Cunt Hunter

Chapter 4 – Stripped For Action

Sooner or later all my bitches start to fade on me. I ask a lot from a woman (well, everything basically) and there comes a time when they have very little left to give. I have looked deep into her eyes and know that it's time to let Iona go, to set her free.

A sentimental man, I decide to give her one last farewell rape.

I do love stripping a bitch. That's why lovely Iona is going through the process one last time.

She is bound in her black thong panties, seamed black stockings, black garter belt and black high heels. Her wrists are tied together, palms out, behind her back, using a thick black plastic tie that, once tightened, can only be cut loose. A strong wire with a clip on the end is clipped to the black plastic tie binding her wrists. It runs through a pulley mounted on a beam in the ceiling. It pulls her wrists up high behind her back, forcing her to stand with her legs straight, bending humbly forward.

Since she is bound with her hands back-to-back, palms out, she can't unclip herself from the wire. The wire itself is 1/8 inch galvanized steel aircraft cable designed for use in winches and tie down assemblies, available at hardware stores everywhere. It can handle up to 400 pounds. It handles her weight easily.

I love hardware stores – so much useful apparatus – clamps and pliers, plastic ties, chains, ropes, cables, wire, winches, powerful batteries, electric jumper cables, knives, saws, drills, screws and nails, hooks, blowtorches… - a wonderland of equipment and tools that can hold a bitch tight and make her scream.

Another thick black plastic tie binds her dainty ankles together.

Her lips are taped shut with shiny silver duct tape, not the cheap kind, but the kind with a really strong adhesive backing. The sponge that is taped inside her mouth, pressing snugly against her tongue, probably has an unfamiliar taste – at once salty and sour. I wonder if she realizes what she is sucking on. I think she suspects, but doesn't want to face up to it.

Next to her, her expensive, off the shoulder, floor-length, form hugging, black dress is folded neatly over the back of a chair. Her rich bitch diamond jewelry rests on the seat of the chair, gleaming and twinkling in the bright lights. They are from her former life.

She's my bitch now.

Any female who has been stripped to down to her thong panties, stockings and high heels looks like a slut and Iona is no exception, although quite a glorious one, worthy of my most painstaking efforts.

She was daringly braless when captured so her bare tits are hanging out, presenting nicely.

She is surrounded by a ring of bright lights on stands, focused on her. She can't see much of the room or of what lies behind the lights, which are so bright that they hurt her eyes whenever she looks up at them. She quickly learns to stare submissively down at the floor as her least painful option.

Iona hears occasional footsteps on the hardwood floor behind the glaring lights, but she don't know who it is or how many men are watching her bent over with her big bare tits hanging down or if there are cameras focused on her. The hardwood floor of the room seems to amplify any sound she makes, any small shuffling of her high heels, her breathing, the tiniest little whimper… It probably all seems very loud to her.

She hears footsteps approaching on the hardwood floor.

I step from behind the lights in sunglasses, jackboots, black leather pants and a black vest. I like her long black hair, painstakingly brushed. I wonder if she has ever realized that, because she has seen my face, the future I have planned for her does not include leaving her in a position to rat me out.

The rohypnol ("roofies" to the low-life that I purchased it from) often leaves amnesia in its wake, in addition to being colourless, odourless and tasteless when mixed in a drink. I wonder how much she remembers of the kidnapping or of the party she was kidnapped from. From the confused look on her face after her woke up, I'm guessing not much. I was a waiter helpfully serving her spiked drinks at that one.

From behind the lights, I've enjoyed watching the expressions that have flitted across her pretty face as she stood bent over, stewing for a while in her own juices, her fears bathing her brain in deep dread.

She has come to know me well and has a lot to fear.

I stand in front of her. She looks up at me. The room echoes with the crisp crack of male flesh on female flesh as I slap her hard in the face. Her head snaps to one side. She starts breathing rapidly. She looks up at me in confusion, earning a second sharp slap. Her long hair tosses as her head snaps sharply under another hard slap. Her bare breasts shudder violently with each blow.

It's time to introduce her to some serious pain. Pain cuts the snot out of the haughtiest bitch.

Iona has had a lot of snot cut out of her in our brief relationship.

