The Hunt Pt. 01

The hunt...

This story was inspired by another one, by genesisburke's, titled similarly.

However, the game and captives are upside down.

Also, it includes not so common kinks, which often get voted down...

Anyway, I had fun writing it, and hope you have fun reading it.

Needless to say, all acts are consensual (mostly) and all characters over 18.

*

On a lazy Sunday, perusing the personals of some free online dating site, I came across a post that was positively captivating. Not just the image, I know many get photoshopped and are not images of whoever is posting.

"The time is now! Grab this chance to get in great shape and win a contest, one inside our gym. Think of a Greek challenge, add a twist, and imagine I am your judge...." To top things off, that was an ad from the gym in town, one that recently changed ownership.

Needless to say, over the last few months, I had let myself go somewhat. Not that I gained that much weight, but also not the appearance I had or want to have again.

Next day I made it to the gym.

DAMMNN!! The same hot chick that was in the ad, was the receptionist!! I tried really hard to behave and not stare down her low-cut halter top. She giggled, and not sure if it was on purpose or not, but as she giggled, she jiggled her chest sideways. Just lightly, but with that kind of candy on display, where would I sign? She introduced herself. "My name is Roxanne." I am still glad I didn't step on my tongue when I walked out.

No shit, the ad said it would provide motivation! And this one didn't lie.

Next day, at six AM, I was the first one there.

Believe it or not, Roxanne, with her even lower cut halter top and a smile that would make an icicle melt on the spot, opened up. I had the privilege to climb the stairs after her, and caught a glance or two, or twenty, of her walk up the steps.

I didn't really know what I was doing, but hit the elliptical, some free weights, and did some stretches. In short, I was somewhat mimicking what some of the obviously experienced guys were doing.

There were aerobics classes as well, one I got invited to but declined, with all glass walls between the different areas.

The atmosphere was different than in any gym I had been to before. The women seem to revel in the fact that they would catch as much attention as they could. Most of them were younger than me, and more self-confident, but there were a few that were my age or slightly above.

The guys all seemed to know each other. It was very much a team style atmosphere between them. As if they knew more about each other than you would find in a typical gym.

There were a few times I tried to strike up a conversation. Any of the openings of "Hi how are you, how long have you been working out here?" Those didn't seem to get anywhere.

A few weeks later, and working out every day, alternating between arm groups and leg group exercising, I had definitely not changed weight, but it had re-distributed itself somewhat. I was definitely fitter, much trimmer, and started to actually think my efforts were paying off.

I had given up on the small talk and just focused on what I wanted to accomplish, and got my motivation from dreams about, over, into and around those hot chicks that seemed to do whatever they could to get any guy's attention.

Just when I finished my tenth rep on the quad machine, with a personal record weight, a guy just seemed to happen to stand next to the machine, as if he was waiting his turn, and said: "So, are you trying this hard so you have a chance to participate in the contest?"

My breath was already choking me, but could not help coughing in reply: "What contest?"

"Don't be smart with me," the guy said. He was smaller than me, definitely more confident and had that type of air about him that in a bar fight, he would be in his element. Super trim and he looked like he would be fast. He continued: "You have been ogling Roxanne since you walked in. She must have let you in on some of the... uh... info."

I straightened my back, and in doing so, was towering over him. It didn't seem to affect him at all. He just looked up, straight in my eyes, and his confidence made me look for words. "Uh.... I have no idea what you are talking about," I answered.

Maybe he believed me. Maybe he didn't. I will never know. But his stance softened somewhat. "If she didn't tell you, I think you should go ask," he snickered. "If you have the balls."

He turned on his heels, away from me. Even though I was a foot taller than him, I have to admit he was one hell of a poker player. Maybe he carried an ace up his sleeve?

It took me a few days to get to a point where I didn't feel watched and near Roxanne before I had a chance to ask.

Decidedly brazen, and seemingly confident, I whispered: "So Roxanne, when were you going to tell me about the contest?"

Her pale blue eyes actually competed for my attention. Her halter top competed with her eyes. A cough later, and I was staring in her eyes, ready to get hypnotized.

With a giggle, she asked: "The guys told you about the contest?"

