by Sarah Steel
Another taped drum-roll. The canteen lights dimmed and a spot-light raked the sea of sweaty, eager faces below. The spot picked out a young blonde who, fingered by the piercing beam, squirmed and giggled. Santa approached, dipped into her sack and drew out a short, rubber dildo. Raucous applause. The latex-gloved hand guided the rubber dildo down to the blonde's mouth. More applause, much of it obscene enthusiasm. Just as the spot swept away, Roy saw the blonde tucking her gift down into a red plastic handbag.
Another drum-roll - prolonged, to allow the spot-light to zig-zag teasingly. The blade of light stopped, quivering, freezing an elderly man in the act of eating a chicken leg. It was Stan from maintenance. Everyone laughed. His name was shouted out as Santa weaved between the crowded tables towards him. She produced a packet of coloured condoms. Stan gamely tried to inflate one, but his chicken-greasy lips failed him. Someone snatched down a silver balloon and patted it between his legs. More ribald laughter. The balloon burst. The spot died and Santa skipped away.
Roy stole a glance across at the big blonde behind the bar. She was repairing a broken red fingernail, filing it down in the half light of the tiny lights above the optics. He'd go now - go and interrupt her - and bask in her waspish anger.
Suddenly, just as Roy rose from his table, the drum-roll crashed and he blinked, blinded by the strong spot-light. Roy twisted to escape, hating being exposed to the crowded room. Santa streaked towards him like a torpedo. He was sunk. She was at his table. Roy could smell her body make-up, and the polished leather boots. She produced - to cheers - a short, supple whip and cracked it sharply. The cheers grew into a wall of sound. Tapping the table top sternly with a straightened, latex-sheathed index finger, Santa toyed with the little whip, playing its lash against Roy's belly.
Roy's knees buckled and his head swam. Laughing girls from adjoining tables pounced on him, pulling down his trousers and pants as they bent him over the table. Bare-bottomed, he lay sprawled beneath Santa's cruel whip. She tapped his bottom twice.
'Give it to him good and hard,' voices urged.
'Bastard security,' another yelled.
The cry was taken up. Santa turned to her audience in the darkness, and held up her latex finger to her red lips. They fell silent.
'Six of the worst?' she cried.
They brayed their coarse approval. Turning back to address Roy's buttocks, she lightly whipped him six times. He barely felt the sharp sting, but burnt with fierce shame. They all cheered and lapped. The spot-light swept away, leaving Roy belly down across he table, struggling to pull up his pants and uniform trousers. Santa strode away, her long leather boots creaking in the darkness.
She turned and dashed back to collect her sack abandoned on the floor by Roy's table. Bending down to retrieve it, she glanced up at Roy. Their eyes met. Briefly. Then she glimpsed his massive erection gouging into the paper plate that had held the chipolatas.
Romping away to handcuff a redhead caught in the spot-light - applying the plastic cuffs at the laughing woman's ankles - Santa left Roy whirling in delicious confusion. His brief sense of shame was now a burning bliss. He thrilled to the memory of the leather-booted Santa with the shining latex gloves. The short whip above his helpless buttocks. The stinging snap of the lash across his flesh. Trousered and back upon his chair, Roy could hardly sit straight, so painful was his engorged shaft.
His trembling fingertips brushed against his empty glass. Automatically, he looked across the bar. The busty blonde was eating salt and vinegar crisps. Roy sat enthralled as she twiddled her red-nailed fingertips after popping a yellow crisp in between her scarlet lips. She sucked on the damaged nail. Roy shuddered.
She has seen my bare bottom. My bare bottom - being whipped.
The thought coursed through him like an electric shock, leaving his body stunned yet tingling. The dominant beauty behind the bar had leisurely witnessed his bottom being bared and lashed. The realisation tightened Roy's belly into a knot. He felt his balls contract, and the soft ache of his imminent orgasm.
The swollen-breasted, cruel-mouthed barmaid with the hard eyes had seen him being whipped - had witnessed his bare-bottomed humiliation. Roy shrank back in the shadows, desperately fishing out his swollen cock. Guiding it into his empty half-pint beer glass beneath the table, he sat bolt upright as he stared adoringly at the blonde barmaid - and came violently.
