Date: Tue, 25 Apr 2006 08:59:44 EDT
From: Intelli727@aol.com
Subject: Hunter and Hunted (sf)

My partner and I are considering where to spend our next vacation. The
traditional Vegas and Manhattan are mentioned, along with the more exotic
Ibiza, Spain and Sydney.

But this year we want something far more challenging. A gay naturist
resort where anything goes except clothes -- where we can return with the
satisfaction that we'd crossed the line into total eroticism with
lust-filled abandon.

We study sites offered in Bangkok and Vanuatu. But they seem too deviant.
Too geared toward strange Western men with pedophile appetites.

Then we discover on the web a remote resort on the big island of Hawaii
-- actually on the opposite end of the island two hours' drive from Hilo
-- where the closest major airport is located.

"Yes! That's the one," exclaims Randy, my partner and best friend.
"Better than the Caribbean where lots of murders and hate crimes are
committed against gays and makes it hell instead heaven. Have you heard
of lynch mobs in Jamaica where the courts acquit the bastards who murder
gays? All based on the Bible, of course. Religion is the world's curse.
Dominican Republic is okay, though, and former French colonies.
Regardless, let's steer clear of the Caribbean for a while. So, that
place in Hawaii sounds kewl!"

I agree. We research it some more and find that the Kanaholu Beachside
Resort caters to various groups on diverse occasions for designated
weeks. We decide on the most far-out just for the hell of it. One during
off-season, of course.

Other events with week-long themes include yoga, naturist wilderness
excursion (naked hiking for miles), snorkeling, bare surfing, Naturist
biking, Shamanism, holistic healing, meditation, gay honeymoon week,
music, dance, and other forms of mysticism. The one that grabs our
attention is titled "Hunter and Hunted."

Well, not many details are elaborated on the website about this
particular week for some reason. So we call the resort to request further
details. A brief form letter with information attached arrives in the
mail a few days later.

The brochure is direct and to the point: "During the seven day adventure,
guests are divided into two teams -- (1) the hunters and (2) the hunted.
Team #2 must remain nude at all times including footwear and will play
their fantasy role as animals being hunted by Team #1 who will be allowed
to pose as hunters clothing-optional, some on horseback. Participants are
to remain within the 3,000 acre premises owned by Kanaholu Resort, Inc.,
at all times during the contract period. Hunter-Prey is a week-long event
where no rules will restrict participants from fulfilling dark fantasies
with the exception no physical assault or intentional harm may be
inflicted upon participants. Violators will be discharged promptly
without refund. To be accepted, applicants must submit proof of age.
[Only ages 21+ admitted.]  Applicants must submit nude photos of
themselves and must consent to a rigorous medical examination where
applicant's attending physician or medical provider completes results on
the enclosed form and mails aforesaid certified to our office, via
envelope enclosed. The physician's failure to submit the form fully
completed, which includes personal medical history, will result in
denial. Further information will be provided only upon agreement to the
contract at entrance. The contract encompasses concise legal exclusions,
waivers, and acceptance of personal liability. Breach of contract results
from violations herein described, contract provisions provided upon
admittance, and exiting premises prematurely during 7-day period with the
exception of emergency extenuating circumstances approved by facility
management upon request."

"Goddamn, Marv! That sounds wild! REAL wild. Love it." Randy exclaims
with anticipation. The brochure, although filled with legal jargon,
intrigues us to arousal, almost to pre-cum. Randy continues, "Risky
though. Are we in good 'nuff shape?" He glances at me with that sly,
knowing look. I look over his body top to bottom in return. I see his
ornery curved dimples. He gives me a quick wink. Wicked smiles gradually
spread across our faces.

I promptly respond, "Of course, we can do it. We're in excellent shape."
Randy has the looks of an Olympic swimmer.... rippled abs, solid
shoulders and pecs, rock-hard legs and bubble ass. His eyes are deep
shades of blue. I love looking into them. He's gorgeous. Plus he's hardly
ever sick; hasn't missed work in three years. Doesn't smoke, no drugs,
and jogs for pleasure, skinnydips all summer. His only "vice" is mansex,
but that's no vice in my estimation. Plus his positive attitude and sense
of humor are something else. He's the best practical joker. Never has a
depressing moment. That's what I love most about the guy.

I'm no slouch either; get turned on sometimes looking at myself naked in
the mirror. We walk around the house and farm naked all the time in warm
months. Almost forget how to get dressed except when forced to go to town
on business. Course, Randy has a job in town plus farm chores. I'm busy
maintaining the farm, feeding cattle, and tending the livestock. So, I
enjoy more of the nude lifestyle, not that I love it any more than he.

