The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Bah! Humbug!”

“But you hab to! No way I can make it in. I godda terrible flu. Ebrybody id counting on me, Des.” Bill begged his friend to fill in for him.

“From the sound of it, you’ve got a head cold, not the flu,” Desmond suggested, “Couldn’t Jane fill in for you? It’s not rocket science.”

“I’m running a feber, I ache all ober, I don’t care what it id.” Bill kept pleading, “And Jane id almost proud that she doesn’t touch the cameras. Come on, I’ll really owe you.”

“But I don’t do portraits,” Desmond protested, “I do extreme close-ups of ants, or long exposures of thunderstorms, or time-lapses of orchids. Not people, especially not kids!”

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Bill persisted, “It’s just one day. And you’ll love the elf costumes! Jane looks really cute.”

“OK, but you DO owe me for this.” Desmond agreed, thinking Bill sounded much better already.

They both knew he would give in eventually. Despite their age difference, Bill and Desmond had become good friends. They were both professional photographers, and had met at a photography seminar, but they shared a number of other common interests, including frequent week-end back-packing trips to remote wilderness trails.

So Desmond found himself at a local mall early the next morning, preparing for a day of taking pictures of kids with Santa. Bill had promised him that all the set-up work was in place, he would just have to give things a quick check to make sure no one had shifted the lights or anything. The “elves” would do all the kid-wrangling, queue-directing, and money-handling.

The Santa was VERY Santa-like, real beard, jolly laugh and everything. He talked to all the children for free, pictures were optional. The whole operation ran like a well-oiled machine, and, other than some long hours, Desmond’s job was quite simple and easy.

Bill’s wife Jane was much younger than her husband, and just a few years older than Desmond. She was very beautiful, and in the past Desmond often complimented and openly admired her. It was innocent flirtation, but it paid off when Jane began dressing in extra-sexy outfits whenever Desmond came over to visit. Bill was aware that Desmond enjoyed ogling Jane’s little fashion displays, and he was absolutely on-target when he predicted that Des would love Jane’s elf costume.

She was wearing a little green & red tunic/dress that clung to every curve, accentuating her waist, ass, and bust. The skirt was cut very, very short, and she had red hose on underneath. Completing the outfit was a jaunty green cap with a red feather, and small red gloves along with green & red slippers with long, pointed toes that curled up. She was a vision. Santa’s wife (Mary) was in an identical costume, with the red & green reversed, (red cap, green feather, green hose, etc.). If anything, she was even hotter-looking than Jane. She had white hair and a few laugh lines on her face, but looked very youthful and, well, really stacked.

And Desmond didn’t pay any attention at all to either of these outstanding beauties on display before him all day. That was because he only had eyes for Chris, Santa’s daughter. She was perfection. She had on the same sexy elf-suit as her mother, but the skirt was much shorter (if that was possible). Every time she raised her arms, or bent over to speak to a child, he could see her white cotton briefs (printed with little candy-canes and holly-wreaths). Her long, powerful legs tapered in delightful curves down to her tiny feet. She had on the curled-up, pointy-toed slippers, but no hose, leaving her lovely legs bare. She was also missing the feathered cap. She had her hair cut very short, and dyed it a matching bright green.

Her elfin beauty was beyond compare, and Desmond was completely enraptured. He caught himself, again and again throughout the day, blanking out the rest of the world and just staring at her. It was all he could manage to not make a complete fool of himself.

“I bet Bill talked you into this by describing my elf uniform,” Jane was saying. It took him a second to realize that she had come up to talk to him, he had been looking at Chris again. “If you don’t control your drooling over Chris, you’re going to form a large wet puddle under the camera.”

“Huh?” Desmond hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious. “It’s just that she’s so . . . . cute. In that outfit and everything, and with those . . . .”

Jane gave a little chuckle and a shrug. Before turning to get back to work, she leaned up close and whispered; “Those ears are real.”

That was, of course, the most intriguing thing about Chris. She had pointed ears. Desmond had been trying to figure out how they were applied. They looked so natural. Her mother, Mary, had them as well, though not quite so pronounced. He now wondered if it was some sort of genetic oddity, or if he had somehow entered some sort of weird, magic, Christmas TV-movie.

The day continued to be frantically busy. The “elves” got to switch jobs from time to time, or fill in for each other when one took a break, but for Desmond the day was getting to be a grind. He had worn a white shirt and tie in an effort to look professional, but now he had the sleeves rolled up and the tie in his pocket. He seemed to be very sad and depressed, as well as tired. Santa never seemed to get tired of talking to the kids, though.