Now I was getting irritated. Everyone was acting all secretive about this damn contest.

"Never mind," and I turned away. I was actually allowing my mood to not take in another smoking hot image of this chick in her fire engine red halter top. Oh, with a spandex pair of boy shorts to match.

I actually made it three or four steps before she caught up to me.

"It is in a few months. If you train hard, you might make it in," she giggled. "That is, if you have the balls."

What the hell? I have been training as hard as my day-job would allow me to do. And what was it with this reference to balls? I shrugged it off. This was obviously some kind of practical joke, and if I was going to obsess about it, they would get the upper hand on me.

After the weekend, I was back at it. I managed an extra 10 minutes a day, which made me extra sore and happy I had a routine that alternated between leg day and arm/chest day.

The lean and fast looking guy didn't talk to me again. I learned his name was Thomas. Not Tom, as he corrected Everyone on that. But others shared a word here or there. Sometimes just "How are you," or "What's up?" which I hated, because it was not up to them asking me for a status update. But there was more communication, if you could call it that.

On Wednesday, the biggest dude in the gym stepped up to me. He looked simply impressive. "The guys told me I should let you in on the contest," he said. "If you are up to it, you will definitely like the ending."

Somehow, I heard him say "if you have the balls," even though he never said it.

"When is the contest?" I asked in reply.

"Another month," Hank replied, proving he was a man of few words.

We went on about our workout, but I was soon joined by little Thomas, the fast looking & trim guy.

"I saw Hank spoke to you," he said nervously. He was wearing black spandex shorts and a tank top. The way he walked almost seemed that he was shaking his dick at the world. You couldn't help not notice. His balls definitely showed in the bulge of the black shorts.

"So are you in?" he could barely hide his excitement. "The contest is in another month, and you could be the newbie," he coughed and rapidly tried to talk his way out with his foot in his mouth: "You would have the opportunity to learn about the contest!" he added a touch too loud.

"Tell me," I said, trying to sound only modestly interested: "What is this contest all about?"

Thomas was itching to tell me, but said: "I can't tell you all, but it is tough, and only the toughest get the prize."

That didn't tell me diddly. "I don't think I am going to enter a contest in which I have no idea what the prize might be."

Thomas smiled ear to ear. "See what Roxanne thinks of that...." and uh: "More chance for prize for me!" he almost chanted the last part. He definitely danced away while saying it.

I felt good about myself. I played that hand of poker well. Next time, I would get more information from Roxanne.

Next day, Roxanne simply cornered me in the area where the chest and arm machines were. Most of the guys were in the free-weight area, as they somehow always seem to hang out there.

"A little birdie told me you need some motivation to enter the contest," Roxanne said, with a smile that went ear to ear.

"How about this one?" she asked, her bangs in her face and with her left hand pulled the neckline of her tank-top down a good six inches. Her left boob was in full view, hanging forward while she leaned into me. The nipple was out front, stiff and erect pointing at me.

"Snap!" the elastic said as she let go.

"Was that enough motivation to enter the contest?" Roxanne asked, giggling.

"What kind of contest?" I asked, knowing full well I was going to enter, regardless of what the contest was about.

"Well, it is a mix of skill and endurance, a toughness challenge really," Roxanne replied, with a dreamy look in her eyes. "Oh, and there is a prize, for the team that wins."

Was she blushing when she said that last statement? I definitely think she was.

"Tell me more, about the contest, and how you enter?" I asked.

"It is not for everyone, only the most openminded people can enter" she answered quizzically. "I hear the thrill can't be topped. You work to protect it but know you can't completely succeed at that neither. That makes for the thrill." There was a short pause, underlining what she said, before she continued: "You enter by telling me." She closed the conversation with a flash smile, hopped off the workout equipment and walked away, full well aware that not only my eyes were checking out those fire engine red spandex pants.

There had been a few other new members join the gym. Some guys were younger, definitely more handsome than me, some girls were smoking hot and did their best to up their outfits to meet or out-do some of the "steadies."

As the date of the contest came nearer, more snippets of information made it around. Most of the info I learned from the newcomers. They were most open with their questions. It obviously was a sexually oriented contest. The guys that were new were super excited, the more experienced guys were super secretive.

