Kinkmas Morning · Part 1

Kinkmas Morning · Part 1 (1/2)
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Here's a sequel to my story, "A Visit from St. Kinkolas," which I wrote in response to some of the comments that it was "left hanging."

Kinkmas Morning (A Visit From St. Kinkolas, Part 2)

As Santa Claus had predicted, and as Brenda had expected, it was a long, hard wait until morning. The Christmas magic worked to spare her any physical discomfort—she even dozed off for a very brief time—but she was in an agony of worry and fear as to what would become of her and of Greg. No one else had keys to her apartment, other than Greg, and he, like her, was tied up and trapped there. She had no idea who else, if anyone, might have keys to Greg’s apartment, where she was. What if some friend or family member burst in to wish a “Merry Christmas”, and found her like this? She would just die–. She struggled fruitlessly against the magic bondage, but the velvet ribbons held her bound relentlessly.

Or, what if no one did? How long would it take for either one of them to be found? Santa had said that the Christmas magic would sustain her, but for how long? How long would it take for either one of them to be found? Days? Weeks? For that matter, how many other people in the city—or the world—were in similar plights? She was pretty sure the number of people with kinky fantasies—not to mention what other secret wishes Santa Claus might be granting—was probably pretty high, and she remembered how slow emergency response could be in case of a wide-spread—well, was disaster the right word in this case?

Some of her questions were answered when the gray light of a December dawn crept in through the window of Greg’s bedroom and into the living room. At first she didn’t notice it, as the wan illumination was overpowered by the Christmas tree lights, but then she felt something. She felt a sudden release, as though a balloon had soundlessly burst in the room. She started.

“Mmf?” she asked—then gasped. She could hear herself! The spell enforcing silence on her was gone. “Hllp! Hllp!” she instinctively screamed, but the thick velvet wrapped over her mouth still muffled her cries, and she realized that even if that weren’t the case, there might not be anyone in range to hear her, or who could come to her aid if they could.

Brenda paused and took stock. Whatever spells had been on her, they seemed to now be gone. She began to feel a bit cramped, a bit thirsty—a bit needing to pee, all of which made her situation more desperate. However, she also noticed that she seemed to be able to move a bit more freely. She heaved and squirmed, and lo, when she squeezed her knees together, the band holding them against her chest slipped down toward her ankles! It was only a tiny bit of slack, but it encouraged her to thrash around a bit more.

By great good luck, she caught one of the trailing ribbon ends under the ball of her foot. Keeping her weight there to pin it, she pulled herself backward with her bound hands, just enough to feel the bow knot give. She was thrilled to find it undid the ribbon tying her ankles to her wrists. Now able to push both her hands and her feet somewhat away from her body, she was able to struggle and roll around, which succeeded in dislodging the bindings holding her knees to her chest.

She sighed with relief as she was able to stretch out her legs. She was still gagged and bound, arms and ankles, but how much more freedom of movement she had! Studying her tied ankles, she decided it wasn’t a good idea to try to stand up with the ankles crossed. She began looking around the apartment for something that might help her escape.

With her arms wrapped from shoulders to wrists, she doubted that a knife or scissors would do her any good, even could she get hold of one. After quite a bit of thought, she began to crawl toward the apartment’s bathroom. As she nearly orgasmed from her sensitive nipples brushing the carpet, she realized how aroused the struggling had made her.

“Wow, Santa’s got something here,” she thought, “even if there are some problems with the execution.”

Sliding across the tile bathroom floor, Brenda writhed around to get herself into a sitting position against the wall. Squirming along the wall, she positioned herself as best she could under the corner of a towel bar. She gathered her legs under her, bent her head forward, and gingerly extended her legs, pushing herself up the wall until she felt the corner of the bar hook the top of the ribbons behind her. Using everything she recalled from an article on Houdini, she let her breath out as she tried to push her already taut elbows closer together, and pushed upward with all the strength she could muster. After a second heave, she felt the bindings begin to give, but also felt herself losing her balance. Frantically, she ducked her head and twisted away from the porcelain fixtures, falling heavily to the floor on her shoulder.