On one of Desmond’s rare moments off, Chris came up to talk to him.

“My Dad’s not crazy.” She said, “He’s just a little obsessive and over-enthusiastic.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” Desmond was staring at her ears, again. He quickly looked away.

“He doesn’t really think he’s Santa, he just loves to play Santa.” She explained, “He has a very firm grip on reality. He made a fortune in business and retired very early, before I was born. Now he only works part-time, when he wants to, doing Santa appearances. He also volunteers as the head of a big charity that he helped fund.”

“Charity?” He asked.

“They give toys to kids in shelters, foster homes, and institutions.” She explained, “Dad likes to go and hand out the toys himself.”

“Well that stands to reason . . . .” Desmond commented, but he had that far-away distracted look again. Chris had to get back to work.

Santa was good. He was very, very good. Some of the kids were really scared, or incredibly unruly, or flippant and cynical, but a few words from Santa and they calmed right down. He spent as much time with each child as they needed, but still managed to keep things moving and see all the kids before they had to wait too long in line.

Chris was having fun teasing Desmond. Whenever she talked to one of the smaller kids, she would line up with her butt facing Des, bend over at the hip so that he got a full view of her panties, then wait to be sure he was looking and wiggle her ass at him ever so slightly. On one of these occasions, a bold little boy reached up and tugged at her ear. His horrified mother tried to stop him, but Chris reassured them both, “It’s OK, those are my real ears.” The mom’s eyes got even wider than the little boy’s.

Jane and Chris were doing a lot of talking and laughing as the day wore on, but Desmond seemed to be collapsing into apathy, going through the motions by rote, and not saying much at all. Later that afternoon Chris found him backstage in their break area. He was sitting with his head in his hands, softly crying. When he realized he was no longer alone, he looked up at her and apologized.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could handle things better.” He said, “Give me a minute or two, and I’ll be able to get through the rest of the day OK.”

“What’s the matter?” She asked, truly concerned about him, “I’ve been trying to cheer you up all day. My own special version of ‘visions of sugarplums’, you might call it. But you just seem to be sinking deeper and deeper. This is supposed to be the season of joy and happiness.”

“My parents loved Christmas.” He told her, “They threw big Christmas parties, sometimes several a year. Decorated the house, inside and out. They made a big deal about it. Last year they were out with their amateur caroling group, making the rounds of a retirement community. On their way home, they were hit by a drunk driver and both killed. I thought I was pretty much past it, but all the Christmas decorations keep reminding me of them.”

“I’m so sorry!” Chris said, crouching down next to him, “That’s so terrible! I used to think MY Christmas memories were so traumatic—my family was so embarrassing, so over-the-top. Now you’re going to have to deal with . . . this, every year.”

“Look, I’m not really the kind of guy who dwells on grief or stuff,” Desmond tried to explain, “I’m pretty much past it. It didn’t even occur to me that today would be a problem. I guess all the holiday trappings kind of fixed some associations in my mind.”

Chris leaned forward and spoke softly; “You can touch them, if you want.”

Desmond looked at her for a moment, so she continued; “My ears. You’ve been looking at them all day. Go ahead.”

“What’s the deal with them?” He lightly brushed his fingers up to the point.

“It’s a long story.” She answered, “I’ll tell you after we close down, if you want to stick around for it.”

They closed shop at 6:30, but the mall would be open for another 3 hours. As they were locking up, Chris asked her Mom if she could stay and do some shopping.

“That’s a good idea, I have some more things to get as well.”

“Christmas shopping, Mom.” Chris emphasized; “I don’t want either of you along to peek at what I’m getting for you.”

“Just by yourself?”

“Desmond said he had some shopping to do as well.” Chris had a ready answer; “He’ll give me a ride home.”

Desmond, meanwhile, was listening as Jane updated him on Bill’s condition.

“He’s pretty miserable.” She said as she put down the phone; “He even caved in and got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Will you be able to fill in again, or do I tell the Whites not to show up?”

“I think Stan would come anyway, just for the kids,” Desmond told her, “But no, I don’t have anything else going tomorrow. I can manage one more day.”

“Oh great!” Jane started grabbing her stuff, tossing a long jacket over her elf costume. “I have to get home right away. Bill’s so helpless when he’s sick—he probably hasn’t eaten all day.”

