BDSM Christmas Erotica
The Gift
A sex story Kay Jaybee and Rebecca Bond
Upon the thick beige carpet at my feet is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, all milky white skin and rich chocolate locks. So quiet, so still, so very obedient. So totally mine.
The room is very dark. A single candle burns on the side, the distinctive scent of winter berry and festive spice wafts through the air.
The black boned corset and thigh high boots I am wearing make me feel powerful, and despite the teeter of my feet in my three inch heels I feel completely in control. You have no permission to either speak or move until I tell you to, and being the good pet that you are, you obey without qualm or question.
On your knees, you wait. Wait for me to use the blindfold I have in my hand to plunge you into total darkness. I finger the black satin mask lovingly, far more lovingly than I treat you. I smirk as disappointment flashes in your eyes when I put the material to one side. There is something else I wish to do to you first.
Your eyes are so wide, and I scrutinise their reactions closely as I make my first move. Lifting your head up by the chin, I expose your neck to me. From its hiding place behind the bed, I pull a paper chain; gaudy and bright. Holding it in both hands, I stretch out my arms so you can see just how long it is, the interlinked paper circles of red and gold causing a frisson of uncertainty to flicker across your body. A festive garland that is usually used to decorate my fireplace today has an entirely different purpose. Looping the end of the paper chain, I fashion it into both collar and lead, and fasten it around your porcelain neck.
You look incredible; the perfect Christmas pet. The bright red panties that adorn your hips contrast perfectly with your pale skin, my very own delicious candy cane.
My snatch clenches as I stare at you and my imagination runs into overtime as excitement crosses your face with each light tug on the leash. The year we have had together has taught me to understand how much you enjoy being my pet, but now is not the time for pleasure. Now is the time to deal with your past transgressions.
I lift a tattered notebook off the bedside table, leafing through the pages as you look on warily. "In January you failed to remain motionless when I instructed you to crouch on all fours while I pleasured myself before you. During our Easter holiday you were ordered to remain silent as I ate a chocolate egg from your pussy; you failed. While I plugged your anus in September, you unwisely begged for me to hurry. There have been five counts over the past twelve months of you failing to wear a bra when I told you to, and four of you wearing one when I specifically told you not to." I sigh heavily as I observe you, my mute sub, "Sometimes my pet, I believe you do these things just to annoy me into tormenting you further."
Laying down my record book I hold your chin for a second time, fixing my blue eyes into your cat-like gaze. "If you want to receive the gifts under our tree, then you must be punished for those transgressions."
Retrieving the discarded mask, I slip the satin over your eyes; taking you a step nearer the lack of control you crave. I pause to savor the shot of intense desire that ripples beneath my figure hugging corset, then I instruct you to place your wrists behind your back. Collecting the strand of bushy silver tinsel I have ready, I fasten your dainty hands together, relishing how my own power increases as yours diminishes.
Walking around you in a circle, I stalk my prey; trailing my fingertips teasingly over your nipples, probing your pussy, checking you are ready to take what is to follow. I note how damp you are as I manipulate your crotch in my palm, and I watch your mouth fall open; gratified that no words come from my faithful pet’s mouth.
I bark out my next order, "Get onto the bed."
I let you feel your way to the bed alone, observing you travel with an amazing amount of grace and dignity, which your bound, blinded state barely hampers. My heart is hammering, and my cunt moistens as you fall against the duvet, lying on your back, your hands trapped beneath you.
Lowering my mouth to yours, I briefly brush your lips with a teasing kiss. Your chest is gorgeous; two petite milky globes of fun. Fixing my teeth to your breasts, I nip your tips firmly, enjoying the way they harden in my mouth. My tenderness however, is short lived; merely a way to calm my own rising lust.
Grabbing your ankles, I strap your legs together with a thick strip of red ribbon, incongruously decorated with Christmas stockings. Pulling this new tie taut, I rock you onto your side. My willing victim. My hot sexy creature. My very own Christmas fucktoy.
Mine by Lochai available from ObsessionArt.com
It’s the blindfold that kills me the most – the way you so easily erase my power of sight. I don’t mind surrendering control to you, my Mistress, but I want to look at you all day. You know this of course; you know that stopping me from seeing you is the strongest form of torture.
I can’t deny the feeling that consumes my body each time the satin mask is secured about my head. Nervous arousal. It’s a feeling that promises so much; torture, pain, excitement, fun...endless pleasure. Yours mainly, but I derive pleasure from that alone. I am your fucktoy.
The position is uncomfortable; my neck collared, my hands bound unceremoniously behind my back, digging into the mattress at an awkward angle. I do my best to ignore the discomfort and focus on nothing but my breathing. Your breathing. Our breathing.
I jump as your mouth crashes to mine, lips so familiar and yet foreign all the same. All I can think is, I want you, Mistress, I want you! Tears prickle at my eyes beneath the blindfold as you pull away from our kiss, leaving me teetering on the edge. "Don’t go!" I beg in a panicked whisper, and you don’t. You never do, not for long. I shiver as you bite my right breast, relaxing as your tongue snakes out to lap at my straining nipple. You know how one touch to my tits can make me the most docile of all your pets. I mew, I purr, I sigh...each sound giving you the confidence to kiss me a little firmer, tug a little harder, and pinch a little tighter.
