Santa with a K Read online

Then he matter-of-factly slung her over his shoulder and set off. “I’m Bert, and you are going to be our little ornament for the day.”

  His territory? None of this sounded good.

  This is a dream. Keep saying it and it will be true.

  Once their cottage appeared through the trees, she banged on the man’s chest with her fists and screamed at him to put her down.

  “Shall we restrain her, Harry?”

  “For sure, Bert.”

  Then they set her down in the snow and held her there until she stopped struggling. While she shivered, they tied her hands with a red ribbon fashioned into a bow and gagged her with the same.

  Chapter 3

  “He won’t like it if we undress her, Bert.”

  “No. No. But anything else is okay.”

  “Well, not anything, anything. We can’t fuck her with our dicks.”

  “Not her cunt, no.”

  “Not anywhere with our dicks. Not unless she escapes from Him twice.”

  “Twice, yes, I remember. We’ll just use our inventiveness, Bert.”

  “In-vent-iveness. Mmm. Let me see.”

  They’d been passing a bottle back and forth, drinking, burping, studying her predicament, and licking their lips with lecherous tongues.

  Gagged, with her hands tied with the red ribbon and hooked above her head to a low beam, Florence could only watch and hope they’d get drunk, so she could run away from these two as well.

  Where to and how to untie her hands?

  If this was a dream, it didn’t matter what she did. She’d wake eventually.

  If this was not a dream, she should worry. How to tell which when everything was peculiar?

  While she’d been sorting that out, they’d stood and come at her from opposite sides. Their fireplace was behind her, warming her back.

  Either of them could break her like a twig.

  Either of them, in her bed, handling her like they planned to, or would’ve liked to, would have blown her mind, if this were real. Not that she’d have let them within a mile of her.

  This close, Bert and Harry would’ve been impossible for her to tell apart if not for Bert’s scarred face. Heavy of jaw and nose, skin harshened by the weather or drinking too much, they were strong, rugged, and such coarse types she’d likely have laughed at the idea of them being with her.

  They made her melt at the knees, and want them between her legs, but secretly, down deep.

  A billionaire kinky playboy, armed with a whip with a diamond-encrusted handle, was more her style.

  Here, in her dream, she squirmed as they touched her, pulled down her dress, undid her bra and dropped it aside – after discussing whether it would be classed as clothes – and rolled her dress up to her waist and fastened it there. She squirmed because it seemed wrong not to protest. She wriggled and squeaked as they pinched her nipples, bit her stomach, and tongued their way over her body, leaving trails of spit.

  She burbled protests through the ribbon gag.

  Fake, she was such a liar. Even here when it mattered not at all, she couldn’t not resist. Even when the idea of them doing anything to her while she was gagged and tied was making her soak her expensive lace panties.

  They, of course, as they seemed to love to do, discussed the yeas and nays of every move.

  Shall we tongue fuck her? No.

  Bite her. Yes.

  Cum all over her dress and face? No, unless He says so, or she escapes twice.

  All the while they taunted her, almost sticking their tongues into her pussy entrance or licking across her clit while making loud, slobbery noises. It was impossible to resist the onslaught, to resist the build-up to orgasm. She barely stopped herself begging them for more. They tongued her until she came, grunting into the gag, legs shaking. Then they debated the need to make her prettier or messier or whatever. She didn’t listen. She was too busy breathing, her eyelids fluttering down because they were nevertheless sucking on her pretty tits, as they vulgarly termed them, or playing with her clit and pussy with fingers.

  Manhandling her. God, it was awesome, and she wanted to bite their balls off for daring to do what they’d done.

  Then they stopped teasing her to orgasm and tied her in ribbons as she glared at them, partly slumped. She frowned at the drool and whatever else was on the floor between her legs.

  They had enough ribbon to start a ribbon shop.

  These were Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber raised on porn, alcohol, and playing soldiers and dolls.