Desmond found Chris in the tiny break area backstage. She had gotten her small (matching) green leather purse out, and dug out a pair of silver-rimmed glasses. She heard Desmond give a slight gasp when she put them on.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses!” He remarked, “They look great! Why haven’t you worn them before?”

“I thought they were a bit anachronistic—they don’t wear glasses at the north pole, do they?”

“Nonsense!” Desmond argued, “I’ve seen plenty of pictures of Santa with glasses, going over his List. I’m sure the workshop elves’ union has full medical benefits. Besides, you look fantastic in them! Wear them tomorrow, please?”

Chris gave him a nod and a shy smile. She had never met anyone who liked her better with her glasses than without them.

“I said I would tell you the story about the ears before we went shopping.”

“This should be interesting.” He noticed that she had never bothered to ask him about shopping, or a ride home.

“Why don’t you sit down and relax. I’ll tell you the whole, long, boring story. You don’t need to do anything or say anything. You can just relax after a long day. As you know, my Dad is a little Santa obsessed. Everything at our house is Christmas themed. I learned as a little girl that when you’re up against an overwhelming force, you can either fight it, or embrace it. And it’s so much easier to embrace it. Right now you find it so easy to relax. You can just sit back as I tell you my story.”

She was staring into his eyes, and he was staring back at her in fascination.

“My older brother Nick is an investment banker in New York. He wears 3-piece suits to the office everyday and drinks martinis in hideously expensive bars after work. He comes home to visit, but never at Christmas-time. Dad embarrasses him.”

Desmond was still staring at her face, his eyes wide.

“My older sister Holly is going to Columbia. She’s also working as a model. She got a job at the agency my Mom used to work for, years ago. This is the third year running that she’s had a job, or an emergency of some sort, and hasn’t been home for Christmas. They both rebelled, and now they miss out on what should the happiest time of year. I decided that I would go ahead and throw myself into it.”

“When I was 13 I joined the softball team. My folks objected, but we ended up reaching an agreement—if my grades didn’t suffer I could expect a great Christmas gift. My Dad can be an easy touch if you know how to push his buttons. I got straight A’s. Before they could surprise me with a Barbie Fantasy Palace or a Live Reindeer, I asked if I could have plastic surgery.”

“Of course they said no way. Mom’s ears were already kinda pointed, and so were mine, so Dad used to joke about us being part elf. When he found out that I wanted really radical points on my ears, it began to “get” to him. Eventually he decided to go along, saying we had an agreement. He went a little overboard, bringing in 3 cosmetic surgeons and a micro-vascular surgery consult.”

“Mom loved them so much she had hers done the next year. Sometimes my friends call me “Spock”, but usually I wear my hair long so they’re not noticeable unless I want them to be. This year I decided to embrace the inner elf, and I cut my hair short.”

“You’re listening closely, aren’t you? It’s so much easier to relax and embrace it. You can listen to me and you don’t have to think about anything else. You don’t have to worry, you can just do as I say. My story has relaxed you and eased all the worries from your mind. You’re filled with the Christmas spirit and the joy of giving. We can go shopping now and you will just do whatever I want. We will have a great time and you will have fun and be happy. You know that it would be hard to fight my control, but easy to relax and embrace it. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Desmond almost didn’t reply. Chris had been talking so long, with her beautiful, relaxing voice, and he didn’t realize it was his turn again.

“You’re kinda drifting now. But it’s nice to be able to just drift. You’ll have to wake up a little to come with me, but you won’t have to wake up all the way if you let me make all the decisions. And whenever you need to relax again, just wait for me to say “Relax and Embrace It” and you can quickly and softly float back to the totally calm and relaxed state you are in now. In fact, when I tell you “Relax and Embrace It” you will be even MORE relaxed than you are now, because now you have practice and experience at it. You won’t need to worry or think hard because you can trust me to do all that for you.”

“When you’re ready we can go. You can wake up, but still have fun, because I will be doing all the thinking, and you can just go with the moment. Are you ready to shop with me now?”

“Yes.” Desmond began to wonder what the point of all her talking was. Did he really look that spaced out? It had been a long day. Why worry about it? He was about to spend some time with a stupifyingly gorgeous young lady. Doing whatever she wanted.

