Have Yourself a Kinky, Little Christmas: Part Four [MF][BDSM]

Tugging Reins: Part Four

“Okay,” she finally squealed, “enough of that. Move on to something else, Chuck.”

“Chuck?” Chris asked, confused. Why couldn’t she just say his name like a normal person?

She nodded upward to the speaker, now playing some wordless tune that seemed familiar but he couldn’t quite place. He paused, running his sweaty hand over his close-cropped hair and scratching his scalp as he tried to recall it.

“It’s the Charlie Brown Christmas song,” she laughed. “You know, from the TV special that they play every year.”

Oh. Yeah. He guessed it was.

“I know I shouldn’t,” she admitted softly, “but I kind of love that goofy, bobble-headed movie.” She shrugged and laughed to herself. “ ‘And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid,’ “ she intoned, imitating that blanket-carrying character.

Sore afraid? Were those the words? Really? And who would have thought the Grinch of Cover To Cover would even know that?

Chris just shook his head and smiled, marveling at her. He’d give her sore afraid.

Bending low, he rooted about in the box and found a large candy cane decoration that stood just under half his height. Gripping the striped shaft, he whacked it against her ass with playful glee.

She yelped and whirled back as far as her taped limbs would allow, her eyes absolutely alight. He watched the fire in those dark depths flare with delight as she caught sight of his candied cane. “Now that, Tiny Tim,” she said with an encouraging tilt of her head, “you can go to town with.”

Tiny Tim?!

He straightened his spine and squared his jaw. Oh, she was going to pay for that one. He’d show her what this cane could do.

Grabbing the reins hard in his fist, he yanked her hips out so her ass jutted toward him. Choking up on the cane, he arched it back before giving her a solid smack across her already red cheeks.

It was so strange to hear her pleasure in her every hiss and sigh and squeal and grunt. It wasn’t like in porn, where every sound made sounded manufactured, practiced and delivered on cue.

With Danielle, every sound from murmur to moan seemed to tumble from her lips instinctively. Uncontrollably. Unstoppably. It made him so hard, hearing her noise build, hearing the near musical sway and swell of it as she threw her head back and gripped the ladder, letting the metal bite into her hands.

And, when he hit her sweet spot—a complete happy accident, a slip of the stick that caused it to crash just under her ass at the apex of her thighs—she practically sang, her pealing cry resonating in the space like a bell. He aimed and swung, striking her there again and again and again, never wanting that sound to end.

She gave one last straining wail before her body tensed and then fell limp, utterly replete.

Chris set down the cane and picked up the box cutter again. Straightening as tall as he could, he grabbed her wrist, his hands shaking with excitement and near-strangling restraint when he felt her shiver with excess sensation at his touch. “Shh,” he cooed, his voice a gritty growl that shouldn’t have comforted her but seemed to. “Stay still, so I can cut you free.”

They both watched in charged silence as the blade sliced through the now twisted tape effortlessly. He rubbed her now freed wrist before bringing it to his lips to kiss the red, raw skin.

“Huh,” he heard her roughly laugh as she used her free hand to cup his jaw, “so, Charlie Brown, I guess that’s what Christmas is all about, huh?”

He looked deep into her eyes, feeling her pull him closer to her. Chris groaned as their lips met, as her tongue teased against his parting mouth. God, she tasted good, like a heated mix of desire and peppermint gum. Grabbing her by her perfect hips, he turned and shoved her against the ladder, gaining a strange satisfaction from the metallic shake and the way her still bound wrist twisted.

He reveled in their fit as he kissed her again. Because of her tall height, she fit better than any dream, every part of her pressing up against every part of him. Working off little more than instinct and need, he thrust the hard ridge of his erection into the hot, giving part in her thighs. Chris imagined that he could feel her, molten and wet, through the layers of clothes still between them.

Releasing her hips to grab—to fist and twist—the sides of her lacy panties in his hand, he ground their hips together in a rhythm he didn’t even know he knew.

God, this was it, wasn’t it?

It was going to happen.

In one second—one more kiss, one more flick of the wrist, a twist of his hand—she was going to be bared before him. He could smell her arousal, earthy and strong, calling to him as it reached inside him and pulled something base and almost unrecognizable out. He fumbled for the tie at the back of his smock like some animal seeking release.