  They tied it about her breasts until they popped and went an alarming dark color. They wrapped it in zigzags down her body and between her legs, tsking at her over how wet she made the fabric where it ran between her cunt lips.

  They ran ribbon down her legs and draped it clumsily across her eyes.

  Then they retreated and undid their flies and admired her while wanking. The streams of cum on the floor seemed to not bother them.

  Maybe they had a cleaner. She sure hoped so.

  Funny how she thought such things in a dream.

  The woodcutter returned while they were on their third ejaculation each. Which was not possible, she’d thought, swaying in place, shifting her feet. At least the floor was warm. By then she was ecstatic to see the woodcutter slam open the door.

  He still carried that huge axe. He still daunted her, made her breath catch.

  If this were a nightmare, he might cut off her head and end it that way.

  Time to wake up, girl. This dream will be one to tell…well, no one, really.

  Eyes wide open she watched Him stride to her, huff at the mess from Bert and Harry, and avoid the slippery floor. He cut the ribbon above her with a slice of his axe.

  He hoisted her over his shoulder without bothering to undo any of it.

  “Good,” he grunted at the soldiers, as he passed them.

  On the way back, the ribbon undid and unfurled, falling to the snow behind them, the red on white in startling contrast. His axe trailed low in his other monstrous hand.

  Monster, because now she saw his feet. How had she not noticed before? Oh, yes, the boots. Bare, she could see he had hooves, like a goat, or some underworld supernatural creature.

  This wasn’t Santa.

  “Even my dream can’t get it right,” she whispered to herself. “I ordered from Santa and I get you.”

  His laugh rocked her, his muscles shifting under her.

  “This is not a dream, girl. I’m going to tie you up and punish you until you’re good. I’m going to fuck you, but I don’t have a red suit and a sack of presents.”

  In what self-respecting dream did a dream character tell her it wasn’t a dream? Possibly in a lot of them. She’d never taken notes.

  “This isn’t a dream?” But he had hooves. It had to be a dream.

  “No.” Then he kicked open the door to his cabin. “You did not clean the floor. You left the cabin. Now to see what color your ass goes when I spank it and birch it.”

  Either she should get a refund on her dream or…

  Supernatural creatures existed? And this was some alternate dimension. And she really was about to get her bottom birched. In which case she had a feeling she knew who this was, and it started with a K.

  An even bigger problem than where she was had sprung up – why had his threat made her so damned horny?

  “Remember your Christmas wish list, Miss Florence Blizzard?” he asked, sitting on the sofa and pulling her over his lap. She had to slap her hands to the floor so she didn’t headbutt it. He lifted her dress at the back and drew down her panties, baring her.

  His calloused hand settled on her there, caressing her skin.

  “Yes?” she squeaked, inhaling. “Uhhh. I’ve never been spanked.”

  “Is that a plea for a lesser spanking?”

  “Yes?” It wasn’t, she just felt she should get in a protest purely on behalf of her dominant side.

  “Speak the truth.”

  The word resonated, as it had wi
th Bert and Harry.

  Florence gulped. “No. I want to feel whatever it feels like.” When a man smacks me there and makes me hurt, just because…

  Because. She didn’t really know the reason.

  Her toes curled.

  “Merry Christmas, girl.”

  Chapter 4

  His hand was rising behind her.

  She shouldn’t be giving in like this. She’d written a flippant wish on a piece of paper? So what.

  This was a pivotal moment. Ripe with potential. Think!

  “Wait!” She wriggled and tried to rise, but he pushed her down.

  “Yes?”

  “You can’t. This isn’t in the agreement.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. I wished for a dominant who could fuck me and punish me until I was good. You’re not that. You’re not even Santa?”

  “Since you’re an adult, your Santa wishes get redirected, to me. I get the bad people.”

  “You’re Kram—”

  “Don’t. If you say my name, I must keep you here until the oceans freeze over.”

  “Uh?” She turned her head.

  He shrugged. “Part of the millennial agreement between mythological figures, fairytales, and deities. Out of my hands.”