My first tool is simple: a large nail hammered through a thick board just far enough so that only the tip of the point sticks through on the other side. The rounded board fits comfortably in the palm of my hand. The top part of the nail fits between my fingers. I grab Iona's upper arm firmly to hold her in position.

I pause to savour the feel of her sweating tremulous flesh under my palm.

She squeals frantically into the duct tape and arches outwards, presenting her quivering breasts nicely, as I press the point of the nail into her right shoulder, near the middle of her back. Pressing hard, leaning my weight into it, I pull downwards slowly, parallel to her spine. The point of the nail cuts open her skin, not a clean cut like from a razor blade. This is a jagged, tearing, bruising cut; a deeply painful cut. She screams continuously. This turns into hard sobbing as I finish the long cut at the base of her spine.

I admire the long red line that I have carved into her panting flesh. Taking my time, I run my tongue along the cut, worming the tip of my tongue as deeply into the groove as possible, enjoying the feel, tasting her sweat, tasting her blood.

Not wanting her to bleed to death, I considerately pour a line of salt into the wound.

I love a sweating, shrieking female.

I love the feel of her quaking body under my hands as I run them up her sexy legs, feeling the strong calves and firm thighs. I stroke her hot smooth belly and fondle her nicely dimpled buns. I squeeze her tits and rub my palms over her perfect nipples.

I delicately tug her thong out of her butt crack…

Her gluteal muscles clench delightfully as I slowly peel her thong out of the crack of her ass and pull her panties down, exposing her tight little bum. I see her calf muscles tighten as her pretty toes curl in anticipation, but I'm in no hurry.

I like making sure that a bitch understands to the very core of her being that she's just a piece of fuckmeat and that I own every square inch of her skin. The rich bitches that are my prey strongly resist learning this lesson, but I teach them relentlessly until even the most mulish of these snotty hotties understands.

Under my tutelage, although once a bimbo-licious party girl, Iona has become a serious student of my needs and desires.

A bitch always stretches out a bit with time, so I winch up the steel cable clipped to her wrists until her spike heels leave the ground and she is prancing prettily on tiptoe. She has no real leverage to fight me with unless she wants to dislocate her shoulders, which she has hitherto shown a great reluctance to do.

I am sure that she will fight me as hard as she can because what is coming is unbearable.

I lick and suck on her nipples until they are erect.

I snap my fingers and hold out my hand. Iona hears the castanet tap of high heels behind the lights.

A nude beauty, whip marks visible on her back, steps with a runway model's walk from behind the lights. Her bum and tits jiggle enchantingly. The chains connecting her nipple rings to her pierced clit jingle musically. It's hard to tell what her hair colour is as she is completely depilated from her shaved head to her smooth crotch right down her sexy legs to her cute little toes.

Another in a long series of tightly controlled, highly motivated rich bitches, she is tethered via a short chain to a track in the ceiling. The chain is locked onto a metal ring around her neck. Iona probably wonders if this bitch is some reflection of her future.

Sadly, it cannot be. Her future is to be free.

The slave slut drops to her knees, bows her head submissively and holds open a black medical bag at arms length in front of her. I reach into my 'bitch kit' and pull out a clear plastic container of wooden toothpicks. They are round toothpicks with a sharp point at either end.

I put an arm around Iona's sweating torso and pinch the teat of one of her saliva slick nipples. With the other hand, I twirl the toothpick between my fingers and begin pressing the sharp end into the side of her teat. I push it through to the other side, enjoying her squeals and the futile writhing of her firm young flesh clamped under my arm as the sharp wooden sliver spears her teat.

I spear her other teat the same way with another toothpick.

I spear two more toothpicks through the base of her nipples, underneath and at right angles to the first toothpicks. They form a pretty cross piercing each of her nipples.

Iona is panting hard and sweating nicely, trembling beautifully. I give her a moment to brace herself and catch her breath, as the serious pain is about to begin.

I whisper into her pretty little ear exactly what I intend to do.

Her entire physique tightens as she strains mightily with her bonds. She pulls hard to separate her hands. The well toned muscles in her upper arms tense and quiver. Her lean thigh and calf muscles bulge as she wriggles and twists frantically, but futilely. Her big breasts shake and her taut belly flexes. Her bare buttocks dimple, clenching tightly around the thong in her butt crack.

