I’m playing with Poser and recycled a story. I found these "Environments at Renderosity and pasted in some offerings from Virtual Forest. How do you like the result?

 

Cathy Langston smiled to herself as she saddled and bridled her horse, Sally. She curried her mount briefly and threw the saddle blanket over her back. All the while, she thought of the old Warner Brothers cartoons and the endlessly inept, eternally frustrated Elmer Fudd. "If you want to make 'wabbit’ stew," he would explain patiently at the start of each misadventure, "first you have to catch the 'wabbit.’" Cathy planned a jack roast and first she had to get her wabbit.

She strapped on her Janie knife and checked the mechanism on her crossbow pistol several times until she was sure that everything worked smoothly. Her dozen quarrels were stowed in their quiver hanging from the saddle within easy reach. She had her permit with all of the necessary stamps in her pocket, all ready for the Rangers’ inspection.

Alexis had offered to ride with her today. Cathy usually enjoyed her company and most hunters thought working in pairs safer. However, Cathy doubted that she would need any help. In any event, she was sure that enough hunters would be about that she could summon help rapidly should she need it with no more than one blast on her whistle.

She might have gone to Laura’s Market and simply purchased her wabbit. She had always liked going to Laura’s Market. However, this was the Hunting Season. Instead of taking her car into town, she left her car in the breezeway and rode up the winding, tree lined road from the stable to the Red Bluff Reserve to see what sort of wabbit she might scare up for herself and her guests.

The forest was lush and green in midsummer. The fecund air was heavy with moisture and life. The leaves were so dense that they formed a canopy that left the forest floor dark at midday. Cathy rode among the trees and bushes. Besides her horse’s even breathing and the creaking of her harness, the silence was broken only by birds chirping and insects buzzing. Sally picked her way while Cathy searched the landscape for sign of her quarry. Suddenly, she saw pink! Once showing pink had meant that a woman was exposing her inner sex parts. Now it has a different meaning altogether.

He was magnificent! In the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves, he looked huge, probably two meters tall and a hundred-fifty kilos in weight or more. He weighed more than twice what Cathy weighed. His large frame was draped with sheets of thick muscles, their lines sharply defined beneath his perspiration-coated skin. He looked like a honest-to-goodness Blue Ribbon Champion groomed with love and skill for the County Fair.

In an instant, the jack turned. A puzzled expression marred his perfect features. He tensed as if to flee. Cathy spurred Sally sharply and Sally was only too glad to comply. The male exploded from cover. Obviously, the wabbit had seen her the same instant that she had seen him. Desperately, he dashed for safety and the chase was on.

Cathy directed her horse to follow and slipped her crossbow from its holster. A quarrel was already nocked. She flipped off the safety with her thumb and waited for her shot. Sally was a hunter and knew exactly what was required. The horse maintained her speed as she charged over the broken ground, stepping over roots and rounding trees and bushes. The jack ran for his life but Sally gained steadily on him. Simply, a jack could not outrun a horse.

Cathy readied her crossbow and aimed carefully. She tried to coordinate her shot with the rise and fall of Sally’s back.

The jack rose and fell too as he sprinted headlong through the woods. Cathy wanted to take him with her first shot. He was a tremendous specimen and she didn’t want him to suffer unnecessarily. She had no desire to track a wounded jack though the woods.

Sally gained steadily on him. Unexperienced, he ran straight in order to maximize his pace. Cathy grinned through her clenched jaw. He didn’t zigzag to frustrate her aim. The poor bugger wasn’t about to outrun Sally. He wasn’t likely to have the opportunity to learn from his mistake.

Cathy ducked quickly to avoid a low hanging tree branch herself, then leaned far forward in the saddle. She steadied herself as best she could as her horse galloped over the uneven ground. She held her breath, then squeezed the trigger smoothly.

Tim ran for his life, hurdling exposed tree roots and ducking under low hanging branches. He turned quickly to glance at his pursuer. He saw a young women in a khaki blouse and shorts bearing down on him on a large chestnut mare. He turned quickly away, put his head down, and ran. Despite his best efforts, the hoof beats grew closer and he could hear the horse’s breathing. Breath burned in his chest. Then he could feel the horse’s hot breath on his bare back.

Suddenly, he heard a whirring sound, the sound of a bolt released by a crossbow. At first he thought that she had missed, but then he saw the bitter point protrude between his ribs next to his breastbone. He felt nothing at first and just kept running. His adrenaline powered body was well beyond pain. However, in a few seconds, he tasted the sweet, metallic taste of blood. A thin trickle of hot blood ran wetly down his flank. He tried to flee but strength abandoned his once powerful legs. His vision faded. Abruptly, he fell in a heap.

Cathy ducked once again to avoid a head hunting tree branch then recovered just in time to see the jack collapsing in front of her. Sally leaped clear and Cathy held on for dear life. About 30 meters later, she stopped and turned the horse about

She thought she had nailed him. He lay on his back, sprawled out and motionless - like a discarded doll. This was the tricky part. More than one hunter had been attacked when she dismounted to inspect her quarry who was only playing dead. Cathy quickly reloaded her crossbow. She studied his chest for signs of breathing for two long minutes before she dismounted.