Randy's blonde; I'm medium brown. He's uncut; I'm not. But not because I
wanted it whacked off as a baby, you know. I love his natural cock --
especially when he slides it into my mouth and I feel the tip of his
shaft open so I can run my tongue over his oozing slit. Then to taste his
manhood as it squirts down my throat, sweet! Love his trail leading from
his button to his equipment too.

"Think we need hunting licenses, Randy?" I ask sarcastically. Randy
lightly punches my bare shoulder; we both laugh. "I can't imagine what
it's like hunting another human for sport."

Both Randy and I are raised in the country where we enjoy hunting and all
other outdoor activities. It comes second nature to us. So, a hunting
trip is not out of the question.

But hunting delicious-looking naked men for a week? I ask Randy, "What do
we do when we nab 'em? And what do we nab 'em with? Or better yet, what
if we're on Team #2 and a hunter catches or traps us? What if I'm the
hunter and you're the game? Where does the hunter take its prey and what
does he prepare it for?" Dozens of unanswered questions add to the
intrigue. I almost ejaculate. We're standing there naked thinking about
our adventure six months down the road and our cocks are already rockhard
-- like they've already voted where they'd like to go! LOL! ("Those for
Kanaholu, raise your heads!")

A few days later the medical forms arrive. Randy and I rush to make an
appointment to see the doc. The nurse monitors us running the treadmill.
We take all kinds of tests: electrocardiogram, cholesterol, blood, urine,
blood pressure, the works. Evidently, Kanaholu Resort doesn't leave
anything to the imagination; almost like taking a physical to become an
astronaut.

Before leaving the clinic, we instruct to doc to mail the forms. Then we
take naked pics of ourselves out by the barn, some frontal, others
showing off our athletic asses. We slip copies into an envelope and hurry
down to mail them at Shady Mill Post Office.

"It must be a tough game," Randy says as we finish up. "Like a fantasy
island or sex survival game. Can't wait!"

Both of us have deep tans from years parading around the farm nude. No
tan lines, no "farmer's tans"; we're definitely not rednecks. Country we
are, but not the ignorant, bigoted variety.

Kanaholu specifies on the material sent with medical forms that
participants must be well-tanned all over to be admitted. No problem.
October is a few months off and by then we'll even be better bronzed.
Apparently if one is going to be out in the Hawaiian sun for seven days
in a row, skin has to be well-adjusted. Otherwise you'd get sick from
overexposure after day one and remain sick for six. Terminates fun in a
hurry.

We receive our acceptance letters a few days later. The letter again
stipulates that we'd have to pass other criteria when entering the resort
and must agree to the contract. The upfront price is not astronomical,
just $500 apiece. After all, the resort does not supply food, shelter or
any other amenity for most days. At least of the "conventional"
accommodations.

October 12 arrives and we board the plane for Honolulu. Randy and I pack
so light, we only have carry-ons. A vacation without clothes is a
vacation without luggage. We bring our cell phones, however, which are
prohibited once the game begins. Participants aren't allowed to take
anything with them past the gate, not even toothpaste. All personal
belongings are stored in secured lockers at the resort office.

From Honolulu, we board an island-hopper for Hilo. At Hilo International
we're greeted by staff of Kanaholu who bring two vans to transport
guests. The staff look pretty hot themselves, not to mention the hunks
crowding into the van with us. They all look like they just jumped off
the pages of some male fashion magazine. Gorgeous.

Kanaholu is located 2 hours from Hilo on the southwest corner of the big
island past Hawaii Volcano National Park on Highway 11. We can see Mount
Mauna Loa to the north. Our first time in Hawaii and all we get to see
are naked men -- for the most part. Damn!

The huge resort is nestled between the highway and the Pacific. The
guesthouse-resort office is located several hundred feet down a winding
road past the security gate. The vans pull underneath the canopy in the
circular drive. We've arrived.

The men all climb out and stroll through the doors of the guest house.
It's a tropical Victorian style edifice -- somewhat like the elaborate
structure on Fantasy Island -- the 80s series.

Tables and chairs are arranged in the greatroom. A large banner on the
wall says, "Welcome to Kanaholu! The Hunter & The Hunted Week. October
14-21." A strange-looking logo below the text resembles naked men running
in silhouette being chased by other men on horseback. Five males,
apparently managers, greet us as we approach the registration area. They
are all nude en toto except for colorful leis. Dark tanned -- Hawaiian in
appearance -- they direct us toward the tables to look over the remainder
of the rules and stipulations that were classified before our arrival.
Contract sheets are beneath the instructions.