Too much begging never gets me anywhere, and the way you yank at my legs before binding them leaves me feeling cold and lonely behind that blindfold. I stay quiet, knowing that the punishment will be tough enough without my adding to it through petulance.
And so I lay, bound and restrained, mute and blind, counting each long second that ticks by until you roll me onto my front. When the first slap of your palm breaks the silence, the force against my butt is so unexpected that I can’t help the cry that escapes my lips.
"Silence Fucktoy!" Your voice is harsh and cold.
I merely nod, biting my quivering lip to stop any more sound from tumbling out. Smacks reign down onto my tender flesh in quick succession, one, two, three, four, smack, smack, smack...SMACK!
It hurts. It hurts so fuckin’ good. I let myself fall into the punishment, embracing each painful spank after the other. And with each strike of your hand my pussy weeps, shamelessly begging you for more, to slap me, smack me, bite me, use me, abuse me. Do it all, Mistress, please...
I deserve this beating; that’s what I keep telling myself. Punishment for all those indiscretions jotted down in your notebook. Indiscretions I didn’t even know I’d committed. But I know you deep down, Mistress, and your palms are soft. Even through your brutal slaps I feel their tenderness. But then the spanking stops, I know I am really in trouble, that your palm is by far the softness thing I will be experiencing tonight.
I am still and quiet, too afraid to move for fear of further pain. Your hands are gone, only to be replaced by something else. Something hard. Something sinister. My mind goes into overdrive behind the mask. Will you hurt me with wood, with metal, or something else entirely?
No matter how hard I try, I can never keep the effect of your smacks to myself. I moan as your new tool stings my arse fiercely. I recognise its oval shape as my hairbrush; the same brush you use to detangle my unruly locks each night now unleashes a wealth of pain onto my bottom.
Staring at you, my palm stinging, your hairbrush angled in my hand for the next strike, I wonder how you can bear what I do to you; and how I can mark such perfect skin. Yet I do, so very easily, the hairbrush forming a blossom of pink across your right buttock, quickly to be joined by a matching blotch on your left side. You groan into the bed linen, but you do not scream, nor do you edge away. "Good pet."
My reign of blows comes more regularly now, and your arse rises to meet each smack eagerly. Your controlled murmurings encourage me, and I swing my arm up higher, increasing the force with each strike that is administered. The marks I make on your backside are no longer pink, but a vividly fitting Christmas red. I love them.
You are obediently immobile. Your eyes might be fluttering behind the blindfold, I don't know. Raising the hairbrush again, I bring it down upon your left buttock one last time. The pause in action will have made things more painful for you, but the gasp that escapes your lips is as much of pleasure as of agony.
The room is quiet, but the thumping of my heart inside my chest rings loudly in my ears. The spanking I can cope with, the loss of sight I endure at your behest, but when I’m bound like this I cannot prevent my imagination from running riot, and I fear for my body. Will it be able to withstand your planned punishments? I’m petite in stature, my flesh so easily bruised. Yet, it’s the thought of being marked by you that turns me on the most, to bear the evidence of your ownership...your love. If only I understood my own contradictions.
Dropping the brush, I massage my hand over your arse, "you had better do exactly as I say." You mewl into the dark as I slip a hand between your shaking legs, pinching and squeezing your cunt with slow rhythmical clenches of my fist.
Leaning forward, I kiss the blemishes I’ve made, licking your rear, letting my tongue find the cleft of your buttocks. As I work my mouth over your arse you begin to tremble, sighs of lust falling readily from you in spite of your beating. You are incredible. I believe you have earned an early Christmas gift.
Tugging at the festive lead, I return you to your back. Leaving your arms trapped behind you, I un-tether your legs, widening them, bending them up at the knee.
The paper loops of the chain scratch uncomfortably at my neck as I’m twisted onto my back, but the uncompromising action of you pushing my legs wide distracts me from everything else. "Mistress?" I whisper as I await your next move. My cunt pulses from the intense desire racing around my body. I wonder what it looks like to you, whether you can see it throbbing beneath my sodden panties.
Your succulent breasts are rising up and down with exaggerated movements, reminding me of all the times I’ve caned them, bitten them, and clamped them until you climaxed. I allow myself only a moment of nostalgia however, and then I lift the lone Christmas candle from its star shaped holder, cupping the flickering orange flame with my palm.
The heat it gives off is surprisingly strong, and I can feel new sweat blend with the perspiration that administering your beating has already caused. I haven’t spoken, and yet the abrupt stillness and sharp intake of breath from the bed tells me that my pet knows that the mood has changed. Something new is about to happen. Confident the candle is safe in my grip, I trace the outline of your chest with the guttering flame, making it the only highlight in the otherwise darkened room. "Here comes your present my pet."
A strained whining emanates from your lips, as if you are no longer a pampered pet, but a cornered animal, trapped, sensing danger. I lower the light, using it to follow the contours of your exquisite form. As I reach your open legs, the candle-glow shows me how wet you are, your festive knickers displaying an ever expanding square of dampness.