The phone rang, the sound slicing through the storage room.

They both froze.

Shit.

“You’d,” he heard her say, her voice thick and shaky as he stared at her through fogged-up, crooked lenses, “better get it. It’s probably Les. Checking in.”

Gruffly, he grunted and nodded, hating the man and his timing at the moment.

Thrusting his body away from her—feeling it like a tear to the soul—he stormed to the phone. The press of his cock against his straining zipper now a painful annoyance instead of a promise of pleasure. “Yeah,” he grunted into the phone as he felt himself crouch low into himself.

“Hey, Chris,” he heard Les’s voice chirp, “you guys are still there, huh? Look, it’s late and I feel bad about leaving you guys in such a lurch; don’t worry about finishing up with the boxes. Just head on home.”

Laying his head against the cool concrete walls of the storage room, Chris agreed and grumbled and made awkward, monosyllabic conversation with his manager, all the while wishing Les…not harm, per se, just that maybe his kids would flush his keys or his sick wife would puke on him or something while also wishing away his own throbbing hard-on.

When finally the man ended the call, Chris hung up the phone as well.

But he couldn’t make himself turn around.

Not yet.

He took off his glasses and lay his heated face in his hand.

“Uh, Chris?” he heard Danielle say in a sweet, questioning tone.

God, he couldn’t face her. While he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret anything that had just happened, he still couldn’t help the rush of heated humiliation that mixed and mocked his own arousal.

He’d just had the most amazing sexual experience of his life—a literal fantasy come true! They were about to have sex—workplace sex!

And to then be interrupted by their boss.

Chris groaned as he shut his eyes and banged his head against the wall.

It might as well have been his mother who interrupted them, for how embarrassing this was. And he’d thought seeing her at the munch had been horrifying! How could he ever face Danielle now?

“Uh, Chris,” he heard her say a little louder, “I don’t suppose you could untie my other wrist now, could you?”

His eyes popped open.

Shit.

She was still tied to the ladder, wasn’t she?

Shit. Shit, goddamn, fuck.

Head hung low, he put back on his glasses, grabbed the box cutter, and made his way back to her. Focusing his gaze on her wrist—not even her wrist, the tape holding it and any dregs of dignity he had left hostage—he cut her free.

The second her limb was loose, she jerked it back, clutching it to her chest that heaved with deep, heavy breaths. “Uh,” she hedged as she tugged her shirt back on. “So,” she said with uncharacteristic hesitation as she reached for her discarded pants. She shrugged, holding the clothes in front of her. “Les said we can go?”

Without looking up at her, he wordlessly nodded. He could feel her embarrassment mingle unbearably with his in the now suddenly cramped storage space.

“Good,” she hurriedly said. “Good.”

God, he needed to get out of here. Needed to get his head back on straight. Had to think about this. Maybe find some book or article about how the hell he was supposed to deal with this. What the hell he was supposed to do with all of this.

Still refusing to look at her, he gave her one more curt nod before spinning on his heel and heading out of the room.

“Uh, Chris,” she called.

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

“I,” she said in a hushed, unsure voice that hit him hard, “don’t suppose you’d want to get a drink. Or something. With me. Sometime.” He turned around in time to see her shrug and wave her pants in an overly casual way. “We could get something seasonal like cider or cocoa or—I don’t know—eggnog or whatever.”

She pursed her lips together and shifted her weight back and forth, the jingling reins still chiming against her hips and thighs as she did. “I’m suddenly in the holiday spirit.”

She swallowed hard and looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and unusually vulnerable. “So, would you be interested?”

Chris looked down, feeling a smile tug at his lips. He looked back up at her. “Is eggnog kosher?”

She let out a burst of relieved, tickled laughter, the sound unbelievably sweet. “I think keeping kosher is the least of my worries tonight,” she said as she untucked the reins and tugged on her pants and her shoes. “Besides,” she said, spreading her arms to gesture at the box of well-used holiday decorations, “it’s Christmas.”

“The most wonderful time of the year,” he said, stretching tall as he grinned while he watched her saunter once again with her usual swagger toward him.

She slid her arm into the crook of his. “Exactly.”

The End

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3y8dqp/have_yourself_a_kinky_little_christmas_part_four