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Subject: {AdrianHunter} Xmas Trilogy (bd, etc.)[1/1]
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Behooved
By Adrian Hunter


(Presumably overheard while walking past this year's Christmas display windows
at Bergdorf Goodman in New York, described by Lynn Yaeger in the Village Voice
thusly: "tony tableaux with arch title cards explaining their activities. 'With
all the conveniences of modern living...Donner [sic] and Blitzen still
preferred dashing through the snow,' reads one, describing a vaguely s/m scene
in which Donner and Blitzen, two lissome debutantes clad in loden pant suits,
pull a sleigh…")


Damn it, Comet, hold still, willya? Christ, hasn't she figured out that every
time one of the team twitches, it jerks the nipple clamps on the deer behind
her?

You'd think being attached to someone named Prancer would give her at least a
semblance of a clue.

The old Comet knew better. She was a real pro. None of this mewling while the
elves "primed the pump," as they liked to say. Hell, we've been training since
summer. She should be used to the reins between her legs by now.

Except the little pricks always pushed them into the red zone before the big
night, jerking the leads for up to an hour, the plugs practically bouncing in
and out of their respective apertures, or at least as far as the crotch belts
allowed. Amazing how much energy the eight of them could generate when properly
harnessed, as it were.

Up in the front, great huffs of white vapor spewed from Dancer's nose, while
Cupid gnashed the bit in her mouth and Dasher's heels scratched nervous lines
in the sawdust on the floor of the staging area. Behind them, drones shoveled
presents into the hold, the elders calibrated wormhole trajectories, and their
supervisors amused themselves in the driver's seat.

The next one who yells "giddyup," gets gored.

Countdown must be close to zero. She could practically smell the fat fuck
already.

Bowlful of jelly, my ass. More like rancid bacon.

Still, there were worse things than being closest to the sleigh. For one, less
turbulence. For another, Santa's lash was too long to reach the holes in the
winter leder that left their haunches exposed to the elements and worse. Like
the inevitable freezing rain over Finland. Always a thrill for the nipples.

Looks pretty clear outside though. No sign of that dipwad Rudolph. Bet the
elves are having fun with his nose anyway, or whatever you call that red thing
sticking out from all those straps down there. By the time they're finished,
it'll glow for days.

Hey, he was the one who wanted to play reindeer games.

Yikes, take it easy up there! The old Comet was such a deer. Sure hope she
didn't wind up in the drone barn. Or the kitchen…Jesus, anything but working
for the missus.

Leave it to Vixen to accessorize her antlers. A real ho's ho.

****************************

O Carol
By Adrian Hunter


Her fingers told her it felt like a marshmallow, but it rolled into a hard
little tube as per the instructions on the back of the box.

She couldn't believe she was doing this. He was probably on his way home right
now.

Couldn't resist. Besides, she'd find out soon enough. Better to know what she
was getting herself into.

Cautiously, she wedged the plug into her right ear and marveled as it slowly
expanded to fit the shape of the hole.

She repeated the process on her other ear.

"Testing…hello?"

Not a complete seal, but definitely a difference.

She gingerly turned her head and reached down to open the box on the bed next
to her.

Well, there it is.

Just lying there, nestled in tissue, it really didn't look menacing at all.
Except it was awfully…black. Black leather. Black straps. Black blindfold.
Black rubber bladder. Black tube coming out of the mouthpiece. Black pump. The
proverbial lump of coal.

Expensive as all hell. As the best fantasies often are.

He's gonna love it, she reminded herself. Such a surprise. For both of them.

Better hurry. Have to get it wrapped and hidden. Tomorrow's the big day.

She picked it up, unfolded the flaps and lifted it toward her eyes, humming
"don we now our gay apparel." What to do about her hair? There was an opening
in the top, but she didn't think hers was really long enough to make a
convincing Pebbles. Bunch it up underneath? Just let it lie, girl. No time to
get cute.

She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and guided the limp bladder between
her lips. According to her tastebuds, this was not fun.