One morning, Roxanne called me into the office, to sign something. She first tried to brush it off: "Just some formalities before you can enter the contest." But I asked to read it first. Did I see her reach for her tank top? I swear I did, but she thought better of it. Then she whispered: "You are tough, you like chicks, what is there to lose?" Smitten, I signed the paperwork.

Good she gloomed. That was a non-disclosure agreement, and a statement of consent.

When she saw the somber look in my eyes, she laughed aloud and said: "You are going to be a huge fan of this contest. I know it already," Her eyes sparkled and her always bright smile seemed to radiate.

The weeks seemed to drag on. It was almost as if the day of the contest might get postponed.

The guys all were in the locker room, and the air was full of excitement. Hidden excitement, as if anyone was going to bust the secret.

One by one, the guys were called out. Mike, John, the list went on. Then, suddenly my name was called. I sprung to attention and went with the girl. I was somehow hoping it would be Roxanne, but it wasn't. It was a slightly older woman, wearing a fire engine red bikini, walking ahead of me. I had seen her before, but never so close up.

She opened the door to a small changing room and handed me two things. A black spandex pair of shorts and a heavy leather belt, with some loops, dangling. "Here, put this on," and she closed the door.

The shorts were overly tight. Not uncomfortable, but definitely stretchy. Also, there was a hole, a little low to be a zipper. The belt, I could make out some parts, but the loops didn't make natural sense. Anyway, put on the shorts and belt and opened the door.

Emily, I found out later her name was, sighed in exasperation: "You really don't know do you?" She proceeded to untangle the loops and as it turned out, cuffed my wrists to my hips. Then, without any kind of hesitation, reached into the hole in my shorts and fished out my balls. They hung lower than usual, as it was hot in the building.

"There!" she exclaimed, quite proud of her handiwork. "Now you are ready," as she started walking down the corridor to a larger door.

The moment the door opened a loud cheer by a group of women welcomed us.

Roxanne walked up to me. "Welcome, you will have lots of fun, if you have the balls," she giggled and brazenly stared right at my balls that were jiggling left and right with every step.

I joined a small group of guys, in the same attire. There were six of us. I couldn't help but look at their balls. Some were hairy, some freshly shaven. Some were sitting tight up to their shorts, some hung a little, but none hung as low as mine, swinging back and forth.

One of the super muscular guys turned to me and the other newbie: "Now is the time to be tough. Move fast, get the team some points, and definitely, be tough."

No idea what was going on, a horn sounded. I looked around the place, it was the room that was often used for aerobics, cushioned floors, taped lines on the floor. There were several groups of women, mostly of about 10 each. All were dressed in the fire engine red bikini's that my host was wearing in the changing room. White sneakers completed the outfit. They were all holding a tubular contraption, with a fluorescent green end and a few handles on it. I remember advertisements about those, to launch a tennis ball for your dog to go fetch. Suddenly the quizzical comments about having balls made a lot more sense. A shiver went down my spine as I felt my dick twitch in my ridiculously tight shorts.

Bruce, the other newbie, was the first on the starting plate.

The super muscular dude told him again: "Go fast, be tough and don't let the team down!"

It was some kind of obstacle course. Some higher benches to get over, some rings to duck through, a balance beam to walk over, several hurdles completed the trail.

While Bruce was shaking in his boots, -but he didn't wear any- the women placed themselves strategically along the edge of the obstacle course.

The horn sounded again. The big guy shoved Bruce forward. Bruce started the hopping over benches, crawling under rings while tennis balls flew. As he made a large step onto the tall bench, a tennis ball hit him square in the nuts.

"Huuuhhhhh!!!" Bruce went while the girls cheered loudly. He staggered and a few more tennis balls made it his way, but none hit their intended target.

"Go! Go! Go!" the guys went, with Hank, the muscular one cheering the loudest.

Bruce got back on his feet and staggeringly started the climb of the next podium, to the balance beam.

"Careful!!" surprisingly, that comment came from Hank.

As Bruce hesitated, another tennis ball hit its target. Bruce sank to his ankles and tipped over, off the podium into the sea of foam block cushions below.