  “So…” She calculated. Even with global warming, that was a long time. “As in forever?”

  “Close. Now let’s get this done.”

  “You aren’t the Dom I wished for.” She’d fold her arms if she wasn’t bare-assed over the lap of this mythological figure or whatever he was. “Mister Woodcutter.”

  “Call me K. It’s close enough.” He drummed his fingers on her butt, looking as if he were reflecting on her words. “Very well. Point taken. Wait here while I fix this. No moving. On hands and knees or I will decide you’ve violated the agreement.”

  That didn’t sound fair either, but she was getting somewhere. So she waited, on hands and knees, hoping.

  She definitely did not want to be here.

  When he reappeared, her mouth fell open. He had company – the dark and dangerous guy in a suit from the bar, with his hands gloved in black, as they had been there.

  Oh noes. “Why?” she whispered as they walked over.

  “Her? Wait. I remember the bar.”

  “Yes. You wrote matching wishes – her for a Dom. You for a—”

  “Submissive. So what now? And why is she such a mess? At the bar she was perfect.”

  Perfect rang bells.

  Except why was he not gasping and running in circles at being here? “You don’t seem flustered,” she said, suspicious.

  “He explained some on the way. Just failed to mention it was you. You want a dominant for Christmas, do you…” His purred assessment held both amusement and interest.

  “Her name is Florence. And this is Dominik Klaws.” K set his legs solidly apart and folded his arms. “My laws will not be denied. Now you’re here you must both stay for the twelve days of Christmas. At the end, if she’s been good, as per her written and signed wish, you get to take her home.” He nodded at Dominik.

  Dominik with a D was a Dom. Who had a name like Klaws? Norwegian Viking descent, perhaps? Googling it would’ve been nice. It sounded odd, ominous.

  Dominik Blood would’ve been worse. Take it.

  A Dom. Her girly bits wanted to have a party. Her sensible bits, not so much.

  Howeverrrr, she wasn’t going home with this stranger. So, play it out to the end, because how did she get home from the Santa whatever dimension?

  It had to be a yes. Be good for…

  “Wait! Twelve days? This is Christmas Day.”

  “Not. Any. More.” K stomped down the words, and his stare convinced her.

  Crap. She stayed on her knees. Too much had happened for her to brush this off. “Who decides what qualifies as good?”

  “Me,” said K.

  “Me,” added Dominik.

  “Or it could be me?” she slotted in.

  “No,” they said in unison, staring her down.

  She wasn’t used to being stared down and gave them a twisted mouth and a scowl.

  “There will be a judgment by your peers and mine at the end. That’s my final offer. Or stay here forever.”

  “Peers?” Dominik looked dubious. “Who—”

  “I’ll take it.” She shifted her numb knees. Stone was bad for kneeling, clearly. Anything would be better than staying here forever. Peers must be better than relying on one person…yes?

  “Done.” Dominik looked from her to K. “You were about to punish her?”

  “Yes. She tried to escape. My soldiers restrained her and took a few liberties.”

  “Which explains the mess.” He seemed to be noting her state of undress. “Cum? Drool? Various stains.” Dominik nodded. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up, girl.”

  Girl would get a pass this once only. “I’m Florence, not girl.”

  “And also punished. Birching, outside? That sound good enough?”

  “Hey. Wait. No. I’ve already been…”

  K grunted what could’ve been a yes and handed Dominik something that looked like a sparkly Christmas globe with a strap.

  She pinched her lips together, following Dominik’s approach and wondering if running was a good choice after all.

  He paused beside her, the ornament dangling in his hand.

  “You’ve been what?” He purred, like a rough old motor starting up slow…and she was getting to like that purr accompanied by that male assured glower.

  Her dress was dirty, her underwear askew between her legs, and she could feel herself warming.

  “Say it.”

  “I’ve already been punish—” And she’d seen the Christmas-styled gag swinging up, knew what he was up to, yet she didn’t back or dodge or stop talking, because…

  Because she wanted to feel his punishment. This was an imaginary world.

