Kinkmas Morning (A Visit From St. Kinkolas, Part 2)
As Santa Claus had predicted, and as Brenda had expected, it was a long, hard wait until morning. The Christmas magic worked to spare her any physical discomfort—she even dozed off for a very brief time—but she was in an agony of worry and fear as to what would become of her and of Greg. No one else had keys to her apartment, other than Greg, and he, like her, was tied up and trapped there. She had no idea who else, if anyone, might have keys to Greg’s apartment, where she was. What if some friend or family member burst in to wish a “Merry Christmas”, and found her like this? She would just die--. She struggled fruitlessly against the magic bondage, but the velvet ribbons held her bound relentlessly.
Or, what if no one did? How long would it take for either one of them to be found? Santa had said that the Christmas magic would sustain her, but for how long? How long would it take for either one of them to be found? Days? Weeks? For that matter, how many other people in the city—or the world—were in similar plights? She was pretty sure the number of people with kinky fantasies—not to mention what other secret wishes Santa Claus might be granting—was probably pretty high, and she remembered how slow emergency response could be in case of a wide-spread—well, was disaster the right word in this case?
Some of her questions were answered when the gray light of a December dawn crept in through the window of Greg’s bedroom and into the living room. At first she didn’t notice it, as the wan illumination was overpowered by the Christmas tree lights, but then she felt something. She felt a sudden release, as though a balloon had soundlessly burst in the room. She started.
“Mmf?” she asked—then gasped. She could hear herself! The spell enforcing silence on her was gone. “Hllp! Hllp!” she instinctively screamed, but the thick velvet wrapped over her mouth still muffled her cries, and she realized that even if that weren’t the case, there might not be anyone in range to hear her, or who could come to her aid if they could.
Brenda paused and took stock. Whatever spells had been on her, they seemed to now be gone. She began to feel a bit cramped, a bit thirsty—a bit needing to pee, all of which made her situation more desperate. However, she also noticed that she seemed to be able to move a bit more freely. She heaved and squirmed, and lo, when she squeezed her knees together, the band holding them against her chest slipped down toward her ankles! It was only a tiny bit of slack, but it encouraged her to thrash around a bit more.
By great good luck, she caught one of the trailing ribbon ends under the ball of her foot. Keeping her weight there to pin it, she pulled herself backward with her bound hands, just enough to feel the bow knot give. She was thrilled to find it undid the ribbon tying her ankles to her wrists. Now able to push both her hands and her feet somewhat away from her body, she was able to struggle and roll around, which succeeded in dislodging the bindings holding her knees to her chest.
She sighed with relief as she was able to stretch out her legs. She was still gagged and bound, arms and ankles, but how much more freedom of movement she had! Studying her tied ankles, she decided it wasn’t a good idea to try to stand up with the ankles crossed. She began looking around the apartment for something that might help her escape.
With her arms wrapped from shoulders to wrists, she doubted that a knife or scissors would do her any good, even could she get hold of one. After quite a bit of thought, she began to crawl toward the apartment’s bathroom. As she nearly orgasmed from her sensitive nipples brushing the carpet, she realized how aroused the struggling had made her.
“Wow, Santa’s got something here,” she thought, “even if there are some problems with the execution.”
Sliding across the tile bathroom floor, Brenda writhed around to get herself into a sitting position against the wall. Squirming along the wall, she positioned herself as best she could under the corner of a towel bar. She gathered her legs under her, bent her head forward, and gingerly extended her legs, pushing herself up the wall until she felt the corner of the bar hook the top of the ribbons behind her. Using everything she recalled from an article on Houdini, she let her breath out as she tried to push her already taut elbows closer together, and pushed upward with all the strength she could muster. After a second heave, she felt the bindings begin to give, but also felt herself losing her balance. Frantically, she ducked her head and twisted away from the porcelain fixtures, falling heavily to the floor on her shoulder.
“Waooh!” She moaned. Trying to get up, she felt the wrappings around her arms shift, and, as she came to a sitting position, felt them fall into a loose coil around her wrists. It was the work of a moment to pull one hand out of the tangle, and bring her wrists in front of her to free the other. Brenda clawed the gag away from her face, then bent over to untie her ankles at last. She was free!