Randy and I grab copies of the documents and find a comfortable couch to
sit and read. There are quite a few surprises in small print, as should
have been expected.

The first thing that catches my eye is the paragraph which reads, "Team
#2, the 'Hunted,' will not be allowed to speak during the entire course
of the game. They must play the role of prey; thus, all vocal
communication prohibited."

"Hey, Randy," I interject, "This is like 'Planet of the Apes' where
humans are the prey and can't talk anymore, not even hillbilly twang like
ours."

I detect Randy is more intrigued. "It's just a game, Marv. What's
exciting is not knowing what comes next. Remember the saying, 'The
adventure is along the way, not at the end of the journey.?'" I nod my
head in agreement.

We read the material thoroughly. The resort does not accept any liability
for physical harm, thus can't be sued if something happens to us. We are
to report any violations, but if we're not allowed to speak, how can we?

We wait a couple more hours for four more vans to arrive carrying guests
from other flights. Altogether there are 100, at least that's what I
count. The resort offers us one last meal before we begin. But before
dinner, all guests are instructed to undress and turn in all their
personal effects, including cell phones, watches, cameras, and luggage.
The clerk assigns each participant a number, which is the matching locker
number in which possessions are stored. The clerk explains, "You will be
recognized by your number only, not name. The number will be indelibly
inscribed on your back. Of course, it'll wash off after a week, but while
you're here, the number is how you will be identified."

Next we are instructed to head for the showers. It's a huge open area,
and a large hot tub and outdoor Olympic-size pool are adjacent. We are
encouraged to wash thoroughly and then take a swim in the pool or ocean
before dinner. The rules stipulate that open sex is encouraged, so a few
guys indulge by the pool. Randy and I watch in amazement as four guys
hook up right in front of 50 others. Most of us smile or laugh. There's
absolutely nothing to hide here.

The dinner is delicious. It's a luau, not just a meal. Tropical dishes,
pineapple, coconut, fruit from all over the islands, various meats and
exotic seafood, wine, whiskey, rum, beer. Buffet style. The décor is
spectacular. I almost don't know which looks better: the meal or the
naked men eating it. Never saw so much bareass in my life. And every one
of them look fantastic.

After supper we're entertained by a Hawaiian band of yukalalees, steel
and key guitars, Polynesian flute and drums. It's a first-class luau. A
chorus of 20 naked Hawaiian men dance and toss leis at us. The scene is
so romantic, it's hypnotic. The intoxicated audience joins the
entertainers. It is my first time seeing two guys fuck while dancing. How
do they move so well to the music while connected like that? Their
agility is acrobatic. I plant a deep kiss on Randy as he grabs my
semi-hard cock. Paradise at last, Fantasy Island. We finish the session
by assuming position on the grass next to the pool. Randy fucks my brains
out. A few guys stand around observing. Favorite spectator sport at
Kanaholu.

Before night closes we get acquainted with other guests. Some have
returned for a repeat performance. Randy and I want to discover how they
managed to find food, shelter and water for a week -- and how they hid
from hunters or how they hunted. From conversation with an Aussie, we
conclude that all these guys who look like models are in the "hunted"
category.

Cal the Aussie drops a bombshell, "The guys you're seeing right now are
not the ones who'll be hunting you tomorrow. You see, the resort caters
to two sets of clientele. One group pays a comparatively low fee and must
pass a rigorous physical and appearance standard. The other group pays a
premium price to be selected in the 'hunter class' .... mostly the
powerful and wealthy."

We are getting the picture now. Cal continues, "The good-looking hunks
from all over the world who've been lured into this 'erotic fantasy' will
be hunted by princes, CEOs, sheiks, generals, and Third World dictators
for sport."

"So, Cal, why the hell did you put in for a repeat visit?" I inquire
intently.

"Because there's a lot of fun when you're caught. I won't spoil the
mystery. Trust me, you won't believe what happens after they've trapped
you like a caged animal," Cal enlightens.

The Aussie then instructs us where to find water, how to collect coconuts
and other edibles -- all without tools. Being totally naked in nature for
a week is one thing, but to endure a survival course? While being hunted?

Randy asks Cal, "Well, please answer me this: If we can't speak, how can
we communicate to others that we've found food or that we've been
captured?"

