It’s so easy these days. Before, in the old days, the only easy prey was the broken ones. Finding some desperate battered thing who had only ever known pain. The type of girl who would run from the decent men who might love them into the arms of someone who’d treat them like trash, burning another bridge, severing any chance of love and hope. The self-destructive types were always fun, if easy. The best part was if he got too rough, well, no one missed those girls.

But now? Now, it was crazy. You’d always had those bored housewife types, who read too many romance novels or thought they knew what BDSM was. The ones who wanted to roleplay, not realizing what danger the cunts were putting themselves in. They always had the most delicious screams. But now? Now they watch movies like Irreversible and touched themselves to the scene. They read rape stories and watched rape porn. They followed dumb broken cunts stories of almost romanticized abuse and rape and loved it. It was insane. But, it did make things easy.

Take the current cunt I’d been stalking. Married, kids, should be happy, right? If she’s bored in the bedroom maybe she should be buying some toys. Or maybe if really kinky ask her best friend into their bed for a drunken mistake of a night they would all regret. Normal shit. But no. She’d had a slow descent into CNC and rape porn, slinking further down into depravity. Everything I sent her, she would touch herself too. She told me, again and again, she wanted to feel wanted so much she was taken, used, given purpose, if only one night as a fuckhole. What a fucking moron. She ate up all the stories I sent, fell in love with the prose, blind to the reality. And then? Then the dumb cunt sent me her details, a safe time to come. To fulfill her fantasy.

I wouldn’t be doing that. I would be satisfying my needs, however.

I had cased the area, of course, a nice big corner lot house. Large yard, playground in the back for the spoiled kids of upper-middle-class suburbia. It was all trite as fuck. The rest of the family was camping for the weekend. Mom had gotten sick at the last moment. She had to stay behind, boo-hoo, but everyone go on ahead. I wonder if she had touched herself after telling them that lie. And they lied so easily, but most of all to themselves. It was part of the reason why he never felt sorry. Any cunt with half a brain would have been worried, but these things, drip-fed romantic destructive stories? They were blind. Self-indoctrinated. Bliss.

I slowly made my way upstairs. I hadn’t survived and stayed free this long by being reckless. She was in bed, a bottle of wine near her. Liquid courage perhaps, but it didn’t matter. She’d sober up fast. They all did. I sat gently on the bed and she barely stirred. Just an orange blouse and panties protected her. I touched her skin, sliding my fingers along her dozing body, warm, a bit heavy, the product of pumping kids out of her, no doubt. I cupped her teats with big fat areolas, then slid my hands between its legs. A shaved cunt, ready for what it considered use, already wet. So fucking easy.

When I straddled her on the bed, she moaned a bit, eyes fluttering, as reality sank in. At that moment, I could feel her excitement. I bet she felt so dirty, trembling, with some rough man over her, ready to take her. Or so she thought. She briefly smiled and I returned it, before punching her hard in the mouth. She was dazed for a second, probably stunned, tasting copper. Then she screamed and sobbed. I punched her in the face again, feeling her up.