  He levered back her head, with a mostly gentle grasp of her hair with that gloved hand. “He was going to spank you? I’m going to birch your ass. After all it is Christmas and he is K—”

  With her eyes and a squeak she tried to warn Dominik. Don’t say it!

  Chapter 5

  Luckily, K had stopped Dominik from saying the K word.

  By then, Dominik had stuck the sparkly red ball in her mouth and buckled it on. Gagged and still glaring, with small furred boots on her feet and a coat donned, she was directed out the door by the man. Imaginary world or not, she was torn about being this so-called good, as well as wondering how he would take it when she left him ASAP once in the real world.

  Be good and a submissive, for now? His submissive? Erotic fantasies weren’t quite the same as this.

  While she thought, and glared some more, he fastened her wrists with white rope to a cold tree, with her front facing the trunk. In the real world she’d already be an icicle, hugging this tree.

  Her well-thought-out essay on why this was wrong, came out as mostly spit. She tongued the ball of the gag and it would not move.

  “One thing about being here, anything I ask for appears. I’ve always wanted to try birching, and I can’t even get arrested for doing it too hard.”

  “Mmmmfff!” The rattle of twigs had drawn her to turn her head. The man was swishing a bundle of long, leafless twigs.

  “Now this.” He tucked her coat and dress up and out of the way. “And these.” He pulled down her panties, swatted her butt. “Stick this out so I have a good target, or else,” he whispered from close by. “Good girl, remember.”

  Oh the flip flop from indignation to arousal to what the fuck was she doing? Imaginary, so what did it matter if she did this, just this once?

  Slowly, she pushed her ass backward, inhaled. Besides, she had to be good to escape. Right?

  All of her was beginning to freeze.

  “Nice.” His fingers raked across her skin, dipping into the divide of her ass, and continuing on. He stepped away, and she heard the first swing as those b
ranches again rattled against each other.

  The smack of the wood on her skin woke her, made her jerk, and hiss through the gag.

  “A light blow for the novice sub.” There was smile in his voice. “Stay still, and try not to tense.”

  She stayed, eyes shut, feeling the sting of every blow. Ten, she counted, the last few were heavy enough to make her flinch, the pain burning deeper even though he was done, and had stepped up to her, crunching through the snow.

  Then he untied her and scooped her into his arms. “You’re freezing, especially this butt.”

  Of course she was, but being carried like this, as if she were helpless, with the rope still about her wrists and trailing, it was…interesting. He had such pretty green eyes, like K but greener.

  They passed the woodcutter K on the way to the door, and he followed them in.

  An observer? She didn’t care, being too busy shivering.

  They’d arrived in a bathroom she’d not seen, through a door off the kitchen she’d not noticed before. Where was this? Magic, remember? The water came up to the brim of a circular claw-footed bath, big enough for two. Steam rose.

  Like the rest of the house, in here was toasty warm and already she felt less like a block of ice.

  “You wanted to be tied up and fucked and punished?” Dominik murmured, kissing her neck then placing her on her feet.

  Wide-eyed, she nodded. The sting on her butt reminded her of his kinks. She’d found a dominant, and where could be safer than here to explore this side of herself?

  “Good.”

  Another good. This was easy.

  He helped her undress, removed the gag, and once she was naked, pointed at the water. “Step in.”

  The touch of hot water on her birched skin made her flinch and grimace, but she persevered and lowered herself.

  He leaned over her and kissed her fully on her lips, then drifted his kisses down to her cleavage. His rough stubble scratched but deliciously so, then he found a nipple with that fucking hot mouth of his and sucked at it while pushing her breast higher with his black-gloved hand.

  Her breathing coarsened. She decided could get addicted to being handled by a guy wearing gloves.

  Fascinated and growing ever-more aroused, she watched him, her hands clutching the side of the tub, her butt lifting slightly.