A Christmas Miracle

Author's note: I know this story hinges on a pun that's visible from space, but I couldn't resist. Forgive me, and try to enjoy anyway.

*

A strange thing took place that Christmas as Joy's eyes slowly opened in the dead of night. She wasn't sure if it was Christmas Eve still or actually Christmas; a glance at the clock on the night stand told her it was midnight, so she really still wasn't sure which. It didn't matter, she supposed. With the subtlety of a mouse, she slunk out of the hotel's firm king size bed, careful not to wake the strange man snoring drunkenly in it, and began searching the room for her gown and other accoutrement from the previous evening's company Christmas party.

(This was not the strange thing. Joy's husband may be a vice president at the bank, but he was always too focused on networking at his little soires to keep tabs on where his wife wandered off to, or whom she wandered off with. Not that he had any use for her himself.)

As she helped herself to the cash from her erstwhile lover's wallet, Joy learned from his driver's license that this man she'd slept with had been Saul Kovac, one of the other VPs. He had probably told her earlier, but who could listen. Still, Saul Kovacs -- this was good; she'd had to listen to her husband drone on about his contempt for the man more than a few times when she made the mistake of asking about his day. She was perfectly happy to take advantage of her husband's money, but she could care less about his petty troubles. She was a trophy wife, after all, and to a closeted gay husband at that. She tucked the cash into her purse.

(This too, was not strange; she had a boring, easy life and one of her few little joys came from petty thieving. Snatching a a bracelet here, a blouse there; presently, grifting $468 from a surprisingly fit 40-something VP of one of the largest banks in the east coast.)

Joy dressed thoroughly and took her time to make everything just so. This was odd under the circumstances but perhaps not truly "strange," as it was her habit to present her best side on any public occasion. Her hair wasn't in the glorious array it had been at last night's party, but it was still elegant enough to pass muster, cascading in softly curled waves of golden blonde tresses just past her shoulder blades. She spent a good while tidying up her makeup, reapplying lipstick and blush to her collagen-enhanced lips and cheekbones, then turned her attention to her wardrobe.

She began with her gown. It had cost her -- or, well, cost her husband -- thirty-some thousand dollars, and while he likely wouldn't agree, she thought it was worth every penny. It was a daringly brilliant scarlet, with silver and gold threading at the waist and along her decolletage to accentuate her stunning body. It was form-fitting around the hips and showed every curve and dimple in her butt (necessitating she wear it sans underwear, but dear old Saul hadn't seemed to mind that). The fit bowed out around the chest such that it did nothing to support or rein in her breasts (indeed, it barely even touched them, tantalizing all with half-glimpses) -- that was the job of her plastic surgeon, after all, who'd taken her naturally magnificent breasts and turned them into perfect hemispherical gravity-defying works of art. They'd cost less than either one of her white-gold pink-diamond earrings, and not even half her ruby-studded necklace.

All this was more or less normal as well.

No, what was strange was that after she slipped out of the hotel room and donned her designer heels, she realized she had no idea where she was going, but her feet seemed to be quite sure. Curious and a bit nervous, she made her way out through the lobby, down the sidewalk, and on into the city, nearly alone on the brisk Christmas night.

Cole was surprised to hear his doorbell ring at any occasion, but on a holiday, it was doubly unexpected, especially now in the middle of the night. He had no family to speak of -- his parents had passed, and his sister seldom made it back to the states. Neither did he have a girlfriend, mostly for lack of time and money.

Not that Cole was unhappy -- he had a fulfilling life and a job he loved working at a prestigious Manhattan bank. He didn't love the bank -- there was a constant struggle to reconcile his working there with his own humanist values -- but as Director of Philanthropic Outreach, it positioned him to funnel some of that ocean of money towards genuinely worthy causes. It certainly hadn't been the sort of company he'd envisioned working for as a young man, but he'd been surprised at his success at changing the office's culture to give him as much freedom and budgetary discretion as possible.

It was hard work, but he got to make a difference in the world. Right now, all across the region and even in far-flung parts of the world, people were having Christmases with a little more food for hungry mouths, a few more toys for children who'd otherwise have none, a few more treatments for the sick. As always, Cole himself was spending Christmas alone, but he had those thoughts for company, and so the loneliness was less lonely.

