A Gift from Santa

Tormenting the already pinched flesh, he applied one nipple clamp and waited for her to recover before applying the second. These would not be in place long, just enough for Debs to appreciate the sensation which he'd exacerbate by connecting a chain between the two padded pieces.

She reacted in the way he expected, gasping, moaning, jerking, to begin with, an attempt to escape the initial pain. "It will be worse when they are removed, I assure you, but at that point, you won't mind so much." His voice delivered these words close to Debs' ear while removing the warm hand from the back of her neck, having placed it there to avoid her bucking uncontrollably.

Eventually, Debs would calm, breathing heavily, but no more erratically than before; the sensory deprivation, disorientating, yet arousing at the same time, afforded her the ability to submit, having had all control removed.

Every time she moved, myriad sensations assaulted her; clamps pinching both nipples tightly leaving the nubs to pulsate as though with their own individual heartbeat; plug feeling alien yet snug, maintaining that stuffed full sensation; gag, preventing speech, did not thwart noises on the whole and allowed a constant stream of drool around the ball's surface; blindfold ensured she remained in total darkness, not a single chink of light was visible around it; cuffs ensured partial immobility of both which rested against her back; all in all, was she able to see herself from another perspective, she might have found the entire scene highly erotic.

The red-clad man circled Debs, not for any reason other than to disorientate her further. He was enjoying himself, crimson trousers tented, his upper body now bared, having removed the luxurious velvet, ermine-lined jacket. His hat too was gone, snow-white beard, quivered as he spoke: "You'll love this next part pet, probably more than I will."

Debs could hear, of course, likely more than normal given her deprived sight but could not determine his meaning or intent; a small questioning grunt could be heard past the gag but little else.

Santa, holding a small opened bottle in one hand reached down to seal closed Debs; nostrils with the other; he'd not need to do this for more than a few seconds for it would trigger a deep inhalation and at this point, the opened bottle would be placed just above her upper lip ensuring she breathed in the misty contents evaporating from within.

Debs began to buck, experiencing an instant euphoric high, and Santa, who was poised just behind her, at this moment, withdrew his erect cock and plunged into her hot wet sex.

Santa, the proverbial beast let loose, his hips thrusting like a well-oiled piston. Debs' channel felt tight, even more so thanks to the plug that still filled her back passage. He'd discarded the bottle near to him but likely would not need it for the moment and certainly not for himself, no, he intended on savouring, soberly, every single sensation of this luscious creature.

Fingers bit into her plump thighs, held on tight as he increased his furious pumping, in, out, in, out, his countenance fixed in concentration and focus, darkening in colour and moist with beaded sweat.

Debs, on feeling her nostrils closed, had of course, panicked, the gag didn't allow enough air past it to fill her lungs and in her current state could not have focused enough on even attempting it anyway. When he released his pinching hold, she sharply inhaled and found herself experiencing something she'd never, in her life endured. Lightheaded, euphoric, her nipples and genitals suddenly felt three times as large and ten times as stimulated.

Driven toward a climactic high that lowered her inhibitions to the point that she craved, ached for something more, that edge, that precipice, that orgasm; coherent thought not possible, primal, lust-filled noises emanated from the back of her throat, so when Santa penetrated balls deep into her waiting hole and began to move, Debs found herself overwhelmed by one of the most profound, bone-shaking, muscle seizing orgasms she'd ever had.

The slap, slap, slapping of flesh on flesh rent the air, punctuating every thrust; Debs, jolted, jerked and rocked back and forth throughout her climax, drawing it out, elongating it to the point it would seem never-ending. Santa had released her hips and leaned in, grunting with the effort it took to increase his vicious pelvic assault, weight pressed to Debs' back briefly before pinching closed her nostrils once more.

Incoherency a given, she'd inhale in much the same way she did before and, as then, he'd pressed the odd-smelling vapour just to the top of her lip, and into her lungs it went, sending her up to that wild dizzying high.

Bottle discarded, Santa plucked the clamps from her nipples allowing the blood to return to those tortured nubs; combined pleasure and pain evoked a strangled groan, a slew of drool and tears that ran down her cheeks, saturating the blindfold and the chair seat. A second orgasm, that is, if the first one had ever truly ended, drove the poor woman near insane.