"Body language," replies Cal. "You can make gestures just like animals
communicate with one another. Animal sounds are allowed too. There's no
reward for not being hunted down, so it doesn't matter. The hunt is just
a sport. Either you spend your days free while running from your suitors
or you spend them captive as a slave to the rich and famous. Isn't that
the way life is in general?"

Finding a place to sleep the first night is a chore. We aren't allowed
access to the interior of the main house but are instructed to sleep
outdoors. The weather, of course, cooperates; that's a plus. Randy and I
find some palm fronds and cover them with leaves to make a bed. Others
join us. Naked under the Hawaiian stars is orgasmic! We make love once
more. Randy parks his tool in my garage for the night. We're kept warm by
our love, not just physical but in every aspect.

Morning dawns to a brave new world. Kanaholu managers announce over the
loudspeaker that all guests are to line up at the starting gate at 0900.
That's our cue.

But where are the hunters? I want to see who'll be chasing me; was hoping
Randy could be on the opposing team so he could trap and drag me back to
his cave.

At 0900 all 100 of us line up obediently at the staging area. One of the
managers instructs us now to get in numerical order corresponding with
our locker numbers. I'm Number Seven; Randy's Number Eight. Our Aussie
friend is #32; his companion is #33. Every race and color are represented
among the 100, and damn are they gorgeous. All the different
nationalities are like flowers, each beautiful in their own way and none
superior to the rest.

Four of the managers go down the line painting indelible numbers on our
backs. We feel like horses getting ready for the race.

"You will be given a two-hours head start," the lead manager announces.
"After that time, the hunters will pursue you on horseback. Allow me the
pleasure of introducing them to you right now."

With that, the doors of the main house swing open and 100 other men step
forward to the staging area. They are dressed in various attire.... some
in infantry outfits, others in camouflage, a couple in traditional Arabic
headdress, a few in western wear (cowboy). Some are not wearing pants,
just tops. Their dicks and asses are exposed. The hunters are fairly
decent looking. I can tell they are of the privileged class and originate
from every continent. Some are muscled up; looks as though steroids
helped sculpture their bodies.

The hunters inspect the 100 prey. I can see their eyes focusing on one,
then another, as if selecting choice beef. An African leader looks
lustfully at Randy; I punch my partner to pay attention to the big black
dude staring with determination like he owns Randy. What have we gotten
ourselves into?

Cal briefs us on some survival skills: how to avoid traps and what sites
are chosen by hunters to lay snares -- locations that appear attractive
to the unique prey -- gay guys on a week's adventure on a tropical isle.
He cautions us how to protect our feet by avoiding sharp lava rocks and
cut bamboo. Most of us have conditioned our feet in anticipation. Since
footwear is prohibited, we must be prepared. Springs are located at
numerous points with fresh water safe enough to drink.

The race begins promptly at 0945, somewhat like "hide & seek" -- except
when they catch us, who knows what happens next? Managers remind us that
silence commences at the starting line.

The hunters observe as the prey lines up for the race. We're off at the
sound of the gun. Randy and I jog a steady pace to the beach where we
follow the shoreline to a hidden cave Cal had informed us about. Cal
(#32) and his partner (#33) do likewise. We arrive at ebb-tide, thus,
able to reach the interior of the cave before the entrance is shut off at
high-tide. The cavern is not completely dark but lighted by holes from
the ceiling. The two Aussies and two hillbillies make it their secret
getaway.

After preparing our sleeping quarters inside the cave, we head for the
swimming hole where a waterfall plunges into a deep pool below. Randy and
I swim for a spell, then drip-dry our naked bronzed bodies on a rock
ledge overlooking the idyllic scene. Randy then breaks the rules by
whispering in my ear, "I love you, Number Seven." A broad smile encircles
my face as warmth penetrates my heart. I whisper back, "I Eight you." We
chuckle. Our lips lock as erections confirm our passion. Never have I
felt such passionate love for a man. Words are unnecessary in such
paradise.

Randy speaks with his deep blue eyes; he wants to penetrate me, right
here and now. Other guys are swimming below; some are diving from the
bluff beside the waterfall. The presence of strangers makes no
difference. Randy lubricates my anal canal with his fingers, then his
tongue. His throbbing member never felt so good inside me, as he humps up
and down, then sideways, plowing ever deeper into the recesses of my body
as we maneuver to caress between thrusts. Others watch, then follow our
lead. They too are enjoying this moment to the fullest. There is no
reluctance, no inhibition, no shame.

