Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Sisters of the Heart I

   All I Want For Christmas

   By Shadowkeeper

   Story Codes: M+F, Snuff, Cann, Reluc



   Part One - Christmas Past

   As long as I can remember, I haven't been able to sleep on Christmas
Eve...not a wink.  I know that doesn't sound too unusual, well, at least
not from kids, but in my case it isn't from some breathless anticipation of
the gifts to be opened the next day, or hopes of sneaking a peek at some
jolly guy in a red suit.  No, for me, the penultimate night of the holidays
is one of terror; terror at the thought of a hairy, lecherous fat man
violating the sanctity of my domicile like some magical home-invader on a
one-night-a-year binge.

   Year after year, I would be sent up to bed along with my many sisters
with the usual protests and complaints emanating from them, and quiet
whimpers from me.  You would think that having so many siblings around me
would help to make me feel more secure, but it didn't; instead any horrid
imaginings that I applied to myself would also involve my sisters,
something far worse for me than suffering alone.

   There in my bed I would shiver with the covers pulled over my head as I
imagined every small sound in the night to be that famous fat man entering
our house, emptying his huge bag, and finally coming upstairs to refill it
with little girls.  In the early years I was never quite clear on exactly
what horrible fate would befall us after we had been taken, but in some
ways that touch of the dreadful unknown was worse than having anything
concrete to contemplate.

   Finally, after a full night of sleepless terror, I would emerge from my
room in a shell-shocked zombie state, dazed and drained like some war
refugee.  At that point I would have no volition of my own, and one of my
sisters would assign herself the task of guiding me through the morning. 
Luckily, we were all unusually close, especially given how close we were in
ages, and so I was able to use their assistance to make it through the
family gift opening routines with the adults none the wiser.

   Whenever a gift would fall into my lap, one of my sisters would loudly
go on and on about how wonderful some gift was, drawing the attention of
the adults from me as my designated handler opened the present for me and
propped it up like I was displaying it.  A whispered reminder would prompt
me to smile and mouth 'thank you' in the appropriate direction, and then we
would start the process all over again.  I was never fully aware of what
was going on, lost in physical and emotional exhaustion, so I usually
didn't even know what gifts I had received until I was shown the next day.

   I was of course the reason that my sisters decided to start the
tradition of taking a nap after the gift opening, something I never failed
to appreciate, given that they had to have been frustrated by having to
wait to play with their new stuff.  Whenever I tried to thank them, they
just pointed out that while they got some sleep, it was usually disturbed
by someone moaning and whimpering all night long - they said this
playfully, not in any mean-spiritedness, and I never took offense, although
I did still feel guilty.

   One year we were finally told that there was no Santa; I had to hide my
sigh of relief and pretend that I was upset like my sisters.  Finally,
finally my terror will be gone, I thought.  Unfortunately, that was the
year that I learned that phobias don't have to make sense, and cannot be
ruled by the rational mind; my terror and the visions in my head were still
there, and worse than ever.  Now when I imagined my holiday abduction, I
did so knowing that rescue was beyond hopeless, as no one would investigate
a kidnapper that they thought didn't exist.

   As I got older, progressing through high school, I inevitably matured
sexually, and as I did, my subconscious just as inevitably sexualized my
Christmas Eve terrors.  Now I finally saw what would happen to me after the
bearded man got me to his lair.  Countless scenarios danced in my head on
those nights: rape by not just the fat man and his cruel wife, but by
cold-eyed elves as well, and even by impossibly well endowed reindeer.  And
at the end of all that suffering, my final fate was always the same...to be
cooked and eaten, fulfilling the promise of Santa's huge belly as I was
spit-roasted, or stuck into an oven, or just cut up and tossed bit by bit
onto a grill.

   Now when my terrors involved my family, none of them were victims. 
Instead my parents and sisters would drag me to the kitchen, cover me in
frosting and pop me in the oven to become Santa's milk and cookie snack. 
Somehow the baking would transform me into a living gingerbread girl, while
my breasts would start to lactate.  Then I would lie on a tray in front of
the hearth, waiting for my nemesis to come devour me.