During one of our many intimate moments, Iona told me that she worked out regularly with a personal trainer. I enjoy the show as her lithe, supple muscles ripple and flex sinuously.

At last she gives up, defeated by her tight bondage. She stares up at me, red-faced and dishevelled, her long black hair a tumbled mess, her breath coming in quick sobs.

I pull a 3/8-inch thick hardwood dowel from my bitch kit. It is sharpened on one end like a tent stake. I press it against the base of her breast at one side and push hard to slowly, agonizingly force it in.

There's nothing like a tit-ka-bob. I love listening to her scream into her gag as she jerks and twists frantically, red-faced, her bare body hot and quivering under my arm as I screw the dowel into her bulging breast. I inhale deeply, enjoying the coppery smell of her blood and the sharp tang of her fear sweat.

I take my time and do it slowly. I love grinding a bitch hard. They pass out if I am too quick, so I pace myself carefully. Her shapely legs spasm repeatedly as I brutally skewer both tits from the side with my sharp wooden rod. I hold her tight, savouring her desperate struggles, twisting the doweling slowly and powerfully as I worm it in, forcing it through her tit-meat. Her blood makes the wood swell, staunching her bleeding but tearing her tits a bit more from the inside as well.

Enough foreplay.

Time to get serious.

The kneeling bitch's slim arms are trembling with the effort of holding the heavy doctor's bag out at arm's length, but she is not stupid enough to complain. I reach into the bag and pull out an 8-inch long, 2-inch thick wooden dowel. A headless finishing nail has been partially pounded into one of the ends of the dowel, sticking out an inch.

Iona's tight buns dimple and she tries to arch away as I firmly force the finishing nail into her rectum until the rounded end of the thick dowel is resting against her anus.

I pull a heavy wooden mallet from my bitch kit.

The finishing nail holds the dowel in position, guiding it into her gut, as I begin to hammer the thick dowel into her asshole.

Not looking up, the kneeling slut flinches with each knock of the heavy mallet. Her experiences with me have made her a very sympathetic person along some lines.

Iona shrieks dementedly.

Her asshole tears agonizingly with each tiny tap. Not wanting her to faint and miss out on the fun, I use lots of small taps to hammer the rectal reamer in deeper and deeper, keeping her anguish down to just barely manageable levels.

I love the way her body jerks with each small, delicate tap of the mallet. Iona is red-faced and squealing like a boiled pig with each burningly invasive inroad of the rough, unfinished rectal reamer. I enjoy the feel of her sweating, feverish flesh as I cup her trembling thigh to steady her for each tiny tap. To a pampered rich bitch that has spent her entire life being treated like a spoiled fairytale princess, meeting a guy like me must be a real eye-opener.

Just as the anal reamer disappears between her quivering butt cheeks, buried to its full length inside her, the kneeling slave holding my bitch kit lowers it to the floor, her slim shaking arms no longer able to hold up the heavy medical bag.

I smell urine.

Shuddering in fright, the slave slut is nearly hysterical. A slowly expanding pool of pee forms between her parted trembling thighs.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I couldn't hold it up any longer, Master!"

She looks up at me from the floor, tearful, shaking like a leaf with fear.

"I'm weak. I'm stupid. I'm unworthy…"

I dislike being entirely predictable. Every now and again, I like throwing out a tiny breadcrumb of mercy, especially to a deeply fearful female who understands the concept of consequences to the very marrow of her bones.

I rub her bald head affectionately. She had once been so proud of her thick chestnut tresses. Now she doesn't even have eyelashes.

"Fetch me two small stools and then lick up your piss."

She flashes me a look of profound gratitude and hurries to obey, her chains tinkling musically as she remembers to wiggle her bum sexily and bounce her boobs saucily.

She returns promptly, carrying two stools. Each stool is small, one foot high.

I unclip the wire from Iona's wrists and wrap it around her neck, clipping it back onto itself to form a noose. I crank the winch, pulling the wire around her throat tight until she is standing up straight, presenting her tits nicely, her black eyes wide.

The bald bitch is on her knees, legs spread wide so that her cunt is clearly visible. Eager to atone, her long pink tongue licks the floor busily. I turn my attention back to Iona, certain that my slave slut will lick up every last golden drop of urinary goodness.