The doorbell rang again, shaking him from his efforts to drift back to sleep. He forced himself to his feet and donned his robe sluggishly, dog tired after the company Christmas party. Cole was never one for high society socializing, but he'd nonetheless needed to be there to gladhand the board members and VIPs, remind them of how their donations and budget allowances were doing good works. He'd come up short of his fund-raising goal again this year thanks to those heartless rich pricks. Even after nearly twenty years at the bank he still had to reintroduce himself every time.

To be fair, he was fairly forgettable, he supposed. He was neither enticingly handsome nor memorably ugly, neither short nor tall, his dark hair cut in the standard way, his belly a bit bigger than it used to be but he didn't think he was yet "fat." He hoped. He was a thousand people one walked by every day without noticing.

The woman on the other side of the door, however, was anything but.

"Um, hello?" Cole hadn't meant it to sound a question, but to be confronted with the sight of his boss's boss's boss's wife dressed in the same jaw-droppingly alluring attire she'd worn to the party last night was something he'd not expected. (He'd been betting on a prank, or maybe some poor over-worked delivery man making a last-ditch effort to deliver a gift on time.)

"Um, hello," she responded. Not a question, but she sounded no less certain as to what was happening than he felt.

"It's Mrs. Donner, right?" He didn't need to ask. She was legendary, after all. Some said she was the best thing about going to the company parties, a rumor she knew her indiscretions with myriad bank employees encouraged. It never hurt to be popular; sometimes a favor was even better than money.

"Joy," she said simply, peering around into his home curiously. The respect of "Mrs. Donner" was nice, but she didn't like to be named for her limpdicked husband. Cole puzzled at how the gaze of a beautiful woman of means could so handily shrink his contentment with his modest living arrangement. Which was her intention.

"Joy, of course. I'm Cole. Or... maybe you knew. I work at the bank, with your husband," he prompted.

"For my husband," she corrected. "Now are you going to invite me in or shall I just freeze here on the doorstep?" she asked at last, her voice even frostier than the chill night air.

"Oh! Of course, please," he said, standing aside. She came in and shut the door; he supposed that in that dress of hers with not even a coat for warmth, she must be cold indeed.

"Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing to his shabby old couch. And she did, most promptly. *That was odd*, she thought, *even odder than coming over here.* It felt... good to be sitting. Not that it made her happy, just... it was like scratching an itch.

She crossed her legs, and the dress, which had looked like it covered her nearly to the ankle, revealed a subtle cut that went so far up her thigh that it revealed her smooth thigh nearly to the hip. He made himself not stare just a tad too late for her not to notice.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"No," she said, looking around still curiously, nervously. "No, I'm... fine."

He arched an eyebrow. "Do you mind telling me what you're doing here, then?"

"I... well, I'm actually not exactly sure." Her lips twisted downward slightly.

This gave Cole pause. Such an odd thing to say, certainly, yet whatever was going on he could hardly afford to risk offending the wife of one of the bank's most influential executives. "Um... can I interest you in a bite to eat? I don't have much, but I can scrounge up something, I'm sure."

She made a face that subtly expressed her lack of interest in any food to be found in such environs. "Please, don't go to any trouble on my account."

"Have a cup of coffee, at least," he pressed, eager for any excuse to even temporarily escape the uncomfortable situation unfolding.

She opened her mouth to refuse, but heard a polite "yes, that would be good" pass her lips instead. Cole excused himself to the kitchen to put on a pot. The distraction wasn't good for much, though -- it only took a few moments, and standing alone watching coffee brew was even more awkward than sitting with the bejeweled beauty in the next room.

Nervously, he returned. There was no use trying to make small talk; the elephant in the room was simply too large to be spoken around. Nodding to her attire (while carefully keeping his eyes from the literal booby trap of her neckline), Cole mentioned as casually as he could, "I see you're still dressed up from the party last night. Great party, that. Just great."

"Mm" was her only reply. She felt the awkwardness every bit as keenly as did he, perhaps more so in her get-up, but she still didn't desire to lower herself to making chit-chat with this nobody.