Chris actually took his hand and led him through the crowded mall. They were getting a lot of looks from the other shoppers, because she was still in her skimpy elf costume. Desmond began to behave less like a sleepwalker and more like a young man out with his lovely girlfriend. She marched them right into the Frederick’s Secrets Lingerie store.

Desmond was in a happy fog. He could remember her going straight for all the Christmas-novelty underwear. Chris and the salesgirl were talking and laughing, from time to time one of them would say something to him, and it would be really witty and funny and he would laugh along with them, but later he couldn’t remember specifically any of their remarks.

She had a couple different Christmas outfits and a dozen shockingly tiny, bright red, thongs. Desmond found himself at the check-out, paying for everything.

“Oh thanks, Des,” she told him, “I can’t really bring my parents along to buy this stuff.”

They must have wandered the mall for a while, Desmond wasn’t quite sure. They ended up at his apartment. Chris wanted to try on all her new purchases. Some of them were practically transparent, or constructed to expose more than they concealed. One standout was a sort of red leather harness—covered with jingle bells.

“Relax and Embrace It, Desmond.” Chris was speaking again with that wonderful, soothing voice, “We’ve had a fun time and I know I’ve taken your mind off of other things. Tomorrow at work you can be happy and full of Yuletide cheer. You won’t remember anything from tonight at all. Just that we shopped, and you took me home. And while we’re working together tomorrow . . . .”

Something was wrong. Desmond had been sitting back, relaxed and smiling. But something she said had disturbed him greatly. The blank look on his face was gone, and he was leaning forward, trying to struggle to his feet.

“NO!” He shouted, finally standing and shaking his head. He looked around the room like he didn’t recognize it.

Chris scrambled backwards, her eyes open wide with fear. She had thought she had him completely in her control. Now she realized how dangerous her situation could be—alone in his apartment, and he seemed very agitated.

But Desmond didn’t stay angry. “Don’t ever do that to me.” He announced, (at least, not VERY angry).

“I’m so sorry!” Chris’ voice had gone up in pitch, and she now had a little-girl squeal in place of her previous deep seductress’ tone. “My Dad’s a certified hypno-therapist, he uses it to help calm the troubled kids. I’ve read some of the books he’s left lying around. Dr. Quirk Makes Hypnosis Easy! I was trying to help you! Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad about the hypnosis,” he said, as he tried to figure out what he WAS mad about. Eventually it came to him. “Don’t try to make me forget things. My memories—good, bad, bland, whatever—are my life. Forcing me to forget is like robbing me of part of my life. I guess I have a phobia about it. It may be why I became a photographer—to try to hold on to my memories.”

“Still, I’m sorry I used you.” Chris apologized. Now that she knew what his “third rail” was, maybe all was not lost. She had been really scarred when he broke out of his trance like that, but maybe if she was careful in the future . . . .

“How old are you, anyway?” Desmond reminded himself that she was just a girl.

“Hey! I’m older than I look!” She said defensively, “How old do you think I am?”

“Seventeen?” Her disappointed face told him he’d hit the mark exactly.

“I’ll be eighteen in another 8 days.”

“So you were born on . . . .”

“Yeah, Mom had them induce labour 10 days early, just so my name and birthday would match—Christmas Sarah White.”

“Wow. Me too.” Desmond confided, “I thought I was the only kid in the world who never got separate birthday gifts.”

“As I was saying,” he continued, “If you were a little more mature, you’d realize that you could have gone up to any guy in that entire mall and say “Buy me exotic, erotic underwear and I will go home with you to model it” and 90% of them would say “Yes!” The other 10% would just burst into tears and say “Thank You, God, Thank You!” As for taking my mind off my problems, again: no hypnosis needed. You are the most White-Hot-Sexy creature I have ever seen in any context, ever. Say, do you even OWN a mirror?”

Chris blushed a little. “I don’t even have a boyfriend yet! I’m not one of the pretty, popular girls. I’m not even one of the “Don’t give a shit”, tattooed smokers; or a goth; or a geeky nerd-girl. I’m kinda classified as “Freaky weird, insane, pscho-chick, with issues”. Needless to say, I am the only one in that group. The ears, the glasses, the Santa sweaters in May—I’m pretty much a loner.”

“Their loss.” Desmond sympathized, “But why me? Aren’t I a little old for you? If you’re going to hypnotise your boyfriends, you can pretty much pick and choose.”

