A Midwinter Night's Dream

I have been toying with the idea of a Nutcracker story for several years now -- having had my own sort of Nutcracker tale in the form of my very first BDSM experience. This is very loosely based on that experience, but someday I will eventually write the real story for you all.

And of course, this is merely the Overture, as it were. In the future -- perhaps next Christmas, I will continue the story. I hope you enjoy this, and...Happy Holidays!

*

It had all started with the small wooden figurine -- and the slender girl, sitting beneath the Christmas tree, who now cradled him in her pretty hands. Well... no longer a girl -- but if you were to see her, you would understand my mistake. She still had the lithe, supple form of a young lady. Her fair hair -- the color of the very best champagne -- was piled high on her head, exposing the smooth back of her neck and her small little ears, from which dangled expensive pearl earrings. Her eyes were a deep blue. From a distance, they appeared almost black.

So there she sat, on the parquet floor of the cream-and-gilt ballroom, her lovely gown billowing out around her, as she studied the carved little fellow. He was gaily jacketed in a martial red, his regimental officer's insignia carefully picked out in gold paint. His navy-blue trousers with the smart white stripe fitted snugly over slim hips, and were neatly tucked into his glossy black boots. Storm-grey eyes stared straight ahead, unseeing. And a tiny gold crown sat atop his golden curls. Every detail was just as she remembered. She ran a fingertip lightly over the wooden cheek, tenderly, as one touches a lover.

Marie-Claire Therese Stahlbaum von Hoffman -- let us call her Clara -- cradled her beloved Nutcracker in her hands. How long had it been since she had last held it? Twenty years, she realized, with a start. Had it really been twenty years since her godfather had given her the gift - not merely of a child's plaything -- but of a dream that even now, years later, could still make her catch her breath with the wonder and amazement of it all?

She touched the Nutcracker's hair, and reflected upon her life since that glorious night, when old Uncle Dosselmeyer had brought the carved little soldier-prince to life, and how he had whisked her away to the Kingdom of the Sweets, for one magical night. She had known, without being told, that it could only be that one night. For we must, all of us, eventually put aside the things of childhood, and grow up.

But oh, how hard it was! To put aside the memory of the Nutcracker Prince, the feel of his mouth covering hers, in those tender little kisses that had just started to stir her, to awaken something deep within, that she hadn't even suspected existed. Sixteen years old... first kiss... first touch...

But... one must grow up... and Clara was nothing if not obedient...

A part of her, in her heart, had railed against Fate, even as she dressed in the low-cut, white gown of the debutante, worn the flowers in her hair... She had laughed, danced, drank a little champagne, and eventually made that brilliant marriage that certain good girls from certain good families are expected to make. Well... perhaps not brilliant, but certainly Franz had been an excellent match. Wealthy and successful, a lawyer, some years older than her. Solid upper-middle class. Very dull. And with a mistress that Clara was supposed to know nothing about. Franz, who tended to view women as simpler and not nearly so intelligent as men, and who had been somewhat displeased to find Clara was every bit as clever as he. And like most men, the passion and fire that he sought in a mistress... he found shocking in a wife. Disappointment on all sides. Still... they had a charming home here in Vienna, with a full staff, a wardrobe full of beautiful gowns, and such lovely jewelry. She was quite the envy of her friends. What more could any woman want?

Passion, whispered that little rebellious part of her heart. Fire. Sexual fulfillment. Clara ignored that little voice - having had years of practice - and turned her attention back to the Nutcracker.

Where had it come from? She looked at the paper wrappings on the floor, where she had unwrapped a dozen other cherished old ornaments, now carefully hanging from the branches of the stately pine. How funny to think that it had been here, all these years, somehow overlooked...

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the quarter-hour, and she reluctantly set the Nutcracker aside, rising gracefully to her feet. She shook out her skirts, and made her way across the room, intending to go work on some correspondence. A stray eyelash, stabbing into her eye, made her pause in front of one of the ormolu mirrors. It eluded capture for some minutes, and her eyes were watering as she finally got it out. Just then, the clock chimed the hour. How peculiar, had fifteen minutes already passed? Blinking away tears, she glanced at its reflection in the mirror. But instead of the clock-face, there was Drosselmeyer, smiling benignly at her! She gasped, and whirled around to face the clock...

