Our house creaked around me like an old ship, settling into the desert cold.

Christmas Eve in Scottsdale, population: me.

Mom had pitched the Florida thing with all the enthusiasm of a travel brochure: white sand beaches, family bonding, Grandma's famous rum cake. But honestly? The humidity down there could kill a person. Plus, I wasn't exactly in the mood for my little brother's Nintendo obsession echoing through some cramped condo.

I'd convinced them I was mature enough to hold down the fort. Nineteen, practically an adult, totally responsible. They'd bought it after minimal eye-rolling from Dad.

Now, sprawled across my bed, I wondered if I'd made a mistake. The silence felt thick, different from the usual house sounds I knew. No dishwasher humming, no late-night TV murmur from the living room, no Dad's snoring through the walls.

Sleep had been dodging me for hours. I'd tried everything: scrolling Instagram, watching TikToks until my eyes burned, even attempted some meditation app Madeline had recommended. Nothing worked.

Then I heard it.

A soft thud from somewhere downstairs.

My heart kicked against my ribs. I froze, phone clutched in my sweaty palm, every muscle locked tight. Maybe I'd imagined it. Old houses made weird noises, right? Pipes settling, wood expanding, totally normal…

There.

Again.

Definitely not pipes. Something deliberate, careful. Like footsteps trying not to be heard.

We didn't have pets. Charlie, our ancient tabby, had died two summers ago. Mom's plants didn't walk around knocking things over. And my family was currently passed out in some Florida hotel, probably dreaming of tomorrow's presents.

Which meant someone else was in my house.

My throat went desert dry. Every true crime podcast I'd ever binged suddenly felt way too real. Girls home alone on Christmas Eve made perfect headlines, didn't they?

I slipped from bed, bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. My phone's screen glowed: 2:17 AM. The worst possible time for anything good.

Another sound drifted up… softer now, like someone moving through the kitchen.

Shit. Shit shit shit—

I pressed my back against the bedroom door, mind racing. Call 911? Hide? Grab something heavy and go full Home Alone on whoever was down there?

The house held its breath, waiting.

And so did I.

~oO🎄Oo~

I slipped from bed like a ninja, every floorboard potential lava. The red camisole that had seemed so festive earlier, cute and a little naughty with the matching white panties decorated with a tiny mistletoe, now felt ridiculous. Like wearing lingerie to a horror movie.

What had I been thinking? Some fantasy about Christmas morning selfies?

God, I'm an idiot.

The hallway stretched forever in the dim glow from my phone's flashlight. I kept the beam low, heart hammering so loud I was sure whoever was downstairs could hear it. Each step felt like an eternity, my bare feet barely whispering against the wood.

The living room came into view at the end of the hall. Our Christmas tree blinked its colored lights in lazy patterns, casting weird shadows that danced across the walls. Everything looked normal. Presents still piled underneath, stockings hanging from the mantle where we'd left them.

But something was different.

I crept closer, phone trembling in my grip, and peered around the corner.

A small gasp escaped before I could stop it.

Shoulders. A head. A person. Someone sat on our couch. In the dark. Just... sitting there like— they belonged.

The figure turned at my gasp, and my brain short-circuited.

An older man sat there in nothing but red boxers, his enormous belly spilling over the waistband. White beard, rosy cheeks, twinkling eyes that crinkled at the corners. He looked exactly like…

No. No way! This is not happening.

"Well, hello there, little girl."

His voice was like warm honey over gravel, that classic Santa rumble that should have been comforting but sent ice through my veins instead. The way his eyes moved over me, taking in every inch of the red camisole, the bare legs, made my skin crawl.

"Come over here."

It wasn't a request.

My feet moved without thought. One step, then another, like I was sleepwalking through a nightmare. My hand instinctively reached for the wall. The rational part of my brain screamed to run, to scream, to do anything except walk toward this stranger who looked like every childhood fantasy turned wrong.

But my body betrayed me, pulling me closer until I stood right in front of him. Close enough to see the phone in his hands, close enough to smell something that wasn't cookies and milk… stale bourbon.

Wonder and terror twisted together in my chest, choking me.

This can't be real.

~oO🎄Oo~

"Shh, little girl. It's okay."

