8 comments/ 52003 views/ 9 favorites Christmas Capture By: geronimo_appleby I'm not sure if this piece will end up in Non-consent/Reluctance or Non-Erotic, so if you're looking for filthy sex scenes in this offering, I'd suggest you leave it now. There's sex in it, but the main focus is in the narrative from the principal character's point of view. It's more, I hope, about a glimpse behind the curtain at a nasty place where people of this ilk exist. If you do read on, I hope you ... enjoy it, which probably isn't correct of me; perhaps it would be better if I say that I hope it leaves an impression upon you. Feedback would be great, please. I really would appreciate it if you let me know what you thought about it. OK, thanks for clicking the link to my tale. There may be bloopers herein -- If you do spot any, to my red-faced chagrin, let me know ... Nicely! GA -- Langkawi, Malaysia -- 30th of November 2012 I'd only stopped off for a skinny de-caf latte with a shot of caramel in the Costa at the motorway services when, as luck would have it, bad luck in her case, I clocked her. With Big Brother and his fucking cameras everywhere these days it's difficult to take them from anywhere public. Suddenly, with the progress of technology being what it is, I found my profession fraught with risk. Some of the fun has gone out of it and I must admit to a little nostalgia for how it used to be, when times were simpler. Gone are the halcyon days of the 60s when I started out around Victoria coach station and King's Cross terminus, sniffing out the naive and displaced. The 70s were great days too, and even into the 80s things were simple enough, but now, with reality TV and the internet, people are more aware and so suspicious. It's enough to make me weep. I usually take them younger, about twenty years younger than the one I had my eye on, firm and ripe and so full of front. Some of them are so feisty when I nab them straight off the bus or all wide-eyed as they step off the train. At first that is, not that the gumption lasts for too long. The spark usually burns itself out when the fear kicks in, and by the time they've sussed that they're in deep shit it's well too late. But this one caught my eye. Twice the age of my regular stock-in-trade as I said, and I estimated her to be forty if she were a day. She'd weathered the storm of her years well, taking my fancy and turning my head as soon as I saw her. Being in one of my dirtier moods I decided right away I'd like to give her one decided. She looked fucking delicious with her big ol' titties swaying and her arse swinging as she swanned around the coffee shop in Toddington services off the M1 motorway. I could see beyond the clothes and the make-up and the hair, and I recognised a boob job when I saw one; she didn't fool me, and no matter how she presented herself, I could tell she'd been around the park a few times. But she was a right sort and I fancied her the moment I clapped eyes on her. Her tits were her downfall, if she hadn't been showing the fuckers off in a tight-fitting sweater I probably wouldn't have looked twice, but when I saw the full, rounded promise of those jugs ... Well, I put her right at the top of my Christmas list to Santa. Appropriate given the time of year, what with Christmas being less than a week away. On a whim, since I had nowhere else to be after all, and since I had more than a few quid in the bank I could afford to indulge myself, I decided to keep an eye on her. Even if this panned out to be a non-earner I could still have some fun. My usual method is to gain their trust, pretend to be their friend and take them somewhere quiet before I make a move. I've got my usual haunts and normally only work where it's known to be safe for me, no cameras or witnesses, the kind of things that can lead to a curtailment of operations and a long stretch at Her Majesty's pleasure. I'm not one to act on the hoof, but this time, as is my wont on occasion, I decided to take my chance when it presented itself. I'm not bragging or anything but I've developed a bit of a sixth sense over the thirty or so years I've been doing this, and I can normally tell when it's good to go. It most definitely wasn't wise to risk it right there in full view of the fucking CCTV so I elected to follow her rather than take her from the car park in the services. The fucking civilians even have number plate fucking recognition systems these days, just so the money grabbing bum-fucks can send a fucking parking ticket to the registered keeper of a vehicle that stays beyond the allotted time limit. Even if the Beemer's registration was hooky and the filth wouldn't be able to trace me through the car, why take chances. They really bugger up my plans sometimes, the bollocking cameras. Not picking her up in the services was a simple operational precaution. Then it seemed I'd gotten all worked up for nothing, that the whole thing would be a washout when, after donning a thick North Face jacket against the cold, hiding her superb tits away in the process, she waltzed out to the car park and met up with some bull-shouldered bastard of a bloke. After chatting for a minute or so, they weren't out there too long, thank fuck, it was fucking Baltic outside, they hugged goodbye. It could have been platonic, that hug, a gesture of goodbye and season's greetings from a colleague or something, but the way big geezer kissed her before he walked off to a silver Mercedes, and the way she held him and, huddled inside her thick coat, watched him drive off