But the old grandfather stood there, staid, stalwart, ticking away stolidly, wearing the same painted wooden face it had worn for years. And here came the housekeeper, with the tea things. At Clara's nod, she laid them out on the small table in front of the fire.

Clara waited until the woman had left, then turned back to the mirror, watching the clock's reflection. It was, after all, the same clock that had chimed the night the Nutcracker came to life...

But nothing happened. There were no mice, no glimmerings of fairydust, no shimmering of the air. The Nutcracker sat under the tree where she had left him, unmoving, solemn. With a rueful little laugh, she seated herself on the elegant little chaise in front of the fire, pausing to gaze into the flames.

It may have been the warmth of the fire, or the hypnotic sound of the crackling wood. Perhaps it was rhythmic sound of the wind howling outside, and the dim grey bleakness. Whatever the cause, she found herself suddenly very drowsy, and she closed her eyes for what she thought was just a moment. Outside, the wind grew stronger, louder, seeming for a moment to shake the very room. And then suddenly... all was quiet.

And Clara opened her eyes to find everything changed...

It was the same ballroom -- yet... not the same. It seemed to Clara that the walls had drawn back, grown taller. There were new colors among the cream-and-gilt on the walls -- pinks, roses, blues, violets, greens... watercolor colors... she turned quickly in her chair to look at the Christmas tree. It had grown taller, and it seemed that there were a thousand candles shimmering among its fragrant branches. She could barely make out the star shimmering at the top. She stood up quickly, looking beneath the tree.

The Nutcracker was gone.

Clara's knees buckled, and she sat down quickly on the chaise, bracing her hands on the edge, her heart beating fast... she closed her eyes. When she re-opened them, there he was, standing before her. No longer the Nutcracker, but transformed.

Transfigured.

There he was...her soldier-prince. Her heart's desire.

He stood before her in his scarlet jacket, the carved gold buttons standing out, very real. She could make out the weave of his trousers -- they weren't merely paint, but very real, very palpable fabric. She could smell the rich leather of his glossy black boots. His golden hair tumbled nearly to his shoulders in loose curls, and his storm-grey eyes gazed down into hers. His mouth, his beautifully mobile, kissable mouth, curved into the faintest of smiles. She drew a breath, tried to speak, but could not. He watched her for a long moment, and then reached forward, touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his hand.

"Is this really happening?"

He didn't answer right away, his hand moving from her cheek, around the back of her head, suddenly wrapping itself tightly in her hair. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, more from surprise, than from pain. He pulled her to her feet in that way, and kissed her. It wasn't the kiss she had somehow expected -- it was fierce, bruising, mocking... somehow punishing...

... and it was better than anything she had dreamt of. After a moment, he pulled away and smiled at her, a loving smile, but with a hint of cruelty at the corner of his mouth...

"Yes, my darling... my pet... this is really happening... "

That hand in her hair was forcing her back to the chaise, and his other hand was unfastening the front of his trousers now. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, shocked. He gave her a little nod, and somehow... she knew. She knew precisely what she wanted, what she wanted to do. She reached up, pushing his hands away, and finished unbuttoning his pants. She tugged at them, pulling them down over his hips, freeing his semi-hard cock. She gazed at it for a very long moment... she craved it, but she was a little afraid, too...

Even semi-erect, it was longer and thicker than her husband's. He had been circumsized, and the head of the cock was exquisitely delineated from the rest, a perfect mushroom-shaped helmet. Even as she watched, his cock grew harder, longer, the skin taking on a purplish-red hue. Nestled beneath his cock his balls hung full and heavy. She looked up at him, inquiringly. He smiled that cruelly angelic smile.

"Suck it, pet. Suck my cock hard, and show me how much you missed me... "

He didn't wait for her to move towards it, but tightened his grip in her hair, and pushed his cock into her surprised mouth. Caught off-guard, she tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let her, pushing more of his length into her, choking her with his thick cock. She put her hands on his thighs, trying to push him away. He lightly slapped her cheek with his free hand.