He cleared his pile of junk mail off his seldom-used arm chair and seated himself, careful to situate his robe to preserve modesty. "So, did you have fun this year? I thought the food was excellent."

She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Look, Cliff..."

"Cole."

"Sure, Cole. I don't mean to be rude, but it's very late and I am simply not interested in making conversation with a man who, from the looks of this place, doesn't earn enough in a month to afford my shoes." This was true. Her heels were hand-designed by one of New York's finest, and had cost nearly $22,000.

Cole frowned. Boss's boss's boss's wife or no, it was the middle of the night, on his holiday weekend, in his living room. "Well, stopping by unannounced and at such an hour, you should at least be polite," he said curtly.

She considered, then nodded. It felt good to agree. Felt right. "You're right, of course Cole. Shall I call you Cole, or Mister....?"

"Cole is fine, Joy."

She smiled. It neither felt nor looked sincere, but it was at least a clear effort of courtesy. "Cole, then. I apologize for speaking so rudely. I am grateful to you for your hospitality, letting me in at such an hour. You're a very kind man."

*Well that was a sudden shift*, Cole thought. "Oh, well, it was, um, my pleasure. Hmm, I think the coffee's about done, if you'll excuse me."

The coffee wasn't done, but he slipped out the side door from the kitchen and into his bathroom to straighten his hair, given his teeth a few quick brushes and otherwise freshen up before skulking back to get mugs and pour. He solicited her preferences on cream and sugar, then brought her the mug.

Both were keenly aware of how ridiculous this all was, the buxom socialite sipping coffee from an "I <3 weekends" mug in her evening gown in his living room. "This is a most excellent blend," she commented after a sip.

"Oh, be honest," he replied modestly. "It's about the cheapest thing in the store. It's only good for getting caffeine in the body without having to inject the stuff."

"Well, I'd actually been thinking it was disgusting but I didn't want to offend you," she replied, eyes widening at her own sudden candor. "Some poor people seem to be proud of the most inordinately loathesome things, I've noted." Finally finished, she clapped a hand over her mouth to halt herself.

He just stared, his own mug forgotten. "I don't mean to give offense, but... are you taking drugs?"

Joy's hand and its immaculately manicured nails lowered immediately so she could respond, again with total honesty. "Not at the moment, though I have quite a stash at home." Horror at the realization of what was happening warred internally with puzzlement over how it could be. Simultaneously on a second front, a battle raged over just how *right* it felt to be complying.

"What's going on then? I'm sorry to be so direct, but this is all very strange and I must insist."

"Well, I'm not sure what's causing it, but I slept with Saul Kovac, and when I got finished I just got dressed and walked over here without knowing why. Now, I seem to be obeying your every spoken command." She blushed, her skin complementing her scarlet dress.

He gave a long stare. "I haven't 'commanded' you to do anything."

She shook her head. "Begging pardon, but you did. You told me to sit down, have some coffee, be polite, and be honest. Believe me when I say I had no desire to do any of those things, but I find myself powerless to resist. Though I confess the last two seem to be somewhat at odds with each other, so do let me know if you'd rather I'd err on one side or the other." Her breathing quickened; this was frightening enough that she was nearing the point of hyperventilation.

Seeing her state, he came over and spoke in a soothing tone. "Calm down, Joy. Take deep breaths."

And as he said it, her breathing became regular in just a few moments. She smiled again -- to be congenial -- and waved away his concern. "I am sorry about that. I don't know why I was so worked up." So she was under the control of this loathsome serf -- nothing to get in a tizzy over.

As he sat back down across the room, Cole began to process what she'd said about her reaction to his incidental comments, and her response to his simple attempts to stop her from having a panic attack. "This must be some kind of prank," he said, peering about at the windows to look for a camera person. The curtains were all drawn.

"It isn't. I wish it were, but everything I'm telling you is true."

"Prove it," he said challengingly.

She arched a perfectly tweezed and defined eyebrow. "How shall I do that? You've only my word to go on, and while so far my behavior has been in keeping with your requests, none of it is exactly proof. Perhaps if you ordered me to do something I certainly wouldn't do?"