told me that these two were close. I didn't give a rodent's rectum about the details of their relationship. It meant nothing to me, all I cared about was the fact he'd fucked off and left her and that I could now follow her to wherever she was heading. Keeping her in sight I watched the blonde climb into a smart looking Mini Cooper. I'd been prepared to tack onto her and follow the mini no matter how far she travelled up the motorway, but to my delight she only drove a few more miles before she took the exit at Milton Keynes. I tucked the motor a few cars behind hers as she zipped along the new stretch of the A421. She lived in a nice part of Biggleswade, a recently built, very middle class estate of the Bovis or Persimmon persuasion. Typically bland and commuter belt boxes for the vapid and bovine. Boring as fuck I should think, living there, but maybe they did a lot of swinging to liven up their Saturday nights, a bit of wife-swapping instead of staring at Bruce Forsyth on the telly. I never could stick that big-chinned cunt, and felt pleased that I lived in east London. Give me a decent boozer over this soporific suburbia and their crap televisual habits any day. The main obstacle of course was getting past the front door. I was buggered if I was going to fanny about masquerading as the bloke from British Gas or a BT engineer, so I took the easy option and waited until a couple of hours past midnight before I made a move. Getting in posed no problems at all, with a bit of quick handiwork on the patio doors at the back of the house and I was in like Flynn as the old saying went. I stood in the shadows of the kitchen and paused to allow my eyes time to adjust to the darkness inside. As the minutes ticked by I could see she was one of those who went the full monty over Christmas. Personally I thought a tree in the kitchen was a bit over the top, but I suppose it takes all sorts. In her kitchen, before the dirty work started upstairs, I could smell her, the day-to-day scent of her, and I could've knocked one out right there in that cosy domestic setting while the trace of her perfume lingered. I fantasised over her legs and heart-shaped arse during a minute or two of recall at her strutting through Costa in those lethal heels of hers before deciding not to bother pulling my cock. After all, the real deal was upstairs. "Down boy," I murmured to the erection that suddenly swelled inside my jeans. "It won't be long now." I picked up a Christmas card from the kitchen counter and, holding it up to the blind at the window, could just make out the wording in the diffused light from the streetlamp outside. There was some printed guff about the season of goodwill and then a handwritten message of, Have a great Christmas, Avril. Hope to see you in the New Year. Love from Tom. Tom? Would that be the bull-necked bastard I saw her with? "I doubt it, Tom," I muttered. "Oh dear. How sad. Boo-hoo." If anyone was going to enjoy the benefit of Avril's big jugs it would be me first followed by whoever I sold her on to. I found her bedroom on the top floor of the three storey townhouse. Pausing in the doorway I listened to her breath as I watched her in repose. She was fast asleep, long hair loose across the pillow, the blonde of it now grey in the gloom of the nigh and suffused glow through the blind at the window. The soft, feminine scent of her was more apparent up there and my cock pulsed with anticipation. Moving silently, as quiet as ... well, as quiet as a fucking burglar, I crept towards the bed. I imagined her naked under the cover, and my stomach flipped at the hope of finding out soon. In my head I pictured her big heavy tits swinging and swaying, and I couldn't resist giving my hard cock a quick squeeze through my jeans. Her body tensed and her eyes flew open at the first pressure of my hand across her face. She tried to scream through the gag of my fingers, muffled cries of panic that died away to mumbled, incoherent nothing as the magic potion took hold. The Dutch chemist's brew did the trick, as usual. "You have complete autonomy over the subject with my formula," the weird little fucker had said in his accented English. He'd put me in mind of a stereotypical evil genius -- complete with white lab coat and round, rimless spectacles. The mad bastard treated me to a grin straight from the crypt before leaving me to experiment with the auto-injector device and a doe-eyed German skank. My host in Holland, a good client of mine and the connection to the chemist, was a big player in the dirty video-cum-DVD industry. He'd made the introductions in his mansion outside Amsterdam and left the weird scientist with me to make his sales pitch. My host had kindly given me the use of some Teutonic trollop from his stable; a fresh one, hardly used, which I thought had been decent of him -- to let me have her before she'd featured in some of his more dubious, darker productions. Following some experimentation with the auto-injector and the blonde, I left the chemist with a contract for his product. The twenty year old German, if she was lucky, would then do the rounds of the nastier porno barons. A touch unsavoury but it could've been a hell of a lot worse. Some of the units I'd passed on from England were satisfying the needs of some right dirty cunts in the oil rich states, and I thought, personally, the seedy films were the better option. Just. This combi-pen system, the auto-injector that delivered the perfect dose of the drug, paralysed the subject temporarily and made the early stages