Kink Camp: Hunted

  KINK CAMP

  A. ANDERS

  Copyright © 2022 by Adriana Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Natasha Snow Designs

  Image used under license from Shutterstock.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All brand names and product names in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. The author is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Created with Vellum

  ABOUT KINK CAMP

  My desires…

  I’m afraid. I want things – to escape, to run, to be caught, held down and…

  I’ve come here to find the thing to quench my most sensual fantasies.

  When I see him - I know. He’s brutal and made of stone. An artist with his hands who keeps everyone at arm’s length. He’s the one I want – I need.

  May be my downfall.

  I’m not a man you play with. I gave up on finding a partner years ago.

  But now I see her. Innocent. Beautiful. Temptation. I want to possess her as much as I want to protect her from myself.

  I am the king here, but once she’s gone? I’ll be a man alone once again.

  Now that I have her. I have to find a way to keep her – forever.

  Kink Camp is a world apart, a place where pain is pleasure, hate can be love, and we are all our own true selves. Every act is consensual, every person respected—unless that’s not what they want. This book plunges you into the deep end, with consensual non-consent, forced fantasy, and primal play. Tread carefully.

  ALSO BY ADRIANA ANDERS

  Kink Camp 2 (coming soon!)

  Daddy Crush More coming soon on the Radish Reading App!

  The Survival Instincts Series

  Deep Blue

  Whiteout

  Uncharted

  Love at Last Series

  Loving the Secret Billionaire

  Loving the Wounded Warrior

  Loving the Mountain Man

  The Blank Canvas Series

  Under Her Skin

  By Her Touch

  In His Hands

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  KINK CAMP 2 (Coming soon!)

  Author’s Note

  Also by Adriana Anders

  About Adriana Anders

  To Lou.

  I couldn’t have asked for a better guide.

  PREFACE

  Several years ago, I was lucky enough to go to a camp like the one I describe in this book. I’ve fictionalized that here, adding things and changing others for the sake of the story, though I’ve done my best to bring the heart of the experience to the page.

  What I found most remarkable about the camp I attended was how absolutely happy people were to be there. There was none of the awkwardness I’d assumed I might find at a camp centered around BDSM and sex. In fact, if I had to compare the overall ambiance to anything, it would be to a joyous picnic—outdoors, free, open, consensual, non-judgmental. I wish the world were more like that camp. I wish I could go back there every summer, not for the sexy times, but for the overall delight of seeing people so in their elements—so happy, free, real.

  My hope is that I’ve brought that to the page in this book. I want to give readers a taste of a world in which the only shame is the kind the characters ask for. My ultimate goal with the Kink Camp series is to give my readers an escape that’s safe, sane, consensual, and one hell of a good time.

  Happy reading!

  Adriana

  1

  Grace

  Male Primal Hunter seeks Female Prey for a one-time, anonymous hunt.

  No faces. No names. No repeats.

  I go still the moment I see the ad.

  Around me, people chat and laugh. Someone whooshes by in full on bondage gear, a throuple moans in the corner, a seven foot woman in a gold wrestling singlet steams milk behind the counter, and I barely notice any of it.

  It’s just a piece of paper, fluttering on the message board in the camp coffee shop. One kinky request amongst dozens. But in my mind, it’s a beacon, so clearly meant for me that it might as well spell out my name in bright, flashing neon.

  I read it again, focusing on each word. Primal. That one alone sends excitement shimmering through me. And Prey. I swallow hard at that, feel it in my bones.

  “So what do you think, Gracie? Should we do the workshop on sounding or the one on sex without orgasm?” My best friend Max asks, sounding a million miles away. “I hear Mistress Quest is amazing, so I’m leaning towards sounding, but it might be a bit much for you on your first—” Apparently noticing that I’m no longer by her side, she stops and turns. “Uh, Grace?”

  I’d answer, but I’m stuck in front of this ad, a thousand familiar fantasies running through my brain. In them, I’m sprinting, breathing hard, scared, but not terrified. Not really. I mean, there’s a little fear underneath it all, but that’s just part of the thrill. I hide, turn to look back, see nothing. But he’s there. He’s always there. And, in my dreams, he catches me. He takes what he—

  “Grace! What are you…” Max follows the direction of my gaze. “Oh.” Her eyes widen as they slide to me, then back to the ad. “Oooooooh.”

  Because she’s Max and she’s fearless and never hesitates, she reaches out and tears the thing down.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” I tell her, rule follower that I am.

