Jingle Balls

byBitch Boy©

Editor's Note: This story contains graphic violence. If such content offends or upsets you, you may not want to read further.

* * * * *

He was far from home, this Christmas. But then he was always far from home at this time of year.

'Can't live two lives under one roof,' that was his motto.

And how would he explain himself, dressed like this in a Santa suit, sitting on a park bench in the middle of Hamburg while the snow built up against the trees and the harsh winter winds whipped around him?

He balled his hands into fists and pushed them down between his legs, feeling the metal straps of the seat cold against the back of his hands. A high-pitched giggle sneaked out.

'No one knows!' he thought, small giggles erupting dangerously against the wall of his control.

'No one knows who I am!'

'No one knows what's gonna happen!!'

He glanced down the jogging track that ran through the park and saw the familiar shape coming in the distance.

'Oh, what a treat, what a very special treat,' he thought to himself, his knees jerking up and down with anticipation.

'No one except me, that is,' he thought, completing his thought process from earlier. He stifled another high-pitched giggle, crossed his arms and hugged himself tight.

'And I'm not telling.'


She jogged through the park every day, her routine down pat so that she could even tell how her time was by when she passed the various landmarks in the park.

Every day she used the jogging track, checking her time against previous days at designated points: the horse and rider statue near the middle of the park; the derelict Santa on the bench near the water fountain, the rusting statue of Beethoven where the jogging track reversed back and finally the thick copse of trees which covered the northwest corner of the park, covering the last one hundred metres of the running track.

It was freezing today, though, and there was almost no one around. Winters in Germany did get bloody cold, but still there were some things you were supposed to be able to count on in this world.

Like the Santa, for example, who WAS in his usual place, sitting on the park bench, the familiar bottle in a brown paper bag in his hand, smiling his usual shy smile and giving his usual shy wave.

The poor bugger was obviously down on his luck. As she turned the corner heading back towards the Beethoven statue, she wondered what she might be able to do for Santa.

The poor guy.

Maybe she could even get him cleaned up and give him a good feed!

It was Christmas after all.

Behind her, the man in the filthy Santa suit got up and moved with surprising speed away from her retreating figure and towards the trees in the northwest corner.

Saliva was beginning to drool from his mouth and his beady eyes were unnaturally bright as he glanced repeatedly over his shoulder at her distant figure.

"Ho, ho, dirty fuckin' HO!!!" he shouted manically, and disappeared between the twisted branches of the old spruce trees.


She was slowing now, the cold sapping her strength and the hard uneven winter ground making each step that much more of an effort.

'Only a bit to go,' she thought, trying to motivate herself. Along this straight then the staggered sprint along the winding path through the trees to the end.

Her pace increased as the shadows of the trees stretched over her and her feet began to fly over the familiar terrain. She liked the fact that this stretch was short, the shadows cast by the trees and the lack of light could be spooky.

She was accelerating into the final little straight, the edge of the copse of trees directly in front of her, when something red and white blurred into her vision from the trees on the right.


She was already falling when her mind registered the vicious blow she had received to the side of her head. Her vision was blurred, registering only a kaleidoscope of mixed colours in motion. She was tangled up in something, correction, someONE and she tried to kick out. She saw the balled fist come out of nowhere and felt her nose explode, heard the wet breaking sound as blood splattered her head and body.

Distantly she heard a scream she recognised as her own, instantly muffled. She felt something forced into her mouth, gagging her. Her vision was gone and the object in her mouth was removed, then forced even deeper down her throat.

She felt her gorge rise and gagged, her fingers raking frantically at her attacker. With her nose broken, she could not breathe and darkness rushed at her.

Then she was gone, her mind deserting her battered body even while it still struggled to understand what had just happened.


He sat astride her, his hands behind her head, his Santa suit pulled up and away from his groin, fucking her face furiously with his long bony cock. Small high-pitched giggles popped out of him each time he jammed his cock down her throat and he was spitting saliva all over her prone form.

"Jingle Balls, Jingle Balls, Jingle, jingle, BALLS" he hummed as he thrust repeatedly into her waiting mouth.