Although she definitely had to use the toilet by this time, she turned on lights and ransacked the apartment until finding Greg’s phone. She punched in a number, but got a busy signal, then laughed and realized she was dialing Greg’s number. She terminated the call and called her own number instead.
“Pickup, pickup, pickup,” she chanted, as the phone rang, then went to her voicemail. “Damn!” She said to herself, “If he’s not loose by now, he’s in trouble! “ She almost called 911, but stopped herself. “I’ve got to get home, but I’ve got no clothes, no money, no ID . . . .” Then, she stopped again, and turned toward her boyfriend’s bedroom.
After a quick bathroom break and glass of water, Brenda hit the street, not running only because her shoes were too large. She had pulled on one of Greg’s shirts, and a pair of his jeans. Luckily, she found a military style web belt in his drawer that she could use to cinch up the waistband. She had put on two pair of his thickest socks, and bloused the legs of the pants into the tops of some high-top sport shoes, double knotting the laces as tightly as she could in hopes of keeping the shoes on her feet. She found a shopping bag and dumped in Greg’s keys, wallet, and phone. At the last minute, she caught up the red velvet ribbons and stuffed them into the bag as well. She threw on Greg’s winter coat, and she went to the rescue.
She expected that there would not be many people on the streets Christmas morning, and she was right in that. What did surprise her was the number of people who seemed far merrier than normal, calling out “Merry Christmas” and other greetings even to other strangers. She wondered how many of these people had had a secret wish granted by Santa. She assumed that the typically grumpy looking people were late workers who hadn’t been home yet. Or, she thought, people like herself who hadn’t wished carefully, and were on their way to try and fix things.
She used Greg’s pass card to board the subway. As she settled into her seat, she caught sight of herself in the window reflection and winced. Her wildly oversized and baggy clothing would have made her look like a bag lady, were it not also obviously clean and well cared for. Her outfit nevertheless was distinctly incongruous with the heavy makeup (miraculously unsmeared!) that Santa Claus had gifted her with. Her hair hadn’t survived as well, so she looked like some strange sort of urban wild woman. Having neglected to pack a comb, she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to ignore the amused looks she got from the other riders.
At her stop, she hurried into her building, and up to her apartment. Fumbling the keys on the unfamiliar ring, she got the door open, hearing as she did so the muffled grunting of a gagged man. Greg was here! Greg was alive! And (a pang of wicked joy shot through her heart and her loins), Greg was still tied up!
She stepped into the room, calling out, “Greg?” and stopped, having to put her hands over her mouth to avoid laughing out loud. But then she did laugh, exclaiming, “Santa, just what I wanted! Thank you, thank you!”
This drew outraged grunts from the bound man in the room. Greg had been tied up like she had been, but in addition had been put into a black nylon stocking the size of a laundry bag. Santa had evidently knotted the top of the stocking around the hook in the mantelpiece, such that Greg was suspended, able to touch the floor only with one big toe. Not only was he trapped in the stocking bag, which was stretched to its limits and had no further give to it, he had absolutely no leverage to use in straining against his bonds. Anne found his situation laughable, but also highly erotic.
“So,” she said, “you wanted me wrapped up under your tree, eh? Well, I can’t complain TOO much, given your predicament. I guess I can be glad you didn’t think of the stocking, too, or I’d still be trying to fight my way out of a giant sport sock.” She approached and examined her gift, reaching up to examine the knot, and casually stroking an exposed male buttock as she did so, eliciting a muffled snort from her man. (“That feels nice,” she thought to herself. “Why don’t more men wear nylons? I know they make them. Maybe I’ll buy him some.”) To Greg, she said, “There’s too much weight on the knot for me to untie it. I don’t know if this stuff can be cut.” (She suspected it could, but decided she wanted to save it if she could--.) “Hang on, while I think.”
She went out of the room, but came back having stripped out of her men’s clothes, and only armed with her cellphone. She came back and took pictures from every angle.
In reply to her boyfriend’s snorts of indignation, she said, “Come on, be a sport! I’ll never have this opportunity again, and I want to remember it. This is so hot! No one will ever see these—as long as you behave!” Greg huffed . “Besides, I’ll make it up to you. You have to get your present, you know.” Even through the black fabric, Anne could see his eyebrows rise, and an interested “Hmmm!” came from behind his gag. “Now, let’s see about getting you out of there.”