His voice wrapped around me like velvet, and he patted his lap with one hand. The sound echoed in the quiet room.

My heel scraped the floor as I stepped back… every instinct screaming danger, but when I didn't move fast enough, he leaned forward. One thick arm encircled my waist, pulling me down with surprising gentleness until I was seated on his lap like a child visiting the mall Santa.

This is insane!

His beard tickled against my cheek as he adjusted me, the coarse white hair softer than I'd expected. Warmth radiated from his body, solid and strong beneath me. He smelled exactly like Christmas should: gingerbread and hot chocolate, cinnamon and pine needles. Everything safe, and magical, and perfect.

I felt so small perched there, so soft and fragile against his bulk.

"I have something for you, little girl."

His arm tightened around me, holding me firmly in place. Not painful, but unmistakably strong. Like I couldn't leave even if I wanted to.

"Hold still now."

His hands guided my arms back, gentle but firm, and I didn't fight him. The movement felt natural, like slipping into a warm bath.

Something rustled behind me… fabric, maybe silk, and then pressure circled my elbows. Cool and smooth, tightening gradually.

"Mmm?"

The questioning sound escaped before I could stop it, but his chuckle rumbled through his chest.

"Shh, little one. Be quiet for Santa."

He winked, and something inside me melted. My lips pressed together automatically. Around him, rebellion felt impossible. Wrong. Like disappointing a favorite teacher or breaking my grandmother's china.

I wanted to be good.

The binds pulled snug, drawing my elbows together until they touched. My shoulders rolled back, chest pushed forward, and I marveled at how my body bent this way. I'd never known I could fold like origami.

No pain, just a strange floating sensation. Like being held by invisible hands.

His beard brushed my shoulder as he checked his work, fingers trailing along the silk. Each touch sent warmth spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly.

"There's my good girl."

His fingers threaded through my hair, thick and warm against my scalp. The grip came suddenly and firmly, pulling my head back until my throat stretched taut. My neck arched, exposing the vulnerable spot where my pulse hammered against skin.

A sound almost escaped me: low, needy, embarrassing. I bit it back, cheeks burning.

God, not that—

Pulling my hair like that was like hitting some hidden switch I didn't even know I had. Heat pooled between my legs, shameful and immediate.

My thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to hide what was happening. The white panties felt too thin, too revealing. He couldn't know. He couldn't see how my body betrayed me.

His other hand disappeared into the sack beside the couch, rustling through unseen contents. When it emerged, my breath stopped.

A red ball gag, large and shiny, like a Christmas ornament, dangled from leather straps.

"Open up, little girl."

He held it in front of my face, close enough that I could see my reflection in its glossy surface. I wanted to shake my head, to protest, to say something, anything…

Instead, my mouth fell open.

Willing. Waiting.

The ball pressed past my lips, filling my mouth completely. My jaw stretched around its circumference while he worked the straps behind my head, pulling them tight. Tighter than necessary. The leather bit into my cheeks.

A muffled grunt escaped… the only sound I could manage now.

~oO🎄Oo~

"Now for your Christmas spanking, little girl."

His voice remained that same jolly rumble, like he was offering hot cocoa instead of... this.

Before I could process what he meant, the world tilted. Strong hands repositioned me with shocking efficiency: one moment I was perched on his knee like any good girl visiting Santa, the next I was draped across his lap, my stomach pressed against his thick thighs.

"Mmph!"

The muffled squeal escaped around the gag as I squirmed, trying to find purchase. My bound arms made balance impossible. I was completely at his mercy, displayed across his lap like a naughty child.

The first blow landed with a sharp crack.

Holy shit!

Pain bloomed across my left cheek, radiating outward in waves. My eyes started to water. Way harder than I'd expected. Way harder than when Cole got playful and smacked my ass during sex… This was deliberate, measured, and very real.

Two more followed in quick succession. CRACK! CRACK!

"Mmmph! Nnngh!"

Each impact sent shockwaves through me. My legs kicked involuntarily, toes curling in the air. His other hand pressed firmly between my shoulder blades, pinning me in place with casual strength. Like playfully holding down a puppy.

He wasn't even trying. His breathing stayed steady, unhurried. This was nothing to him.