All manner of torrid thoughts flooded into his head, but he wouldn't risk his career telling Mr. Donner's wife to do them unless he was good and sure this was for real. Which it couldn't be, of course. Could it? He sipped his coffee as he struggled to hatch a plan. "Tell me some things about yourself you've never been willing to tell anyone else," he said at last.

She thought for a long moment, wondering also if she was consuming his vile brew because he'd told her to have some coffee, or because he'd told her to be polite. "All right then. When I was in prep school I started a rumor that the girl who thought she was my best friend had HIV from having anal sex with a male prostitute, just so her boyfriend would break up with her and she wouldn't be able to wear the dress I'd wanted to wear to Lindsay Kaiser's debutante ball."

He tried to conceal a horrified look as she went on. "My husband is gay. I married him to help him hide it from the board of directors because he knows several of them are homophobic, and I've arranged for photos to be leaked of him sleeping with his assistant Hunter if he ever tries to divorce me, so I can do whatever I want with his money and he can't say peep.

"Oh! When I was seven years old, I peed myself on a school field trip and had to spill my lunch on my lap to have an excuse to change. Let's see, what else..." She openly winced in remorse at having had to admit such things. Still, on another, paradoxical level it felt good to be saying them.

"Please, please that's enough," he said, rather disgusted. Not so much at the last bit -- that was humiliating to admit, he was sure, but not damning like the rest of it. "You're... a really mean person."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she replied, then the need to be totally honest caught up with her. "Not because I care about your opinion of me, but being completely under your control, I'm afraid you'll punish me. I hope that's not impolite to say."

"Ugh, nevermind the politeness," he said, tired of the hollow courtesy of this serpent-turned-woman.

"Good. Now let me go, you little toad, or as soon as I get out of here I'll have my husband fire you. And I know other people who could do things to make your pathetic life even more unpleasant than it must already be."

"Well, that command certainly worked," Cole grumbled to himself. "So if I let you go, you'd just forget this all happened?"

Polite or not, she still knew she had to be completely truthful. "Of course not. I'm going to do those things regardless."

He frowned. "Well that doesn't leave me much incentive to help you, now does it?"

"I don't have a fully formed plan yet, but I'm sure it will be worse for you the more you drag this out," she reasoned aloud.

"Hmm. Well then, if you really are under my control, tell me -- what would *you* do if you were in my shoes?"

She stroked her chin (which was also perfect, though naturally, not surgically) in pensive thought. "Well, if I were a lonely paunchy peasant like yourself, and I had the opportunity to do anything at all with a ravishing woman of means like me, I would take full advantage. Act out my every fantasy. If she were as rude to me as I'm being to you, I would punish her for it, find her weak points and target them. Then I'd take her for all she was worth. And I'd get as much of it on camera as possible to hold over her head as blackmail, so if she ever got free I could make sure she could never get revenge on me." Damn but it felt good to say all that, even as stupid and self-destructive as it was.

"Good Lord, you're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Hey, you asked." She shrugged.

"Well fine. Let's at least start on that last -- I'd rather not be fired." He got out his camera phone and began recording, setting it in the corner of the room. He had her state for the record that everything she was doing was of her own free will, then had her repeat all the embarrassing confessions again on the record. He put the phone away when she finished.

She was bright red by that point, breathing a little fast. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm just... well, I'm a little aroused I think," she said, flushing.

"Aroused?"

She glared. "Yes. Obeying your commands seems to trigger it. It just... I don't know. It feels good. Even if it feels wrong, too."

"Any command? Like if I say... Joy, touch your nose."

She did, immediately. "Yes," she said. "Just a little flutter, but yes."

"Hmm. I wonder if I can just tell you to be really aroused and skip all that," he mused.

"Well how in the fuck should I know? This is my first time as someone's mind-controlled plaything," she shot back.

"Fair enough. Joy, you are incredibly aroused. More than you've ever been before." He watched her for signs of a reaction. He wasn't sure what to look for, but there was nothing immediate. Maybe she was breathing a little faster, but that was it. "Well?"

She grit her teeth. "I'm insanely horny. My pussy is starting to get so wet it's going to ruin my dress if I don't do something about it soon. As soon as you said it, I felt my nipples harden like little diamonds. My heart is racing."