“Waooh!” She moaned. Trying to get up, she felt the wrappings around her arms shift, and, as she came to a sitting position, felt them fall into a loose coil around her wrists. It was the work of a moment to pull one hand out of the tangle, and bring her wrists in front of her to free the other. Brenda clawed the gag away from her face, then bent over to untie her ankles at last. She was free!

Although she definitely had to use the toilet by this time, she turned on lights and ransacked the apartment until finding Greg’s phone. She punched in a number, but got a busy signal, then laughed and realized she was dialing Greg’s number. She terminated the call and called her own number instead.

“Pickup, pickup, pickup,” she chanted, as the phone rang, then went to her voicemail. “Damn!” She said to herself, “If he’s not loose by now, he’s in trouble! “ She almost called 911, but stopped herself. “I’ve got to get home, but I’ve got no clothes, no money, no ID….” Then, she stopped again, and turned toward her boyfriend’s bedroom.

After a quick bathroom break and glass of water, Brenda hit the street, not running only because her shoes were too large. She had pulled on one of Greg’s shirts, and a pair of his jeans. Luckily, she found a military style web belt in his drawer that she could use to cinch up the waistband. She had put on two pair of his thickest socks, and bloused the legs of the pants into the tops of some high-top sport shoes, double knotting the laces as tightly as she could in hopes of keeping the shoes on her feet. She found a shopping bag and dumped in Greg’s keys, wallet, and phone. At the last minute, she caught up the red velvet ribbons and stuffed them into the bag as well. She threw on Greg’s winter coat, and she went to the rescue.

She expected that there would not be many people on the streets Christmas morning, and she was right in that. What did surprise her was the number of people who seemed far merrier than normal, calling out “Merry Christmas” and other greetings even to other strangers. She wondered how many of these people had had a secret wish granted by Santa. She assumed that the typically grumpy looking people were late workers who hadn’t been home yet. Or, she thought, people like herself who hadn’t wished carefully, and were on their way to try and fix things.

She used Greg’s pass card to board the subway. As she settled into her seat, she caught sight of herself in the window reflection and winced. Her wildly oversized and baggy clothing would have made her look like a bag lady, were it not also obviously clean and well cared for. Her outfit nevertheless was distinctly incongruous with the heavy makeup (miraculously unsmeared!) that Santa Claus had gifted her with. Her hair hadn’t survived as well, so she looked like some strange sort of urban wild woman. Having neglected to pack a comb, she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to ignore the amused looks she got from the other riders.

At her stop, she hurried into her building, and up to her apartment. Fumbling the keys on the unfamiliar ring, she got the door open, hearing as she did so the muffled grunting of a gagged man. Greg was here! Greg was alive! And (a pang of wicked joy shot through her heart and her loins), Greg was still tied up!

She stepped into the room, calling out, “Greg?” and stopped, having to put her hands over her mouth to avoid laughing out loud. But then she did laugh, exclaiming, “Santa, just what I wanted! Thank you, thank you!”

This drew outraged grunts from the bound man in the room. Greg had been tied up like she had been, but in addition had been put into a black nylon stocking the size of a laundry bag. Santa had evidently knotted the top of the stocking around the hook in the mantelpiece, such that Greg was suspended, able to touch the floor only with one big toe. Not only was he trapped in the stocking bag, which was stretched to its limits and had no further give to it, he had absolutely no leverage to use in straining against his bonds. Anne found his situation laughable, but also highly erotic.

“So,” she said, “you wanted me wrapped up under your tree, eh? Well, I can’t complain TOO much, given your predicament. I guess I can be glad you didn’t think of the stocking, too, or I’d still be trying to fight my way out of a giant sport sock.” She approached and examined her gift, reaching up to examine the knot, and casually stroking an exposed male buttock as she did so, eliciting a muffled snort from her man. (“That feels nice,” she thought to herself. “Why don’t more men wear nylons? I know they make them. Maybe I’ll buy him some.”) To Greg, she said, “There’s too much weight on the knot for me to untie it. I don’t know if this stuff can be cut.” (She suspected it could, but decided she wanted to save it if she could–.) “Hang on, while I think.”

She went out of the room, but came back having stripped out of her men’s clothes, and only armed with her cellphone. She came back and took pictures from every angle.