'No one knew, no one knew, no one EVER knew!' he gloated feeling his balls tightening and rising as he neared climax.

"Ho ho dirty fuckin' HO!!" he shouted as hot sticky jism erupted from his thin cock and spurted into her mouth and over her face.

"Guess?" he cackled triumphantly down at her still body.

"Guess what's next??"

She lay still, not even her chest moving. For a moment he seemed lost, staring vacantly off into the distance, watching the last rays of the setting sun slowly leave the landscape to the encroaching darkness.

"Wake up. Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!!" he cackled in a singsong voice. Fumbling in his Santa suit, he pulled out a small container, removed the lid and passed it back and forth under her nose.

Her body did not move and he stared down at it, as if lost.

"Oh no you don't!" he shouted suddenly and punched her with all his might in the stomach.

"There's more, there's more, there's much MUCH more!" he shrieked, raining blows onto her stomach and her torso.

Suddenly she coughed, reflexively spitting cum, blood and spew from her throat. A low moan escaped her lips.

He bent down, threw her over his shoulder and looked about him cautiously. Not a soul was in sight.

Satisfied, he set off at a lope, disappearing from sight between buildings on the edge of the park within seconds.


She shook her head groggily, slowly coming awake. Her vision was still blurry and she blinked, trying to focus her eyes. Already she could feel sharp and severe pain in several different parts of her body, but she could not focus on it and it drifted away from her. She felt strangely dreamy and despite the pain her body felt aroused and tingly all over.

She realised with a sense of dread that she must have been drugged.

'Come on – you have to FOCUS!' she thought, forcing herself back towards consciousness.

As her sight cleared, she realised she was lying on a bed, her arms and legs bound with cloth and tied to each corner of the bed. The room was sparsely furnished, a clothes rack in the corner, a sink in the other a bedside set of drawers with a phone on it.

On the ceiling above the bed was a huge tacky mirror. In it she could see that she was naked and she could see matted blood on the side of her head and on her face. Her nose was swollen, discoloured and she could not breath through it. Deep dark bruises were scattered across her breasts, stomach and thighs. There was a pain under her right breast as if a rib had been broken and her throat felt as if it had been scoured with acid.

She could hear him in the distance and she tried to focus her thoughts and stop cataloguing her injuries as terror washed over her.

"Ho, ho, dirty FUCKIN' HO!!" she could hear him shouting somewhere else in the building, always followed by the chilling sound of his barely contained high-pitched giggles.

'Think!' she instructed herself firmly, her naked body rolling gently against the confining ropes.

'How are you going to get out of this? Think!!'

She flexed her arms and legs, but there was no real give in the ropes she was tied up with and stretching made her aware again of her injuries. But if she just lay there, the pleasant sensation she was feeling would override the pain and she could rest, maybe even sleep.

He appeared out of nowhere in the doorway to the room and she started, terror seeping through her.

He was still wearing his Santa suit and he grinned happily at her with those bright, beady eyes while he hummed.

"Oh dear, oh dear, let's clean you up, you have made a mess of yourself haven't you?" he said quickly and then giggled, his teeth grinding as he fought to contain his enjoyment.

He stepped to the basin in the corner and poured warm water onto a rag. Almost tenderly, he began with her face and head, running the rag gently over her skin, cleaning away dried blood and cum and sweat.

She refused to look at him as he ran the cloth down her neck and over her breasts and across the flat of her stomach.

He hummed as he worked, each clever tune and witty word followed by an immediately suppressed giggle.

"Jingle Balls, Duty Calls, Bitch has got away" he hummed as he ran the cloth between her legs and over her pussy.

She willed herself not to move, but her will power was no match for the drugs in her system and her legs moved, pulling open against her frantic mental instructions, inviting further contact.

He continued to hum, his bright little eyes now fastened on her pussy. His hand movements slowed, began to focus on brushing over the nub of her clitoris and sliding back and forth along her slit and down the crack of her arse. A low involuntary moan escaped her and she fought frantically, if pointlessly, for control of her senses.