“Oh, you’re the first, and only, one I’ve ever tried that on.” Chris explained, “There are four good reasons. First, you’re cute and smart and artistic and nice and stuff. Second, you had that lost-puppy / mystery-despair thing going for you. Third, you come highly recommended. Jane said that I could look for years for someone “different” but I would never find someone “better”. Pretty strong, coming from someone who’s known you for a few years. She said if she wasn’t happily married to Bill, she would have been with you for sure. I think if you push just a little, she would be yours for the asking.”

“Bill is a friend of mine.” Desmond said, “For that matter, so is Jane. Both of them would just be hurt. Bill obviously, but Jane would regret it, too, when she eventually came to her senses. That sort of thing NEVER ends well. Besides, I’m not the sort of guy that does that kind of thing.”

“You said you had FOUR reasons?” He prompted.

“Uh, yeah, well—you’re so suggestible. I put you in a deep trance just talking to you and having you look at my eyes.”

“I was looking at your glasses, actually.” Desmond informed her, “So you’re looking for a boyfriend who’s suggestible?”

“Well, yeah, you know—it’s kinda sexy.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am.” Desmond dead-panned.

“I’d probably better go home now.” She either missed the joke or chose not to acknowledge it—or she didn’t consider it a joke at all.

The next day Desmond showed up in a light green shirt and a Christmas tie. It had candy-cane stripes and a big snowman whose eyes, nose and coat-buttons lit up and blinked. It played “Joy to the World” when you squeezed it. Desmond figured a lot of guys had at least one such tie in their collection.

Chris wasn’t wearing her elf costume. Instead she had on a Santa jacket-dress. Plush red velvet with white fur trim. It had short sleeves and a very short skirt, though not quite so indecent as the skirt the day before. A floppy red hat, again with white fur trim and white ball tassel, short white gloves and black leather boots completed the look. The boots were calf-high and had 3-inch heels, so they were a little more “fashion” than “authentic”, but they looked great, and made her legs look great, and she looked so “authentic” otherwise, that it all worked.

The jacket looked like a one-piece wrap-around, held together only by the 4-inch wide black leather belt. Chris’ waist was so small that it looked like she might be wearing a corset, but Des had seen her in her underwear last night, and knew that was not the case. She was also wearing her glasses.

“So how many outrageously sexy elf-outfits do you have?” He asked her, after pausing to take in her new costume.

“Not counting erotic lingerie—10 or 12, I’d say.” Chris answered. “Stick around, and I’ll go through all of them on the job here.”

All that day, Desmond seemed happy and undisturbed by the previous day’s grief or unpleasant memories. Jane came up to him and commented on his good mood.

“So, have you kissed her yet?” She asked, “Did you have a good time “shopping” last night? You know, I’m a little bit jealous—you used to look at me with that same goofy expression. I went ahead and put in the good word for you with Chris, anyway. Maybe you can do me a favour someday soon.”

Desmond wondered if Jane had always been this flirtatious, and he just had never noticed, or if she was getting bolder now that she knew he was involved with Chris.

After work, Chris simply announced that she and Des were “going out”. Neither of her parents made a fuss about it. Chris had managed to “reveal” that she was now wearing one of the red thongs that he had bought her the night before. Chris wanted to stop at the mall candy store, where they bought several gigantic candy-canes. Then she directed him to take her to a trendy, upscale bar nearby. They got right in (they were a little early, yet) and were seated at a high table by the window.

“Another advantage of an older boyfriend—they didn’t card me when we came in.” Chris gushed after ordering a rum eggnog.

“Listen, Chris, I really don’t see how you could fail to notice, walking around in that outfit all day—but there are guys walking by on the sidewalk out there who get one look at you and are in serious danger of passing out from the blood rushing from their heads down to stiffen their . . . crotch. The manager here would pay you money to sit on that stool in that window in that dress. Things like photo ID’s aren’t a concern for the beautiful people.”

Chris blushed and grinned, somehow looking both innocent and incredibly guilty. Desmond had no idea if she was truly unaware of how sexy she was, or if she was just getting him to praise her aloud.

She had another eggnog, and she stopped him from getting another beer.

“We have different missions here, Des,” she announced, “You’re driving and I’m . . . . . .lowering my inhibitions.” She downed her drink, and one more before they set out for Desmond’s apartment.

When they got to his place, Chris spun around and gave him a quick kiss, (in her boots she was exactly his height); then she told him to sit down on the couch. He did as she directed.

