THE ELF’S TURN
I’m tempted to chuckle for a second as I refasten my jeans, but I can’t allow her to stray from her submissive mindset. “Time for kitchen duty, Little Elf. That salad is not going to chop itself.”
I list the ingredients she’ll need, remind her where she can find a cutting board, knife, and serving bowl. “And when you finish, put it in the refrigerator for later.”
I realize she’s still got her eyes focused where I last ordered them, which will make vegetable chopping a dangerous affair. “Word to the wise, princess, if your master forgets to release your eyes before asking you to wield sharp implements, it’s a good time to safe word. Eyes on your work. Okay, go make that salad.”
I watch with a gush of satisfaction as my very own personal, scantily-clad elf hobbles on her ridiculously high heels over to the refrigerator. I’m pretty sure the way she bends over to get the lettuce is purposeful, but her teasing is harmless. And truth be told, very much appreciated. If Santa’s helpers had asses like Isabella’s, I’m pretty sure his Pole would always point North.
I wonder at his judgment allowing me near sharp knives at all in my current state. From the word “ready” I’ve been keyed up, and every single thing he’s done to me since then has only made things worse. And so much better.
As I rinse and drain the delicate leaves of the Boston lettuce, I recall his finger running along the top of my dress. As I chop the red pepper with the paring knife, I relive the sound and feel of his hand slapping against my skin, and the juxtaposition of his soothing voice and gestures keeping me tethered to safety in between. And steadying the unsliced half of the cucumber against the wood board, I can’t help but remember the heavy feel of his own need in my mouth, the released seeds spilled across the dark wood bringing to mind the salty taste of his satisfaction on my tongue. I falter momentarily and the outrageous heels do nothing to aid my balance. I clutch the countertop to rebalance, hoping he hasn’t seen my transgression.
I dare not lift my eyes from my task to check, but I’m not surprised to hear his voice from behind me. “Focus on your task, Little Elf. I don’t fancy the taste of blood in my food.”
“Yes, Santa.” Damn, I reprimand myself. Try harder. Mindfulness, mindfulness. Clearly a skill I need to practice.
He moves away and I finish the job with great care, place the serving bowl in the refrigerator, and clean my mess. I retake my position and find that cock. Catching a glimpse of his hands rubbing some kind of seasoning mixture across the surface of the steaks, I find myself longing to be that slab of meat receiving such loving treatment. Oh, to be slathered with oil and rubbed with greasy, long, sensual fingers covering every surface…
Mindful. Mindful. Follow the bouncing cock.
“All right, Little Helper,” he addresses me again while washing his hands. “Your next job is setting the dining room table for two. Pull out the good stuff. It’s Christmas.”
I wait for him to release me from my position, but instead he stalks over to me. My body tenses automatically, and I steel myself so I don’t falter again. He totally takes me by surprise by cupping my exposed crotch with his warm, sopping wet hand, fresh from the kitchen faucet. My breath catches but I do my best to remain still and focused.
“Just making sure you’re still wet for me,” he taunts, rubbing back and forth with his flattened hand.
Unnnnnnngggg! He’s just turned me into the very slab of beef I was just envying! I teeter a bit, and he chuckles. His hand picks up speed and intensity. “No coming without Santa’s permission, Little Elf,” his low, smooth voice instructs.
I try to distract myself, which is harder than you might imagine when one is ordered to stare at her master’s hardening penis while he vigorously stimulates her. And did I mention, she was horny as fuck before this all started?
I can’t help the way my breathing picks up or the way I lean shamelessly into his hand or, despite my worry over orgasming without permission, the way my body begs for release.
Should I ask? Should I ask? Should I ask?
And then it stops, leaving me breathless and wanting like never before in my life.
“Yep, you’re wet all right,” he says, grasping the bottom of the dress. “Arms up!” With one swift motion, he yanks the dress up and over my head, knocking the hat off in the process. Is he going to punish me again for ‘dishevelment’? Before I can decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, he replaces the cap squarely on my head. “That’s a freebie,” he winks. I’m left to ponder whether I’m disappointed or not.
I reclasp my hands and wait, standing before him completely bare except for the silly hat, jingle bell collar, comical thigh-highs and fuck-me spikes. My pussy is literally leaking a combination of warm water and hot arousal, and clenching is out of the question.
“Off you go, Little Elf, you can have your hands and eyes back.” He gives me a swat on the rear as I pass, just for good measure. “Oh, and make sure you keep plenty of space between your legs. I’ll be checking on you!” He chuckles as I shuffle out to the dining room.
Dinner preparations complete, I send my little helper scurrying to set the table and I settle into the sofa to watch the Bears at Green Bay. It’s hard not to feel smug and self-satisfied at this moment. The very formidable girl of my recent dreams has agreed to share my living quarters and the harder I work her, the happier she seems. Besides the fact that she’s a hot ball of horny mess for me right at the moment, I’ve weaseled out of two of my least favorite domestic duties- setting the table and chopping the vegetables.
Twisting my head around over my left shoulder, I check to see how she’s progressing. In those heels, she has no trouble whatsoever reaching the highest shelf in the china cabinet to retrieve a pair of Orrefors water goblets, which she places with great care at the table. Returning to the cabinet, I can tell she’s pondering which wine glasses to retrieve. Instead of bothering me, she covers her bases and pulls down one white and one red for each of us. Well done, princess.
