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codes: M+f+/ SM / humil / viol / caution / anal / nc
Note: This story is a bleak, dark tale, not for the squeamish. So if you’ve already decided to step into this puddle of muck, make sure you’ve got a pair of waders handy – Hip high if you can manage it – because you’re going to need them! Peace, brothers.
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WARNING: This story delves into aberrant sex practices that might well offend you. So if topics such as Sadism and Masochism, among other deviant practices offend you, do not read this story. Some of the sex depicted is consensual, some not. I don't condone it. I'm not advocating it. I may or may not even like it. It's simply a fantasy, a product of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.
Before you read it, please note the following:
*If you are under eighteen, it is illegal for you to read this story!
*If you have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, do not read this story!
*If it's illegal in your
jurisdiction to read non-consensual sex stories, don't read this story!
Support ASSTR: If you can afford to cough up a few bucks, the good folks who make this all happen would be much obliged.
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The
Huntsman
(An Erotic Horror
Story)
by
Hunsi
Book
cover Picture
Click to meet Lucky & Molly
/files/Authors/HumblePie/Pics/luckymolly.jpg
Chapter 1: On the Road to
Tayo ‘Lucky’ Mfula stood straddling his M1 Scout atop a nearby knoll
while scanning the road ahead. He'd only
been on Bupe Ojo's trail
for a day and he already felt himself so close he could almost smell the
skunk.
Bupe, the man he sought,
was not exactly public enemy number 1, but with a bounty worth 500 kwacha ($$$) on his head for assaulting a woman during a home
invasion, he felt it worth his while to dirty his hands and gather up the slime
ball before someone else was tempted by the easy money.
Once more, it really didn't matter much to him
if it came with or without a fight.
Either way, it mattered not to ‘Lucky’ Mfula,
a man of such a size that he absolutely dwarfed the 600 pound M1 Scout his legs
straddled like the Hulk on a pony.
A day later Lucky was parking his bike outside
the jailhouse in Nkoya to deliver what was left of Bupe and collect his bounty when he was approached by the Shift
Commander who'd been standing outside watching him approach.
"Lucky, we've been watching out for you. Joseph Kapema says
he needs to see you quickly."
"He's here, inside?" Lucky asked,
pointing toward the revolving entrance door to the Lock-up.
"No, he's in his office in
"Must be important, No?'
"I don't know. But he wants to see you so you best be on your
way.”
Is this Bupe Ojo?" He then
asked while pointing at the pair of feet sticking up out of Luck’s sidecar.
"Yes!”
"Good, my man. That’s 500 kwacha for you. Now, you go and I take him for you."
On that, the Shift Commander pulled Ojo's beaten body out of the sidecar by the heels while Lucky
stepped upon the kick-starter, revved the throttle, then yelled back over his
shoulder as he pulled out to leave.
"If you're looking, you'll find his ear
in his pants pocket. He pissed all over
it, so be sure to scrub it well before you sew it back on."
Lusaka, the capital city, was a good three
hour ride on fair roads and good weather, and as it was this day, Lucky found himself
pulling up to the government building where Joseph Kapema's
office was located in just under two.
And, it was good he did, because, as it is throughout
Still, be that as it may, when he entered the Minister
of justice's office the expression on the faces of those running about looked
as if WW III was about to commence. And
the most panicked of them all was none other than the much hurried, and
somewhat frantic, Joseph Katema himself.
"Ahh, Lucky, you’re
here, come, come," he said to his Hunter as he pulled him into his office
by the sleeve.
"I need a favor."
"A favor?"
"Yes, a personal favor, as I need to keep
this one off the cuff."
"You got a friend in trouble?"
On that, Joseph Kapema
crooked his head to the side and leaned forward as if to keep what he was about
to say on the hush-hush.
"Let me ask you, do you know the name
Edgar Willett?"
"Sounds like an English to me."
"He is.
He's the corporate accountant for a very important British based company
who wishes to keep this matter private."
"Okay, so?"
"So, these very important people have come
to me for help.”
"Help, with what?"
"His daughter has been kidnapped,"
he said, as he handed him a photo.
"Her name is Molly, Molly Willett."
Looking down at the photo he saw a girl in
pose sitting upon a chair, her pigtails draped over top her bosom. That is, what bosom there was to be seen. Still in all,
she looked quite sweet and pretty, and in the picture, looked no more the damsel
in distress than any other girl who was caught unawares while blowing out her
birthday candles.
