alone. The theory is that the CELT will associate the guest's absence with pain. To me, this made sense for dogs and horses...not people! A harshly tethered girl knows who suspended her on her toes or forced her to kneel for hours; or bent her over a hitching rail; or chained her nipples to the wall... It is ridiculous to believe that she will be grateful to this person when she's released.

At least to me the idea is ridiculous, although I do have to admit that most of the girls act like excited puppies when they're un-tethered. Maybe it's the conditioning...in a place like this, after a while the only thing that matters is pain--a girl is either suffering or she's not, everything else is irrelevant.

Most of what happens here is stupid and pointless! If I were in charge, the sadism would be subtle. Torturing a girl day and night just makes her numb. Less pain and more anticipation would make her suffering...special. The clothing policy is another mistake; girls are kept naked most of the time. This makes nudity the norm. It would be much more effective to selectively deny clothing. Imagine how a girl would feel if she is the only one naked in a crowd or if she is naked only when she is being punished in public.

And that's another thing--public punishment! It's excessive. There's too much pain around to make any of it really meaningful. I admit that I find some of the pain-art interesting, but this is definitely a case where less is more.

One example of this is Teresa who, according to her card, scratched a guest. She was tied in a remote hallway every day for a week. There were no other displays around and very few people. Watching her was like being alone in a museum.

She was placed on her knees, wearing an arm sleeve, a chastity belt, and a head harness. The sleeve was chained to her ankles, bending her painfully backwards; the chastity belt was chained to a wall ring which pulled her torso forward, maintaining the arc in her back; and the head harness cum gag which pulled her in the other direction. After an hour or so, her muscles would begin vibrating like guitar strings and she would make a guttural sound in her throat. It was intense.

I would stand there for hours, sometimes playing with her protruding nipples, trying to distract her. She looked at me with doe-like eyes until she came, but the distraction was just temporary; the pain always came flooding back within seconds. She just moaned softly. We grew close through her pain without exchanging a single word.

This was life for an entertainer at Turkslaw--sex, humiliation, and small pain, punctuated by times of real agony. The Jäger also never let anyone forget that these girls were Turkslaw's weaklings and cowards, fit only for a slave's life. Marina had the reputation of being especially cruel with entertainers and frequently took an unused one for the night just to torment her.

Runners had more standing; after all, even if they failed to evade, they braved the cross. I thought about this a lot. Did courage come with gender? Were men naturally braver? I was terrified of the cross, but still chose to be a runner. What was that all about? Was it so bad to be on someone's leash? How many times could I endure the agony of the cross? Had I become so spoiled with Howard? Did I think I was too good now to just be an ordinary CELT?

I never found any answers, but it didn't matter. On the day of the hunt I was calm--I had a plan.

++++++++++++

Victory

Nemov's starting-line speech is an opportunity to check out the guests. It isn't clear which are hunting this morning and which are just curious, but I study them all anyway, looking for weaknesses.

Surprisingly, Tory is in the crowd with her new man, a muscular, barrel-chested government official from Georgia. I'm happy to see that she wears a man's shirt against the morning cold and that she's unbound. Maybe this new guest is treating her better. She smiles at me and I know what's on her mind--win my darling, for both of us! I smile back, moved, but a little distracted studying the guests.

I also watch the other runners. They look scared, as usual, except for the two who evaded last week. These two look as if another victory is already in the bag. One is even strutting around wishing the other runners good luck. Phony bitch! I wouldn't mind giving her a few strokes with the crop. Maybe I will one day...

The Jäger are gathered in a small knot just as they had been the week before. Their merciless eyes frighten the naked runners, in exactly the same way that rabbits are frightened around wolves. Their fear is justified; I'm sure that if the Jäger were ordered to capture, cook, and eat us, they'd do it. It doesn't take much to create a master race.

I shudder...and this is what I aspire to!

Finally, the sun pops over the mountain and Nemov gives the signal. Everyone sprints for the trees. I fly down the grassy path feeling like I could run forever; my long legs barely touch the ground. Many of the other girl's are in small packs or partnered, I run alone.

I reach the woods and duck behind the trees as quickly as possible. Every instinct I have is screaming, run! ...keep running! But I resist the temptation; knowing that timing is everything! I need to wait here for the horses.

But it's not so easy to wait when you want to run. I pray silently to any God or fate that might be watching--save me, please save me from the cross! Finally, I spot the horses in the valley. They look magnificent; even the dogs look picturesque from this distance, running ahead, eager to close.

With frightening speed, the dogs are in the trees. I watch them sniff for scent trails. By staying this close, I could be the first one captured. The men arrive and give the dogs the signal to hunt. Several fairly leap into the air and charge into the woods. I'm not worried about these youngsters; they're too impetuous to be dangerous. It's the older, slower, wiser dogs that are the most dangerous. One of these moves closer. A girl crossed the ground between us, I remember her; will he follow her trail or mine?

It's a Laika, a steel-muscled Russian hunting dog often used to hunt bear and wild boar. He looks exactly like a wolf with funny ears and hunts the same way--silently. These Laikas are trained to flush the girl out, run her down, and pin her to the ground. I put the image of lying naked under one of these beasts out of my mind.

I watch as he picks up the trail leading into the woods. Instead of running off though, he continues sniffing and picks up my crossing trail. He raises his head and looks around...two trails! Laikas are extremely intelligent, but two trails are a dilemma for anyone...which one? I nearly cry out with relief as he runs into the woods after the other girl. This trick would not have worked if a Jäger were here; she would have taken the time to check both.

There's no time to think about this as the horsemen burst into the woods and race up the slope after the dogs. I spy one who's hanging back, a little unsteady with the forest's tricky footing, and move in to follow. When there is no other riders in sight, I run to his horse and grab its tail; then I close my eyes, reach underneath and squeeze. The shocked animal rears up; and something sails over my head, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes.

I did it...

I look over at the rider; he's unconscious, maybe even dead. Should I try to help him? Fuck no! We're playing by Turkslaw rules. They want to hunt girls on horseback, crucify them for fun; then they need to take some risks. Falling off your horse is just one of those risks. Of course, he didn't exactly fall off...

I grab the horse's reins and pull myself into the saddle. I'm no expert, but everyone learns to handle a horse where I grew up.

Riding slowly, I finally see the other horsemen through the trees. A number of runners have already been captured and tied over the horses. I can see their white asses flashing in the forest's sunny spots. I feel sorry for them. In a while, I hear the signal for guests to retire to the tree line. Everyone turns and starts back in my direction. Carefully, I move to the side and let them pass. The Jäger will be here soon, but for now I'm alone in the forest. Despite the danger, I'm excited. My plan is working. I kick the horse in the side and pull sharply on reins; he starts running up the mountain. Half a ton of muscle controlled with my bare feet and arms. Is he still mad at me? I reach over and stroke his neck.