   The thing that truly confused me was that, even as my terror and
loathing overtook me, my hands would unconsciously move to my breasts and
crotch, and by the time a scenario had finished playing out in my head I
would have to use a pillow to muffle my cries of ecstasy as I climaxed
harder than at any other time of the year.  Now when I shuffled downstairs
on Christmas morning, my exhaustion was not just from lack of sleep, but
also from an unbearable number of powerful climaxes.  My siblings all knew
what was happening, but we were all old enough to each have our own
individual kinks and so nobody made a big deal about it.

   Finally, the time came for me to go away to college, and I ended up at
one that was too far away for me to come home for the holidays.  I had an
apartment with some roommates, but they were all going to visit their
families, and so there I was, all alone for the first time on my annual
night of torment.

   After the obligatory hour-long family cell phone chat, complete with
useless but still very much appreciated suggestions for alleviating my
'problem' from each of my sisters, I tried to use the television to
distract myself, but this proved to be a mistake.  Channel after channel, I
found movies, shows, specials, shopping, worship and of course, incessant
commercials, all focused on that ultimate Hallmark holiday.  It was hell,
and by dusk I gave up.

   Finally I curled up in the far corner of the living room, buried under
blankets in a huge love seat.  I had turned off all of the lights and
closed the shades on the windows, in an irrational move to make Santa think
that everyone was away to visit with family...no sir, no gifts to deliver
here...





   Part Two - Christmas Present

   So now I think you know enough to understand why I am currently sitting
alone in the dark, wrapped up like a little burrito, shivering in combined
fear and lust, while the witching hour of Christmas Eve approaches with the
slow, steady pace of an executioner.  I really have no control over my
actions at this point; my instinctive, unreasoning animal mind is playing
at being Captain and Pilot tonight, and all I can do is go along for the
ride.  As my body diddles with itself and jumps at every little sound, I
can't help but hate Heisenberg for not applying the uncertainty principle
to aspects of personality; it would be so nice if the simple act of
observing were to give me some small influence on the course of events
right now.

   I don't know how late it is when I hear the back door opening softly,
but I do know that no one should be coming home for another day and a half.
My heart is hammering as my other-self, the one in control, freezes in
terror as she thinks that surely this must be Santa finally come to get
her; for my part, I am just as terrified, only with the thought that it
must be someone intent on robbery, and if they find me here, they will
probably feel it necessary to kill me.

   As I see a flashlight beam playing over the kitchen, my guess seems to
be confirmed, but my idiot alter ego doesn't even notice it, since
flashlights don't match up with her image of a Santa attack.  Suddenly the
doorway from the kitchen to the living room is filled with the dark bulk of
a large man; my body whimpers quietly and starts to really rub at its
pleasure centers in response.  The flashlight plays over the room
aimlessly, missing me on the first few passes, and both of my selves dare
to hope that we won't be noticed; after all, only my face is uncovered, and
the blankets are piled thick enough to appear a shapeless mass.

   The man at the door appears ready to move on and explore a different
room when my hands, still going on autopilot under the covers, suddenly
bring me to a powerful climax.  My alter ego has enough presence of mind to
try biting her lips to muffle her cries, but it just isn't enough.  The
light swings over to my still shuddering form as my eyes stare back
blindly, wide and mindless as any deer caught in headlights.  The gasp of
surprise that comes from the man mirrors my own terrified intake of breath,
and then I hear a deep, rich baritone voice.  "What the fuck?  Shit, no
sense in trying to sneak around now."

   The overhead lights turn on, suddenly illuminating us to each other.  He
can't really see much of me, other than my pale, sweat soaked pixie face
and messy shock of deep red hair, but I can now see him, and I stop
breathing for a moment in shock.  Standing before me is a huge
white-bearded man in a red suit and hat, trimmed in white fur, with a
matching, empty bag.  My animal-mind of course fails to notice that the
beard is fake, and the suit is stretched at the wide shoulders and
barrel-chest instead of the stomach, which I figure is probably wash-board
flat, and to be honest, my alter-ego isn't the only one mingling fear with
arousal at this point; as a really petit girl I've always had a thing for
being dominated by really big guys - it's a contrast thing.

   My idiot other self actually gasps, "Oh, shit, Santa found me!"

   The man, whom for simplicity's sake I shall just call Santa, looks
puzzled for a minute, then just shrugs and starts to approach me, as he
notices that I am making no attempt to escape him.  His hands reach for my
covers hesitantly, evidently trying not to spook me, and then when he notes
my frozen state, he slides them off of me with surprising gentleness. 
Santa gives a long, low whistle as he takes in the sight of my small but
shapely naked body, covered in sweat and amazingly still playing with
itself.