One of the women cheered and in a chant started to count: "one! two! three!...."

Hank was now not the cool and collected bear anymore. He was sweating and yelled at Bruce: "You pussy, get up! Run, do whatever, but don't just run up the clock! You are going to make us lose!"

Hank's voice buldered over the sound of the women chanting. Bruce got up, staggered bewilderedly and clumsily worked his way through the foam cushions.

"Hurry!" Hank yelled. "Your slow movements make your balls an easy target!"

Bruce got the message and with audible huffing and puffing made it to the other side of the balance beam and over the final hurdles.

His time was 1:09. It had seemed so much longer than that. Hank cursed and stomped his foot. "Fucking newbie, almost double the time it should have been. Now how are we going to win this contest?"

I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer. "What is the prize everyone is so secretive about?"

Before any answer could be had, a large bell sounded.

Turn of teams. The girls moved away to be replaced by a new group of 10. Six other guys took the spot behind the plate, at the start of the obstacle course.

Now looking at it from the side line, it was the same ordeal. The newbie was put up first, some old timer yelled at everything he did, and the timer showed 1:11. Same but worse.

The bell sounded. Turn of teams.

Hank said to me, "I will be nice to you, you get to go next. But you better do better than loser-boy at 1:09."

"Oh, you are being nice by having me put my balls on the line now huh?" I asked smartly.

"Yeah, each round, the tennis balls are changed out with slightly heavier ones," Hank replied without any emotion.

Needless to say, I got really quickly to my feet and took my position on the plate.

"Look at those hangers!!" a voice in the women's crowd yelled.

"Yeah! I already got them in the crosshairs!" another yelled back, causing a lot of laughter.

I tried to shake my nerves off. I tried to put my hands over my balls, but with the belt and wrist cuffs, that didn't work too well. The comment of Roxanne came to mind: "Work to protect it but know you can't completely succeed." It sure made for one hell of a thrill.

The horn sounded.

I leaped forward, scaling the first obstacles without much delay. Balls seemed to pelt my body, but didn't matter. The rings were easy too, I was almost jubilant. Then the tall bench was next. I leaped, but the women were anticipating the need to make a large step, and three or four tennis balls popped my way. At least two hit me, right in the nuts. What made it worse, both hit me slightly off center, both pounded my left nut. I could feel the pain screaming through my balls, my lower abdomen, and hit the rest of my body. I crouched forward, barely on top of the bench.

"Be tough, Go! Go! Go!" Hank hollered behind me. "Hurry, they will get you again!"

Just as I staggered forward, I felt a tennis ball graze my butt. So close, and from the left again, that would have been no good.

The women crowd cheered, chanted, and I bet for just opportune enjoyment, fired off some more tennis balls at me. Some hit my shoulders, my leg, where-ever.

I made it to the start of the balance beam. While I was tempted to take a breather and carefully dance across it, I quickly remembered what happened to the other newbie. So, without delay, I took a rapid step, found maybe ten tennis balls bounce off my torso and leaped forward. No points for style I thought to myself, but at least no bouncy balls. So, I thought.

As I struggled with the foam cushions, I actually made it ahead fairly quickly. Quicker than one foam cushion thought my balls should be going, dragging my sack behind me.

"Pop!" it sounded almost as loud as it felt. The pain raced around me. From my balls to my loins, my abdomen, throughout my body as I uttered an obvious but incomprehensible "Huuuhhhh!!!" taking all my air out of me.

Under loud encouragement of the guys, and with loud sneering of the girls, I made it out of the foam cushion pit, over the final hurdles and to the end plate. 1:06. The best time so far, but still nowhere near good enough, if Hank's comments were to be trusted.

The game went on, with the other four contestants getting significantly better scores than me or Bruce. The other team did well also, but in the end, our total was slightly less than theirs. 4:43 versus 4:56.

As soon as Hank, who went last, claiming he had the biggest balls made it to the end plate, made it to the end plate, he screamed overjoyed: "Yeah! You bitches! We get to take our pick of the hunters!"

TO BE CONTINUED

Thank you for reading my story. I always appreciate feedback. Was there enough detail? Should there be more descriptive comment? Is it too long?