Meanwhile he was developing a tent in the front of his Santa suit as he now pushed the washcloth into her pussy with first one and then two fingers inside of it. He pulled his thin bony cock out and began to jerk it with one hand while he hummed his little ditties and pushed the washcloth further and further into her wet and juicy pussy.

She could not believe how good it felt and even though she knew it was the drugs working in her system, she felt herself pushing up against his hands, forcing the cloth even deeper into her pussy, moaning with genuine arousal as he played with her and with himself.

After a few minutes he took the now soaked washcloth and wrapped it in tight even layers around his skinny cock. She felt herself getting wetter, knowing that his cock was being transformed into a truly impressive weapon.

He mounted the bed and settled between her legs, his bright little eyes looking down at her happily. She smiled back at him and moaned again, louder than before. He seemed to consider for a moment, and then he began to remove the restraints, one at a time, watching her carefully.

"Good, good, VERY GOOD?" he asked, watching her like a hawk.

"You'll be good, good, GOOD?" He repeated insistently, cackling obscenely, his cloth wrapped cock jerking up and down with each chuckle.

"Yes, I'll be good," she said stretching slowly, luxuriating in the freedom of movement.

"I won't do any… ohhhh, yes, oohhhhh…" she trailed away as he slid into her soaking pussy with a squelch and thrust into her again and again, little giggles bubbling out of him at the end of each stroke.

"Ohhh, FUCK that feels good!!" she wailed as waves of pleasure threatened to overwhelm her drug riddled brain.

Suddenly the phone at the side of the bed began to ring.

A look of fury crossed his face, followed by a slow look of resignation. He looked down at her, still fucking her wet pussy with even regular strokes, and put a finger to his lips.

"Be very, very, VERY quiet!" he said, grunting a little as he continued to fuck her.

"Very, very VERY QUIET!!" he repeated, his eyes boring down at her.

She nodded and he lifted the phone from the receiver, cradling the mouthpiece against his ear with his shoulder. She watched in amazement as his face changed, returning to the face she remembered from the down and out Santa at the park.

"Yes, darling," he mumbled into the receiver. He shot her another warning look and slowed his pace inside her a little.

"Just working, you know how it goes on the road," he said into the phone. He was pushing deeper with each thrust now and she felt the air hiss out of her in little spurts with each deep thrust into her soaked pussy.

"Oh, I'm sorry honey, you know I want to be there, but work is money," he said tenderly into the phone, while he began to increase his tempo. She could see that his forehead had broken out in sweat and his skin was turning a bright shade of red, evidence that he was not far away from reaching climax.

"Listen, I have to go, give my love to the kids," he said shakily into the phone. He was pounding furiously into her now and she could not understand why the person on the other end of the line couldn't hear the bed squeaking or the jerky way he was speaking as he thrust into her forcefully. She could feel her own orgasm approaching, his furious rutting, their incongruous situation, and the drugs – all combining to heighten her state of arousal.

Then it happened, without warning, her body went into convulsions and she moaned loudly, her eyes closed, back arching, not caring who could hear her.

She felt more than saw the quick chopping punch to her stomach, which forced all the air out of her in an instant. Then his hands were around her throat, squeezing, blocking her ability to breathe, let alone make a sound.

Distantly she heard him say "Bye then" into the phone before dropping the handset back onto the cradle.

"Die, die, now you DIE!!!!" he cackled manically, still pumping furiously into her.

Then he was squealing like a stuck pig as he climaxed, cum spurting through the washcloth and deep into her ravaged pussy. The waves of pleasure were quickly being swallowed by her nearing suffocation and as the pressure on her throat increased, it seemed her mental clarity returned and the effect of the drugs dissipated.

As her orgasm turned into strangulation, she could see he was still in the throes of ejaculation, high-pitched yelps coming from his clenched throat, eyes shut as he fucked his spurting cock in and out of her greasy hole.

She reached for the phone, her fingers just getting under the corner of it, struggling to grip it, to balance its weight. Small motes of light began to play across her sight and she knew she did not have much longer to live unless she could do something.

She jerked in fright as right beside her ear, the phone began to ring again.