"Put your hands behind your back," he instructed. She obeyed immediately, but within moments, had her hands back out in front of her, trying to regain some balance, some control. He gave her another little slap, and grabbed her wrists, pinning them together in a crushing grip. She gave a low little moan, but he ignored that, slowly pumping in and out of her mouth.

"Look at you," he said in a sneering voice, "sucking my cock like a filthy whore. You're a married woman." He pushed his cock deep into her mouth and she gagged as the head nudged the back of her throat. She could taste the salty precum, feel it dribbling down the back of her throat...

She was shocked, horrified at his words... and terribly aroused. Underneath her gown, beneath all the layers of fabric and stays and corsetry... she was very aroused, very wet. And yet... the tears were streaming down her cheeks now. Nobody had ever spoken to her in this way -- and she never dreamed that her Prince, whom she had never stopped loving -- could speak to her in such a manner.

But his hand was tighter in her hair now, and he was working his thick shaft in and out of her mouth faster now. He was fucking her mouth. He looked down at her, at her tear-stained face, the almost anxious way she tried to suck at him every time he withdrew from her mouth, the way she struggled to pull away, even as she was trying to please him. His cock was so hard, it ached. He gave her another little slap -- not hard, but not gentle either. Just a little sting to it.

"Suck it harder, slut," he said. She struggled to obey, and he had to close his eyes for a moment, arching his back and pushing his cock in deeper. She gagged again, and he opened his eyes and watched her again. She made him feel very aroused and very aggressive all at once. He wanted to fuck her hard. He would fuck her hard. He pulled his cock abruptly from her mouth, and pulled her to her feet.

"Turn around and bend over," he said shortly.

She met his eyes and quickly dropped hers, but he saw the flash of excitement there. He pulled her around and bent her over the arm of the chaise, pulling her skirts up around her waist. He put one hand against her upper back, pinning her, while the other hand slid up her bare leg. She couldn't suppress another moan as his fingers traced the outside of her wet cunt.

"Look at this," he growled, "look how wet you are, what an eager whore you are... "

Clara whimpered, not certain if she was supposed to respond. He pushed a finger inside her cunt and she made some small sound, and tried to push herself back onto his finger, wanting more. He withdrew his finger and slapped her smartly on the ass. She gave a little yelp, and he said, "Answer me. Are you an eager slut?" She gave a little nod. He slapped her ass again, harder. "Say it."

"Ye-yes... I am an ... eager slut."

It was very hard for her to say the words, but once she did, it was as if some barrier had been broken down. She wanted so badly for him to fuck her. She wanted that thick, throbbing cock in her cunt, wanted to feel it impale her, wanted to be fucked hard. She made some small sound at him. Understanding, he pushed two fingers inside her.

"Do you want my cock, bitch?"

She nodded, and he moved the hand on her back up to her hair, now in disarray over her shoulders, wrapping his hand in it again, in that painfully erotic grip.

"Say it. Beg me for it. Beg me to fuck you with my cock." His fingers were working slowly in and out of her cunt now. She swallowed, thinking for a moment what a sight she must be, her hair a wreck, her gown pulled up, naked from the waist down. He pulled his fingers out of her and she moaned entreatingly. He slapped her ass harder.

"Don't make me tell you again"

She raked her teeth over her lower lip, and said, in a faint voice, "Oh please... please... I... won't you... please fuck me?"

She was appalled to hear herself use that word. He, however, was without mercy.

"Be more graphic. Fuck you where? With what?"

She closed her eyes for a long moment, and opened them again at as he moved behind her. She could feel his cockhead brushing against the inside of her thigh. She could feel a new wetness where his cock was dribbling precum. He took rubbed his cockhead against her lips.

"Oh please... please... please fuck my cunt with your cock!"

"Louder," he said. "And with respect, bitch." His fingertips brushed against her clit. "Please... oh please, Sir, please fuck my cunt with your cock!," she begged him.