Reaching around her head, she found the ends of the zipper. Somewhere in the
back of her mind, Jane's Addiction screamed "here we go" as she aligned the
slides, tugged down and





Duh. That's right. Extra padding in the ears. Can still see though. And taste,
definitely taste. Touch, check. And oh, the smell.

Find the top strap for the blindfold. Wrap around, reach behind, buckle. Dark.

Now mouth. Pressing cheeks. Repeat.

This was going to be tougher than she thought. Maybe she'd have to use it on
him first.

She fumbled around her chest until her fingers found the smooth bulb dangling
like bait on the end of the tube. It didn't take many squeezes before the
bladder inflated enough to qualify as trouble.

Where's that little valve wheel? Got it. Right to tight, just like the guy at
the store said.

She let the pump fall out of her hand. Deep breaths through the nose. Fingers
dropping down to her lap. Should could would hood. Merry Christmas, baby.

What the fuck was that thump?! 

As she sprang to her feet, a vision flashed, something about a terrible
mistake, then powerful hands pulled her bathrobe off her shoulders. Before she
could exhale, something wide snaked around her torso, pinning her arms flat
just above her elbows.

Another second later, the robe was gone, and she was lying face down on the
bed. By the time she found the sense to start struggling, someone had lashed
her ankles together with something made out of cloth…the sash?…and her wrists
were one knot shy of a vicious hogtie.

It has to be him, she comforted herself as her assailant found the bladder,
opened the valve and started pumping.

But since when did he smoke a pipe?

**********************************

Silent Knight
By Adrian Hunter


He stared out the window by her desk and watched the snowflakes drift down
gently from the sky.

Looks like God and Jesus had another pillow fight, he thought to himself, his
tongue exploring the tip of the thick candy cane stuck between his teeth.

He remembered her voice, low and husky, right up close to his ear.

"Don't drop it, Santa."

The water started running in the bathroom. She'll be finished soon.

He shifted a little and realized it wouldn't take much effort to untie the
ribbon binding his wrists behind his back. He could hide behind the
door…surprise her…take her down hard…

"Better hurry," urged the little devil voice in his head.

He tried to soothe himself by watching the whiteness begin to obliterate the
neighborhood.

So pure and unsullied.

He sneaked a quick peppermint grin.

"Unlike certain people I know," he thought to himself.

His gaze shifted down to her computer monitor. He squinted at the lines of text
herded into neat paragraphs marching across the screen, but he couldn't really
make out the words.

Not that it mattered. You read one Akasha riff, you've read them all.

Judging by the number of pages stacked up in the output bin of the printer, she
obviously disagreed.

He felt his cock stir. So soon? He glanced over at her dresser. The leather
pouch looked pretty innocuous. No missing the intent of the laces, though. Nor
the plug, which she had carefully balanced so it stood up straight on its base.

"Because it looks a little like a Christmas tree, doesn't it?"

And the red ball in the middle of the trainer, he supposed, could be Rudolph's
nose.

The sound of hearty midwestern voices declaiming "jingle all the way" wafted up
from the stereo downstairs. He couldn't help thinking of clamps.

This much snow probably qualifies as a bonafide blizzard. A lot of people are
probably rethinking the traditional afternoon visit to…

The door to the bathroom opened.

"Miss me?"

She strutted across the room, gleaming like a can of Raid at the "Antz"
premiere.

God, in that corset…as if she wasn't sexy enough already…

She sat herself primly in front of the computer and picked up the bottle of
hand lotion next to the monitor.

Oh, no.

Not again.

She squirted a generous amount onto her gloved fingers and reached toward his
crotch.

Without a word, she began coating his cock while her other hand resumed
manipulating the mouse through Akasha's archives in search of inspiration and a
few reindeer games for them to play.

He tried not to groan as she methodically stroked him, undoubtedly heading for
the hour's second orgasm. To make sure he stayed soft for the laces.

She hummed along with Bing Crosby as he crooned that damned song for what
seemed like the millionth time today.

Of all years, this had to be the one when it actually snowed on Christmas Day.

The year he bet her that it wouldn't.

___________________________________________
Story archive: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Gallery/9911/door.html
Mail: adrianhunter-at-geocities-dot-com


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