Much later, when looking back and reliving every detail she could recall, it would occur to her that pain had given pleasure, pleasure had given pain and that if asked, she'd not be able to determine which was which then.

Strain contorted Santa's features. Far removed from the placid jovial character on first meeting, in his place remained a hardened focused individual hell-bent on carnal pleasures. Debs' orgasm had tightened her internal muscles vice-like around his now very slick cock. Cream accumulated at its base creating a frothy milky substance surrounding the girth and leaving the rest of his pumping length glistening; with his head thrown back, he roared, his climax tightening the swinging cum filled sac that had battered back and forth during their frenzied rutting.

Abruptly ceasing all movement, hips poised, sealed to the backs of Debs' thighs, Santa's pulsating rod spewed forth, spurting warm ejaculate, lining her abused channel to dribble down her cleft and inner legs. One or two more jerking, jolting thrusts and he was spent, enjoying the fluttering muscular reaction of Debs' peak that seemed to milk him of every last drop.

Eventually, Santa would need to move and, with great care, withdrew his dripping appendage from Debs' still leaking cleft and walked around her prone figure, draped bonelessly over his throne's padded arm. One hand pressed to her back, never once leaving her without human contact, the other was busy retrieving what he'd need from a concealed drawer within the throne's base.

Debs, in her stupor, vaguely heard Santa moving but at that moment and for some time to come wouldn't care a jot. Pleasantly exhausted, sore, tender yet deliciously so, she remained quite still save for the rise and fall of her chest with every breath taken.

Santa, clearly a man of preparation, held a warm flannel cloth soaked with water, proceeded to wipe down over Debs' back, inner thighs and around her sex gently. Not a single word was spoken, though he cooed softly while tugging the plug free of its confines and tended to the gaping hole that slowly winked closed.

Once assured of her cleanliness, Santa retrieved Debs' panties and guided them back up over her thighs and bottom to sit snug in place. The skirt, which he'd need to wiggle somewhat, was zipped, buttoned and secured, a little creased but in no need of repair, less easily.

Finally, her sweater drawn down, both hands smoothed over the garments, not just to neaten them but for reassurance, an unbroken, comforting touch, he rubbed her back in a circular motion, slow steady and rhythmic not yet speaking.

When Santa's voice, close to Debs' right ear, spoke softly, the whispering breath washed over its shell, impelled by each word, she leaned her head toward it. "When the gag is removed, along with the blindfold, say nothing, keep your eyes closed. Remain still. These will stay in place until last." his hand rested upon the fur-lined cuffs, drawing attention to the ache in both arms that she'd not been fully aware of up until that moment.

Nodding to show she understood and would comply, Debs took a long, deep, cleansing breath then waited as Santa first took away the blindfold; tempted though she was, her eyes remained tightly closed. Anticipating the gag next, her tongue curled then flattened against the slick rubber ball; a small tugging while Santa unbuckled the straps then, free.

Dropping her head forward, to push her face against the drier parts of the cushion surface, she wiped away the residual drool and massaged each cheek and jaw while uttering a soft groan, swallowing, washing her tongue freely around the inside of her mouth, luxuriating at the simple, taken for granted, ability.

Debs stilled, recollecting his simple instructions and blushed, having not entirely heeded them. A warm, firm hand scraped across her newly covered bottom, evoking a soft whimper. The flesh, still tender, flared at the touch; a wordless warning not to disobey him again.

Finally, both cuffs were unlocked and removed, Santa's skilled fingers set to work, not only massaging the area around each wrist with care but up each forearm, both upper arms and finally Debs' shoulders. A light manipulation of musculature easing any remaining tension that had built.

Emitting a small series of groans during this process, she sighed when it stopped, mourning the loss of contact and familiarity. Fingers combed through the ponytail until it too was freed of its confines, long tresses smoothed out down over her back where she still lay, bent over the throne's arm just as she had been from the beginning of this incredible experience.

Not daring to peek, Debs listened as Santa moved around her slowly, rustling, the crackling of paper, a shift of material and other such sounds could be heard, some recognisable as perhaps a person dressing, others may be of bags or boxes being shifted or packed.