Randy and I race through the tropical forest hand-in-hand. From a
distance, we hear the horses hooves and realize the hunters are released.
There's no fear but erotic anticipation. We are targets of the rich man's
quest.... to do with whatever they desire within reason.

We hear gunshots. What could this mean? Randy and I sneak back to the
swimming hole to find the source. From a clump of bushes we see the
hunters have shot three guys with tranquilizer bullets. At first they lie
gyrating on the ground like animals actually gunned down. To see their
naked bodies draped and carried off on horseback is strangely erotic to
me. What will they do with #44, #82 and #17?

Randy is more curious than I. He motions me to join him following the
hunting party back to their camp. We hide behind trees to get a better
look. It's far more frightening than I imagined. Stockades are set up all
over camp, cages of bamboo, underground dugouts where men will be held
and then water and food hoisted down through metal bars. One large cage
catches my attention. It houses a guerilla. We notice German Shepherds
also and wonder for what purpose.

The three naked men are carried on the backs of hunters to a cage where
they're shackled with irons and chains. In a few minutes the captives
wake. The hunters return and release the prisoners. Then they escort them
at gunpoint to stockades where their heads and hands are locked in place
in holes and their legs are spread and strapped to the ground. The
hunters are laughing and conversing while they strip naked and position
themselves -- one at the head of each victim and three at the rear-end.
They force the captives to suck cock while two guys at the other end
enter each one up the ass to the sound of tribal music played over a
loudspeaker. With no prep; in other words "raped." The three guys scream
in agony which causes the hunters to laugh louder. The third hunter at
each station sucks the victim's dick while he's being double fucked and
forced to suck the front guy. Finally, the front guy shoots his load all
over the prey's face, in his eyes and hair. It sticks to the eyelids
where he can barely see. When dried, it's like glue. The session doesn't
end. Another set of hunters assume position and repeat the performance of
the first set until all 100 hunters are serviced.

The sex slaves are covered with cum when it's all over. Their heads are
still locked in stocks. The cum dries like egg on their faces, eyes and
hair.

Then we watch as the African hunters prepare what looks like a large
boiling pot. Over the fire next to the pot they mount large wooden stakes
as if they're going to roast something. "Surely not," I think. Then they
bring out what looks like a naked male body and tie it above the fire.
Randy and I carefully creep nearer for closer inspection. We discover
it's not a real body but a plastic dummy made to look like one to scare
the hell out of us.

The three guys on our team who got caught are totally worn out. The
hunters finally remove them from the stocks, take them back to their
cages, and chain them up as before. They struggle to find resting
positions and fall fast asleep.

We've seen enough and run back through the trees and fields. We can't
warn the others without the ability to speak. Now we know what animals
must experience.

In our minds we finally grasp the concept. Wealthy gay men (and some
straight) from all over the world are seeking an erotic hunting
adventure; they desire to hunt attractive nude males for sport. So, the
company sends out bait over the world to attract good-looking,
very-healthy men to serve the very-wealthy. It's trickery of sorts. And
we bit the bait. Yeah, we're the suckers. The resort's REAL money is
derived from these rich powerful men, not us.

For four days Randy and I and our Aussie friends manage to avoid being
captured. Reason? The secret cave hideout. Others are not so lucky. We
watch as some are trapped and tied up by rope in a tree; others are
boobytrapped into pits covered with straw where the hunter only has to
ride by and haul them away. Still others are gunned down by what looks
like shotguns, but only tranquilizer darts. The gunshots and writhing
bodies make scenes resembling real animals kills. They're hauled back to
camp where they're forced to perform as sex slaves.

One of the best looking guys is locked in the cage with the guerilla. We
soon learn it's a TRAINED guerilla. It immediately grabs the guy and
forces itself into him. I've never seen a guerilla fuck a man before now.
The hunters stand around the cage and watch, then laugh and applaud as
the guerilla penetrates to guy from behind.

The dogs are used in similar fashion and are trained to perform sex on
male humans. The masters force the captives to get into position on
all-fours while their dogs mount the guys from behind. They are locked in
place until the dog finally ejaculates inside the man. It is a very
humiliating experience for the prey, but all that matters is the
entertainment for the hunters.

On the fourth day, we are running back from observing the camp when Randy
trips and falls into a boobytrap. The hunter receives a signal when his
trap is triggered. I cannot rescue Randy from the pit but continue to run
a safe distance to hide and observe. A big black African leader appears
on horseback shortly to retrieve his prey. Randy's hands and legs are
tied with ropes; then he's tossed on the back of the horse and hauled off
like a slab of meat.