Brenda got the footstool from its place by her reading chair, and, with such help as Greg could give, got it underneath him, taking his weight. Then she was able to slip the knotted stocking top off the hook. It took some picking to untie the knot, which had been pulled tight by Greg’s weight, but she managed it. Greg sighed with satisfaction as she peeled the nylon cocoon down over his shoulders, and planted a kiss on his nose.
“Mmm-hm?” he queried, shaking his head, indicating the gag should come off.
“All in good time,” Brenda replied. “It’s fun to unwrap presents, you know.”
Peeling the stocking the rest of the way off, Anne undid the ribbons that held Greg’s knees to his chest, and his wrists to his ankles. Then she untied his ankles. He sighed and moaned as he stretched his legs out. Anne felt a teeny bit guilty for taking so long to ease his position, but made up for it by massaging his calves. As she worked her way up his thighs, she saw his handsome cock stirring in its nest of blue ribbons.
“ ‘My friend, I don’t know where ye’ve been, but I see ye won first prize,’” she quoted as she stroked him, and admired the prompt response, as the stroked organ came to attention. Greg moaned, shrugged his shoulders and shook them, indicating his desire to be untied. Anne stood up, and checked his remaining bonds. She saw that they were still taut, his muscular arms straining against the blue fabric, such that she was sure he would not be able to shrug his way our of the arm bindings. “Come, let me help you stand up.”
She helped him get to his feet, and she liked what she saw. Arms bound and still gagged, he was a delectable package of studly slavery. He had evidently gotten a ‘beauty treatment’ from Santa as well as she had, for his skin was as smooth, hairless, and satiny as any male underwear model’s. His engorged penis stood out from its collar of blue velvet. She reached out to grasp it, but he tried to shy away.
“None of that, now,” she commanded. “I want you just the way you are. I think any woman would. You look good enough to eat—if you get my drift,” she leered. She hugged him and squeezed herself against him. “You’re my magic, secret wish gift, and this is how I want you. Be mine, now. Let me use you. Let me take you as, yes, I realize now, I have dreamt of. Let me do this now, and I promise you I will make your dreams come true, here, now, today or another time if you choose. So, unless you strongly object, come with me now.” She reached out and grasped the ribbons that festooned his manhood. She realized that they were elaborately wrapped around the base of his cock and balls, his scrotum, and his shaft, and made a perfect harness to lead and control him with.
Greg looked down at her, cocking his head quizzically, then his expression softened and he nodded. Anne twined her fingers in the ribbons round his cock, and began to tow him toward her bedroom. She paused only to scoop up the discarded blue velvet ribbons from the floor.
At the bed, she guided him down to recline on his back, arranging the pillows so he would be comfortable. She also ran the longest of the velvet ribbons across his back, under his bound arms. Then, she took another, and tied his ankles back together, and then to the foot of the bedstead. She took the ends of the ribbon under his arms, and tied them to the headboard, pinning him to the bed.
“No, I haven’t done this before,” she said in response to his bemused glance, “it’s just—inspiration.”
She left him alone for a moment, and ducked into the bathroom. She scooped up an eyeliner pencil, then paused with her phone to snap a picture of her bold makeup. She thought she might want to re-create the effect if she could. She also snapped one of herself in the full-length mirror. Evidently, Santa was a fan of clean shaving, for her skin was smooth and flawless. She regretted the ruin of the hairdo, but when else had she ever looked so good, so confident, so strong, so just damned hot, especially naked?
Back at the bed, she paused, and stood over Greg, putting a foot on the bed beside him so that he could get a good view of her from cunt up, wild and Amazonian. His eyes bulged gratifyingly. She bent over Greg and boldly printed “BRENDA’S!” across his chest, which she also photographed, “For posterity!” as she joked.
As she said this, she sat on the bed and began slowly unwrapping the ribbon around Greg’s genitals, stroking and kneading as she did so. Then she leaned down and said, “And this—is inspiration, too.” She began to give him the slowest, most luxurious blow job she could imagine. She loved feeling him writhe and struggle, trying to push himself further into her yielding mouth, which always moved away. She loved feeling her power over his body, loved hearing him affirm it with his heart-deep moans, groans, and whines.
