tagNonConsent/ReluctanceChristmas Capture

Christmas Capture


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.

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