of my business hassle free. The system might be more expensive than old-fashioned hypodermic delivery method, but it made things so much simpler. There's no fucking dramatics involved. Just hold the business end of the pen-like instrument against the target's body and press the tit at the end. The needle shoots straight into the flesh, even penetrating clothing to a limited degree. The result? Hey presto -- a compliant subject! It used to get emotional in the old days, fucking about with needles and chloroform pads and the tendency of the target to wriggle and fight, but the auto-injector worked a treat. With Avril doped using the easy, hassle-free method, I then reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. "Father Christmas has come a little bit early this year, Avril," I cooed. She looked back at me through eyes filled with shock and fear. I knew from experience, since I'd taken one of the pen injections myself once as an experiment, that Avril would be completely lucid, hyperaware, her mind working perfectly. She would, unless reeling with the sudden shock at her situation, probably have an inkling of what I was about to do to her. The trouble was, from her point of view, Avril could do fuck all physically to help herself. Her mouth moved, lips gaping like a landed fish as she struggled to articulate a coherent sentence. I ignored her, knowing it would just be the usual pathetic litany of: Who are you? What are you going to do? Please, don't hurt me ... "If you don't mind ..." I said, looking at my undoubtedly reluctant host for approbation, approval that I knew wouldn't be forthcoming. Just a little joke I enjoyed. "... I'd like to unwrap my present early. You don't mind, do you, Avril?" When she made no reply, impossible at that moment given that I'd just dosed her up, I lifted the cover off her chest and discovered that indeed Avril did sleep naked. "My, my," I said with genuine appreciation. "My, oh my, Avril, I must say, what a fine set of jugs you've got on you, girl." I shook my head, smacking my lips like a connoisseur eying a fine steak. "They must have cost a fucking bomb. No exaggeration, they're really worth every fucking penny." A mewl bubbled between her lips and, smiling kindly at her, I stood up. "I'm sorry, Avril, I'm being greedy." My eyes roved over the sweeping curves and rounded flesh of her comfortable body before adding, "I like my present very much." I eyed her tits again. "Do you want to see your gift from me? Shall I unwrap it for you? Yeah, you wanna see what Father Christmas has for you this year?" Her eyes darkened with fear when, after unzipping, I winked and hauled forth Avril's gift. "I would've wrapped it," I quipped, "but if I'd tied a bow around it, it would've strangled the poor fucking thing. Still, what do you think, Avril? You think it'll put a smile on your face?" As I could have predicted she didn't answer. I crouched down next to her again. This time, as I moved from a squat to kneeling, I stroked the length of my cock with one hand and eased the cover lower over Avril's body with the other. Oh the delight as, inch by tantalising inch, her body was revealed! "Ooh, yeah," I sighed when the duvet slid further and exposed the pronounced mound of Avril's pubis. "You middle-aged bitches all shave your flange these days. Not like when you were eighteen, eh, girl? Back then it was all natural." I shook my head again, this time smiling at the nostalgic recollection. "Twat like a deserted crows' nest back then, eh, Avril?" I hauled myself across the woman's supine form and, with my nose hovering an inch above her mons, breathed in the musky bouquet. "Nowadays it's all Brazilians or landing strips or no fucking hair at all. How times do change." Settling back onto my knees, stroking my tumescence while savouring the moment of pleasure, I reached out and laid a palm over one pliant breast. "But your tits, Avril ... Beautiful fucking job." Sighing with sensual delight at my first touch of the woman's skin, I gently massaged Avril's flesh. "Some blokes are dead against fake boobs," I whispered. "Me, I'm not fussed either way; I don't mind a pair of fake tits as long as they're done well. Mind you, Av," I added after sucking on my teeth, "I normally go for a girl half your age. But fuck me, darlin', if your tits ain't the dog's bollocks. Nice and big and firm ... and superbly fucking presented." I stroked one breast and then the other, teasing the nipples with my fingertips. "And when they're such fantastic tits as yours, Avril, why, I'm over the fucking moon, girl." I chuckled at the sound when another whine slipped out of her. "I think I'll just take a look between the legs, Avril. If you don't object that is. No? You really don't mind? I mean, you've gone to all that bother of shaving or waxing or whatever the fuck you do. It'd be a shame to ignore it, eh?" I'd just reached the point where I'd spread the woman's legs and had clambered onto the bed between her thighs, tugging myself urgently by that time, enjoying the threatening surge of my orgasm, the pressure building in my pipe, when a noise from immediately beyond the bedroom door made me leap off the bed like a scalded cat. My heart hammered in my chest as my head swivelled side to side. Who the fuck was in the house? Had I had a capture? Panic swelled in my chest, ballooning in my throat as I stuffed my rapidly diminishing cock back into my jeans. I checked the window and then cursed, remembering we were three floors up. There was no route of escape that way. I