She really got him. He was magnificent in truth. He didn’t moved, even when she poked him with a long stick. Cathy squatted beside him. Bolder, she lifted his chin on the flat side of her Janie knife and stared into his unseeing eyes. She sheathed her knife and felt his neck for a pulse. She could detect nothing more than a thready, fading beat. She just could not help herself. She threw off her pithe helmet, then held his nostrils closed with one hand and grabbed his unresisting chin with the other. He moaned and gasped weakly for air. She turned his head towards her and covered his mouth with her own fiercely, seeking to capture his last breath. He struggled feebly for a short time, then grew still. Cathy released him and stood, blood smeared on her face and staining her clothes. She had taken both his life and his soul.

Cathy brushed off the leaves and grass that had stuck to the jack's front and allowed herself a moment to admire her kill.

Only then she set herself to work. She rolled his fat cock, still warm to the touch though cooling quickly, in her fist and looped a length of string around its end. She tied it tightly so that he would not pee on himself or worse on her. She allowed herself a moment to knead his large balls inside their scrotal sac and to touch the tip of his sex. Looping strong ropes around his ankles, the two women dragged the heavy body to a clear patch of ground, the blood dribbling out the mouth left a thin red line against the green and brown forest floor.

Cathy climbed a likely tree with agility and hung the block and tackle from a stout branch about the right height and tied it securely. She looped a rope around his right ankle. With help from the pulley, Cathy lifted the heavy carcass which weighed twice what she - so that it hung suspended with the head hanging just clear of the ground and only the heavily muscled forearms touching. She thoroughly repented her decision to hunt alone. Once hung, Cathy, grinning wildly stood beside him to celebrate her triumph. Her head was no higher than his groin. She draped her arm around his heavy buttock and fiddled with his cock like it was a puppet. She talked in her funny voice and made herself laugh.

She reached in her saddlebags and retrieved a disposable camera. "You've got to hold still, if you want a good picture." Cathy scolded her unhearing prize with mock frustration.

Cathy steadied the carcass so that it wouldn't move. The legs splayed apart, so that she could slip her hand between his muscular buttocks and use her thin bladed fillet knife to cut a circle around his bung. Cathy pushed her hand through the bloody mess and pulled his rectum up a decimeter so that she might tie off his bowels securely. Then she reached behind the carcass to secure the arrow. Holding the blades carefully, so that she would not cut herself, she unscrewed the arrow-head and then withdrew the shaft without further damage.

Cathy stepped back and stretched. She released the carcass and it rotated freely several turns. Then she rinsed her hands and her thin bladed filleting knife with water from her canteen, sheathed it carefully, and planned her next step. She unsheathed her short bladed knife and grabbed her the sharpening iron. Several strokes restored its keenness.

Cathy stood beside her prize again. Pulling up on his dark pubic hairs, she tented the skin over his pubis and slipped in her blade, opening the skin over his belly down to his sternum. A second, deeper cut opened his abdomen between the thick rectus muscles. She grabbed the heavy bladed Janie knife and sawed through the ribs on either side of the sternum with its serrated edge. She extended the incision through the skin above the sternum and through to neck. The breastbone came free and she jumped away as blood gushed out of his chest. Cathy tossed the sternum away for some wild creature to gnaw. With her free hand, she rolled his heavy balls in their sac then cut off the sac and its contents cleanly.

Then she reached far up into his neck and identified his windpipe and esophagus. She looped a tie around each then tied them off securely. She reached up again and made a cut above her ties and then carefully peeled his lungs and heart from his chest cavity. That left his esophagus floating in a chest still filled with blood. His heart went into a plastic storage bag. Cathy's dog always enjoyed heart.

Cathy traded the heavy knife for her short bladed knife once more. She carefully loosened up the bowels and stomach with no leakage of their contents. She cut around the diaphragm, freed the esophagus back of the chest and then pulled it up and freed the liver and pancreas from their attachments. She smiled when she felt his thick, heavy tenderloins. The liver, pancreas, thymus, and spleen went into plastic bags and she discarded the remainder. Then she cut a circle around the penis, then slipped it down through the pubic aitch and into the pelvis. She removed the penis, bladders, ureters, and kidneys intact. The penis, bladder, and kidneys were reserved together with the scrotum and its contents in a plastic freezer bag. The intestines were saved for sausage casings. Very little or nothing went to waste, it was a matter of pride.

Cathy dug a shallow hole to discard the waste. She squatted and grabbed the jack's head by his hair in two bloody hands, then she stood and lifted, bending the carcass back on its spine to help drain the blood that had pooled in the hog-dressed carcass. She washed their hands and her tools and rested a bit, quite pleased with her efficient work.

She took a long, cold drink and then returned to complete her task. Cathy positioned her horse and maneuvered the carcass over her broad back. She pinned her red permit to his already damaged left ear.

Cathy placed her hand on the jack’s muscular thigh. The firm flesh was already cooling. If you want to make wabbit stew, first you have to catch the wabbit. Cathy had her "wabbit!"