When she had had enough (but he had not--) she reknotted the blue velvet ribbon around the base of his cock and balls. She straddled his thighs, then mounted him, guiding his straining penis inside her. She held the ends of the ribbon like reins as she rose and sank on his cock, When she thought he was drawing near climax, she halted her motions and pulled strongly on the ribbons, which held off his orgasm. She came dramatically once, and then kept riding him while she stopped him from coming at least three times.
At last, she paused and bent over him, touching the ribbon that gagged him. “I’m going to take the gag off,” she said, “but don’t speak. Not yet.”
Unable to restrain himself, he gasped, “PleaselemmecomegodpleasegottaCOMMME!”
Inwardly pleased that she had reduced her normally stalwart boyfriend to babbling, she hushed him.
“Shh! It wasn’t for that I took the gag off. But, since you feel like begging, at least address me properly. Beg the Goddess to let you come!”
He was panting, and tears were actually puddling in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks.
“Please, Goddess, let me come!” he begged fervently.
Brenda settled herself down over his cock again, grasped the reins firmly, and growled, “Now, man. Come for me now!”
She was almost thrown as Greg thrust up into her, his body bowing off the bed, only touching it at neck and heels, like a tetanus victim. She rode him hard as he bounced and shuddered, trying to corkscrew his hips as best he could as he was bound, trying to grind into her.
She let loose the reins and grasped his waist, letting herself come again as she did so. She threw back her head and laughed triumphantly. This triggered Greg’s orgasm, and he came with a cry that trailed off to a long shuddering moan as he subsided into the bed. Brenda fell forward onto his chest, pressing her breasts into him, and smothered his gasping mouth with kisses.
“There,” she said when she had tasted her fill of him, “That’s what I wanted your mouth for. Now, you may speak, if you wish--.”
“You—you—that was—amazing!” He panted.
“Yes! It was!” she enthused. She slid off his slowly softening cock to his side, and snuggled against him. As she lay by his side gently stroking him, she murmured into his ear the fantasies that she had had during the night, of being taken by him while bound. Sated as she was, she still felt the stirring of new arousal as she spoke, and could tell from the sound of Greg’s deepening breathing and the gradual reviving of his penis, that he was feeling it also.
He said, hoarsely, “That sounds great to me, darling, but I’m not in a position to do anything about it right now.”
“That can be fixed,” Brenda replied. She slid to the foot of the bed and untied his ankles, then back to the head of the bed, and released the ribbon holding him down. “Here, sit up.” She helped Greg to sit on the edge of the bed, and untied and unwrapped the ribbons binding his arms.
He sat for a minute working blood back into his hands, while Brenda knelt behind him, massaging his shoulders. Then, with a roar, he spun around, seized her, and threw her face down in the rumpled bedclothes. In a trice, he was straddling her, pinning her hips down with his weight, and had seized both her wrists in his big hand.
“Mmf! I didn’t mean right now!” Brenda protested.
“But I did!” Greg answered her. “I’ve waited long enough for my present.” He looped the ribbon she had just taken off him around her wrists and tied a quick knot. He began wrapping her arms together. Brenda tried to fight, but she was helpless. Greg had occasionally held her hands while lovemaking, or pinned her to the bed with his weight, but he had never done anything like this before. She could feel his stiff cock pressing into her backside, and knew he was enjoying it. Concealing her grin in the blanket, she knew that she was, too.
Greg threaded a ribbon around and through her upper arms, so that, when he flipped her over and tied it off to the bedstead, her upper body was actually more securely tied to the bed than his had been. He didn’t tie her legs down, instead gagging her. Then, he took another ribbon and wrapped around her head, blindfolding her!
“Nnnn!” she objected, but Greg only chuckled. He snuggled down, half covering her, one leg over her thigh, his foot between her calves holding her legs apart. He began to work on her, lips and teeth on her breasts, fingers on her clit and in her cunt, constantly varying pressure, stroke, area of concentration. Brenda felt she would go mad.