"You're begging me to fuck your cunt... you, a married woman, giving away her cunt to another man, begging him to fuck her. What does that make you?," he demanded.

"I... Sir... it makes me a whore," she was crying again. How was it, some small part of her wondered, that he could say these things to her, make her say such things, and yet... arouse her so? She ached so badly for his cock, she thought she would say or do anything to get herself fucked hard.

"It makes you a dirty filthy cocksucking whore," he said calmly, and plunged his cock deep into her.

She gasped with the pleasure of it, the feeling of being stretched open, wider than she had ever been, of being impaled. He worked his cock in and out of her cunt, slowly, deeply, one hand in her hair, the other on her hip.

"That feels so good," he groaned, "fucking a dirty cuntslut. Your cunt is so fucking wet... "

She moaned and lifted her hips, pushing back towards him. He shoved his cock in hard, deep. He slapped her ass again, a stinging slap, and was amused to feel her start with surprise, her cunt tightening on his shaft for a moment.

"It seems like my little pet likes being spanked... " he remarked, and slapped her ass again. "I must remember that for later... " He lay the length of his body against her, and, forcing her head back, kissed her hard, possessively. His other hand slipped around the front, finding her breasts, pinching the nipples hard through the fabric of her gown. She drew in her breath sharply at this, and then kissed him back, fiercely, wanting him to give her more. She had abandoned herself to this, and was loving every minute of it.

He straightened up, and got down to the business of fucking her. He gazed down at her, at the way her hands were braced against the chaise, admiring the way she tried to push herself back onto his cock, the way she was clearly demanding that he fuck her. She was so beautiful, his princess, his slut. He told her so.

"Whose property are you?," he asked her, working his cock in and out of her faster now.

"Yours, Sir," she moaned, panting.

"Whose cunt is this?"

"Yours, Sir"

"Good. Rub your clit with your fingers. I want you to make yourself cum on my cock."

She was past any embarrassment now, she was so aroused and wet. He was fucking her hard now, and she was so wet, her cunt was making squelchy sounds with every thrust. She moved her hand beneath her, to rub at her clitoris. Her knees went weak at that first touch. She hadn't known it could be like this... so intense...

He was growling now, telling her what a dirty whore she was, telling her he was going to punish her for being such a fucking slut, and his cock was slamming into her without mercy. She moaned again, "Oh... oh Sir... I'm... I'm close.... " "Cum for me, my princess, my little pet... cum for the man who is your Master... "

But she was already there, and she squeezed her eyes shut, crying out as an incredibly fierce orgasm ripped through her. She felt her toes curling, an incredible warmth going through her arms and legs. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought it might burst, and yet, she didn't want this to end.

"Oh... Sir... "

"You fucking slut," he ground out between clenched teeth, as her cunt tightened hard on his shaft, knowing that he was about to cum as well. He could feel his balls swell and tighten up, and he took his hand from her hair, putting both hands on her hips, and grinding his cock in deep in her tight, hot, wet passage. The cum erupted from his cock in almost painfully explosive spurts.

"Annnnngh.... Fuuuuuuck"..... he ground out the words.

She wasn't certain how much time had passed -- just that the orgasm seemed to go on almost forever, before fading into a blissful warmth. She lay limply against the chaise, with him on top her. She felt relaxed, sleepy, at peace with the world, and impossibly happy. He straightened up, pulling his spent cock out her. "Come, my pet," he said to her, simply. He moved, lying down on the chaise, and he caught her hand, tugging, pulling her down to join him.

They snuggled for a moment, arms and legs entwined, her skirts tangled about them both. Gazing into her eyes, he kissed her. It was a long, slow, leisurely kiss, the sort of kiss that you give a lover when you have successfully shut out the world for a blissfully long afternoon. As they kissed, she could feel his cum dribbling out of her cunt, down the insides of her thighs, onto her gown, and his trousers. She finally drew back, and looked searchingly at his face. He smiled at her, and there he was, again, that soldier-prince that she remembered. And loved.

And yet... she found herself longing to see more of this stern and forbidding man.

"Master," she said, simply.