Angel's story continues. For thirty minutes Angel managed to elude her hunters, running fast, twisting and stumbling, tripping over unseen obstacles, listening hard to detect the sound of boots approaching through the din of the spectators. Once or twice she ran into a spectator, who would thrust her away from a wall, often taking a furtive feel of her body as he held her for a few seconds. More than once a Master stuck out a foot to trip her, sending her sprawling on the stony ground, her knees, breasts and shoulders breaking her fall, grazing and bruising her flesh.
Twice a hand grabbed her but she twisted away and ran, escaping capture, then she fled straight into the arms of a man who had stood his ground, silently, waiting for his quarry to come to him. He kicked Angelís legs from under her and she crashed to the stones on her back, winded and in pain. In seconds he was on top of her, pants lowered, his cock thrusting deeply into his captive. Angel was hot by this time, and soaked in perspiration, and the cold ground against her back shocked her.
After her captor had come deep inside her he turned her over so her belly and breasts were pressed to the cold ground and thrust cruelly into her bottom, finally cleaning himself in her mouth, using her hair to dry his weapon. All this he did expertly, still in his blindfold: the other men in the hunt were calling him to hurry up and finish, they were eager for the hunt to start again. The referee who ran alongside Angel, hitting her with a switch whenever she stopped for more than three seconds, pulled her to her feet and switched her bottom once, starting the race again.