You open your eyes and immediately realize something is wrong. The dim light coming from the window is not the gray of dawn, but the red of dusk. As your eyes clear you realize you are in an unfamiliar apartment; the sparse bedroom furnishings spark no recognition. You realize that you’re wearing a dark green satin nightgown, the lace at the hem tickling your thighs just above the nude-colored thigh-high stockings covering your legs, accentuating their shapely form. You definitely weren’t wearing this when you went to bed the night before. But this is the least of your problems, as those same legs are tied tightly together by leather straps at your ankles, calves, and thighs. Additional straps are holding your wrists around your waists, and pinning your arms to your sides at your forearms and just above your elbows. You try to speak, to voice a protest, but your string of curses are stymied by a thick leather strap gag tightly secured in your mouth.
You hear a rustling of paper to your right, and look over to see me sitting in an armchair across the room setting a book down on a nearby table. I’m fairly nondescript, average height and build with short dark hair and a clean-shaven face. I’m wearing a dark red button-down dress shirt, gray slacks, and black leather dress shoes.
“It looks like someone’s finally awake,” I say, lifting myself up out of the chair. “I bet you’re wondering what’s going on. You see, I’ve read through your reddit post history and I can tell that you love to play the damsel in distress. So I’m here to grant your wish for Christmas.”
Your eyes follow me as I walk to the edge of the bed. “If only you could speak, you should be thanking me,” I whisper, as I gently run my fingers through your hair, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. “You know that this has been on your list for quite some time. Now, first things first, we can’t spend all day lying about in bed, can we?”
As I move to the foot of the bed, you finally are able to gather your wits about you and begin thrashing, trying to get loose. All you manage to do is work your nightgown up to your waist, exposing a pair of maroon high-cut satin panties, already bound with a soft nylon crotch rope running between your legs and around your hips.
I comment, “Red and green, how festive! And it just so happens that I have some matching footwear here for you.” I lift up a pair of dark red high heeled pumps from the floor and fasten them onto your feet, securing them with a thin ankle strap. “Now you won’t be going anywhere fast, will you?” You feel the release of pressure as I unhook the leather straps that were holding your ankles and calves together, but leave the thigh straps in place. I come around to the side of the bed and gently but firmly lift you up and set your feet down on the floor, holding on so that you can get your balance while tottering on the unfamiliar heels.
“It’s time for a change of scenery, doll, but don’t go too fast; you can’t get your hands up if you fall face-first to the floor.” I place my hand on the back of your waist to steady you as you mince down the hallway, only able to move your legs from the knees down. The only sounds you can hear are the clopping of your heels on the hardwood floor and the swishing of your silk stockings as your calves brush together with each step. You moan slightly under the gag from the discomfort.
We exit the hallway and the first thing you see is a wooden frame extending from floor to ceiling right in the center of the large living room. You’ve read enough stories to know exactly what that is, and are already certain that you are about to be tied to it. I confirm your expectations as I lead you right to the frame and stand you up against it. All you can see in front of you is a thick white curtain.
I unhook the strap on your thighs and spread your legs apart, fastening your stockinged ankles to leather cuffs attached to the wide frame. You aren’t sure, but you think the cuffs might be the only thing holding you upright, because the wide stance and the heels throw off your balance immensely. You lean back against the frame for additional support and to take some pressure off of your feet.
“Are we that eager to get started?” I ask, releasing your wrists, forearms, and elbows from their leather prison. You glare at me from above your tight leather gag. “Don’t answer that.” I re-cuff your hands tightly together and lift them high above your head, securing them to a hook on the frame near the ceiling. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” I reassure you as I loop another strap around your waist and connect it to the back of the frame. “What do you think, one more?” I muse, mostly to myself. I take one last leather strap and wrap it around your ribs, just below your breasts, also binding it to the back of the frame.
You are now completely immobilized, arms together above your head and legs spread wide. You test it out, but the only movement you can muster is what the slippery satin of your dark green nightgown between your restraints and your skin can provide. I step to the back of the room to retrieve something from behind you. A few beads of sweat form on your forehead as you wonder what could be next.
I come around to stand in front of you and you look questioningly at me, because I’m holding a string of Christmas lights. “It’s never too late to start decorating,” I respond in answer to your look. I tuck one end of the rope lights behind the strap at your waist, and begin to wind it around your body. “I’ve never been one to go overboard celebrating Christmas,” making casual conversation as the string of lights tightens around your upper body. “But you can’t go without a tree!”
Once you are firmly encased in the light cord, I lead the outlet end over to the side of the room where a power strip awaits. I leave the cord on the ground for now, and once again go behind you to retrieve something else. Any small movement you make causes the lights to gently press against you through the nightgown… that you now realize is the color of a fir tree.
“And what Christmas tree would be complete without some presents under it?” I say cheerfully as I scatter a handful of wrapped gifts at your feet. Your eyes begin to take on a look of humiliation as you realize your predicament, trussed up like a festive tree in the middle of the living room. “Oh don’t look at me like that. I’ll tell you what; it might be a little early, but I’ll let you open up a present or two anyway. I tell you what, I’ll open this one for you, since you seem a little tied up at the moment.” I grin playfully at the bad joke as the shame in your eyes gives way to a flash of anger.
