Assignment # 5: Christmas Comes but Once a Year

Christmas. A time for giving. And I have to say, Rob gave me a very special gift this year.

There I was, alone in my flat, on Christmas Eve. Family Christmas was out this year – my parents had kindly gone off to Spain for the festive period, sparing me the usual hideous ritual of watery gravy and Twister with pervy Uncle Malcom. I think my brother Simon and I were equally joyful; he'd gone racing up to Scotland with some university mates, and me… well, here I was, alone in my flat. I tried to tell myself that I was enjoying the peace and quiet – at last, some time alone without my flatmates – but actually I felt… I don't know…restless I suppose is the word. Television couldn't distract me, nor could the novel I'd been looking forward to reading. Eventually I gave up and decided to have a bath.

Ah, that was more like it I though, as I sank into the hot, soothing, pink tinted bubbles. Candles, scented bubble bath, and warm, soapy water caressing my body, easing away my tensions, and reminding me that I was finally on holiday. A whole week of doing exactly as I pleased. Heaven. And talking of doing exactly as I pleased…my hand strayed under the water, down the length of my body, between my legs. I sighed as I began to stroke myself, the warm water making everything feel lovely and soft and wet down there. I lay my head back, and closed my eyes. The water made little slopping noises against the sides of the bath, as I moved my hand faster. Slop, slop, slop…thud…

Hang on, wait, that wasn't right. Thud? Was that somebody at the bathroom door? I stopped what I was doing, opened my eyes, and listened intently. There it was again, a dull thud, only this time further away, like somebody closing the bedroom door. But I was alone…

My heart racing, I jumped out of the bath, wrapped myself in my fluffy dressing gown and tiptoed to the door. I strained my ears, but could hear nothing. Out I tiptoed, wet feet slipping on the floor. Nobody in the kitchen, nor the living room. Hands shaking slightly, I opened the bedroom door. The moon shone weakly through a crack in the curtains, enough to show me that the room was completely empty. I collapsed onto the bed, blood thudding in my ears through sheer relief. The tension flooded out of me, leaving me all tingly, and my hand moved between my still damp thighs again. My robe fell open, and it was at that moment that I heard the voice.

“Well, I see we have been a very naughty girl indeed.” The figure emerged from the shadows. All in red, I could see that, with black boots. His face was in shadow, but I could see something white… could that possibly be a beard? I sat up, trying to pull the dressing gown back around me to cover my nakedness, but too late! The figure was upon me, pinning me down to the bed. I gasped as he roughly dragged open my robe, and I felt his hand upon my breasts. His head bent to my neck, and I felt the soft, warm tickle of his beard as he pressed his tongue to my bare skin, just above my breasts.

“I've been watching you, Angela.” The voice growled. “You haven't been a very good girl, have you?” I couldn't speak, my breath was ragged. “Good girls get presents, you know. But bad girls … well, bad girls, they get something even better. A special visit from Santa Claus.”

Still pinning me hard to the bed, Santa Claus reached with his free hand into a sack, which he had left by the bed, and took from it a piece of fabric. It was not until it was firmly tied around my mouth, that it was a pair of festive knickers, with a reindeer on, the giant red nose looking as though it was protruding from my mouth. I tried a scream, but could only make a muffled groan. Then Santa pulled from the sack something that clinked and glinted in the half light. Chains. Christmas decoration chains. Deftly he bound my hands together with them, then bound my feet one to each leg of the bed, so that my legs were forced wide apart. When this was done to his satisfaction, he stood above me and examined his handiwork. I squirmed and tugged at the chains, feeling horribly exposed and humiliated, as the unknown Santa let his gaze rove over my breasts and between my spread legs, but they held firm. As I continued my struggles, I saw him reach once more into his sack, and bring out a small, slim can, which I recognized as fake snow. After spraying a little of the snow all around me on the bed, in a circle, he placed the can down on the sheet, and bent over me. I felt the shock of his cold hands between my legs straight away, and bucked wildly. The inexorable fingers moved firmly and possessively, caressing my clitoris round and round in a circle, before diving deep inside me, then out and round again. The pattern continued relentlessly, and gradually my struggles died away, and I succumbed to the intense pleasure of the stranger's hands on me, his hands invading my most intimate places. I moaned into the knickers gag, as Santa's fingers slid deep into me once more, and this time he felt my wetness, knew I was excited. His hand moved away, and before I could feel its loss something cold and hard was sliding deep inside me, penetrating and stretching me so deeply I gasped. I realised that he was using the can to fuck me. I squirmed again, and tried to push it out, but to no avail – it was in me all the way up to the hilt, and there was nothing I could do. Once he was sure it was in properly, Santa stood back to look at his handiwork once again. Behind the beard, I was sure the stranger was smiling.

“You are so beautiful Angela. I've been watching you, and beautiful, naughty girls like you need to be taught a lesson.”

With that he reached one last time into his sack, and brought out – a pudding. It was a whole, Christmas pudding, complete with a small tub of brandy sauce. Silently, disregarding my muffled howls behind the gag, Santa proceeded to break up the pudding and smear it all over me. Over my breasts, over the mound of my stomach, over my thighs, down to my feet it went. And then came the brandy sauce. Still slightly warm as it poured over me, I could feel it sliding into every crevice of my body. The strong smell of alcohol filled my nostrils and every bit of my body felt sticky and dirty. Santa seemed pleased however. Ignoring my moans of humiliation and rage, he proceeded to eat the pudding off my naked body. Scooping it with his fingers, licking with his tongue, no part of me was spared. I was his table, his plate, his thing, at his mercy. He refused to be rushed, occasionally taking sips from a glass of wine by the bed and watching me intently, his eyes gleaming behind his beard in the moonlight. And, much as it shames me to admit it, I began to enjoy myself. To enjoy being utterly at the mercy of this perverted Santa, to enjoy the erotic pleasure he took in my food covered body, to thrill as he licked raisins gently from my hardened nipples, and scraped sauce from my inner thigh. The feel of his soft beard rustling between my legs as his lips brushed my clitoris sent tremors throughout my body. And when he had had his fill of food, and he removed the can from between my now sopping legs, unzipped himself and thrust into me, it was a matter of seconds before the feel of his cock deep inside me, and the knowledge of my own helplessness, sent me spinning over the edge into a near perfect orgasm. And I had time to come again, and yet again, as Santa took full advantage of my pinioned state and hopeless arousal to fuck me over and over, deeper and deeper, the sauce and the pudding melting and spreading and covering our bodies as he took me more and more furiously, teaching me exactly what it meant to be a very, very, naughty girl.

So, that was my very merry Christmas. And next year, I have promised Rob I will try and find a Mrs Claus outfit from somewhere…