   He's speaking again.  "Wow, you are one hot little thing, aren't you. 
And look at you getting your poor chair all soaked with your juices; you've
got a thing for Santa, don't you girl?"

   I find that I am nodding even as a shudder runs through my body,
eliciting a small squeak from me.  He seems to like that and smiles; he's
definitely turned on by this, and I can see the wheels turning in his head,
but I still see a certain kindness in his face that makes me hope that I'll
just get a good lay and be left alone.  That's when dumb bitch, the other
me, has to open her trap; she's of course still lost in her own little
world, and thinks that this is her past imaginings become real.  "You -
you're gonna take me home in that sack, aren't you?" My voice sounds half
fearful, half expectant - god, how embarrassing, I sound like a slut.

   From Santa's expression, I can tell he hadn't considered doing anything
of the sort, but now the idea has been planted in his head, no doubt along
with the observation that I am unlikely to put up a fight.  After
hesitating for a moment, his smile - damn he's got a great smile - comes
back full force and he nods.  "Yeah, you've been a bad little girl, haven't
you honey...you'll be coming with me so I can make sure you behave from now
on, won't you?"

   My eyes are tearing up - this is so pathetic.  "P-please don't let Mrs.
Clause hurt me, please, I'll be good for you..." Wow, I'm just spelling
things right out for him now; no doubt he's pretty far along the road of
figuring out just how out of my mind I really am.

   He's caressing my hair now, petting my head like a dog, and to my
humiliation I'm responding to it, rubbing against his huge hand and moaning
softly while staring up at him with big, bright hopeful eyes.  "Tell you
what honey; you tell me where you keep your purse and any jewelry, and then
get yourself into that bag, and I'll make sure the Mrs.  doesn't even know
you're around, okay?"

   It's probably a half an hour later that I find myself tied up in a big
soft bag, surrounded by random valuables from my home, and banging around
on a hard metal surface as I'm driven towards some unknown fate.  My alter
ego, of course, is interpreting this as some kind of sleigh ride, but I'm
pretty sure I'm in the back of a pick-up truck, and I hate pick-ups,
they're so country-western.  Well, I guess Mr.  Right can't be perfect; I
just hope he doesn't listen to that music - I've heard that it makes you
more likely to murder someone, and despite my visions of being Christmas
dinner, I have no intention of dieing tonight...





   Part Three - Christmas Ghosts

   The ride is a long one; luckily the bag is high quality, thick and soft,
and so the crisp winter air is kept away from my naked body.  Nevertheless,
it feels like I have been bouncing and sliding in it for days by the time
the truck finally comes to a stop and its engine shuts down.  I hear my
psuedo-santa get out of the truck, and shortly thereafter I hear the
tailgate drop and I'm being dragged towards it.

   Expecting to be carried over his shoulder in the traditional manner, I'm
surprised as he instead cradles me in his arms through the bag like a bride
about to be taken over the threshold; then again maybe for him this is an
equivalent scenario.  His arms are massive and solid as steel, yet his
touch is light and careful as he supports me under the knees and shoulder;
I have the overpowering desire to reach up and put my arms around his neck
to complete the romantic picture in my head, but the bag prevents that.

   He doesn't take me far before he pauses and I hear the tinkling of keys
followed by the sound of a metal door opening, and then closing behind us
as we start to move again.  After a short distance we stop and I am placed
in a sitting position on a smooth surface without changing elevation;
obviously I am on a counter or table of some sort.  My tender kidnapper
starts to speak in an authoritative tone as he loosens the tie at the top
of the bag.  "Now baby-doll, I want you to close your eyes, and keep them
closed until I say otherwise, understand?"

   I screw my eyes shut obediently as he pulls the bag down around me.  He
moves away for a moment, then places something over my eyes and ties it
firmly behind my head.  "You can go ahead and open your eyes now babe, not
that it will do you any good." He sounds amused and pleased; somehow I can
tell he's taking in the sight of my nude, vulnerable body once again, and I
can feel myself starting to blush with embarrassment.

