The Hunt

She slipped between the trees, camera clutched tight, boots sinking into wet leaves. The forest had gone too quiet. Somewhere ahead, a woman ran hard. Twigs cracked underfoot, breath tearing in and out, the sound raw. Men closed in from every side, black masks cutting their faces in half, suits torn at the knees. She heard the blonde first: muffled cries, heels stumbling. They caught her at the edge of a clearing where firelight licked the dark. One of them yanked her arms behind her back and locked cuffs tight. Another worked a thick ball gag between her teeth until her jaw strained and spit slid down her chin. They ripped her dress open at the seam and shoved her face-first over a slab of stone slick with oil. The biggest of them stepped up, cock already heavy, veins standing out. He spat on his palm, worked two fingers deep between her ass cheeks, then lined up and pushed in slow. She jerked, back arching, taking every inch while the men around her laughed low and hungry. He started to fuck her in hard, measured strokes that slapped skin against skin. She could only grunt around the gag, spit shining on her chin as he stretched her open. They took turns after that—each one using her ass until it gaped and leaked, the camera catching every thrust, every slap of balls against her cunt. The fire crackled. The night smelled like smoke and sweat. She kept shooting until her hands shook.