opted for speed. If I could catch whoever it was by surprise, barrel past them on the landing or the stairs or wherever they were beyond the bedroom door, maybe I could get outside, dash to the beemer and be away. Imagine how fucking idiotic I felt when, after storming onto the landing like Attila the fucking Hun in a tent full of virgins, I realised the sound I'd heard was Avril's mobile phone she'd left plugged into a socket outside her door. I held up the phone so Avril could see it. "You've got a text. Who sends a text message at two in the morning?" Relieved, I dropped the device onto the carpet. I didn't know the code to unlock the keypad and, since I could hardly ask Avril to do it, I decided to leave it until later and get back to the matter in hand. A few seconds later I was back on the bed. I found Avril's clout fascinating. How could something so wrinkled and ugly be so fucking exciting and beautiful? For a start her piss-flaps were like elephant's ears, thick and curled and folded around her scarlet cunt. Her clit was a sight to behold in its own right; I'd never seen one so big. "You're one sexy bitch, Avril," I sighed as I slid the ball of my thumb over the taut, pink protrusion of her outsized clitoris. Leaning forward, my cock in my fist, I dabbed my tongue at the fucker. When I sucked her flesh between my teeth, flicking my tongue over her clit, Avril whimpered and stirred. "You like that, eh? Is that turning you on? Are you getting all hot and bothered for my cock?" I doubted it; I imagine that she hated my guts and the last thing on Earth she'd want is my cock up her. I'm not a complete arsehole, I knew the woman would be terrified, scared shitless at the nightmare she'd been so rudely awakened to. I just didn't give a shit for her thoughts or feelings. Her whimpering and movements bothered me a little, though. Not because I cared about how horrified she was, I was more concerned that the magic potion was wearing off. I'd been in that situation before in 2009, in the days when I used chloroform pads and the hypodermic method. One of them, a tasty scouse blonde with high, tight tits and a taut backside had managed to get away from me, Leaving a scar on my forehead as a reminder. So, taking no chances, I rolled off the bed in search of my bag of tricks. Another squirt from an auto-injector and I was back between those thighs. This time, unable to hold back any longer, I rubbed my cock between Avril's thick labia and split the folds with the broad keel of its underside. I stared down at her face and then surveyed her tits. "A pity it had to be this way," I said, groaning as I nudged at the woman's opening and slid my cock-head inside her. Pre-cum lubricated the passage making penetration a glide. It felt so good in there, so tight and hot. "Yeah," I groaned as Avril's body closed around my girth. Sighing at the sheer pleasure of it, I then lowered myself on top of her and rested on my elbows. I might be many things, some less than savoury if you like, but you can't say I'm not a fucking gentleman when it comes to the lady's comfort. "You love it, eh?" I moaned, staring into Avril's eyes as I began to move. "You might deny it, Avril, but I know you fucking love it really." My chest squashed Avril's breasts as I pressed closer to her. "Merry Christmas," I gasped, thrusting deep. I pressed my lips to hers and slid my tongue into her mouth. Despite the fresh dose I'd just injected into her Avril mumbled something and actually moved against me. Christmas Capture This could be dangerous for me if she was coming out of the effects already. If she surfaced too quickly she could catch me off guard and cause problems. I didn't relish the idea of another scar on my forehead, or worse, but it was a fine line I enjoyed, the knowledge that she knew what was happening, could feel me moving inside her, aroused me almost to spunking point, the risk of a struggle only heightening my enjoyment. Avril's weak squirming, albeit a feeble attempt to be rid of my weight atop her prostrate form, sent an arterial burst of lust through me; I knew she was really struggling against me, but to feel her moving gave the impression she was fucking me back. I heaved my torso off her body and, jabbing hard and fast, watched Avril's big tits shiver and roll. "I'm going to come inside you, you sexy fucking bitch," I groaned. Avril mumbled again, even lifting a feeble arm from the bed. I imagine her intent was to strike me or push me off, but she didn't have the strength for that ... Yet. "I'm going to fill you with spunk, and who knows, maybe one of my swimmers will find the mark and knock you up." I leaned in close and kissed Avril's mouth again. "I like the thought of that," I gasped, close to squirting, "I like to think I've planted a seed inside you." Poor Avril, I could only imagine what was going through her mind at that moment. After all, she'd been fast asleep, perhaps dreaming of Christmas. Maybe she'd drifted off with thoughts of Tom, the sender of cards? Whatever, when she'd gone up to bed that night I don't suppose she had any inkling of the nightmare that would be visited upon her. And this was only the beginning. Things were going to get worse, much worse as far as she was concerned. Being woken in the dead of night by a stranger with his hand over her mouth would be tame by comparison. Me using her for my own gratification would come to seem mild, where she was going there'd be more than one bloke at her, using her for pleasure, and it wouldn't just be her cunt and big jugs