   He silently guides me off of the counter, or whatever it is, and onto my
feet; I feel cold hard tile and start to shiver slightly.  One of his
massive hands engulfs both of my own and tugs me further into the room; I
can tell by the sound of our steps that it is a large one, and lacking in
softness.  Still silent, he gently uses his hands to pose me with my legs
spread wide, hands clasped tightly behind my arched back, thrusting my pert
breasts up and out while my hips go back.  I'm uncomfortable, but
undeniably turned on by the image in my mind of how sexy I must look like
this.

   He moves away from me, and I have to fight the urge to throw myself
after him.  He seems to sense my tensing up as he stops long enough to
speak again.  "Just stay right there sweety; I'm just going to get some
friends - I mean elves to meet you.  God they are gonna just eat you up!"
Hearing that gets my alter ego in a tizzy, as she takes it literally; I
just take it as a figure of speech.

   I don't know how long I waited there in my chill, dark little world, but
eventually I heard my Santa's voice approaching, mixed in with several
other excited voices.  I can hear them stop nearby as several gasps of
surprise come out, accompanied by my man's low chuckling.  One of the new
guys gets his voice back as he tentatively approaches me.  "Holy shit dude,
you were right - she's a hot little bitch - and standing there without any
restraints, all ready for us...you really must be Santa to come up with
this kind of gift!"

   That seemed to break the ice, as suddenly I am being groped and fondled
from all directions.  I start to moan softly and wiggle around a bit as my
skin begins to tingle from the stimulation; without my sight it's like
being felt up by ghosts, and the thought turns me on like hell.  When they
start to stroke and squeeze my breasts my breath quickens, and when one of
them tweaks my nipples a shudder runs through me as my moans grow louder
and more throaty - I'm starting to lose awareness of my surroundings as my
arousal moves into a new, more demanding stage.

   My legs almost collapse when I feel a finger run along my shaved little
slit.  Whoever it is seems to be impressed.  "Shit man, this bitch is
soaking wet...her cunt's just begging for our dicks!" He's right; I need a
good fucking right now more than I ever have before.

   At some non-verbal signal, the rest of the men back off a bit as my
Santa's huge hands settle on my shoulders and gently push down.  I
obediently fall to my knees, instinctively knowing what he desires.  My
hands start to come out from behind my back so that I can reach for the
member that I have been thinking about since I first saw him in my living
room, but I pause as he speaks.  "Keep those hands back there little lady,
or we'll have to tie them that way.  I want you to do this with just your
mouth."

   I gulp and nod as I hear him releasing himself from his pants, and then
lean forward until I feel his warm, semi-hard flesh at my lips.  Adjusting
my position so that I can feel the head, I flick it with my tongue, tasting
his pre-cum and eliciting a low moan in response.  Pleased with his
reaction, I smile and then start to take him into my mouth.  In the
darkness of my blind-fold, my eyes widen in disbelief - he's huge, far
larger in girth than anything I have ever taken in any of my holes.  I
don't know whether to be excited or apprehensive about the idea of it
entering my relatively inexperienced pussy, so I just concentrate on the
blowjob.  I have to open my mouth to its limits in order to get him in
without scraping him with my teeth, but somehow I do it.  I suck on the
head for a moment as he quickly hardens, and he responds by groaning and
then wrapping those massive hands around the back of my head.

   At this point I'm figuring that I'm about to get the skull-fuck of my
life, but instead he just steadies me and slowly moves himself in and out
of my gaping mouth, occasionally nudging the entrance to my throat but
never going beyond, even though that must be leaving a lot of his length
untouched.  His self-control amazes me, and his care with me is so touching
to me that my eyes start to tear up.  If I could speak right now I'd
probably ask him to marry me.

   After a few minutes of this, my Mr.  Right releases my head and orders
me to my hands and knees.  Again guessing easily at what he has in mind for
me, and by now desperately needing it, I eagerly obey, and go the extra
length of making sure that my legs are well spread and that my ass is
invitingly far up and wiggling in an open invitation to take me.

   My invitation is accepted in seconds as I feel my labia being parted by
thick fingers so that the head of his penis can come into direct contact
with my vaginal opening.  I gasp in shock as I feel myself opening up to
him; it feels impossibly large, and even though I'm afraid that he will
tear me, I start to thrust back at him, wanting to feel more.  I soon get
my wish as he steadily presses into me, stretching me beyond belief as I
freeze up and start making low, guttural moans, which are cut off as one of
my ghost-men grabs my head and shoves his already stiff member into my
gaping mouth.