  With one of those scrunched up expressions that says, Whatever, Gracie, she slides her arm through mine and drags me along. “So,” she says as we join the coffee line. “You gonna do it?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m buzzing inside, every part of me worked up, screaming Yes, yes, do it! “Maybe?” I can’t stop staring at the ad. We should put it back so he doesn’t get mad. Then again, what’s he gonna do? Punish me? The idea shimmers through me, half dread, half excitement.

  “You totally should.”

  The person in front of us grabs their coffee and throws us a smile as they head over to the cream and sugar station. They’re wearing nothing but full body sparkle paint and knee-high combat boots. Not a stitch of actual clothing. Max gives them an easy wave, but I can’t quite meet their eye. After spending a week at kink camp every summer for the last five years, she’s an old hand at this. I, however, still don’t know where to look.

  “Mad Max!” The towering amazon behind the counter squeals.

  “Lamé! You look amazing!” Max and the barista exchange a long, tight hug over the counter. When they’re done, Max wraps an arm a
round me. “This is Grace. My best friend in the entire world. I finally convinced her to come to camp.”

  “You a hugger?” At my quiet Sure, Lamé leans over and engulfs me in her jasmine-infused embrace before letting me go. “Welcome to Kink Camp, honey! How do you like it so far?”

  “It’s…” I can’t find a word to describe how absolutely different this place is from anything I’ve experienced. Everyone here is unique, so unabashedly themselves that as just myself, I feel almost like a fraud. Lamé, for example, is rocking the wrestling singlet, which outlines perky nipples and shows off a dusting of scarlet curls at the neckline. Her coppery skin and perfectly straight black hair remind me of Morticia Adams, an impression that’s only reinforced by the wicked gleam in her eyes. The bracelets on her arm tell me her pronouns (she/her/they), that she’s a switch, into power play, and in a relationship, but open to other partners. “Amazing,” I finish with an admiring smile.

  Lamé looks around at the coffee shop’s occupants. “Isn’t it?” With a sigh, she turns back to us. “What can I get you two?”

  We order and I zone out while Lamé works the big espresso machine like a maestro, her long, sparkly nails tapping out a mesmerizing rhythm.

  Really, though, I’m thinking about that piece of paper in Max’s hand.

  “Hey, Lamé, what do you know about this?” Max reads my mind. “Think it’s legit?” She flattens the ad out on the counter.

  Lamé turns, mid-steam, catches sight of the ad and crinkles her face at Max. “I didn’t know you were a Primal.”

  “Not for me.”

  Lamé’s eyes move to me and narrow, one bright red eyebrow lifting. “Oh, yeah?” She drops what she’s doing and slides back over to the bar, squinting at me so hard I begin to squirm. “You gonna respond?”

  I start to shrug and then stop myself. I didn’t come here to watch from the sidelines. I came here to let myself live, to find myself. To be myself.

  To stop hiding.

  “I’m thinking about it,” I say, unable to keep my chin from rising.

  “You know him? The Primal?” Max asks.

  “I might.” Glossy lips pursed, Lamé tilts her head, never looking away from me.

  “Is it safe?” Max prods, ever the protector. And even if I’m way too old for this level of shielding, I love her for it. I’ll always love her for how much she cares about me. “I mean, is he trustworthy?”

  “He’s the best man I know. Nobody safer.” Lamé finally breaks eye contact to glance at Max, before coming back to me. “And nobody more dangerous.” She’s deadly serious.

  The shiver that rolls through me is big and delicious, inviting goosebumps and stiff nipples and a sigh I barely manage to cover up with a cough.

  Lamé, I can tell, sees right through it. She knows I’m turned on by the idea of a stranger in the woods, the danger, the anonymity. The loss of power. “Wow,” is all I manage to say, but I guess it’s enough for her.

  She smirks and leans forward to whisper above the music, “He’s so hot, honey. If I was into getting hunted down and fucked in the woods, this is the man I’d want to do it.” She shakes herself with a shimmy that sends her earrings rattling like wind chimes, and turns with a flourish to finish making our drinks.

  I suck in a breath, look down at the ad again, and reread every single word, slowly. Carefully. Max is probably watching me, but I need a second to regroup.

  This ad is so up my alley, it’s as if the man who wrote it pulled it straight from my brain. It’s absolutely, one hundred percent my fantasy and it has been for as long as I can remember, though I’ve never followed through on it before.

  Well, maybe a little bit, when I was a kid. Like the time I begged Tommy Moore to tackle me in a game of tag during fourth grade recess and he did and then I thought my heart would explode from how his weight felt on me. Or the thing where Caroline from next door would come over and we’d play a version of hide-and-seek that culminated in torture sessions in my closet and somehow I was always the victim and she the eternal tormentor and I could never, ever get enough of that moment when she wrapped her hand around my arm and told me to lie down. Even now, the memory has me squeezing my thighs together, although it’s not so much the memory as the rough, slightly wrinkled feel of this paper between my fingers and the knowledge that the real thing’s right here, within reach.