"One, two, three, four, he started to
count, then looking up, "Okay, so this English needs help, but why ask
me?"
"Because I can
count on you to find her and keep it quiet. Besides, you’re the best Hunter I know."
"Yeah, well, just soon as I show myself
everyone is going to know I’m on it anyway.
I'm a Hunter, Joseph, you know that, and once I sit down with this
English fellow to learn what I need know, everyone going to know that I've not
come to talk about his wife's figgy pudding."
"Yes, I know, that is, if you were to
actually sit down to talk to the distraught man. But not so if I arrange for you to listen to
the recorded interview conducted by the police at their home. That way you'll learn all you need know without
your person being revealed."
"Okay, I'll bite. When, where, how much?" He said, looking
again at the picture of Molly in his hand.
"As for the how much, you needn’t
ask. As for the recorded deposition
taken by the police, you’ll find it in my study," he said, pointing toward
a door off to his right. When you're
done, just turn out the light and slip out the back door."
---
All the hush-hush secret shit always left him with
an itchy feeling under his skin, but in his line of work, disguising his tracks
was the only way he knew to keep the bad guy from tracking him down rather than
the other way around.
Then too, there was to girl in the
picture. What would her destiny lie should
he be spotted and knived in the back.
So, he put on earphone and started the
recorder to hear what this Mr. Edgar Willett had to say to learn all he need
know.
And first on that list, was the one question
that refused to let him go. ‘Just
what kind of man would willfully hand over his daughter to a Napper without a fight to the death?
From the picture in the dossier, the mousy
little man looked to have the word ‘coward’ all but stamped on his
forehead. Coward as in cowering, and in
a shriveled up little dick, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the shrunken and powdery
white little man looked as if to have been breast fed by his mama for forty-five
years too long.
And, should he need to know more, all he need
do was listen to what that milk fed little worm had to say on the recorded interview
with the police.
"Now, can you please recite for me the
sequence of evens that led up to the adduction of your daughter," the policeman could
be heard asking.
"Yes, well, I arrived home from work just
a bit after Molly returned home from school, but she was not as yet safely
inside the house. Rather, she was out in
the yard gathering up Whiskers, her cat, and as all looked happy and well, I
carried on into the house on my own."
"Then it was that I heard the loud popping
sound of a motorbike rumbling through the house while in the bathroom."
"Going out to see if all was right, I saw
Molly in the hands of a man who was manhandling her."
"Manhandling her?"
"Yes, he was hoisting her up to sit atop
his motorbike, and quite frankly, there was nothing gentlemanly about how he
went about it."
"As in how? Explain."
"Well, for one, after setting her down
upon the seat, he lifted up her legs and captured them in the pit of his arms,
and in the act of doing so, her skirt slid down to her hips, and well, exposing
her.”
“Exposing her?”
“Yes, well, in an indecent way, a way no girl
need ever be seen outside a doctor’s office."
"She was wear panties, correct?"
"Yes, I could also see his hands rubbing
up and down along the length of her thighs inside and out. Once more, now that he was aware of my presence,
he turned his head about and looked me in the eye."
"What did you do?"
"I stepped down off the veranda and went
out to give him a piece of my mind."
"Sir, Mr. Willett, the man has hands in
your daughter’s drawers and you went out to give him a piece of your
mind?"
"Yes, I told him to please leave my Molly
alone."
"What did he do then?"
"What did he do? Sir, the lout simply stood there, unmoved,
and smiled at me. No, no," he then
thought to correct himself. "He
wasn't smiling, the whole of his face was but a frame
around one huge evil grin. And I'm
talking ear to ear."
"You're serious," the
detectives voice again cut in, sounding as it testing his veracity.
"Yes I'm serious, absolutely. But, I do confess that shortly thereafter,
once his attentions were again centered upon my Molly, I really hadn't the time
to ponder the hideousness of the man. Not
then, not when he again turned to press his assault upon my daughter, only now,
with his hands rummaging about beneath her panties, his fingers disappeared
altogether.
"Oh, my word! That’s truly disturbing. To see your daughter, at the dawn of her
first awakenings, have to substance an attack on her person like that had to have
tugged mightily upon your heartstrings.”
