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Here Comes Santa Claus... (C) Copyright, Ropespierrot 2001 The bright moon illumines the room through the windows, and outlines your body under the covers. I quietly crawl on my hands and knees across the carpeting to your bed. I softly place my hand over your mouth and whisper into your ear, “time to get up.” You moan softly and try to turn your head away. When you realize you can’t move it, you open your eyes and give a start, then you relax and coo into my palm. I smile and announce that Santa has been here and that you should come out and see your presents. I release your mouth, stand up and roll back the covers so you can arise. Your negligee is bright red, in honor of the season I presume. Your smile is radiant as I take your hand and lead you into the living room and the Christmas tree in the corner. The only light in the room comes from those on the tree and their reflections off the tinsel. There are several presents lying beneath the tree but I can see your eyes move to the neat stack of boxes on the right. The bottom one is about a foot square and three inches high; it is wrapped in silver paper. The box above it is taller, about four inches high and eight inches square; that one is wrapped in tan paper. Lying atop the tan package is something in blue, less than two inches high but round. Just above that is a box about one inch high and three inches square covered in black. And on the very top is a bright, red, two-inch cube. And lying alongside the stack is a long, thin carton done up in green paper. You know I brought them and you stare at the six surprises wondering what they hold. “Those are your presents,” I say, indicating the stack. “Do you want to open them?” You smile sweetly and ask me to do the honor for you. I suspect you are too nervous to try to unwrap them yourself. I place the bright red cube to the side and pick up the next gift, the one wrapped in black. I undo the bow, tear off the paper, and take the top off the box within. It is worth everything just to watch the excitement in your eyes when they see the gleaming metal circles resting on the tissue paper. “Wooooo! Hoooo! Handcuffs! Oh thank you, Sir. They’re beautiful,” you croon. “May I try them on?” “Of course you may. They’re yours.” You put your wrists behind your back and start to turnaround, but I chuckle and take hold of your wrist. I tug it gently and wait until you are facing me again. Your eyes show your confusion until I hold that wrist at your hip level and reach for your other one. You understand me now, and you hold both wrists in front of you while I snap the cuffs around them and adjust the second locks so they can’t close any tighter on you. I pretend to swallow the key and you give a nervous laugh while testing the cuffs. I rip the paper off the blue package and unroll the contents. It’s a leather belt, which I insert between your upper arms and your body and buckle tightly. With your elbows lashed behind you and your wrists locked in front of you, your movements are sufficiently restricted so I can proceed. I pick up the red cube and undo the wrapping very carefully; no room for mistakes here. The box itself contains a bright, red tree ornament maybe two-inches in diameter. I pull down on your chin and carefully insert the bulb into your mouth. “Treat that very carefully”, I warn you, “that’s an heirloom.” Your eyes stare down towards your mouth and you slowly nod your head in understanding. Now that you are properly restrained, you appear to relax as if this is how you prefer to be. You move your eyes over to look at the next gift on the stack, the one wrapped in tan paper. There is a large, yellow bow on the side of the package. I take it off and lay it on the top of your head but it won’t stay. I can distinguish a giggle from behind the ball in your mouth as the bow slides off you. I unwrap the tan paper and open the carton, which I hold at head level. You rise upon your tiptoes to get a peek, but I lift the box higher as you do and you are so intent that you instinctively try to raise your manacled hands to grab the box. A sharp look from me causes you to lower your eyes and hands instantly. Now that you have been reminded of your place, I hold the carton lower so you can see the contents. Your eyes widen and your mouth drops, but not enough to release the ball. I grasp the solid leather contents and let the carton and tissue fall to the floor. You immediately stand tall and proud so I can wrap the three-inch collar around your neck and buckle it in the front. You crane your head in all directions testing your new limits but the collar fits you perfectly; your head will be held erect at all times. Your glistening eyes and stifled “mmmphh”sounds tell me of your delight. Your chest starts to heave with joy and excitement, but I settle you down by pressing my hand on your shoulder. When you are breathing normally again, I ask if we should soon. You move your head up and down in assent, and I reach for the box done up in silver. I undo the silver cord and carefully place it on the floor before I start to undo the paper. This box is heavier than the others and I wonder if you have figured out what is inside. Apparently you haven’t because your delight is apparent when I lift the cover and show you the long, silver chain coiled inside, with an assortment of silver locks nestled in the center. You raise your eyes to