they'd be interested in. Some of those sick bastards love a pregnant woman, having her with a belly full of arms and legs would be a bonus. Like the Dickensian Ghost of Christmas future that was how I foresaw the way things would be for Avril, but right then she had me pounding at her, thrusting and fucking as I grimaced and groaned and, eventually, squirting into her cosy body. It felt so good to let it go inside her, and as the stuff poured out of me I stared down at the visual. The sight of her shivering tits kept me hard and, just for a moment, I wished that Avril's system wasn't pumped full of the Dutch chemist's evil brew. It would have been great to have her on her hands and knees or maybe riding up and down on my upright pole with her actually being a willing participant. "I'd love to fuck you doggy and hold your heavy tits in my palms," I moaned as my cock pumped. "I'll bet you're a mucky cow under the right circumstances." Avril mumbled something and began to thrash about on the bed. Spunk dribbled out of her when I withdrew but, knowing time was against me, I had no time to savour the sight. Avril was coming back up far too soon for my liking. "Time for another dose." I rummaged in the bag for an auto-injector. I didn't have many left with me. There were plenty more back at the flat, but that was forty odd miles away down the A1 from here. Back in Docklands. I usually carry a few with me, just on the off chance I'll find a rare, opportunity target, but now my meagre stock was dwindling. Still, there were enough for a few more hours, maybe a day if I kept a careful eye on Avril and left it until the last possible moment before zapping her again. Or if I found some cord, a clothes line or some such, then I could bind her up and save the auto-injectors for potentially sticky moments. There was just so much about her that made me want to prolong my leisure activities in her home. If I played my cards right, I reasoned, I could eke out the remaining pens and have some real fun with the voluptuous Avril. It was almost fucking Christmas after all, and I deserved a little leisure time. I gave her the benefit of the auto-injector before, even though I still had a raging hard on, left Avril doped on her bed with spunk leaking out of her. For some indefinable reason I had a hunger to know more about her. I must be getting soft in my old age, letting her get to me, but I decided to take a little look around the house. If I planned to stay for a day or so before moving her on it might be wise to gather a little bit of intelligence regarding her potential movements and the possibility of interruptions. I mean, if she'd planned a party for forty or fifty friends it could get a little fucking tense for me when they all showed up. Anyway, I'm a nosy bastard if truth be told and I quite fancied a rummage around in Avril's drawers. It would prove to be a mistake, an error of judgement on my part that would cause me pain and anxiety. I never should have let myself get drawn in by the woman's physical appeal. It would have been best if I'd clocked her and committed her curves to the wank bank -- maybe snapping a quick photo or three -- while we were still in the motorway services. But no, I got carried away and, as these things tend to, found myself in the middle of a sequence of events that had actually begun months before in the Netherlands. It was all that fucking chemist's fault. What added to my problems, although I was ignorant of the situation unfolding around me at that time, was the stash of dirty pictures I found in a bedroom across the landing from where, I thought, Avril was incapacitated. The images caught me by surprise, shots of Avril with her kit off, fantastic nudes of her posing, with some even featuring her all wide-legged and hot-eyed and gagging for cock. Of course these took my complete attention and time slipped past. "Fuck me," I muttered as, unable to resist, I began to yank my cock. "Three albums of filth to take away as a souvenir." I'm not into trophies as a rule, but I knew I'd not be able to leave my prize behind; I'd take the albums and use them in the future as I fantasised about fucking Avril, imagining scenes in which she willingly took part. A girlfriend experience perhaps. I felt a pang of regret that I'd not gone for her in a conventional way. Maybe I could have made a move on her and asked her out on a date? That way I could've enjoyed the benefits of fucking her like Tom was in the pictures. "Look at you," I mumbled to myself when I came across a few pages of hard core shots. "Sucking that lucky bastard's cock ... And fucking too! Oh, you dirty girl. Oh, but you shouldn't be doing that." My cock felt huge in my fist, pulsing as the second load of jizm began the inevitable surge. I've always been a repeater, and it's even been known, under exceptional circumstances that is, for me to come four times on the bounce. That German trollop I'd fucked in Holland can vouch for me on that score. Semen squirted out of me and flicked across several images of Avril in all her glory, the pictures themselves protected by the plastic film covering the page in the album. I felt a thrill of excitement as my spunk sprayed from me, thick dollops of viscous gloop smearing the page. I grunted and yanked hard at my root, savouring the scene inside my head of Avril bouncing on my cock as she mauled at her own breasts and begged me to fill her with cream. And the best of it was she was only across the landing in her bedroom, all quiet and compliant, waiting for