  My vision’s a little hazy when I turn to Max and say, “Okay,” in a voice that’s rough and out of breath. “I want to do it.”

  “Yeah?” Max watches me so closely I have to wrap my arms around myself to keep her from seeing the effects this talk’s had on my body. “You sure?”

  I nod just as Lamé sets our cups in front of us, the steam adding to the haze in my head.

  “I’ve never had an orgasm.” For some reason, the words are out before I can catch them. At the look of complete shock on Lamé’s face, I go on. “With a partner, I mean. With a guy. A man. Anyone.”

  Lamé exchanges a look with Max. “You’ve come to the right place.” She claps her hands, then spins and glides down to grab something at the other end of the counter. Only now do I realize she’s wearing roller skates. “Okay.” She slaps a couple forms down on the bar. “I need you to fill in this release, along with the other paper. This just gives you a chance to give us your hard and soft limits, and other things. Camp staff will set things up. It’s all very confidential. Especially given wh—” She shuts her mouth hard and covers up whatever she’d been about to let slip with a grin. “Here’s a pen, honey.”

  We move to a table and I fill in the form as best I can, with answers like Yes for Oral and, after some hesitation, No for Anal. I jot down the camp’s safe words and end with a short paragraph describing my fantasy as completely as I can. It’s the first time I’ve written any of it down, which feels both wrong, after keeping it locked up for so long, and absolutely freeing.

  The release form confirms that the camp staff is aware of the session and either person can tap out at any time. The play area will be safe and secure. Only the appropriate people will be allowed within the cordoned off zone, and security will remain near the scene, but out of the way. Under emergency number, I put Max, obviously, not my mom. The form’s reassuring and scary and it normalizes the whole thing in a way that brings me close to tears, after so many years of repression and shame at what my mind and body seem to want. By the time I’m done, I’m as drained as the cup of coffee beside me.

  Finally, Max, who’s chatted with other people to give me privacy, walks me back up to the counter. Good thing, because Lamé’s next words almost knock my legs out from under me.

  “You free tonight?”

  Oh my God. This is happening.

  I swallow and glance at Max. She nods.

  “Yes. Yeah. I’m free tonight.”

  “Good, honey.” Lamé hands me a handwritten note card, showing a time and place, along with a set of basic rules underscoring the other person’s desire for anonymity. I shove it in my pocket so the others can’t see how hard my hand’s shaking. “Better get ready,” she says with a grin and a wink and a little wave goodbye. “Cause it’s game on.”

  2

  Grace

  You know those montages in movies, where people laughingly get a makeover or go on a picnic or fall in love in the space of one song? The day doesn’t go by like that—at all. In fact, my day’s probably the polar opposite of that. It’s endless and surreal, filled with jittery images of strangers doing strange things to each other. That’s just kink camp, I guess, but while it fascinated me when I arrived yesterday, right now, it’s just too much. Too much screaming and pain and pleasure. Too many easy smiles and naked bodies, too many sounds and sights and smells that remind me of what I’ve agreed to do tonight. I can barely eat at lunch or dinner, which means Max pushes food at me every time I head back to our fancy glamp site—otherwise known as the Thunderdome. She won’t let me drink, though.

  “Camp Rules,” she says, plugging in th
e twinkle lights that make this spot the homiest.

  The sun’s almost down and my nerves are so lit up I could scream. “I read the rules, Max. I’m allowed two drinks before a scene.” Ignoring her, I pull a hard cider from the cooler, take a couple long swallows and set it down. Yeah. That’s not the greatest idea. All it’s doing is making my belly feel wrong.

  I should listen to Max. She’s the expert here. I’m just the childhood bestie she’s dragged to camp, after years of trying to get me to come with. See, Max is unabashedly kinky. She’s open and without shame or complex. I’ve always loved that about her. I, on the other hand, stuffed my fantasies so deep inside for so long that my libido’s been…I won’t say dormant. I have sex, I mean. I have relationships. And they’re…fine. But life’s been hard. My dreams have sort of dissipated. Pleasure doesn’t seem all that important when the day-to-day is such a struggle.

  I like sex. I do. I’ve just never felt overcome by it. I want to feel that.

  Ever since I admitted to Max this fantasy that I have—what, maybe four years ago?—she’s been begging me to get involved in this community and, above all, to come to camp.

  I tried to tell my ex about my fantasy a couple months ago, which led him to break up with me. It knocked me flat on my ass. Then Mom’s doc had the audacity to agree with Mom when she mentioned that I looked tired and stressed and needed a vacation.