Hunt Club Field Day: Claire

Disclaimer: The following is purely a work of fiction, and bears no connection to actual persons, living or dead. Although written for entertainment purposes, the author acknowledges that the content would be considered obscene, offensive, and indeed perverted by almost any community standards. The story contains scenes of torture, murder and cannibalism. If you don’t like those themes, don’t read this story. The author neither endorses nor approves any of these practices and indeed actively opposes any real-life enactment of the themes described in this fiction. While some may find the stories erotic (that ‘s why they were written), the author strongly believes that the proper place for the acts described is strictly limited to the imagination.

This story features scenes of violence, murder and cannibalism. If this type of content offends or disturbs you, please do not read.

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Claire closed her eyes and let the sun warm her upturned face and bare shoulders. The breeze caressing her skin kept the heat from getting uncomfortable. The Asian-styled silk outfit she wore was perfect for the gorgeous Field Day weather. The dress was designed after a Chinese or Vietnamese pattern, with a dainty straight collar and cloth filigree buttons angling down one side. It wasn’t a true ao-dai, however: the collar and “buttons” were purely decorative additions to an essentially strapless minidress, falling barely low enough to conceal her lace-covered pubes. Virtually barefoot, Claire’s minimal sandals did keep her delicate feet from feeling the inevitable stones and twigs around the Field Day camp.

Rousing herself from her reverie, Claire opened her eyes to consider the five specimens preparing for the starters gun. With the exception of one rather lanky girl, most all of them looked like they would make for a tasty picnic once the chefs had finished with them. Although she had never been a hunter herself, Claire was a founding member of Hunt Club Coyote and she never considered the prey as individuals or people like her. When the starter’s gun went off and one of the girls sat in the grass she laughed at the girl’s incomprehensible stupidity. She was delighted, however, by the chance to see a Field Day kill in person. When the cook staff loaded the still squirming girl onto their stretcher she resolved to witness the whole butchering process, and then complete the cycle by getting a slice of the girl’s bolt-damaged tit. Her plan was interrupted, however, by Pierce’s unexpectedly quick strike on the second prey. Claire could not help but join the rest of the club in front of the view screen to watch him finish off the wounded prey. Delighting in the futility of the girl’s effort to ward off her doom, Claire cheered the day’s second quick kill along with the other club members. It was now a sure thing that there would be meat for an early lunch. Two years ago the first kill had not happened until 11:30, and by the time the body had been brought in and cleaned it was after 1:00 before steaks were ready for the buffet.



Once the jubilation had died down a bit, Claire remembered that she had wanted to witness the preparation of the first kill. Turning from the big screens, she made her way out to where the kitchen staff had laid the girl on a huge butcher’s block near the grills. The staff had already opened the girl’s belly and had cleaned out her internal organs. Various buckets on the ground nearby were filled with viscera, although some, such as the liver, had been set aside for later use.

When Claire arrived the butchers were scraping out the girl’s chest cavity, having just cut her heart free. The heart would be specially prepared for Jesse, the hunter who had made the kill. Although the solid muscle of the heart represented quite a challenge, the club’s chefs had developed some special recipes that made it quite a delicacy. Claire watched another member of the staff shear the girl’s long hair. It was a shame to spoil the appearance of the game, but the girl was to be spit roasted and the hair would inevitably catch fire anyway, resulting only in burns to the skin on the head. Once the girl’s entire chest cavity had been thoroughly scrapped clean, another worker stepped in with a large needle threaded with cord to sew closed the gash that the hunting bolt had torn in the girl’s breast. When that had been done the game was ready to be spitted.