me to ride her again. I gave a pantomime belly laugh as I crossed the gap between Avril's room and the bedroom in which I'd found the photos. "Ho, ho, ho!" I cried. "Are you ready for more of your present, Avril?" The bitch wasn't where I'd left her! Impossible. She couldn't have moved. Not with that Dutch cunt's chemicals in her. But there was no denying it, Avril simply wasn't on the bed. I felt my stomach lurch with the rising panic before I saw movement from the corner of my eye. "There you are," I said as relief flooded through me. And then something hit my leg as I stepped further into the room. Somehow, for the first time in my experience of using the auto-injectors, Avril had beaten the drug. Perhaps she'd called upon some hidden reserve, some steel in her core that enabled her to find strength enough to crawl off the bed and hide herself behind the bedroom door. Her plan, it appeared, was to hit me as I returned, but unfortunately for Avril, in her weakened state, all she'd done is scare me shitless at her absence before striking out at me with feeble force. Hardly an incapacitating blow, but hats off all the same -- Ten out of ten for guts and effort. I looked down at Avril as she leaned against the bedroom wall and stared up at me with venom in her eyes. "Nice try," I said, smirking as I spoke. "But—" Suddenly I felt dizzy, like I'd stood up too quick and the blood had drained from my head. I heard a roar in my ears like waves breaking against the beach. As I stood there wondering what the fuck was wrong with me I felt Avril hit me again. Another pathetic strike to be sure, but when I turned my now unsteady attention to the site of Avril's blows I saw two auto-injectors sticking out of my leg. "You cunt," I managed before I experienced the surreal sensation of all my strength dissolving. *** "You filthy bastard," I heard her say between sobs. "You dirty rapist pig." I could hear her clearly, could see the uncontrollable trembling in her hands as she held the phone to her ear. Knowing it would be useless, but trying anyway, I struggled against the dead weight that seemed to lay on top of me, an internal battle of sheer willpower to move, but the lassitude that siped through my veins kept me pinned to the floor. I had to get out of this capture before the filth turned up, Avril must be on the phone to the police, but inertia held me fast. I felt something against my cheek, and when my brain automatically ordered my hand to wipe whatever it was away I realised it was the carpet against my face and that I couldn't move my hand anyway. This was bad, so very bad, if I didn't get away soon she'd have the police round here like a shot. "Tom?" Avril said into the phone. "It's me ..." Tom? That surprised me. There must have been some question from the invisible Tom because the woman's next words were clipped and impatient despite her obvious shock and anger. "No I haven't read your text. Just shut up and listen to me." There came a pause from Avril before she snapped, "Be quiet. Listen to me. I'm in bloody trouble. Just get your arse up here. Now." Another pause. "I've been raped but I've got the bastard here ... Yes, that's what I said. Now stop buggering about and get up here." With the clarity that came as a side effect of the chemist's potion I sensed something very wrong with the situation. Why wasn't she calling the old Bill? Who would call up a boyfriend, or whatever Tom was to Avril, before they called the law? I had a deep foreboding about the whole fucking thing. In my mind, clear as crystal and operating at genius speeds, I puzzled over the fact that Avril had come round way too quickly. Even the time I'd spent wanking off over the photos couldn't account for that. Not fully. I could only deduce that there was a problem with this batch of auto-injectors? Was the formula at fault, or maybe I'd been lax in observing the shelf-life? If that was the case then, with hope in my heart, I realised that because Avril had jabbed me with a potentially duff batch of the formula I might still have a chance to get away. The decider was Tom. If he lived some distance away, and the wording from the Christmas card indicated he wasn't local, I was in with a chance. And when I got away from here you can bet your fucking life I'll be paying the Dutch cunt in the lab coat a visit. Me and a claw hammer. Then, with a pink dressing gown covering her nudity, Avril squatted beside me. "What did you give me?" she asked, holding up one of the used auto-injectors. The needle glinted evilly in the lamplight and I thought the woman was about to stab me in the eye with the fucking thing. "You drugged me? And then ... and then raped me. You animal. You nasty, dirty bastard." I could hear the incredulity in her voice. Avril didn't believe that people like me existed. If I'd been capable I'd have laughed. If she thought I was bad then she should meet the characters I'd supplied with nubile flesh over the years. She'd be fucking gob-smacked. "You ... you fucking arsehole," Avril spat. "You vile fucking monster." She worked herself up into a right lather, which could only be good for me, the longer she left me lying there without the rozzers storming in, and the longer Tom took in getting there, the better chance I had that the drug would wear off and I could beat a retreat. In fact, given the clarity of my thoughts under the influence of the serum in my system I even began to think about taking the bitch with me. I could give her a slap to stun her before jabbing the bitch with another