He relaxed his hold on her neck for a split second as he turned towards the unexpected noise, surprise registered on his face. At the same moment she swung the base of the phone, viciously, with all the strength she had left.

Somehow she connected and suddenly the pressure was gone from around her neck and his weight was gone from off her body. She gasped, letting deep breaths of air circle through her oxygen starved lungs. She felt weak, her limbs numb, but she knew she had to do something and do it quickly before he came to.

Fumbling with desperate haste, she tied his prone form spreadeagled to the bed using the ropes he had only recently used to tie her. He groaned and began to stir and she hastily re-checked each restraint, making sure they were secure. Blood was seeping from a large gash on the side of his head where the base of the phone had connected.

That was when she noticed the phone, still off the hook, lying beside him on the bed. She picked it up and as she did so, she heard a tinny voice.

"Hello? Hello? What the hell is going on there??"

She glanced back at the bed and his eyes were open now, following her, their depths filled with sheer malevolence. He shook his head slowly, as if to say "no!"

She searched him then thoroughly, and found the drugs in his pocket, a silver packet of small bullet shaped pills.

"Time for you to be happy, Santa!" she said smiling coldly. She emptied the packet into her hand and then pinched his nostrils shut roughly. When he gasped for air, she forced the entire packet into his mouth and held his jaw shut. He struggled then, his body convulsing furiously, before he finally swallowed them down. She watched him choking impassively, watched him gasp for air. She sat and watched as his movements became more sluggish, so still she might have been in a trance.

"What is going on?!" came the tinny but insistent voice through the dropped handset. She picked up the receiver, her face strangely empty of any emotion.

"Well, it seems to me that you have a choice," she said to the faceless female voice on the other end of the phone.

"Who is this? Tell me what is going on now!"

"You can come over to…" she paused as she found his keys and with it the motel tag "…The Highway Hilton, or" she said, entirely ignoring the other, "you can stay online and listen. Your choice."

"What do you mean listen?" said the female voice, a trace of fear now replacing her previous tone of demand.

"I don't know who you are, but please don't hurt my husband. He's all I've got, all the kids have?" the disembodied voice pleaded.

"Too late for that," she whispered into the phone.

"If he could, he would kill me right now, he would have killed me before. So the way I see it, I've got no choice," she continued in the same whispered tone.

"He's lying helpless on the bed. He had choices, but he made the wrong choices, so now he has none." She paused, feeling the strength of her hatred, inwardly struggling with her barely concealed fury.

"So as it turns out, you're the only one who has a choice at all, I'm afraid. I've given you the name of this motel and you can get the address, and I'm putting the phone down beside the bed. You choose."

She put the phone down beside the bed and went into the kitchen. With only a little poking around she found a small claw hammer and hefted it in her hand.

He was dribbling now, a vacant smile on his addled face. His eyes wandered helplessly and small weak sounding giggles came bubbling out of his chest as he dribbled all over himself.

She approached the bed, a look of disgust mixed with hatred on her face. With a curiously gentle gesture, she grazed the claw of the hammer gently over his stomach. He seemed unaware of her presence.

She raised the claw hammer, brought it down gently across his chest, the cold claw coming to rest against her skin, the indentation a sudden red against pale white.

She raised it again, pulling it back at the last moment so that it grazed his head near the side of the temple. She seemed to consider, gazing off into space, the hammer lying loosely across his chest.

As if the action belonged to a different person, was commanded by a separate brain, her other hand began to stroke his cock, her grip easily surrounding its thin circumference. She cupped some of his spittle in her palm, used it to lubricate his cock and felt it expand in her hand.

He grunted incoherently, his hips pushing up to meet her quickening strokes. She watched dispassionately as the head of his bony cock became purple, as precum dribbled out of the eye of his penis, as his balls lifted in preparation for ejaculation. His hips were flailing uncontrollably, he was groaning thickly and spitting saliva everywhere with his eyes rolled back in his head.

Suddenly, on the brink of climax, she gripped the head of his cock firmly and twisted it roughly up and away, exposing his cum filled balls. Her face twisted into a mask of fury and pain. Her breathing, until then controlled, began to spiral irregularly as she focussed on the object of her hatred.

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