Over the course of what seemed like two hours, Greg brought her to the brink of orgasm and then backed off, she lost count of how many times. Between cursing him, she inwardly marveled at his patience, his discipline, and his skill, just as he in his turn must have been surprised by her power and hunger when the roles were reversed.
At last, he released his grip on her, got up, and stepped away from the bed. She could not hear his bare feet on the carpet. She whined and writhed, as best she could demanding that he return to her. She caught a flash of light under the edges of her blindfold. Pictures! Well, turnabout was fair play, she had to admit, and she was getting well turned about.
Coming back to the bed, he took a firm grip on her left ankle and wrapped ribbon around it. Then he pulled her leg up toward her shoulder and tied it off to the head of the bed. Then he did the same to the right leg.
For the second time in twelve hours, she was tied up, feet in the air, her cunt pointing at the ceiling. This time, however, she was not dismayed, and had, in fact, fervent hopes. She felt Greg’s weight on the foot of the bed, and pictured him advancing on her on hands and knees, like a great cat about to pounce.
“I expect you know what comes next,” he growled.
Brenda thought she did, but she was both right and wrong. She expected, hoped, wished that he was going to fuck her. That he did, but, once he had carefully inserted his cock into her waiting slit, she was astounded by his power. It was like being ravished by a great beast, like being caught in some great engine that pounded and crushed her while driving, driving, driving toward her core.
She came almost at once, but began building to another orgasm before she had even caught her breath. The impulse to orgasm surged higher each time he pushed into her, again and again and again. It was too much! She cried out though the gag, but he didn’t seem to hear over his own grunting and gasping. She tried to writhe, somehow pull away from him, but she was helpless. Without volition, she clenched her core, in a vain attempt to keep him out of her.
This last bit of extra tension put them both over the edge. They both shouted wordlessly as they both came again. Greg seemed to deflate, heaving a great sigh as he subsided onto her breast. Brenda squealed and bounced as best she could to let him know that he was crushing her!
Greg sprang up. “Oh, darling, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” he said. Swiftly and carefully, he released the tension on her ankles, gently lowering each leg, stroking her and crooning to her soothingly as he did so. He undid the ribbon binding her arms to the bed, and embraced her, cuddling her. Brenda, exhausted and overcome with lust and endorphins, lay in his arms like a rag doll, not able to move even had she the will to. After some minutes cuddling and snuggling, Greg helped her to sit up and removed her bonds. Brenda flew at his face with her nails, but in play, and the two of them collapsed together laughing.
“Oh, man--,” Greg groaned. “I’ve never—we’ve never--.”
“I know,” Brenda sighed. “Christmas magic, do you think?”
“Not so much as just inspiration. We think we can, so we can,” he speculated.
“Well--,” Brenda said, “Right now, I think I could eat!”
Greg agreed enthusiastically. For some reason, it didn’t seem quite right to eat Christmas breakfast totally nude, so Brenda snatched up Greg’s shirt and used it as a robe. Greg pulled on his pants, and followed Brenda to her small kitchen area.
Brenda put on coffee, then warmed the cinnamon rolls she had bought. These were a Christmas tradition in her family. As they noshed on the rolls, they both decided they needed more, and worked together to prepare eggs, ham, and toast. It felt wonderful, the most companionable breakfast they’d ever shared.
“So, what did you think when you woke up and found Santa Claus standing over you?” Brenda asked.
“Probably the same thing you did—that I was having one weird-ass dream. When I couldn’t move and he started tossing me around like a sack of laundry, I was sure of it.” Greg replied.
“When did you begin to think otherwise?”
“Oddly enough,” Greg answered, “When we came out of the bedroom and I saw you there. Somehow I knew I was seeing a dream made real. I wanted you so much, I was incredibly frustrated when Santa took me away.”
“And what did you think when he hung you ‘by my fireside with care’?”
“Frankly? That we were so screwed. All I could think of was police or rescue squad bursting in after we’d been reported missing. And that was the good outcome.”
Brenda nodded. “Those were my thoughts, too.”
“How’d you get loose?” Greg asked.
Brenda related how her struggles to escape had worked out. Greg nodded.
“I felt something give, too, must have been about sunrise. I just sank further into that damned stocking, though. There was nothing I could pull or push against, suspended like that.”
