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.

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