   This man is of a more moderate size, but he is anything but gentle as he
immediately forces his cock past my gag reflex and down my throat.  I am
completely unprepared for this, and find myself unable to draw breath while
my lungs are at minimum capacity.  I try to pull away, panicking, but he
just holds me steady and pushes in until his hairy nut-sack is touching my
drool-covered chin.  Just as I'm starting to thrash in distress, he pulls
out and I suck in a huge breath before he starts to piston in and out of my
throat.  I manage to regulate my breathing around his thrusts, and suddenly
realize that in my distraction with asphyxia, I had failed to notice that
the huge member in my cunny had fully entered me.  I start moaning around
the cock in my mouth as I feel filled in places I never before knew
existed.

   The cock within my overstretched pussy starts to move, and I am hit out
of nowhere with the biggest orgasm I have ever had; it slams into me like a
runaway freight train, and I am lost in it.  It never seems to end as I am
vaguely aware of being taken in many positions, and every hole - it
surprises me how easily I adapt to my first experience with anal and
multiple penetrations, but then the details of what is happening to me are
blurred and subsumed by my overpowering series of multiple climaxes.

   At some point the rough handling of my head moves the blindfold so that,
once everyone is finished and I have recovered enough to be aware of my
surroundings, I am able to catch my first glimpse of the room I am in. 
It's a kitchen, but not just any kitchen; this one is designed for cooking
huge quantities of food at a time, and thus is equipped with huge pots,
pans, ovens and grills - huge enough to hold a human, and that sets off my
until now relaxed alter-ego.  She pulls off the blind-fold and looks around
in a panic, not even noticing that her Santa is conspicuously missing his
beard, and the elves look like regular, if intimidating men.  I find myself
backing up to the counter with the bag on it, still on my ass and covered
in sweat and cum, and I hear my voice gasping out, "Oh shit, oh shit, now
is when you cook me, isn't it, isn't it!" At the end there I'm sounding
pretty hysterical, as the men around me look confused and alarmed.

   My Mr.  Right seems as if he is about to say something to comfort me,
when one of the other guys gets an evil grin for a second, and then covers
it up with a serious expression as he speaks up.  "She has a point man. 
She's seen us, she's seen where she is...we can't afford to let her go
now."

   I'm hyperventilating now as I look from my new nemesis to my original
kidnapper.  He looks torn, and then sighs as he gives me a sad look.  The
meaning of that look is plain: I'm pretty well fucked now - I'm going to
die, and probably soon.  That breaks both of my personas, and tears start
to roll down my face as my body is wracked by great, heaving sobs of
despair...





   Part 4 - No Christmas Future

   I'm barely aware of the voices around me as I slide down onto my side
and curl up into a ball.  Evil grin guy is the first to speak.  "So, how
you wanna do this boss?  You want me to slice her?  Or maybe we can hang
her, those look like dancer's legs..."

   My nemesis trails off as I hear a deep growling sound, like an angry
bear, but somehow I know that it is my Santa.  When he speaks, his deep
voice is bitter, angry.  "If any of you go near her, I'll kill you.  She's
mine, I'll take care of it." Someone tries to say something and is cut off
sharply.  "I said I'll take care of it!  You guys just go make sure no one
gets in or out until this is done."

   I can hear the men shuffling out of the room as my Santa; the man that I
had wanted to give myself to, and who will soon become my killer treads
softly towards me until I can sense his bulk looming over me.  I curl up
even tighter and whimper as I dread the thought of our brief relationship
changing this way.

   My voice is strangled and hopeless.  "You can't do anything to help me,
can you?"

   He sighs.  "I'm sorry sweety, I really am.  They'll be watching the
exits, and if we tried to get past them, they would just kill us both."

   He carefully bends down and cradles me in his arms like he did when he
took me from the truck; this time, I am free to respond and I do, wrapping
my slender arms around his thick neck and burying my face in his immense
chest, crying my heart out.  He just holds me like that and softly strokes
my hair and back, telling me in a whisper to let it all out.