I pull a pair of crash scissors out of my bitch kit. Another delight from the hardware store, the sharp crash scissors are designed to cut a victim out of her clothes. They perform their designed function beautifully, cutting off Iona's panties and effortlessly snipping the thick plastic tie holding her ankles together.

Cranking the winch, pulling up on her noose, I encourage her to step up onto the stools, one elegantly shod foot on each stool.

Iona works desperately to stay standing on the stools as I pull them apart until she is standing with a foot on either stool, shapely legs spread wide, her crotch fully exposed.

Step off the stools and she strangles.

I turn to the slurping slave slut.

"Fetch me the car antenna."

The bald babe stops licking and fetches like the well-trained bitch she is.

I pull the shiny car antenna out to its full length as the bitch resumes sucking up her mess.

I use the antenna to delicately stroke Iona's inner thighs. I run it lightly over her smoothly shaven cuntlips. I run it playfully along her tightly corded groin muscles, standing out nicely as she spreads her legs wide for me in a perfect crotch display.

I rub it along her slit, which is stretched open slightly, exposing an obscene strip of pink. I bounce the silver disk at the tip of the antenna along her pink slit in a series of playful featherlight slaps.

I smile mockingly into her dark black eyes. With her tits swelling painfully around the wooden spikes, her asshole on fire and her crotch fully exposed, I'm confidant that she knows what I'm going to do with that nice whippy car antenna.

Gripping it like a golf club, I pull back all the way and slice upwards hard between her legs. Iona squeals in panic. Her legs twitch as if she wants to close her legs, but stop as she realizes that she will strangle if she does. She shuts her eyes tight and tenses for the agonizing impact, holding her breath.

At the last second, I stop and pat the antenna lightly, teasingly against her cunt.

I do this a few times, messing with her mind, until she starts to relax, then I slice a vicious one into her groin, to the right of her reluctantly proffered genitals, hitting the inside crease where her leg meets her crotch.

She screams into her gag. Her legs jerk violently, but she stays balanced on the stools. I'm delighted to learn that the once snotty slut has learned to handle some serious pain with my warmly supportive encouragement.

An angry red welt burns on her pale white skin parallel to her cuntlip.

I have a love of symmetry, so when she has calmed down a little, I make another angry welt blossom next to her left cuntlip.

I lace one right into her slit.

Iona produces an inhuman shriek of raw pain. She sways wildly but, a grimly determined tramp, she stays on the stools, exposing herself lewdly.

She humps her hips suggestively, hoping to distract me.

I lace another golf club drive up between her legs into her slit, going for some serious yardage, taking care to dig in with the silver disk at the tip of the antenna, landing it right on top of her clit.

Both stools go flying as her legs violently scissor closed.

The noose tightens around her throat and her face darkens. I thoughtfully peel the duct tape from her lips. It rips off painfully, but she barely seems to notice.

Her mouth is empty, so somewhere along the line she has swallowed the yummy sponge.

Her tongue protrudes, her eyes bulge and her face is turning an interesting shade of cyanotic blue. A harsh raspy rattle escapes her throat.

She begins to kick and thrash, her body twisting and turning, swinging like a pendulum as the 1/8-inch thick cable eats into her throat.

I've always been fond of a good strangle-fuck. I step out of my leather pants and move towards her. My rock-hard erection has a glistening drop of pre-cum at the tip, a cheerful portent of things to cum..

Desperately, she wraps her long athletic legs around my waist to try and take some of the weight off her throat. I penetrate her smoothly and start pumping hard.

The heat radiates from her body, warming me with the fire of her struggles. Her hot, swollen breasts, and the wooden spikes piercing them, press hard against my chest.

A line of red is seeping from where the cable cuts into her throat.

As I feel myself on the verge of coming, I wrap my arms around her twitching, sweat-slick torso and pull down with my full weight so that I can delight in her death spasms as I cum.

Her cunt clenches tight around my dick, spasming violently as I empty myself into her.

Iona's straining muscles relax as her spirit is freed, a profoundly religious moment for both of us. Her bladder slackens in death, bathing my balls in warm urine and giving the bald babe another mess to lick up.