I get down on my knees in front of you and select a present. Tearing the wrapping off of the gift, I reach into the box and pull out a bright yellow ball gag.
“This is something I designed myself, see?” I flip a small switch installed on the side of the gag, and the yellow ball lights up. “What Christmas tree is complete without a star at the top! Not that you aren’t already a star, my dear.” I stand up and step up close to you, unfastening your leather strap gag. You barely have time to take a breath, let alone call for help before I quickly shove the glowing yellow ball into your mouth. “Now now,” I admonish. “You know what they say: You better not shout, you better not cry. You better not pout, I’m telling you why.”
“Alright, you got to open a present, so now it’s my turn.” I grin seductively, crouch down, and sidle up against your leg. My hand glides slowly up your stockinged thigh, pausing just below the lace tops. I lift my hand up and raise the hem of your nightgown, tucking it into the leather strap at your waist, exposing your dark red satin panties and nylon crotch rope. “For me??” I exclaim. “You shouldn’t have!”
I reach into my pocket and pull out a pair of gift-wrapping scissors. You draw in a sharp intake of breath through the gag as I cut deftly up the sides of your panties and pull them free, leaving the nylon rope pressing against you, the only protection you have from being completely exposed. You realize that not once have I made contact with your naked skin. And then you’re surprised at having that thought. … Did you WANT me to?
I put the scissors away and clutch the panties to my chest. “Just what I always wanted!” I say in a half-mocking tone. “I’ll save these for later,” I promise, tucking them into my pocket. “You know, I was just going to let you open one gift,” I say as I stand up, “but you’ve been such a good girl that I think I’ll let you have just one more tonight.”
I pick up one last present, a larger box than the previous one, and begin to unwrap it. You see the outside of the box and let out a squeak from behind your gag because you immediately know exactly what it is. A Hitachi Wand.
“Oh, it seems like you’ve seen this before! Were you peeking at the gifts early?” I chide, opening the box and removing the contents. “If you’ve been snooping, then I think you need to be punished for it.”
I loop the end of the wand into the nylon rope between your legs. You let out a small shiver and moan as the cold material comes to rest against your clit. I switch the still-unplugged wand into the on position, make sure it stays securely in place without my hand there to hold it, and free the hem of your nightgown from your waist and let it drop back down to your thighs.
“I think our Christmas tree is just about ready to be lit up!” I say cheerfully as I carry the cord for the wand to the power strip. I plug them both in and grin evilly as I switch on the power on the strip.
The jolt that rushes through your body is mind-numbing. You would easily have collapsed to the floor immediately if you weren’t securely held to the frame. The vibrating wand was exactly in the right place, sending shiver after shiver through you. Your breath picks up, you bite down on the glowing yellow gag.
“Hmm,” I cluck, looking thoughtfully at you. Only half of the lights are lit, but you are in no condition to notice. There is only one thing you have the capacity to notice now, and it’s vibrating away between your legs.
“Don’t you just hate that, when one light goes out, they all go out.” Muttering to myself, I open a drawer in a nearby desk looking for replacement lights, completely ignoring the moaning woman in the center of the room. “Here we go, this should do it,” I say as I walk back over and begin swapping bulbs out, completely oblivious to your plight.
“A-ha! Fixed it!” I triumphantly say as the remainder of the lights illuminate the room in multiple colors. You don’t even care; at this point you feel like you could power all of the lights yourself with the electricity that’s running through you in waves.
You are vaguely aware of what I’m doing as I throw open the tall curtain in front of you, exposing a picture window facing the street. Night has fallen, and you can see lights and cars outside. But you can also make out your reflection in the window, trussed up and lit up, glowing and writhing in pleasure, trying not to give me the satisfaction of seeing how much you are enjoying it.
“I found a really great location for my apartment – I’m right between a large residential district one block to the west and a major shopping district one block to the east,” I brag. “And on this, the last Saturday before Christmas, one of the busiest shopping days of the year, there will be people driving and walking past this window all night long. And they all get to see my gorgeous tree!”
“So now that I have everything taken care of here, I have some holiday shopping to do,” I tell you, slipping my blazer on. Then I reach into my pants pocket and pull out your cut-up panties. Folding it up, I tuck it into my jacket pocket, patting it into place. It looks just like a pocket square, the maroon matching my shirt. I walk up to you, kiss my first two fingers, and then place them gently on your cheek above the gag. “I’ll be back in a few hours, don’t you go anywhere,” I say with a grin.
I walk out of your field of view and the last thing you hear from me is my keys jingling in the lock on my way out. The only sound left is the vibrating of the wand from down below. You shiver again, partly from rage, partly from pleasure, partly from embarrassment. All you can do is stare out the giant picture window and watch people walking up and down the street, knowing that any one of them can simply glance over at the colored lights in the window and see you there, in a skimpy nightgown, trussed up to immobilization, and being vibrated to orgasm over and over again. You wonder what will happen first. Do I have roommates or family that might come by? Will someone think to call the police? Are the police in this town even trustworthy? Or would they just take advantage of you themselves? Or would I come back before anyone else does? And if I do, what would I do next? Maybe the scariest part is that you hope that you get to find out.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/aa6l6u/all_i_want_for_christmas_mf_bondage_firstperson