Brenda giggled. “Sorry, I had no idea my subconscious was so good at bondage.”
“Your conscious was pretty good at it, too.” Greg smiled.
Done eating, they got up from the table and went back to the living room, and turned on the TV. They snuggled on the sofa while panning across the channels, looking for news. Oddly, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary, other than that people on screen seemed inordinately cheerful.
“I hope this means that the Christmas magic worked out for everyone,” Brenda declared.
“I don’t know,” Greg mused, “How would we know yet?”
They both pondered for a moment, but then the shadow passed. Greg reached over and touched her thigh.
“Feel like going around again?” he asked.
Brenda flushed. “Yes, yes I do,” she answered. She stood up to move into the bedroom.
“Just a minute,” Greg objected. “I never really got the chance to unwrap my present.” He grinned.
“But that would mean I’d have to get wrapped up again,” Brenda said.
“How about that?” he answered.
Well, fair was fair. Brenda shrugged out of Greg’s shirt, and stood naked.
“Where do you want me?” she asked.
“Right here will do,” Greg said. “I actually think it might help if you stood up while I did your arms.”
Brenda couldn’t argue with that, so turned away from him, and stood with her palms pressed together behind her. Greg had dumped out the pile of red ribbons, and rummaged through them for the longest one. With a bit of coaching from her, he wrapped her arms from wrists to shoulders and tied the ribbon off. Brenda wriggled. She was firmly tied, and somehow, Greg had succeeded in making the bands even tighter than Santa had.
“Let’s see, now sit on the floor.” Greg assisted her in getting down to the carpet, and then tied her knees up to her chest. Next, he tied her ankles, and then put the second wrapping outside her legs. There were two red ribbons left.
“Next, the one tying wrists to ankles, then you can gag me—mmf!” Brenda was cut off.
“No, gag first, my dear,” Greg murmured into her ear. Then, he took her and gently repositioned her from the sitting to a kneeling position, so that she was facing the floor. She shook her head, no, as he caressed her exposed ass, and slid fingers into her waiting cunt.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have shared this thought with me, but, far be it from me to deny my love any desire.” He kept working fingers and thumb in and out of her, playing with her clitoris also. Brenda struggled, but she could barely move. She attempted to grab at him with her bound hands, but Greg easily took control of them and held them out of the way while he mounted her.
Brenda was outrageously turned on. She was even more helpless than she had been in the bed, more of an object—yes, a package—than before. She could only moan blissfully through her gag as Greg fucked her just as slowly as he could. After her first orgasm, he gave up control and ravished her as fast and hard as he could, until they both came.
He pulled out at last, leaving Brenda gasping and panting. She gave a little whine as he cinched the hog-tie between her wrists and ankles, but there was nothing she could do. She was surprised when Greg gently gathered her into his arms, and lifted her up. When he set her back down, she was in the sitting position again.
There was a whisper of fabric as Greg pulled the Christmas stocking up over her. “Mmm-mm!” she protested, to no avail. He pulled the stocking top up over her head, and she could feel him knotting it closed.
“I have to admit, the stocking thing seemed like a good idea,” Greg said. With one surge of effort, he lifted Brenda into the air, and wrapped the top around the hook in the mantelpiece so that the knot held it there. Brenda was left hanging in the nylon bag, tipped at bit of an angle. Through the black mesh she could see the floor a scant inch or so away from her toes. Wriggling, she could cause herself to bob and twist a bit, but each movement made the stocking conform more closely to her and took out slack, so that she was ever more securely trapped.
She had just given in to her dilemma and relaxed, when there was a flash. Greg was taking pictures of her, wrapped like a package, and hanging in a stocking.
“Sauce for the goose!” he chortled. “No one else will ever see this, I swear—but I will look at it a lot!”
She made a querulous noise, which he correctly interpreted.
“Oh, I’ll let you out—when I feel like it. Now, let’s see—wasn’t there a football game on?” He teasingly settled down on the couch with the TV remote.
Brenda sighed. This wasn’t comfortable, but she couldn’t complain-much. It had, after all, been a wonderful Christmas so far—and it wasn’t over yet!
The End
You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum
21.12.14