But God, it stung. The burning spread across both cheeks now, heat building with each strike. My thin panties provided zero protection. Might as well have been naked.

"Nnngh... mmm..."

The sounds coming from me were embarrassing, animalistic. Somewhere between pain and something else entirely. Something that made my thighs clench together, made wetness pool where it shouldn't.

This was primal. Raw. His huge hands claimed my body like I belonged to him. Making me feel tiny and powerless and so very, very turned on.

My hips shifted against his lap without permission, seeking pressure, friction, anything. The movement was automatic, instinctive.

Stop it—

But I couldn't. Each sting sent heat straight between my legs. Each firm press of his hand on my back made me feel smaller, more helpless, more his.

I was supposed to be terrified. This was supposed to be wrong. Instead, I melted across his lap like warm honey, waiting for the next blow to fall.

The blows stopped.

No…

My body throbbed, skin blazing, and I needed more. Needed it. The ache between my thighs was unbearable. A few more strikes and I would have shattered completely across his lap.

I rolled my hips backward, arching, presenting myself like a cat in heat.

"Mmmmph..."

The desperate sound leaked around the gag as I pushed my burning ass toward him, begging without words.

Please. More. Don't stop.

"Ho ho ho." His laugh rumbled through his chest. "You've been a very naughty little girl indeed."

Those massive hands lifted me effortlessly, repositioning me face down on the couch beside him. The fabric was cool against my fevered skin, a sharp contrast to the fire spreading across my backside.

I twisted my neck, craning to see him, my eyes wide and pleading above the red ball stretching my lips. My bound arms made everything awkward, but I managed to catch his gaze.

Touch me. Please.

The words screamed in my head, transmitted through desperate stares and small whimpers. My thighs pressed together, seeking friction that wouldn't come.

More.

I was displayed for him like a present he'd unwrapped, helpless and wanting and completely at his mercy.

Use me.

~oO🎄Oo~

His hands moved down my legs, fingers trailing fire along my skin when they reached my ankles.

Oh God!

He lifted my feet effortlessly, bending my knees until my heels pressed against my bound hands. The position was impossible: back arched, everything exposed, completely vulnerable.

More silk whispered around my ankles. The same velvet touch, binding my feet to my wrists until I was trussed like a Christmas roast. Every muscle stretched taut, no escape possible.

I tested the bonds. Nothing. Couldn't even wiggle.

Warm breath stroked my ear, Christmas sweetness wrapped in a thin ribbon of bourbon.

Snip.

The sound was so soft I almost missed it. Then the tension across my left shoulder vanished. My camisole strap fell loose.

Snip.

The right side followed.

"Mmph..."

Panic and anticipation warred in my chest. The delicate fabric clung by threads now, gravity doing most of the work.

Then came the unmistakable whisper of steel through silk: a long, deliberate stroke that reminded me of Christmas. Scissors gliding down wrapping paper, revealing treasures underneath.

My camisole split cleanly down the center, falling away in ruined pieces.

Cool air kissed my exposed skin. I was naked except for my panties, bound and displayed like his personal gift.

His to unwrap.

His strong hands lifted me upright, positioning me like a doll on the cushions. The movement sent heat rushing to my face… and everywhere else.

My mistletoe panties were absolutely soaked. The thin cotton clung obscenely, leaving nothing to the imagination. I should have been mortified, but instead I found myself arching slightly, putting myself on display.

Look at me. Touch me. Use me.

I blinked up at him through my lashes, trying to convey what the gag wouldn't let me say.

His phone emerged from somewhere, screen casting harsh light across his weathered features. Behind him, the Christmas tree twinkled like we were in some twisted holiday movie.

"You've been a naughty girl."

His voice carried that same velvet authority, but now it held something darker. Official.

"Copying people's assignments."

What!?

He reached into his sack, producing something that glinted in the tree lights. A nipple clamp. Cheerful mistletoe dangled from a red and green tartan ribbon.

The metal bit down on my left nipple with vicious precision. I jerked against my bonds, a muffled cry escaping around the gag.

"Cutting people off in traffic."

Another clamp appeared. This time, he pinched my right nipple first… hard, before letting the metal teeth close.