“Time to Relax and Embrace It, Desmond.” She said, pitching her voice low and slow, like the other night. “You can feel yourself relaxing and accepting and softly drifting to that comfortable place where you were before. There is no need to think or question or worry, you can trust me to do all that for you. You can just experience things as they happen, and you will remember everything clearly. There will be no disturbing gaps, no secrets, nothing at all to trouble you this time. If I say or do something that disturbs you, you will stay relaxed and just raise your hand and tell me all about it when I call on you to speak. You are completely adrift now, completely under my loving care, completely mine to command.”

“Relax, and Embrace It. This is going to be so good. You are going to answer all of my question so completely and truthfully and well, and then everything will be fine. Are you ready to answer me?”

Desmond knew he had dropped by into a trance, but he didn’t mind a bit. It was peaceful and relaxing and he knew he was scoring points with Chris. He remembered an old quote: “Guys will do ANYTHING, if they think its foreplay.”

Chris asked him a lot of questions—about his life, his job, his past loves, his family, his beliefs, values, goals, dreams, fantasies, she went on and on. She seemed very pleased with his answers, though they seemed boring to him.

“So you think my mother is Hot?”

“Yes. She’s very beautiful.”

“So you want to do it with her? She’s 62!”

“No. She’s married. She’s your mom.”

“So what are you thinking when I see you staring at her?” Chris said smugly, thinking she’d caught him trying to lie.

“It’s kind of weird . . . .”

“Go on, tell me.” Chris leaned forward. She was about to hear a guy’s sex fantasy. Heck, she was about to hear HER guy’s sex fantasy . . . .

“I think about what you’ll look like when your older. You look just like her, so you should age very well. A 50-year shelf-life and you would STILL look better than all the 20 year-olds. You’re such a prize. There’s so much at stake. I don’t want to mess this up. . . .”

“That’s enough.” It certainly wasn’t the answer she was expecting.

That exchange seemed to satisfy her curiosity, and she paused a while before resuming.

“OK, Desmond, you’re going to wake up now. You can remember what we said, but we’re not going to talk about it tonight. It makes you happy when you do as I tell you. You know it pleases me, and you want to please me. As you get to know me, you will have more and more faith that I will always make the right decision for you. Are you ready now to wake up?”

Desmond went to the bathroom and washed his face. He had a chance at the finest girlfriend imaginable. The most perfect girl possible—at least everything so far seem to point that way. And she seemed to be able to control him at will. She also seemed to be enjoying that power more and more. Would something go wrong? Would he be able to break free if it did?

When he returned to the living room, Chris had removed her boots, gloves and belt. She still had on her hat and jacket, which hung open down the front. No bra, tiny red thong. She was unwrapping one of the giant candy-canes.

“I’m tired of being on Daddy’s “Nice” list every year,” she said, “I want to be “Naughty”. So Naughty that I get nothing but coal for years to come.”

“Are you sure about this?” Desmond managed to ask, “How do your parents feel about you having a boyfriend who’s so much older?”

“You’re not that old.” Chris said, “What are you? 24?”

“I’ll be 25 in a week.”

“My folks aren’t bothered for four reasons. First; I’m very mature and responsible for my age. Second; You seem like a nice guy, and Bill & Jane both vouch for you. Third; After the ears, my Dad cuts me a lot of slack for being a bigger Christmas fanatic than he is. They don’t want to lose me to the land of Scrooge & Grinch—like my brother and sister.

“And fourth?”

“Fourth; I’ve been hypnotically reinforcing their complete trust in me for years, and I’ve never given them cause for doubt before.”

She let the jacket slide from her shoulders, leaving her in just the red thong—and her hat. “I’m getting hungry.” She purred at him.

Desmond gulped, and glanced at his empty fridge. “We could order a pizza . . . .”

When he looked back at Chris, he froze in awe and shock. She had swallowed the entire candy-cane, and inch in diameter and over a foot long, until the end was hooked over her lower lip. As he watched in fascinating she slowly withdrew it.

“I’ve been practicing that—you really should see your face right now!” She smiled and swallowed a couple more times, holding up her peppermint-striped sex toy. “We’ve got several more of these, let’s get creative!”

For Christmas, he gave her a giant print of hundreds of snowflakes—each one painstakingly photographed in extreme close-up, then scattered against a blue background.

Later, Desmond showed her his guilty secret—a collection of Christmas ties, over two dozen of them.

“You know this means you’re mine forever!” Chris announced.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not any more.”