In reply to her boyfriend’s snorts of indignation, she said, “Come on, be a sport! I’ll never have this opportunity again, and I want to remember it. This is so hot! No one will ever see these—as long as you behave!” Greg huffed. “Besides, I’ll make it up to you. You have to get your present, you know.” Even through the black fabric, Anne could see his eyebrows rise, and an interested “Hmmm!” came from behind his gag. “Now, let’s see about getting you out of there.”

Brenda got the footstool from its place by her reading chair, and, with such help as Greg could give, got it underneath him, taking his weight. Then she was able to slip the knotted stocking top off the hook. It took some picking to untie the knot, which had been pulled tight by Greg’s weight, but she managed it. Greg sighed with satisfaction as she peeled the nylon cocoon down over his shoulders, and planted a kiss on his nose.

“Mmm-hm?” he queried, shaking his head, indicating the gag should come off.

“All in good time,” Brenda replied. “It’s fun to unwrap presents, you know.”

Peeling the stocking the rest of the way off, Anne undid the ribbons that held Greg’s knees to his chest, and his wrists to his ankles. Then she untied his ankles. He sighed and moaned as he stretched his legs out. Anne felt a teeny bit guilty for taking so long to ease his position, but made up for it by massaging his calves. As she worked her way up his thighs, she saw his handsome cock stirring in its nest of blue ribbons.

“ ‘My friend, I don’t know where ye’ve been, but I see ye won first prize,’” she quoted as she stroked him, and admired the prompt response, as the stroked organ came to attention. Greg moaned, shrugged his shoulders and shook them, indicating his desire to be untied. Anne stood up, and checked his remaining bonds. She saw that they were still taut, his muscular arms straining against the blue fabric, such that she was sure he would not be able to shrug his way our of the arm bindings. “Come, let me help you stand up.”

She helped him get to his feet, and she liked what she saw. Arms bound and still gagged, he was a delectable package of studly slavery. He had evidently gotten a ‘beauty treatment’ from Santa as well as she had, for his skin was as smooth, hairless, and satiny as any male underwear model’s. His engorged penis stood out from its collar of blue velvet. She reached out to grasp it, but he tried to shy away.

“None of that, now,” she commanded. “I want you just the way you are. I think any woman would. You look good enough to eat—if you get my drift,” she leered. She hugged him and squeezed herself against him. “You’re my magic, secret wish gift, and this is how I want you. Be mine, now. Let me use you. Let me take you as, yes, I realize now, I have dreamt of. Let me do this now, and I promise you I will make your dreams come true, here, now, today or another time if you choose. So, unless you strongly object, come with me now.” She reached out and grasped the ribbons that festooned his manhood. She realized that they were elaborately wrapped around the base of his cock and balls, his scrotum, and his shaft, and made a perfect harness to lead and control him with.

Greg looked down at her, cocking his head quizzically, then his expression softened and he nodded. Anne twined her fingers in the ribbons round his cock, and began to tow him toward her bedroom. She paused only to scoop up the discarded blue velvet ribbons from the floor.

At the bed, she guided him down to recline on his back, arranging the pillows so he would be comfortable. She also ran the longest of the velvet ribbons across his back, under his bound arms. Then, she took another, and tied his ankles back together, and then to the foot of the bedstead. She took the ends of the ribbon under his arms, and tied them to the headboard, pinning him to the bed.

“No, I haven’t done this before,” she said in response to his bemused glance, “it’s just—inspiration.”

She left him alone for a moment, and ducked into the bathroom. She scooped up an eyeliner pencil, then paused with her phone to snap a picture of her bold makeup. She thought she might want to re-create the effect if she could. She also snapped one of herself in the full-length mirror. Evidently, Santa was a fan of clean shaving, for her skin was smooth and flawless. She regretted the ruin of the hairdo, but when else had she ever looked so good, so confident, so strong, so just damned hot, especially naked?

Back at the bed, she paused, and stood over Greg, putting a foot on the bed beside him so that he could get a good view of her from cunt up, wild and Amazonian. His eyes bulged gratifyingly. She bent over Greg and boldly printed “BRENDA’S!” across his chest, which she also photographed, “For posterity!” as she joked.

Kinkmas Morning · Part 1 (1/2)
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