And through it all, I can see plenty of daylight between her legs, which means she’s not cheating and relieving any of that delicious tension we’ve built up over the last couple of hours of play.
I return my attention to the beefy men in uniform who don’t get to celebrate Christmas with their families this year, not that I bet any of them would complain. Santa’s Helper doesn’t know it, but this scene is almost played out. Sure, the Little Elf is great company, but when I sit down to dinner tonight, it’s Isabella I want across the table.
“Excuse me, Santa?” she asks timidly from near the table.
I shift around so I can see what’s up. She’s standing in position, next to a beautifully set table, complete with linens and candles I didn’t even know I owned.
“What is it, Little Elf?” Curious to see what she’ll say or do, I give the reins some slack.
“The table is set. What else can I do for you, Santa?”
Fuck if I’m not hard again. My penis is going to get whiplash from this girl!
“Actually, I could use a Belvedere on the rocks, plenty of ice.” Perfect. I pretend to be relaxed while she prepares my drink, but the clinking of the ice against the crystal sets me all the way on edge. I know where those ice cubes are going. Silently, she crosses the room and waits for me to acknowledge her. Her instincts are so perfect, I feel as if she’s trained herself through her writing.
I reach for the drink and she hands it to me. I sip as if I have interest in the alcohol. Dipping my index finger into the glass and swirling it around, I make a show of bringing it out and sucking it clean. With that same finger, I beckon her closer and closer until my lips are perfectly aligned with her pussy. Reaching in again, I retrieve an ice cube and suck it into my mouth. Balancing it on my tongue, I lean forward and lap at her opening. She shudders but doesn’t pull back. Using my very talented tongue, I run the ice up and down her slit, covering her in the freezing cold sensation. When I pull back again, she’s dripping once more. I swallow the remaining chunk of ice and lap at her just with my icy tongue. She pushes slightly forward against me, and I hold her back with one hand on her abdomen. I remove my mouth and blow some cool air over the area in question and she does an adorable little quiver for me.
I scoop two cubes from the glass before setting it down on the coffee table. Standing, I pass one cube over each nipple, not touching her with anything but the ice. Her nipples pucker instantly and I can’t resist taking one between my teeth while I work the other over with the ice. I switch sides, just to be fair. I’d never play favorites between these two; it would only cause sibling rivalry.
When her nipples are sufficiently numb, I trail the ice everywhere, from her cheeks and lips, down her neck, around her breasts, over her stomach, and I pop the remaining stubs into her mouth. She warily watches as I take one more cube from the glass and step behind her, locking her naked form against my body with one arm firmly around her waist.
“Spread open,” I breathe directly into her ear, and she whimpers as she steps her feet apart and sinks a few inches lower. I brush the ice lightly down her open lips, letting it sink in a little, but not touching her with my fingers. She bucks a little bit, but I hold her tight. And I do it again. And again. And again. She is cold but she is so needy. I wonder which sensation will win out. And then I have a devilish idea. I slip the sliver of ice into her mouth and release my grip.
Taking a fresh cube from my drink, I stand in front of her again. “I was just wondering if you’re so horny right now that this little piece of ice could get you off. What do you think, Little Elf?”
“If you want it to, Santa,” she says breathlessly, hopefully.
I smile, “What a perfect answer. You’ve earned your orgasm today, Little Elf. If you want it, come and get it.”
I settle the ice into my palm, place my open hand about six inches in front of her pussy, giving her the choice. She steps forward without hesitation and places herself against my hand, and the ice. I stay perfectly still and let her do with me what she will. She has to step back a couple of times, but each time she approaches, she rubs herself a little harder, a little faster, and a little longer. Her hands are still locked behind her, her nipples occasionally rub against my shirt, and her pointy hat swings all around. She’s dancing on those heels and she is completely shameless in her pursuit of contact with my hand. The bells in her collar ring out, adding to the merriment of her moment. She lowers herself to force the base of my unmoving hand to make contact with her clit. Her eyes close and she’s taken her lower lip between her teeth to try and counter some of the unpleasantness of the cold.
As she nears her peak, I let my fingers curl up just a bit and give her a little extra friction for all her trouble. It is fascinating to watch the conflict play out, but she has so clearly chosen icy pleasure over warm denial. Her breath picks up and she pounds herself relentlessly against my hand. With the other, I pinch and twist at her nipples.
“COME FOR ME, MY SLUTTY ELF!” I command, and she’s lost and dizzy and crazed, and I’m actually afraid she might fall off her shoes. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her against me while I continue working her with my hand.
We stand there like that for several minutes, even after her body stops its wild spasming. I stroke her gently below, now that the ice has melted. I’m still clutching her top half tightly to mine. Her orgasms are epic, and I wonder if they’ll always be this way, or if this is merely the proverbial bursting of the dam.
I slide my hand up to meet the other at her neck, and I work open the bow holding together the ends of the collar. With a little extra jingle, I signal the end of our scene, also giving her verbal notice. “Scene’s over, sweetheart.”
She unclasps her hands and wraps them around my neck. “Thank you, Santa,” she says to my chest, nestling herself into the warmth my shirt provides.