#restroom

The Hunter stood in a shadow watching the approach to the ladies room.  His eyes were hidden by dark lenses but his manner betrayed his watchfulness.  Still, most would not pay him any attention, preoccupied as they would be here with an insistent bladder.   A middle-aged Hispanic cleaning woman busied herself by the door, arranging her cart.  Her pliability secured her part in the coming catch.

There was a bustle, audible and visible, as a blond woman walked around the corner into this hall. She teetered slightly on her high heels as she straightened her course and strode to the door.  With a swishing of her skirt she went into the ladies room.  The Hispanic woman placed a yellow plastic “Closed for Cleaning” sign in front of the door and walked away, leaving her cart.

The Hunter showed no expression as he looked down to his iPhone.  Presently, he saw what he expected.  Quickly selecting a view and touching the screen turned that hidden camera off.  He glanced up the hall before silently pushing the cart into the restroom.

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The woman idly twirled one shoe on her toe as she emptied her bladder.  She did not notice a shadow slowly appearing on the floor under the stall door.  When she was done, she stood and wiped herself before rearranging her dress and pulling her panties in to place.  She was picking her purse off the door hook even as she unlatched the door.  So occupied,  she didn’t see him until the door was fully open.

She gasped and would have screamed, but the two tiny darts penetrated her belly skin too quickly.  Her body stiffened and locked, she was aware of the pulsations paralyzing her, and the terror exploding inside her.  She began to fall but he caught her, lowering her to the floor with enough care to prevent injury, but not enough to be considered tender.  She moaned as the electricity stopped but control of her body would be too slow returning to make any difference.  He rolled her over and cinched plastic cuffs on her wrists and ankles with smooth grace born of experience. She moaned louder, until the ring gag spread her mouth and reduced her expression to a low, gasping gurgle.  In the beginning, he had used tape; the loss of several live catches to aspiration of vomitus had long ago called for a change to the open gag.

She began to squirm so he applied current again.  She stiffened.

Face down on the cold floor, she felt her dress tugged, briefly, then the thin fabric was quickly drawn from under her.  His knife made short work of the rest; panties, bra, heels.  She was struggling to comprehend what had happened between waves of terror, but she knew she was naked now.

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No one saw a man push a cleaning cart away from the ladies room.  Had anyone been around to see, they would have taken little note; with a grubby jacket, a brown ball cap, and the posture of a workman, all was as it should be.

Two men did notice when he pushed the cart into the kitchen.  They discretely stepped away from their tasks and followed him to a storage room.  The chef and the restaurant manager helped lift the limp body out of the trash container.  The cleaning woman had known what was expected and the container had been empty and relatively clean.  They laid her bottom up over stacked bags of flour and unzipped their pants.

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The Hunter paid little attention and instead busied himself with recording detail in the Catch Data application on his phone.  He had time to check the status of other Catchers’ scheduled assignments before the two men were finished with this one. 

Tenderizing a Catch was time-honored, and expected, though everyone knew it had no real effect on the meat’s texture.  That was up to breeding, diet, the chef’s skill, and a host of other variables.  The Hunter himself had conducted the definitive experiments on some two dozen sets of identical twins years ago.  What the practice really did was keep the mechanisms of the catch lubricated.  Silence and assistance were always required; they could be purchased with cash, or use of the Catch.  Everyone in the trade understood that. Most male collaborators chose to tenderize the Catch, women expected other considerations.  What was done to the stock had to be called something and of course it wasn’t rape.  Only a freewoman had a right to refuse consent.  A Catch had no say.

The cleaning woman appeared as the sweating chef grunted and finished.  She turned to watch the gringo tuck his pale, limp dick into his pants, but her face was expressionless as she tucked the bills into her bra.

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He rolled the transport box up the ramp into the van, turning it engage the floor latches.  With the door closed he checked tonight’s other two Catches.  One was clearly a Grinder.  The other was a specialty Catch; to order for a Gulf client.   All were secure, pink, breathing, and terrified.

Only now did the hunter pause to rest.  He was lost in thought for an instant, then  he started the van and drove off into the darkness.

pantsdownpissingagain:

Your ass must be out when pissing here.

batingbear:

Cheeky pisser

Group urinals without dividers in the basement of an Italian restaurant in Coln Germany

Trough style urinal at subway in Amsterdam

legendarygardenernacho:

Happy valentines bro, nice ass