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Cunt Hunter
By Llabmik
Chapter 1 – Quiff Quest
I watch the woman's washroom for the right moment and the right female while I slowly push the bucket and mop the floor in my janitor's uniform. I'm not the janitor and it's a cheap uniform easily available at department stores everywhere. The corridor is usually deserted. I only mop when someone comes along.
I inspect the merchandise as it parades to the woman's washroom from the party. I'm patiently waiting for some Grade A fuckmeat to be all by her little lonesome in the little girl's room.
I hear the click of high heels around the corner coming my way and start mopping with the casual boredom of the professional floor cleaner.
My fantasy female rounds the corner and makes me a happy hunter.
I like her pretty face, blue eyes and fine figure-hugging short black dress. I like her beautifully coiffed blond hair. Unraveling a bitch's French braid is always a pleasure.
She walks past me, paying no attention to the hired help that I'm pretending to be. I like the back view too, admiring the way her heinie twitches in that short, clinging black dress. There is no visible panty line and a faintly visible bra line. Her miniskirt stops just below her butt cheeks, showing off her lovely legs to perfection
I give her a minute. Then I put the mop in the bucket, place mop and bucket neatly back in the closet and step up to the door of the Powder Room.
I hang a neatly printed sign on the door handle:
PLUMBING EMERGENCY!
WASHROOM OUT OF ORDER!
PLEASE USE 2 ND FLOOR WASHROOM.
OUR APOLOGIES FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
I retrieve the Taser and the stun baton from a wastebasket and follow her into the washroom. I love stun technology. I'm no weakling, but it makes everything soooooo much easier. My bitches get a lot out of it too.
I hear the musical tinkle of an obviously much-needed pee in one of the stalls. I love a bitch that has had a bit too much to drink. I wait patiently for her to finish.
I hear her tug on the toilet roll and stand.
I graciously allow her time to delicately dab the pee from her genitals.
I hear the enchanting rustle of intimate female apparel as she pulls up her panties and smoothes down her dress.
The stall door opens and the classy cunt saunters out, hips pumping seductively.
She stares at me in surprise. I aim carefully. The red sighting dot of the Taser appears on her chest, halfway between her nipples. She stares at the red dot in growing horror.
She's seen enough movies to figure out the dot's significance. Her beautiful blue eyes widen as she takes in the weapon.
Having positioned myself carefully, I fire the Taser from the optimum range of 10 feet away.
She grunts as the two darts punch into her tits. The wires attached to the darts trail back to the Taser in my hand and administer a brutal 50,000-volt jolt that makes her muscles spasm agonizingly.
Her lovely body jackknifes and flies backwards into the stall as if kicked in the gut by a mule. The force of the jolt lifts her out of her black fuck-me pumps.
The 5 second long, carefully pulsed jolt completely overrides her central nervous system. Her muscles contract violently until she is in a foetal position on the floor, twitching uncontrollably.
The Taser's good for taking a bitch out, but to put her under requires a stun baton.
Fortunately for enterprising rapists like myself, all of these things are available to the average American, quite reasonably priced (for 'self-defence', of course). A feature that really appeals to us Serial Rapists is that the batteries are rechargeable.
As she huddles on the tiled floor, her circuits scrambled, I step up and touch my Stun Master baton to the nape of her neck.
I press the button.
Her pretty body shudders and jerks as I fry it with a 650,000-volt jolt. This is truly agonizing as the pulsed current makes every muscle in her body spasm uncontrollably, draining her strength in a savage 10 second electro-convulsive workout, short circuiting any co-ordination she may have had.
I put down the Taser. Leaving her twitching spastically on the floor, I push open in sequence the two doors leading to the outside corridor and step out. I put on a Greek accent for the benefit of two older women who have obviously just been stopped short by my sign. I part my hands apologetically.
"She's a stinking mess in there, ladies. You no wanna go in. Please, you use the washroom onna second floor."
They grimace and thank me, hurrying for the elevator. I pull the large trash container on wheels into the washroom where she is still on the floor twitching away nicely, eyeballs rolled up in their sockets.
Kneeling down, I jerk the two darts from her tits.
I take a package of Cinnamon Red Hots out of my pocket and shake out a handful into the palm of my hand. Reaching under her dress, I pull down her thong panties.
I like those black thong panties. I also like her garter belt and stockings. Is she a high priced whore or a babe who, underneath her clothes, is a shameless little slut?
Putting these deep philosophical ponderings aside, I ramrod a few Cinnamon Red Hots into her cunt with my fuck finger. The second batch I jam up her asshole. I pull her panties back up neatly. I like to make sure that my rapemeat has her mind firmly focussed on what's between her legs.
I pat her quivering butt cheeks affectionately. She's my bitch now.
I glance quickly through her purse. Her name is Angel. Ironically, Angel will soon find out that I am a devil anxious to introduce her pampered pussy to the torments of Hell.
I heave her curled-up, tremulous body, along with her purse, into the trash container. Angel is now, quite literally, white trash. I toss in her high heels. The trash container is lined with foam to keep her from making noise as she sweats her way through the Stun Baton Electro-Convulsive Workout. I close the top. Two tipsy babes from the party applaud sardonically as I take down my PLUMBING EMERGENCY sign. Aping the manners of a gentleman, I bow to them pleasantly and wheel my new fucktoy away inside the trash container.
They are nice fish, but Angel is the Catch-Of-The-Day.
In the alley, I dump her jerking, spasming body into the back of my van.
Each jolt of the Stun Master only keeps a bitch twitching helplessly for 10-15 minutes.
I reach between her legs and press the Stun Master against her cuntlips through those delightful thong panties. The Stun Master can punch through up to 2 inches of clothing to deliver a full charge to its victim. Those flimsy panties are no protection at all as I press the button to send Angel into another long agonizing spasm.
I slam the back doors of the van shut and hop into the driver's seat. I adjust the rear view mirror so that I can watch her shudder and jerk as I drive along.
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