After what felt like several minutes, Santa once more approached the prone figure he'd delighted in and taken pleasure from, again stroking a large palm across her generous buttocks, up to the back of her neck to settle there, leaning in to speak.

"I am leaving by way of the back stairs; the door is behind this throne, covered by curtains. Wait to the count of one hundred then you too can do the same. The store is long closed, but I have left the door ajar so as not to set off the alarm, once it is shut and latched do not try to re-open it. The rest of your things are next to you; your gifts are re-boxed and in a separate bag. I hope, sincerely, this is an experience you will not forget, and if you should choose to repeat it, along with your gifts, I have included my card."

Gathering Debs' hair into a loose fist, Santa pressed a kiss to the back of her neck then bit down lightly, a proprietary act to be sure, leaving in its wake a small mark that would pervade for hours to come and serve as a reminder, not that it was needed. On standing, straightening, looking down at his handy work, he'd grin broadly and leave, just as he said he would.

Debs counted to one hundred, having waited for the door to close behind Santa first, even then it took several more moments for her to open both eyes. Just as he'd promised, her things neatly waited next to the throne.

Festive lights sparkled and illuminated the room in an ethereal glow, giving Debs an otherworldly feeling, almost as though she'd dreamed, what would turn out to be, two hours of her life.

Gathering up her belongings, straightening clothing and wincing with each step taken as fabric abraded her sore bottom, sodden panties clung to tender nether lips and even her nipples seemed to protest the touch of fine wool, Debs made her way through the door, down the stairs and out into the night, allowing the outer door to lock behind with a soft 'rasp' of metal on metal.

Later, at home, in the safety of her bedroom, Debs would sort through everything she'd brought back with her. Having tipped out the 'goody' bag that Santa had bestowed, she found the gifts he'd used, cleaned as new, and more besides, along with the promised card; cream, inlaid with scarlet, embossed with gold it simply illustrated the letters S.C., a mobile telephone number and a circular symbol she'd not seen before but looked vaguely familiar.

An internet search proved fruitful. The symbol, a Triskele, the article explained, denoted the BDSM lifestyle. It prompted questions though, further research as to what the BDSM lifestyle was, which naturally led to articles regarding play, safe sane and consensual, kinks and fetishes.

Debs, having learned much, understood there was a great deal more to know but for now, had all she needed to decide that yes, she'd use Santa's card in the future.

For the time being, away went her precious toys into a drawer that hopefully would not be discovered by anyone else at least until she was ready.

The next day, Debs returned to the department store, earlier this time, driven by curiosity and a pervading ache that just wouldn't quit. Having been given a taste, finding she had an appetite, it was only a matter of time before Debs took another bite.

Emerging from the glittering tunnel into the Grotto proper, her smile froze, a different Santa sat on the ornate throne. A glance told her that without a doubt it was the same beautifully made costume, but the man wearing it most certainly was not the same man who'd worn it the night before. This Santa was quite different; fake beard, dark brown eyes, a tell-tale sign of darker hair peeking out from beneath the ermine-lined hat and lacking the presence his predecessor owned. Without thought, Debs blurted "Where's the other Santa?"

"Other Santa? I am the only Santa; I'm the real deal." The voice too, so different, not feminine yet lacking the deeper sonorous tones the 'original' possessed, sounded nasal and irritating. Debs bristled and sighed, clearly frustrated and confused as the fake Santa continued. "This, young lady, is my job and has been for weeks, now, if you'd like to come perch on my knee, you can tell me what you'd like for Christmas." His lurid, lewd, waggling eyebrows and general expression evoked a scoff of disgust, and without a second glance, Debs turned on her heel leaving.

A short conversation with a nearby store assistant, without telling her every detail of the night before, gave her all the information she needed. This Santa had been employed since the beginning of the month, the man the night before, an imposter.

The assistant reassured Debs that the man, currently sitting on his throne, garbed in red, was the genuine article, having been vetted and verified, would be perfectly courteous and be delighted to have Debs sit on his lap. Declining, and a little miffed, Debs returned home.

Once again, in the safety of her bedroom, she debated what to do next. Not taking long to resolve her dilemma, she retrieved the card bearing 'her' Santa's initials and tapped in the number using her smart phone's keypad.

A few seconds later, a familiar voice said, "Santa's Workshop..."