Out in the raw night, Roy shivered beneath the unreal light of a sodium street lamp. He'd get a black taxi soon. One coming back along this road from the train station. All the mini-cab phones had been constantly engaged when he had tried in the canteen foyer.
A tiny orange light winked in the distance. Roy waved. The cab's black shiny nose swung in towards him in instant response. The cab pulled up with a squeak of brakes. The driver deftly swung his arm back outside to open the rear door. Footsteps scampered across the frozen slush. It was a woman, her breath a silver cloud at her red lips in the chill night air. She was swathed in a black, hooded cape.
'Go shares,' she pleaded, shivering.
Roy agreed - reluctantly, too shy to argue - and found they were both heading in the same direction. Sitting back in the weak yellow light in the rear of the cab, Roy stared fixedly out of his nearby window, dreading the moment when she might speak. Roy worshipped women - from afar. As the cab cornered, they rolled, thighs touching briefly. Roy shrank from the sudden intimacy of her animal warmth.
She stretched out a long leg. Tempted, Roy peeped down slyly. He saw the black, shiny boot. Glancing swiftly across at her, he met her smiling gaze. It was Santa. Roy's heart hammered.
'Enjoy yourself?' she murmured, shrugging off the heavy cape to reveal the skimpy red outfit trimmed with white fur high at her fishnet meshed thigh.
Roy blushed furiously and squirmed in his seat. The movement of his lightly whipped buttocks against the leather reminded him of his delicious shame at her latex sheathed hands.
'I think you did,' she teased. 'I saw your cock.'
The cabbie's eyes flashed up into the mirror, scanning her face and then Roy's.
'So big,' she laughed. 'You naughty boy. And after only six strokes. Do you think it could stand another dozen?'
They both got out at Roy's flat. He tipped the grinning cabbie a fiver. He didn't mean to - anxious to escape the knowing leer, he simply didn't hang around for the change.
'No. You need not make me coffee just yet. I will tell you when to do so later,' Santa replied as Roy held up the jar of instant and shook it. 'I want to go to the loo.'
Reddening slightly, Roy nodded to a door at the end of the passage. Originally, it bore the sign 'Here it is'. She stomped back immediately, her pretty face a mask of severity.
'I can't use that. It isn't properly clean. Get in there and scrub it out this instant,' she barked.
Roy's heart thumped wildly. It had begun. He froze, like a child spinning out its delight by delaying the process of unwrapping a present. Slow down, he told himself. Slow down and luxuriate in every delicious moment of domination.
'This instant,' she snapped, her hands planted on her hips, her leather boots wide apart.
Roy nodded submissively.
'Wait. You'll serve me naked, my boy. Take off your clothes and show me your bottom. Then get down on your hands and knees and scrub that toilet floor. I'll be there, watching you, making sure you do a thorough job.'
With trembling hands, Roy tore off his clothes and bent over, touching his toes. His bare buttocks rose up for her intimate perusal. He felt her latexed fingertips skim across the tightened curves of his cheeks. His cock speared up, tapping his belly as it throbbed.
'Kneel.'
He knelt down before her, gazing up adoringly. Still dressed in her Santa costume of red tunic, black fishnets and boots - with the sinuous second skin of the elbow-length gloves - she looked magnificent. With her red pixie hood down, her golden curls tumbled in wanton disarray. Slowly, deliberately, she swept her hair up and fixed it into a severe ponytail. Her fa
ce was, Roy noticed, sharply featured with her hair up like that. Almost vixenish. The rosebud lips tight and cruel. His cock throbbed as it saluted her. Santa acknowledged the tribute, her eyes narrowing as she gazed down dominantly upon her naked slave.
'I know what you want for Christmas, my boy. And you shall most probably get it. If you obey me absolutely. First,' she continued crisply, adjusting the white cup of her balconette with black, latex-covered fingers, 'you will go in and scrub the toilet floor. In you go - no,' she barked. 'Keep down on all fours. I want to see you crawl.'
Roy shuffled happily along the lino, crawling submissively along the black and white diamonds of the loo floor.
'That's the way,' she murmured approvingly, propelling him along with a sharp toe in his left buttock. 'Santa's little helper.'