me in anticipation and I respond by using one of the locks to hook an end of the chain to the D-ring on the front of your collar. I pick up the rest of the chain in one hand and the long, thin package wrapped in green paper in my other and I start to lead you back to the bedroom. “Oomph, oomph, oomph.” I pause and turn around to see what you are trying to tell me. Feebly signaling with your eyes, fingers, and whole body, it takes me a minute to figure out that you want to go back to the tree. I let out the chain so you can walk back, and you walk up to a long, cylindrical package wrapped in Santa Claus paper. You tap it with your foot and stare at me. When I walk over to examine it, I see that it’s addressed to me. “Why you little dickens, you.” I lay the chain and the green package on the floor and pickup the package. I take off the card and paper and find a plain, brown, cardboard cylinder closed at both ends. I open one end and smell the unmistakable aroma of leather. I tip the box slightly and a single-tail whip slides out. “What a beauty!” I say. “Wow! So flexible too! You shouldn’t have…! Thank you!” You mumble something indistinct, demurely shifting your eyes in embarrassment. I put the whip and the green package under my
arm, pick up the chain, and lead you to the bedroom, where I lay the whip
and package on the bed and back your body up to the bedpost. The chain is made of aluminum and the links are only ¾
inch long, all of which makes it easy to manipulate. I haven’t closed the lock hooking the link to your collar
because there’s no way you can reach it with your hands. You’re drooling now because you’re afraid of crushing
that “heirloom” in your mouth. The drool flows onto your negligee and into your cleavage and then spreading over
onto your breasts. I take the free end of the chain and push it through
the space between your arm and body, wrap it around the arm, and push it
through the gap again. This is not an easy job to do because there’s 15 feet of chain to move. When all the chain has
gone through the gap, I reach behind you and draw the chain behind the bedpost
and around your body to your other arm where it goes through the gap and
around that arm and through the gap again so it is now in front of you. I now draw the chain across your chest
and between the gap on your other side, and so on until I have wrapped two
strands of chain above your breasts and two strands below them. There are enough links remaining so I
can hook the loose end to the D-ring on your collar. I loosen the belt holding
your elbows a little to give you some relief. Now I take the green package, open it, and remove a
long, shiny, metal cylinder with pieces of leather at each end. Kneeling before you, I force your
feet apart. You seem reluctant to accommodate me, so I stop forcing you and pick
up the cylinder. I attach the leather cuff at one end to your ankle and, using the cylinder as a tool, I push your
ankle farther away. There is no resistance now, and when you feet are far enough apart, I strap the other end of
the spreader bar to your other ankle. As I am doing so, I feel something damp
on the back of my head. I look up to see you pull your head and upper torso back up straight. Drool on me, will you? You may not deserve what is coming. Kneeling directly in front of you, I lift up the hem of
your negligee and put my head underneath it. I inhale your delicious fragrances,
and then nuzzle the back of your knee with my nose. I blow warm air onto
the insides of your thighs and follow that with soft kisses starting at your
knee and working my way up to where the fragrance is strongest. When I finish with that knee I start on
your other one. I draw traces on your soft skin with the tip of my tongue. I
sense your quivers. I hear your moans. I press the bridge of my nose up against your vagina and feel your
muscles contract. I lift my chin until my mouth faces your sanctum and gently move
my tongue up and down over your fissure until you surrender. My tongue insinuates itself between
your lips and forces its way into your chamber. Everything opens for me now and I can kiss the dew off your
butterfly-wings. You tremble, and your chamber fills with an intoxicating aroma. I
press on with my tongue until I reach your treasure, which I carefully unwrap
and investigate. Poking here, licking there, I soon know all about the
most intimate part of you. I slowly lick your clitoris from the bottom up to
the tip, and then move my tongue around so I can repeat the exercise from a
fresh angle. I push in closer so I can take your clitoris in my mouth. I suck on
it and kiss it, and then I gently put it between my teeth and nibble. Your
moans turn to gurgles and I am thinking I had better see to your gag, when I
feel something small but solid hit the small of my back, and I hear you gasp,
“I’m sorry, Sir, but I let the ball drop.” I won’t let something like that interfere with my work,
and I continue nibbling. Suddenly, you spasm and pull yourself free from my grip. Your whole body shakes and it is
all I can do to keep licking while I hold onto your thighs for support. You cry
out and then hoarsely whisper, “No more. No more. Please?” I remove my head from beneath your nightie and stand up. You are shivering as I unhook
your chains. When you are free I embrace you closely and massage your back. You hold me tight and manage to
stammer, “Th-th-thank you, Sir.” I reply, “Merry Christmas, blossom.” n |