auto-injector. Bugger the neighbours, if I moved quick enough I could drag her down the road to where I'd discretely parked the beemer before the curtains twitched. From there I could get her out into the countryside, to a nice quiet place in the Peak District that I used sometimes, and from where I could continue on with my original plan. After I'd fucked her in every hole and taught the cunt a good lesson that is. Until then however I had to endure Avril's wrath. This involved her scooping a big dollop of my own spunk from her twat with a finger and pushing the digit into my mouth. "Wanker," Avril snarled. She slapped my face. "Filthy, nasty fucking bastard." She stood up and kicked me in the chest and stomach. The pain when her heel caught me in the nuts would have doubled me over if I was capable of movement, but as it was all I could do in my incapacitated state was to take the beating. Then her fists thumped against me as she showered my face with a flurry of blows. Despite being out of it, paralysed by the narcotics, I could still feel the pain, and I vowed all manner of awful retribution on this bitch as she snarled and kicked and punched. "Oh, you nasty fucker," Avril wailed before finally succumbing to a sobbing fit. She slumped onto the carpet next to me and, head in her hands and elbows on her knees, she cried and cried. The tingling in my fingers and toes told me, through the assault of pain from almost every other part of my body, that the double shot I'd received was wearing off. A few more minutes and I'd be able to move. At first I'd be as weak as a kitten, but with each passing minute I'd grow stronger, until, with what amounted to the same symptoms as a hangover, I'd be almost at full capacity. And all I needed was enough strength to grab an auto-injector and jab Avril. Her mobile rang, which I heralded as a welcome distraction for taking her mind off me. There was no preamble when, after crawling across the carpet to retrieve the device, Avril answered the phone through a mask of snot and tears. "Wuh ... where are you?" A pause. "Good. Huh ... hurry." Another pause. "He's still here. On the floor. I knocked him out with the same stuff he drugged me with." Avril stopped speaking and listened for a few seconds before mumbling a bleary interruption. "Stop asking me questions. I don't bloody know who he is. I've never seen him before. He ... woke me up ... with his hand over my muh ... mouth. He stuck some kind of needle into me and then ... Just hurry up, Tom. Please." I gleaned nothing of value from the conversation other than Tom was still on his way. It really did seem by now that Avril had either forgotten to call the cops or she was going to let Tom take over when he arrived. By now I could, if I wanted to, move my lower legs and my feet. It wouldn't be long before I'd have the mobility to act, but until then, a few precious minutes longer, I'd play possum and lie there. I really wanted to move and ease my aches and pains, maybe even examine myself for injuries where the bitch had kicked and punched me, but I couldn't afford to give Avril any indication at all of my recovery. A couple of minutes more. Please. Five more minutes. And then, to my utter disbelief, Avril seemed to gather herself together and rose, albeit shakily, to her feet and left me alone. I groaned and stretched stiff limbs within a very limited range of movement, more a feeble twitching and thrashing than real physical dexterity. But, as the seconds lengthened to a minute, then two, as I cursed and muttered threats of dire vengeance upon Avril's pretty head, I gingerly examined myself for signs of serious injury. The auto-injectors hung from my thigh like porcupine quills. So I yanked the fuckers out, wincing as I muttered another curse at that cunt Avril for jabbing me in the first place. The big question in my mind was when would Tom get here. "Time," I muttered. "Just a little more time." My bag lay mere feet from me near the bed. So, digging deep at the sheer effort required I gathered up what strength I could muster and, after wiping the cuff of my shirt across my mouth -- the filthy bitch really did do that to me. Stuck her fingers smeared with my own semen into my mouth -- I crawled across the gap. Reaching into the bag my fingers touched the great leveller, my emergency insurance, a tool that would give me the advantage against Avril and her knight in shining armour. The shooter, a piece of shit Browning 9mm, standard British military issue, wasn't the dog's bollocks as far as weapons go, but it would be enough to fuck up Tom and enable me to get a grip of Avril. I was determined to take that bitch and make her pay dearly for what she'd done to me. Life was going to become really, really fucking unpleasant for her. I planned to use her for my own enjoyment over an extended period before I passed her on to the most nasty, horrible cunt I could find. It was the least I could do in retribution for her trick with my spunk. I got so wrapped up in my reverie about pay back that I almost forgot where I was, and the urgency of my predicament was only reinforced by the sweep of headlights over the bedroom window. After hauling myself painfully to my feet in stages, using the bed as a support, I hobbled like an arthritic octogenarian across the room and peered outside. A quick scan behind the blind told me the cavalry had arrived as I saw Tom climb out of the Mercedes and move hurriedly towards the house. I saw he had some kind of weapon, something resembling a baseball bat. Good