She issued him with a toothbrush, scouring powder and a stale, stiff flannel. 'Now scrub. When I inspect it, it will be spotless. If it is not, you will lick it clean.'
Roy trembled with delight. Bending down to his humiliating task, he scrubbed vigorously, thrilling in the knowledge that she was standing over him, her hard eyes glaring down upon his bare, vulnerable bottom. She withdrew - he heard her rustling about in the kitchen cupboards - and returned, eating a festive mince pie.
'Keep scrubbing,' she commanded, her mouth full, as she positioned the toe of her polished boot beneath his dangling sac, then tapping the leather up against his balls. 'I'm going into your bedroom now. I am going to search all your secret hiding places and expose all your wicked little secrets.'
Roy flushed, ashamed and confused, yet thrilled to the image of her peeling back his mattress to find the lingerie brochures and the underwear section torn carefully from mail order catalogues. A few dry, prickling crumbs dropped down from her lips onto his bottom, trickling down into his cleft. He clenched his cheeks as her shadow fell upon him. She bent down, her index finger firm, and swept the latexed tip dominantly down the length of his cleft, ridding his sensitive flesh of the irksome crumbs. Spank. Spank. He jerked in ecstasy as the punishing gloved palm cracked across his helpless cheeks.
'Keep scrubbing, slave. I can hear you from your bedroom.'
The boots returned, just as he had completed his menial duties with the toothbrush. Their measured tread, full of menacing promise, grew louder as Santa approached the toilet door.
'Very interesting little collection you've got. Boys like you who peep at such forbidden things deserve to be punished. Severely. And you do peep at those pictures, don't you?'
Quivering under the delicious interrogation, Roy raised his head to confess.
'Head down,' she snarled, instantly trapping his neck beneath her boot. 'I think I had better tell you that I haven't got the little whip.'
Roy slumped, signalling his disappointment.
'But I did find this,' she whispered. 'It will serve my purpose.'
What? What had she found in his bedroom to punish him with? A belt? He had no braces. A hairbrush? The supple plastic ruler from his desk?
'Bottom up, my boy.'
Eager for his pain, he inched his cheeks up. She tapped them with a wire coat-hanger gripped firmly in her gloved right hand. Roy swayed his hips invitingly. Santa whipped the coat-hanger down. He grunted aloud as it bit into him, right across the softest part of his curved cheeks. Swish, crack. Again, and then again. Pausing to inspect his thick shaft straining up against his belly, Santa resumed her dominant stance and swiped the wire coat-hanger down four more times across his buttocks, criss-crossing the suffering cheeks with deep pink lines of pain.
'I haven't got that little whip,' she repeated, standing back a little and planting the sole of her right boot down along his hot cleft. 'The barmaid, the big blonde with the blouse, bought it for a tenner.'
Roy whimpered with sheer delight, trembling on all fours as his imminent climax threatened to explode.
'But don't worry, my boy. She said she'd be putting it to good use,' Santa whispered, deftly treading the spiked heel of her boot into Roy's wet sphincter. 'She found your glass hidden under the table. The glass you spurted your naughty stickies into. Wicked boy,' she whispered, probing his anus with her cruel heel. 'That barmaid can't wait to meet you again. I hope Santa hasn't spoiled your surprise.'
Roy gasped aloud as he splattered his fierce ejaculation out across the toilet floor. It felt so thick and prolonged - as if some invisible hand was pulling a ball of twine down in his sac up through the core of his pulsing shaft. Panting, he wobbled on his aching arms and collapsed, face down into the plastic toilet seat, his arms encircled to embrace the stone cold bowl at his belly.
'Now look what you've done,' she rasped waspishly. 'I told you I'd make you lick it clean, and I meant it.'
In the bedroom, she tied his hands tightly behind his back. Kneeling, he gazed at the three clothes pegs in the palm of her gloved hand levelled before his eyes.
They had just finished examining his collection of private pleasures. Pictures of shiny, stockinged legs; of heavily buttocked women in panti-girdles; of stern matrons in bathing costumes _and, most highly cherished of all, stern-faced models, large-bosomed, in a range of bras. Roy had cut them out from brochures and catalogues, using the ruler and craft knife on his desk, carefully mounting them with meticulous pains on blue squares of stiff card.