"Yes, I must say I was fit to be
tied. But so tortured was I by the sight
of his furrowing fingers beneath her panties that without even thinking I endeavored
to reach around him to pull my daughter away from him. That's when he shoved me back onto the
ground.”
“See there, and there," he said, pointing
to a scattering of scrapes and abrasions seen on his forearm and elbow."
"Yes, I see. Now tell me what happened next.”
"Huh, Well, I can assure you, Sir, I put
on quite a stern face. That is, until he
stopped the fondling and again turned back to me, only this time with Molly’s panties
dangling from his hand.”
“Her panties? He pulled them off?”
“Yes, sir, and quick he was too. And he was just as quick in reaching down to smother
my face with them, and then cinched them tight around my neck with my belt.”
“After that, blinded I was, all I heard was
him telling my Molly to lock her ankles around his neck and hold on tight. Then as I struggled to uncover my face from
beneath her panties, I heard the motor roar, and my Molly shriek as he raced
off, leaving her torn off skirt behind."
"Okay, Mr. Willett, I can only imagine
how all this must pain you. But I need
know what he looked like.”
"What did he look like? Hum, well ah, he was big, very big, that's
for sure. And then there was that scar
on his face.
"Scar? He had a scar?”
"Yes, that never-ending grin I told you
about, the grin that I had at first believed to be one of gloating.”
“That is until he reached down to bury my face
beneath Molly's panties. That’s when I
saw that his wicked grin wasn’t just some fleeting expression of glee, but the
by-product of a scar that ran from the corner of his mouth, and outward across
his cheek; A wound that caused that never ending grin and his right eye to
droop off to the side."
"Oh, my, monstrous, monstrous I say. Well, rest assured, Mr. Willett, we will find
this animal. Police work in
“7-16, inspector Bako
Daka, end of recording . . .”
---
The hunter, on the trail . . .
"That scar, Lucky couldn't get it out of
his mind. He surly couldn't think of a
better way to identify a man, but the very thought of a young girl in the hands
of such a grotesque monster had his stomach in knots.
No question, his capture or death, whichever
came of it, was going to come with no sorrow from him. In fact, at this very moment, he was actually
entertaining the thought of foregoing the cash reward in lieu of the pleasure
of ringing that black bastard’s neck.
Currently, we find Tayo
‘Lucky’ Mfula on the road to Lubumbahi, a border town where the Zambian and Congolese
traffickers in drugs and bodies were known to gather to trade out in the open,
without fear, much like farmers would gather in an open air market to sell
their goods.
He was just passing through Doba, the shantytown that shirted the perimeter of the
town, when he saw a mob of men trying to squeeze their way into a small
tavern. Once more, park in front was an olive
green Norton, much to the likes of Mr. Willett’s description.
But to walk in there,
alone? Well, allow me to put it this way. Should he be recognized as the Hunter he was,
the odds against his walking out unscathed were low, indeed.
It was then while standing there straddling
his idling M1 and pondering his choices when he felt a hand on this
shoulder. “Is the catch you track
inside?”
The man, the voice coming from behind belonged
to Simon Oba, a Hunter like himself, a man who he’d
help out a time or two, and vice versa.
“I don’t know.
But whatever is going in there, only a fool would let pass.”
“Well, I won’t be trying to get a look-see through
the front door. That would truly be
foolish. Come with me,” he then said
while turning away. “I know a better way
in.”
Following Simon around the back of the
building and through a door, ‘Lucky’ suddenly found himself standing beside
the bar looking out onto the riotous crowd as opposed to be caught in the
middle of it. Once more, he stood but a
few feet away from the girl put out on display.
The girl, though young and white as cream, was
not Molly. Once more, the man who had her
sitting spread-eager atop the bar to better advertise his merchandise, was not
Scar face.
In fact, he wasn’t even Zambian, he was
Congolese. A mean bastard he was
too. With one hand he was tugging upon
her neck collared leash, while beating her legs with the stick he held in the
other. All in effort to get her spread her
legs all the wider so that the two boned-up German Shepherds restlessly
prowling about beneath could get at the chucks of meat he had stuffed up her puss.
He felt a sorrow for the poor girl who couldn’t
have been a day over seventeen, and whose body was about to be sold off for 50
N, (50 cents) a fuck to anyone who any and that wished pay.