The pain blazed through me, sharp and immediate.

My eyes went wide, staring up at him with a mix of terror and desperate need. I tried to lift my hips, to press against him, to show him what I wanted even though I couldn't speak.

Fuck me, Santa! Please!

The words screamed in my head, transmitted through every desperate whimper, every arch of my back, every pleading look I could manage above the red ball gag.

"And you've gone and fucked Keith while you were meant to be babysitting."

His voice dropped lower, darker. The jolly facade cracking just enough to let something predatory shine through.

"He has two small kids, Faye… Think about the children."

My blood turned to ice. My eyes grew impossibly wider, the clamps on my nipples suddenly feeling like brands of shame rather than pleasure. How could he possibly know about—

No. No no no.

And then he was reaching into that damned sack again, pulling out something that made my heart stop completely.

A gleaming silver butt plug. Massive. Way too big for someone who'd never…

I shook my head frantically, every muscle in my body tensing. I wasn't ready for that. Had never used anything like that before. Something that enormous would split me in half.

"Mmmmph! Nnnnh!"

But he just smiled that knowing Santa smile and moved between my spread thighs.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of my soaked mistletoe panties, tugging them aside with casual authority. The cool air hit my exposed pussy, and I realized just how wet I'd become. Dripping. Aching.

The metal plug dragged along the length of my slit, cold steel against burning flesh. Back and forth, coating itself in my arousal, the sensation was absolutely maddening.

I shifted my hips desperately, trying to angle the plug toward my pussy instead.

There. Put it there. Please—

"No, little girl."

His voice was firm, final. The plug pressed against my ass instead, and I felt my body clench in pure panic.

There was resistance at first. My virgin hole fighting the intrusion. But slowly, inexorably, the plug began to slide in.

The stretch was incredible. Burning. Opening me up places I'd never been opened before.

Wider. Wider.

Until it reached the thickest part, my muscles straining, tears leaking from my eyes.

Then suddenly— pop, it slipped past that final barrier, my ass clamping down hard on the narrow stem.

I was filled. Claimed. Completely and utterly his.

~oO🎄Oo~

Santa's eyes roamed over my bound, plugged, clamped body with the satisfaction of an artist surveying his masterpiece.

A single nod of approval.

"Ho ho hoe... little girl, you're a living doll now. Some very naughty boy or girl is going to find you under their tree and have the merriest Christmas of their life."

My eyes flew wide. The casual way he said naughty boy or girl sent electricity crackling through every nerve ending. What exactly was he planning to do with me?

But even as terror coursed through my veins, my pussy clenched with desperate need. The plug stretched me impossibly full, the clamps bit deliciously into my nipples, and my entire body thrummed with arousal so intense it made my vision blur.

I was horrified. Terrified.

Yet I had never been more turned on in my entire life.

"Well now..."

Santa's voice dropped to that honeyed rumble that made my thighs squeeze together involuntarily.

"Let's make sure you pass the final quality check."

The red boxers hit the floor.

He settled onto the couch beside me, his presence radiating heat and authority and something primal that made every instinct I possessed scream both run and submit.

The Christmas tree lights twinkled mockingly in my peripheral vision.

His hands gripped my waist, lifting me like I weighed nothing. The world spun as he positioned me over his lap, my bound arms useless behind my back.

"That's it, little girl."

The head of his cock pressed against my pussy. My body betrayed me completely: slick and swollen and desperate. I should have fought.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

That was all I could think. I should have screamed.

Instead, I sank down.

No resistance. None. My arousal had turned me into something molten, and he slid inside with a smooth, devastating ease that made my eyes roll back.

"Fuck—"

The word escaped around the gag as he filled me completely. The plug in my ass made everything impossibly tight, every nerve firing at once.

My eyes slammed shut. Sensation crashed over me in waves: the stretch, the fullness, the way my body accommodated him like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

His hands found my breasts, cupping them possessively. Fingers squeezed, kneaded, and worked the sensitive flesh until electricity shot straight to my core.

A moan tore from my throat, muffled but raw.

The Christmas lights blurred behind my eyelids as my hips began to move of their own accord, chasing something I couldn't name but desperately needed.

The first rock of my hips sent shockwaves through every nerve.