   It takes me awhile, but eventually I calm down a bit, reduced to
sniffles as I nuzzle against him and fall into a strange state of
contentment; I know it seems twisted to feel safe in the arms of someone
that you know is about to murder you, but that is just where I am at this
point, to a degree that allows me to fully control my own actions for the
first time tonight.  Slowly I raise my head to look at him, my own bright
green eyes meeting his soft, sad brown ones for a moment before we
spontaneously start to kiss.  It is not the kiss of virtual strangers,
instead it is something pure, deep and passionate, like that shared by
couples on their wedding nights, and perhaps there is something of the
intimacy of that type of experience within this path which we are about to
embark upon.

   I break the kiss, and my question comes from both of my aspects.  "Will
- will it hurt much?" My voice is quiet, childish, and I see that I have
brought tears to his eyes.  His own voice, that deep, rich baritone that
seems to always make me shiver with desire and submission, is choked,
shaken.  "Not much baby, not much.  Mostly you'll just quietly go to sleep,
and never wake up."

   I sigh in relief about the pain, and then start to smile, perking up a
bit.  "Will I fall asleep while it's still night out, still Christmas Eve?"

   My lover, my executioner seems puzzled at my sudden change of spirits,
but he nods and kisses my forehead anyway.  "Yeah baby, we have plenty of
time left." Then he is holding me again, this time more tightly,
desperately, as if he is afraid of letting me go.  He's getting melancholy
now, maybe more than a little angry with himself.  "God, why did I bring
you here - I-I could have just had you to myself back at your place...and
maybe we could have made something of it..."

   I reach up and caress his chiseled features as I smile; I don't want him
to suffer the kind of hurt I see in his eyes.  "I would have liked that. 
Really I would have.  But now we need to get moving before the others get
impatient and try to help out." I shudder at the thought of nemesis taking
his knife to me, or stringing me up by a rope around my neck; better
whatever my love has in mind for me.

   He gives me a long look, tries to speak, and then stops and just nods.
He stands with me still cradled in his arms, and then lifts me a bit for a
kiss so profound that I am unaware that we are moving until he pulls back
from my lips and I notice that I am once again seated on a counter, this
time one with indentations to carry away excess fluids from food as it is
prepared.

   I am right next to a huge sink, and he reaches over to turn on the
water, adjusting the temperature carefully, and then soaking a soft cloth
with it.  I feel like I'm a little girl again as he gently maneuvers me
around while carefully washing my body clean of its buildup of sweat and
cum.  As the semi-dried fluids are washed from my body, I feel as if he is
also cleansing me of my past, my identity as a human being.  Gone is the
good student, the loyal sister; disappeared are my goals of becoming a
doctor, and even my names, Kate or Katie or even Red, as my daddy liked to
call me.

   He carefully ties my thick red hair into a bun, and then tells me to lie
down and try to relax while he gets some things ready.  I do as I'm told,
closing my eyes so that I can't see the preparations for my demise, and try
to steady my breath.  My shivering is only partially due to the chilly air
at this point, and I have to fight off a tendency to hyperventilate as
panic tries to set in.

   Finally he returns to me, after a long period of pot and pan banging,
along with the familiar sounds of food preparation.  I think the mundane
nature of the noises helped to keep me from jumping up and bolting into a
fate worse than death.  As he leans over me, he once more places his lips
on mine, and my fears melt away for now.  I open my eyes and look up at him
with complete trust as he eventually pulls away.

   He smiles down at me and shows me a giant, soft basting brush.  My alter
ego speaks up.  "Oh wow, Santa really is going to cook me!"

   He chuckles as he dips the brush into a huge bowl by my head.  "Yeah
baby, you asked for it, and I just can't deny you.  Now relax, I think
you're gonna enjoy this part a lot."

   As he runs the brush over my arms to start, I am surprised by the
texture of the sauce; it's not at all uncomfortable, and even gives my skin
a pleasant tingly feeling.  It also smells mouthwatering, and the
combination of wonderful sensory inputs soon has me panting and shuddering
in arousal.  By the time he gets to my breasts, my small nipples are hard
as diamond and standing proud, and I am starting to squirm a bit.