for him, but I think that in the coming game of rock, paper or scissors, the shooter trumped his bit of wood any day of the fucking week. "Come on then, Tom," I muttered. "Come and get it, you cunt." I dropped the magazine out of its housing in the pistol grip and checked the uppermost fat nine millimetre round was seated correctly. Comforted by the sight of the first bullet gleaming dully at the top of the heap I slid the magazine back home. It clicked nicely in place before, as quietly as I could manage, I levered back the slide to ready the weapon. Muffled voices came to me from two levels below followed by the thudding of feet on the stairs. Tom was in such a hurry he'd left his shoes on; shocking behaviour on Avril's cream carpet. Then the bloke bulldozed into the room, bat at the ready. "Come on then, wanker," I growled at him. "Go for it." He actually considered it, I saw it in his expression, he, just for a second, thought about swinging the bat. But there was just too much distance between us for him to get a good hit. And even though my grip on the pistol wasn't all that firm, and despite the fact that the muzzle of the shooter described wavering circles as I held it up and out towards him, the bore of the fucker must've looked as big as a cannon to Tom as he faced the nasty black hole at the business end. Christmas Capture "No?" I offered, my tone taunting. He didn't know it but I was going to shoot him anyway. I'd been compromised and would definitely be on for a capture by the rozzers if I stuck around England for too long after this caper. Fuck the police and their forensics; since I'd blown my cover anyway, putting a nine milly hole in Tom's face wasn't much of an issue. And speaking of issue, there was probably enough DNA around, dollops of semen, most of which had dribbled out of Avril's cunt, and all that evidence meant I'd have to leave the UK for a while. I fancied a look at Costa Rica. A shadow flickered across the landing behind Tom. Avril's face, strained and tear-stained, appeared at his shoulder. The woman gasped, her knuckles going to her mouth. "Oh no," she gasped. "Tom ..." But Tom didn't even look at her, just kept his gaze fixed on me without a flicker of fear in his expression. "I'm going to get you," he murmured. There was more to Tom than met the eye. I'd have expected him to shit himself at the sight of the gun, but all he did was widen his stance and take a firmer grip on the bat. Avril wasn't as composed, natural I suppose given the circumstances. "Tom, he's got a gun!" A pointless, even laughable statement in my view. How fucking observant of her. Avril clutched Tom's massive shoulder. "Oh my God, Tom ... This can't be happening." The bloke didn't move. He stood there, a great hulking fucking statue, immobile except for his knuckles whitening on the bat's handle. He was between me and escape, his body all but filling the door frame, and the time for discussions was over. I didn't want to give the cunt any opportunity to play the fucking hero. If, by some lucky break on his part, Tom clipped me with the bat, in my weakened state I'd be fucked. So I raised the shooter to eye level and squeezed the trigger. *** I'd had the misfortune to pick a gangster's bird. Of all the luck, of all the choices I had out there ... I'd chosen a Face's lady friend. When the shooter jammed Tom had sprung at me like a fucking jungle cat. He was light on his feet for such a big fucker, and before I'd even blurted a curse at the stopped weapon he'd twatted me across the shoulder with that bat. He didn't lay into me after the gun -- the useless piece of shit -- dropped to the carpet. Oh no, he had another treat in store for me and he wanted me undamaged so he could enjoy his righteous retribution at my expense. When I say undamaged I'm talking in relative terms. Tom clenched one huge ham and caught me on the temple with the resultant fist. Even as I winced and clutched my numb shoulder I was on the way down, collapsing boneless to the carpet, a position I'd grown accustomed to over the course of the last few eventful minutes. Then Avril pushed past and got a few more kicks and punches in. Tom sent Avril down to the Merc. "There's some rope in the boot. Go and get it. I'll watch him." Then came a pause while Avril got all emotional. Tom, it dawned on me by that time, seemed a dangerous bastard, no stranger to violent conflict, and he had his wits about him enough to get a grip of Avril before she came completely unglued. "Get the fucking rope, Av. Stop fucking about. Leave the hysterics for later. I want this cunt ..." he prodded me non-too-gently with the business end of the bat, "... tied up. Just in case he's got any more surprises." Which is how I found myself bound wrists and ankles and laid on a stained, grubby and, I might add, fucking freezing concrete floor in a warehouse about an hour's drive by Mercedes Benz from Bedfordshire. Tom knows some sick people, some of whom were only too happy to take turns on my sphincter. While a couple of swarthy-skinned gentlemen abused my, until very recently, virgin arsehole, Tom smoked and watched. Next, while I lay there gasping, my arse burning, he filled me in on a few details, letting me know exactly who he was and just what a fuck-up I'd made. "Merry Christmas, wanker," Tom said, smiling as he lifted chisels, a hammer and then a fucking soldering iron out of a black bag one of his arse-bandit friends had brought with him. I knew it would be useless to scream, but I couldn't help it when they started work.