Panic rises in my chest at the feel of the heat of a flame close to my flesh as I realise what my Mistress is doing. We’ve never done anything like this, never even talked about it and I’m startled by my reaction to it just as much as the act itself. The scent of the candle no longer seems festive and cheerful, but sickly and sinister. I move, trying to get away, no longer wanting to play this game. I scramble up the bed, severely hindered by my restrained wrists.
But it’s not a game I realize. It’s never been a game. This is the first time I’ve felt genuine terror in my lovers’ presence though, and I just want to shout, to tell you that the thought of being burned frightens me. I open my mouth to explain, but even in my fear, I can’t do it. I can’t say no to you. Exhaling slowly, I compose myself and whisper, "Sorry, Mistress," before sliding back down the bed. Never have I been more aware of every beat of my pulse.
"Good girl," I deliver my praise calmly, but inside my heart is racing, my pride in you immense. At the top of the candle, wax droplets start to form, and I gaze, fascinated as they trickle towards my hand. I expect them to burn me, but they just give me an intense blast of heat, and then cool hard. "You, my pet, really need to feel this."
I steady my hand over your right nipple. My own nipples are so hard that I know that just one touch would send me spiraling to orgasm. Curiosity at how you are about to react makes me withhold my pleasure however, and as I tilt the candle I watch closely. The world about me changes, and for a moment everything seems to happen in slow motion as the candle wax falls towards your ecru tip.
The searing heat makes me yelp in surprise, but after the initial shock, I begin to growl, not in discomfort, but in appreciation. It feels amazing. My nipple swells, begging shamelessly for more. My chest is hypersensitive to your whims, the spots of wax burning, juice pouring from my pussy. What have you turned me into?
"Thank you, Mistress," I whimper as you carefully coat the most sensitive parts of my body: my right nipple, my left, my navel, and my hips. Even through the fabric of my panties I can feel the candle’s heat and all I want now is to feel that hot wax on my tender folds...on my clit!
"Take them off," I beg, "please, Mistress!"
I listen to your desperate request with interest, amazed at how each jolt of your body, each murmur from your lips, makes my channel gush. Normally I would punish such pleading, but it is Christmas, so I am inclined to leniency. There are streams of silent tears running from beneath your mask. Returning the candle to its holder, I lean forward to lap the salty water from your skin, enjoying how you tense as my fingers explore the hard, cool covering of wax that has adhered to your delicate flesh.
Every part of my body aches for you now, my pet. I swallow down my insistent desires, and focus on the matter at hand. You have endured well fucktoy. Dragging your sodden panties down your legs, freeing your magnificent pussy, I struggle not to fall upon you with my mouth. "Lay still my darling pet. It is time to receive the final part of your gift."
I take the candle, then pulling your gorgeous folds open, I aim the next drip of wax precisely over your clit. Your breathing is so loud it echoes. You beg me to stop, beg me not to do it, just as fervently as you were pleading with me to do this exact thing only seconds ago. I pause, waiting to see if our safety word will come forth from your tongue, but you say nothing.
Wasting no more time, I bring the candle even closer, and watch entranced by the globule of hot liquid as it falls towards your most secret of places. "You are a dirty whore, a bitch, a naughty pet, who has gone so far down the line of debasement that there is no hope for you," I say.
The second the wax hits your nub, you scream into the dark, your shouts imploring me to let you climax, and as you writhe in an attempt to quell your need for release I utter the words you've been dying to hear for the last hour, "You may come my pet. Merry Christmas."
Your body bucks instantly, and something in you changes. Now you are not just my pet. You are my wild wolf, my tigress, snarling and jacking towards me.
Blowing out the flame, I move fast, positioning the warm, slim wax cylinder against your opening, thrusting it inside you. I bite your clit, its crisp coating cracking in my teeth as I pump the candle in and out of your cunt.
You screech out into the room as I bring my teeth to your fast spasming cunt a second time, my free hand reaching up to sharply slap your jiggling breasts, again and again until finally your climax racked limbs begin to calm, and you sigh into the darkness, "Thank you Mistress."
Your gratitude is my switch, and I immediately free your hands and cast aside the mask. You peer up at me, blinking as your eyes adjust to the light. You look so perfect, coated with sweat, and the candle wax dotting your skin. The happiness of your smile reflects from your eyes as I examine you, checking I haven’t damaged you, making sure my pet is okay.
"Did you enjoy your present?" I wipe your hair from your eyes, and kiss your forehead.
"Very much, Mistress." Bringing your hand to my chest, you free the laces that hold my desperate tits captive, and I allow my own need for satisfaction to take over.
As your mouth visits my nipples, I tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and whisper, "Thank you my pet, you truly deserve all your presents under the tree."
The contents of those presents will remain a surprise until morning, but I can’t help wondering how you will react when you see the beautiful black ball gag I have had made especially for you my pet? It is even engraved with your name: Fucktoy.
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Copyright December 2011, Kay Jaybee and Rebecca Bond
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.