Santa had unearthed the treasure trove and spread them out cross his bed. Roy had been forced to kneel at the bed and describe, in whispered tones of excitement, every picture in detail. Santa had spanked his bottom severely as he mumbled his words - seamed stockings; quarter-cups; lace trimming; silk gusset; peep-hole and suspender belt. Santa spanked him twice as he described each card. There were ten blue cards of A4 size and seventeen blue cards of the smaller A5 size. His bottom was very red. His bottom was very sore.
Santa made him bow down and kiss his favourite three pictures. Betraying his fantasies with Judas lips, Roy selected bra shots. Santa picked them up from the bed and spread them down before her kneeling slave. She knelt down alongside him. Enclosing her latex-gloved fingers firmly around his erection, she began to pump, Roy grunted as she gripped his hot spear and cried out with raw pleasure as she forced his spurting shaft down into the three blue cards - drenching the bewitchingly brassiered matrons with his wet joy.
The latex-gloved hand clenched. The clothes pegs disappeared beneath her shining fingers. She opened her hand. Roy whimpered with delicious dread.
He shrank back as the first plastic peg, a red one, pinched his left nipple.
'Don't be a baby,' she whispered. 'Submission to Santa must be total. Santa's little boy must be brave. There can be no true pleasure,' she reasoned patiently, as if with a child, 'without a little - or indeed a lot - of pain.' The second peg, a green one, snapped down over his right nipple.
Roy's cock twitched and nodded. His eyes flickered down to it, then flashed up fearfully at the third clothes peg.
'Now, where shall we put him?' Santa mused aloud, relishing his squirming terror.
Roy's hands writhed in their bondage. He inched away, shuffling backwards painfully, retreating from the horror of the nipping peg at his foreskin.
'Stay still,' Santa hissed vehemently. 'How dare you even think of attempting to defy me?'
'No - please—' he whimpered.
'Silence,' she interrupted sternly. Leaning forward, she tweaked the clothes peg open.
Roy, beads of sweat running into the corners of his eyes, groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut - then opened them wide as he felt the peg pinching his nostrils painfully. The terror left his eyes, instantly replaced with liquid adoration for the cruel tormentress in the red festive costume standing before him.
'You like the idea of being dominated by cruel matrons in their crisp, white underwear, don't you, my boy?' she teased.
Roy nodded, his face already hot and scarlet from the clothes peg at his nose. He was panting slightly.
'Can it really be true?' she wondered aloud, shrugging off her red fur-trimme
d tunic to reveal the balconette binding her breasts. 'Would you really come if I were to simply subject you to my bosom? Let's see.'
She positioned him across the bed, face down. He started to splutter for air. Kneeling down behind him, she thrust her bosom up against his buttocks, then dragged her breasts down over his cheeks, before nipple-kissing their curves and then crushing the balconette's heavy, straining burden into his bottom. She kept up a clinical running commentary, describing each of her actions aloud. Roy responded so vigorously to the sound of her soft, stern voice that she told him a little Christmas story. About how she would masturbate him with a single red stiletto shoe, forcing his cock up into the narrow toe and jerking the high spiked heel until he flooded the supple leather with his pulsing quicksilver.
Roy almost came - but Santa pinched his wet snout together, denying him relief. He begged for another story. She took the clothes peg from his nose and fastened it to his foreskin. At his back, his bound hands jerked, the fingers splayed in delicious agony.
He pleaded for another story. Santa refused. He begged to be emptied. To be punished. To be wanked. Anything but this exquisite limbo of torment.
Santa ignored him. In silence, she stood over him, rubbing the inner calf of her leather boot down between his cheeks and squashing his balls against the mattress. Grasping a fistful of his hair in her latex-gloved hand, she taloned him painfully and dominated him utterly. Reaching down, she curled the forefinger of her free hand in against her thumb, then flicked the clothes peg away. Roy came with a load moan, soaking the white sheet of his bed. Lifting her boot up, she kicked away the other two pegs from is nipples, then trod him down into the sheet, crushing his face into the warm semen.