But with his mind set on finding a still
younger damsel in distress, he showed not an inkling of hesitancy when he
turned to walk out with Simon on his heels.”
“Not your girl, huh? Mine either,” Simon replied with a shrug.
“Yours either?” You didn’t know she wasn’t yours before
that? You’ve never been in there
before?”
“Sure, lots, but not today. In fact, I just stopped to see whatever was
going on in there just half a tick-tock before you did. Actually, I should be in Lubumbahi
by now.”
“What’ cha on the hunt for,” asked Lucky?
“A girl from
“One, two, three,” Lucky counted with his
fingers. “Three girls, all white, all
still counting their birthday candles. Coincidence? And if
not, what’s with the sudden rash of young girls being sent to the pound?”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” replied Simon. “All I know is that what’s good for the
wallet, but bad for the stomach.”
“So where you headed, Simon?”
“Lubumbahi! Care to chum along?”
“Yeah, sure, why not? I ain’t particular
‘bout who I be travelin’
with . . .”
---
Further into the heart of Darkness
. . .
A small scrap of cardboard with the words “Eran Oja” (Meat Market) brush
painted on was the only thing that distinguished the dilapidated old warehouse
from the countless others along the row.
The building looked dark and desolate, save
for the rats who had their run, and as Simon &
Lucky were soon to find out, it was a fair lair for the two legged rats as
well.
Sliding open the warehouse door, they could
hear the scurrying rodents and see he flicker of cigarette lighters in the dark
spaces, a signal to show that there was somebody there in the darkness ready to
do business.
Simon slid the warehouse door closed behind
then lit up his cigarette lighter and waved back, signaling to them that he had
the money and was prepared to deal.
“Let’s go see what’s on the menu,” he said
snapping the lighter shut.
“Care to guess what their serving? Black tar or white tots?”
Lucky whispered off to the side while making way through the darkness.
“How many guesses I get? By the run on Tots of late, I’d say them odds
on the heroin are pretty damn high.”
“I just hope this one is named, Molly,” Lucky
managed to get out just before the waving light of the lighter went out, and before
Simon could even see the merchant, a bludgeon swept through the darkness
crushing into his skull, sending him crashing to the floor like a ton of lead.
It all happened so quick, the action so final,
and before he could determine from which direction it came, Lucky himself was
grabbed, his neck crushed in the elbow of a arm, and a blade of a knife was thrust in his
mouth, pressed to cut from the inside out.
“I see you done sniffed out me trail,” Scarface, Chappi Obasi, his assailant was laughing gloatingly, like a man all
too full of himself.
“To bad for you, I say, cuz
just like your friend with a busted skull you’re going to die too. But before I kill ’ya
I’m going to split your mouth open from ear to ear. That way, when you take your last breath,
it’ll be through one hell of a monster smile, just like a guy done to me.”
“Come out, Molly, my lil’
whore, and turn on the light. I want him
to see you, what you’ve become, and I want you to see him and the corpse his is
about to become.”
From that, Molly emerged from the darkness,
naked and bruised and her eyes swollen red.
“That’s my little whore. Now, turn on the light. I want his eyes on you as I slit open his
face. And I want you smilingly prettily back
at him as you tell him all about the whorehouse in the
And she did, beaming brightly with tears in
her eyes as she shuffled out the alcove in which she was kept. But, as she did, her foot became entangled
with the frayed cord to the lamp that lit the little box of a room. And then, as she came to stand alongside Chappi, the frayed, exposed wired bushed up against his leg
and lit him up like a spotlight.
---
“Damn, I thought you was dead,” Lucky said,
sounding somewhat startled to see Simon rise his head up off the floor.
“I’m not?
Fuck, that’s a relief,” Simon, somehow managed while the blood pour down
his face like water.
“You’re damn Lucky, my friend. A blow like that would have toppled a
I ain’t Lucky,
you’re lucky, right?”
“It don’t matter. Come on, I’ll sling you up over shoulder and pull
you and set you in my sidecar and get you to a doctor.”
“Wait!
He said, leaning up upon his elbows, “Did you get him?”
“No.
The Hunter did.”
“The hunter?”
“Yes, she fried the Joker to a crisp . . .”
---
Part II
On the road again . . .
Coming soon to a
theater near you.
:)
Das Ende
Hunsi
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