   When he gets to my cunt I'm primed and ready, and a single touch of
those soft bristles to my clit is all that it takes to set me off, bucking
and crying out in orgasm, but he's nowhere near done with the front of my
body yet.  After setting the brush aside, my man starts to lovingly rub the
sauce into my skin with his bare hands.  The sensations he creates are
unreal, like a combination of a good massage and slow foreplay.  By the
time he has me turn over onto my stomach, I have experienced numerous
climaxes, and I am perfectly prepped for the different manner in which he
does my backside.  His rubbing this time is now strictly massage-like in
nature, and I find myself relaxing to the point of being in an uncaring
daze by the time he is finished.

   When he carefully cradles me one last time and places me into a giant
pan, I am so out of it that I barely notice.  My eyes are half closed with
exhaustion, and my breathing is slow and steady as he carefully positions
me, bending my knees up to my breasts and gently but firmly tying my wrists
and ankles to each other.  I look up at him as he finishes and give him a
little smile.  "Is it bed time yet?  I think I need a little nap."

   When he gives me one last, long, tender kiss, I am a little frustrated
that my bonds limit my response, but between my relaxed state and the
loving nature of the kiss I don't really worry about it too much.  He pulls
back, but only far enough to look in my eyes.  My alter ego steps in for
now, as I try not to tear up on him.  "Tell me what's going to happen."

   He hesitates, but then responds in a soft, calm voice that reminds me of
a doctor describing a medical procedure to a patient that is about to go
under the knife; I kind of like that image and use it to lull myself back
into that calm state, letting his voice comfort me.  "I'm going to put you
into that oven over there, and turn the heat on to a low setting.  It'll
feel like a really, really warm sauna, and you might be uncomfortable for a
bit, but pretty soon you'll become exhausted and fall asleep.  A little
while later and heat stroke will-" He has to clear his voice, he doesn't
want to say the word.  "Heat stroke will kill you; you won't even know it."

   It appears that my alter ego has a rather ghoulish curiosity, because
she wants to know more.  "And then?"

   I want to tell her to shut the hell up as I see the pain this is causing
him, but it is too late.  "After-after you're gone, I'll take you out long
enough to cut off your head, drain your blood and- and gut you." He
shudders.  "Then you'll go back in at a much higher temperature until
you're fully cooked...and then, well, we eat."

   I close my eyes and smile, imagining what I will look like on a tray in
the middle of a table, my body roasted and my pretty little head perhaps
acting as a centerpiece; in my mind at least I look delicious.  "Will I
taste good?"

   His voice is breaking now.  "You'll be the best baby, a masterpiece."

   I'm whispering now, and both of my aspects are speaking.  "Thank you. 
Now it's time for me to move on."

   I feel something wet hit my face and open my eyes to see that he is
crying.  "God, I'm so sorry baby."

   I shake my head and smile again.  "Don't be, you're granting me my last
and only Christmas wish." He looks confused, and is about to ask me what I
mean when I shush him.  "Don't worry about it, just remember that I went
happy, okay?"

   He responds with a final, lingering kiss, and then whispers in my ear.
"Sweet dreams baby."

   His hands are shaking as he reaches for the pan's handles, but as he
carries me to my final home, his grip is firm and steady, my last ride a
smooth one.  I slide in with plenty of room to spare, and turn my head to
see him giving me one last, long look over.  "Make sure none of my sisters
have any clues to follow, they'll come looking for me." He nods without
speaking.  "Enjoy me." I give him a final smile, and then turn my head away
to signal that I am ready.  It takes him a few moments to manage it, but
eventually he shuts the door and locks it.

   I can see the growing glow of the coils beneath me reflected on the roof
of the oven as they heat up.  At first the heat is unbearably pleasant as I
finally lose the chill that I have been experiencing since I left my home.
Soon, however, I am starting to sweat and feel stifled; I ignore the urge
to squirm around and concentrate on keeping my breath steady.  The
discomfort grows until I start to feel a little sunburned, but then it
levels off and becomes a background sensation.

   I'm starting to feel drowsy now.  My eyelids are getting heavy, and I
don't fight it when they close for the last time.  Everything is getting
fuzzy; there's a comforting lethargy creeping up on me, and I let out a
little contented sigh.  Finally, after all these years, I'm about to get
the one thing I always wanted on Christmas Eve, and wouldn't you know it,
after fearing him the whole time, it was a Santa of sorts that finally gave
it to me.  I smile as that final gift of sleep washes over me, and then...
   Finis