As before, I run to the edge of camp to watch what they do to Randy. The
Africans have had their eyes on him from the startgate; he's blonde,
blue-eyed; Caucasian; the Southern accent is what stands out most.

The Africans chain Randy to a stake on a platform. An auctioneer appears
and begins to auction Randy off like a slave. I can now visualize their
fantasy. The Africans want to get revenge for 400 years of slavery by
enslaving a white boy, auctioning him off to the highest bidder, then
using him to gratify their darkest imaginations.

Another African dude wins the bid and hauls Randy off stage where he's
placed in stocks like the first three and forced to suck cock while being
double-fucked from behind by two other HUGE black dudes. Trouble is,
Randy's cherry has never been had; his ass is virgin territory. I hear
him holler in pain as he's raped -- penetrated from behind, as the two
guys arrange their equipment to plunge even deeper. The torture is
complete as the front guy sprays cream all over his face. "Take that,
white boy!" he laughs. They speak broken English, indicating they
originate from some African republic. "I am your master now, you white
chicken shit piece of property," says the owner.

They make Randy a symbol of all their oppression for generations and make
reparations by using him as a sex toy. He complies but at first it's not
to his liking.

After days of involuntary sex acts, Randy succumbs to the pleasure of it
all. He no longer is exclusively a "top" but a "bottom" as well.
Flexible.

I make it to the fifth day but am apprehended by a hunter on foot. He
forces me at gunpoint back to the camp where I'm placed in shackles. He
returns in a few minutes. "Lick my feet, asswipe!" he commands. I comply.
The taste of his sweaty, salty feet is unpleasant but tolerable. He then
bends over in front of my face. "Lick my ass, slave!" he orders. I lick
his ass in obedience from the top of the crevice to the bottom. His ass
is athletic which is a plus. He then orders me to insert my tongue down
his hole and wiggle it. I obey and somehow block the unpleasant taste.

Apparently my master is different from most in that he wants to be on the
receiving end. I am not insubordinate but gladly comply with his unusual
orders.

The final day, only one member hasn't been caught, #79 from Norway. The
hunters scour the resort until he's located on a bluff overlooking the
Pacific. They haul him back on horseback like most of the rest.

One scene catches my interest. Two guys with cock rings are chained
together, dick-to-dick, and are forced to hobble across the field next to
the camp. The episode draws a large audience of hunters. Then they're
shot in the back by tranquilizer arrows. A couple of hunters dressed up
like American Natives run out in the field and shave all hair off the
tranquilized captives like they're being scalped.

The climax of the week unfolds. The hunters force us to drink a mixture
of a stimulants and aphrodisiac. It is most potent and causes
full-erections within 20 minutes. Not only are we aroused, all we can
think of his having sex; all other thoughts escape us. We are in a
delirious but blissful state. I've honestly never felt so good. I am
totally possessed and willingly so. I surrender my very being to lust.

Our captors release us and order all 100 of us to form a human pyramid or
pile. Then we're directed to have sex with everyone next to us, aka, Abu
Ghraib. All I can think of is sex. I am near the middle of the pile and
feel another guy moving his protruding member into place up my butt.
Others are licking the flesh of the ones next to them. Licking, sucking,
fucking: We are one big mount of manflesh. An uncontrollable appetite
dominates us; we can thinking of nothing else. Guys are salivating out
their mouths involuntarily; their tongues hanging out like dogs.

The hunters are standing around the pile in a circle jerking off. We are
completely delirious with lust. Guys' cum is squirting various
directions. The throbbing, moaning pile of maleflesh is the biggest orgy
we've ever been a part of. Everyone of the 100 is connected -- hooked up
like animals with their dicks up someone else's ass or in someone else's
mouth -- while the hunters shoot their loads on our bodies in approval.

After the final event, the managers return to announce the week is over.
The potion gradually subsides. They direct us to the showers, pool, and
hot tub. A meal, similar to the first night's, is prepared. We're
starved! The hunters sit down next to the hunted -- all nude -- for the
farewell dinner, a "last supper" of sorts. No one was harmed, although
appearances seemed to have contradicted at times.

We all hate to finally put on clothes and depart to our respective places
around the globe. Permanent friends and contacts are made. We plan to
return.

Upon arriving home, Randy asks, "Hey, Number Seven! Where'd you like to
spend the next trip?"

I reply to Randy, "I Eight you, I Eight you!" We embrace and kiss. Randy
is versatile now and demands I fuck him. No problem.

------------------------------------------------------

If interest, write to Intelli727@aol.com
Derek Hammil