Oh god.

I lifted myself slowly, feeling every inch as he slid almost completely out, then sank back down with a broken whimper around the gag. The plug pressed against him through that thin wall inside me, creating a pressure so intense it bordered on pain.

But the kind of pain that made me crave more.

My bound arms forced my back to arch, pushing my clamped breasts forward as I found a rhythm. Slow at first. Deliberate. Each descent a sweet agony that left me gasping.

"That's my good little girl."

His voice rumbled beneath me, hands gripping my waist to guide my movements. The praise made something inside me purr with satisfaction even as my body screamed for more.

The clamps bit deeper with each bounce, sending lightning straight to my core. Every sensation layered on top of the others until I couldn't tell where one ended and another began. The stretch of the plug. The delicious drag of his cock. The sharp pleasure-pain radiating from my nipples.

I picked up the pace.

I need this. Need this so fucking much.

My hips moved faster, chasing something just out of reach. The Christmas lights blurred into streaks of color as pleasure built in my belly like a storm gathering strength. The plug shifted with each movement, pressing and rubbing in ways that made my eyes roll back.

"Mmph—"

The sound escaped around the gag as I rode him harder. Desperate now. My thighs burned, but I couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. Every nerve ending in my body focused on this moment, this need, this overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.

The pressure built. And built.

Until it snapped.

My orgasm crashed through me like a storm, every muscle clenching as waves of pleasure tore through my body. My pussy squeezed around him rhythmically, milking him as I shuddered and convulsed.

He groaned beneath me, his grip tightening as he thrust upward once, twice…

Heat flooded inside me as he came, my still-spasming pussy drawing every last drop from him. The sensation of being claimed, filled completely sent aftershocks rippling through my trembling body.

I collapsed forward against his chest, boneless and spent, the taste of rubber and my own desperate sounds filling my mouth.

The tree lights continued their innocent twinkling.

~oO🎄Oo~

The world spun.

Falling…

My back hit the carpet with a jarring thud that knocked the breath from my lungs. The familiar texture of my bedroom floor pressed against my shoulder blades.

My hands flew to my face, trembling fingers meeting slick skin. Sweat. So much sweat it felt like I'd been dunked in a pool.

The red camisole clung to my chest, damp fabric outlining every curve. Between my legs, the white mistletoe panties were absolutely drenched, the cotton practically transparent against my skin.

I blinked hard, trying to make sense of the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. My dresser. The pile of laundry in the corner. The Christmas lights I'd strung around my window frame weeks ago.

My room.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I struggled to sit up. Everything ached in the most peculiar way. Sensations that made no sense yet felt completely real.

I reached blindly for my nightstand, fingers fumbling until they found my phone. The screen blazed to life, harsh white light cutting through the darkness.

2:21 AM

The numbers stared back at me, innocent and digital and completely ordinary.

I pressed the phone to my chest and tried to remember how to breathe.

Fragments clawed at the edges of my memory. Red fabric. The weight of hands. A voice like honey over gravel.

My brain was screaming nightmare! My body was like, run it again!

The ache between my thighs pulsed with each heartbeat. I pressed my legs together, seeking relief, and felt something shift. Something that shouldn't be there.

My fingers trembled as I reached down, past the soaked cotton, deeper. There was resistance, a fullness that made my breath catch. I tugged gently, then harder, until…

Pop.

The sound echoed in the quiet room. I gasped at the sudden emptiness, the hollow sensation that replaced the pressure.

My phone buzzed against my chest, lighting up with a notification. I didn’t look. Couldn’t.

All my attention was on the object in my palm… a polished silver plug, still warm from my body. But it was the base that made my stomach drop.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,”

Santa's face grinned back at me from the stem. Not the jolly cartoon version from mall displays. This Santa winked with knowing eyes, his smile sharp with secrets. The kind of expression that said I know exactly what you did, little girl.

Only then did I lift my phone.

Unknown Number: —Ho ho hoe. My little doll unwrapped herself beautifully tonight.

I dropped the plug like it was on fire.

“Just what every girl wants for Christmas,” I muttered. “Emotional damage with accessories.”

Merry freaking Christmas to me. Next year I’m asking for socks.