Persistence Hunting v2

Persistence Hunting v2

(This is an extended version of the original, which can be found here: https://pastebin.com/ZZ5gdgdH
The original script is much shorter and more generalised, while this one goes into some more specific details...)

They call it 'persistence hunting'.

There's a theory that, more so than any other animals, humans are uniquely adapted for long distance running, that we are Born to Run.

That, long before guns or even bows were available to us, rather than hunting being a quick, frantic sprint and tumble, or a sudden ambush, both of those rather... inelegant... affairs with the danger of raking claws, hooves and horns...
Rather than that, hunting was all about slow, steady, persistence...

One's prey would be selected and separated from the herd, and pursued, not in a desperate futile sprint: no, that's exactly what the prey is adapted to escape... but instead at a pace that was slow, easy.... And relentless.

Time and time again the prey would dash away in panicked flight, buying a moment's respite at best  before the hunter, moving at a gentle lope, would inexorably close the distance between them once more. Eventually the prey would collapse, spent and helpless...

Now, you might think that all this would become a moot point when the prey is similarly adapted - when the prey is... human, also. But that simply means the Hunter has to make use of another tool...

Fear.

Isn't it just *exhausting* to be terrified? All that wasted energy sprinting, and sobbing, and calling uselessly for help. Of course fear must be helped along, for in a long pursuit even the most skittish prey will eventually begin to master their fear, just a little, just enough to be able to begin to form the beginning of coherent thoughts once more, to return from that dumb, panicked state of pure animal instinct.

That simply wouldn't do at all.

And so the game becomes to keep the prey off balance, to toy with them and keep bringing them back to the precipice of pure terror.

In my case, once they begin to tire, I like to close with my prey, make them aware with each desperate lurch away from my grasp that they're buying themselves at most a few more moments of freedom, that their fate is inescapable. That I am inescapable.

There's no sense and no sport in attempting to capture them right away. And no hurry. I have all the time in the world. Each time their struggles are a little weaker and their reactions slower, each time I can be a little bolder.

When it came to you, that first time I didn't even attempt to grab at you. Just stepped on the back of your heel, letting your own panicked escape yank your foot free from your shoe as you stumbled away sobbing, the mud soaking your bare sole. High heels were impractical shoes anyway for a run, but it amused me how far you hobbled along, how long it took for your fear-addled brain to think to remove the remaining shoe.

Of course, being busy with that meant it was child's play to step up and cut cleanly through the left strap of your vest top and bra...

(EMT Shears are a marvellous tool - so much more reliable and  convenient than a knife in this situation. Don't worry, my pet, the knives will come later...)

I didn't let you go too far before I caught up with you again, gripping your hair and pulling you back just long enough to snip through the right hand straps before I let you break free.

And isn't it funny how the brain works when consumed with fear? Running for your life, sobbing and stumbling and splashing through the mud in the blackness, yet a strange prudish part of you keeps your hands pressed demurely over your chest to keep your top from falling down. Because heaven forbid these dark deserted woods should see your bare breasts!

Your modesty made it easy when in time I closed the distance and grabbed you once more, scooping an arm around your waist and making several deep cuts into the waistband of your pencil skirt before you squirmed free.

You made it perhaps a dozen staggering steps before the slashed skirt slipped your hips and transformed into a snare, sending you face down into the dirt. I'm sorry for laughing at that point, but I really couldn't help myself.

I could see you were ready to be taken then, looking back at me with a wordless plea as you dragged yourself back to your feet, your skirt discarded somewhere in the dark. Your panties had had one strap cut too, and in your vain attempt to hold them in place your breasts were now exposed to me.

And then you started to run again, though so exhausted at that point  that it's charitable of me to call it a run. With a few quick strides I was on you once more, and this time I saw something like relief in your eyes when I gripped you by the hair and bore you down to the ground.

You barely struggled right then as I straddled your dirty and naked body and clothed it tightly in my ropes.

Oh, but look at you struggle now! All that fire and fury - all so futile now.
Mmm, I can almost feel the heat of your rage right now! I could reach out and warm my hands at the fire of your incandescent, impotent anger. I could warm myself to my very core...
But you'll find those bonds are quite inescapable, no matter how hot your ire burns.
That gag muffling the most heartfelt of curses, the most indignant of protests... the most desperate screams, even if there were anyone within a hundred miles to hear them...
You're all Mine now, prey, and I intend to make full use of my prize...