Sneak Peek: A Christmas Story, Finale

The following 500-word sneak peek comes from the final chapter of the Christmas story arc of Constant. I'll leave it as is, and leave readers to consider what series of events could have led from those earlier chapters to-this.

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            Now I lay there, spread-eagle, on his bed. I test the straps that hold my arms. They’re too strong to break—if I strained and thrashed with all my might, I don’t think I could break free—and suddenly, the horrible vulnerability of my situation, the absolute powerlessness of my position—hammers down on me. For a moment, I can’t breathe. There is no escape from this. I am the maiden offered up as sacrifice, willingly chained to the altar of his desire. Yet, as I look up at him, I see—such fervent worship in his gaze at the sight of my resplendent body that any thought of escape fades and leaves behind a pleasant warmth humming beneath the skin. Yes, I am tied to his bed, but even without I wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else.

            Mr Connor takes his time. It is nearly midnight by the time he’s done teasing me. He kisses and tickles, licks and bites. He orders me to stay quiet, then pinches a fat, jutting nipple and twists. I gasp and moan. He smiles wickedly. His touch is pleasurable torture. My breath rasps in my throat and I am hot and my hips twitch with desire as he traces idle lines across my body, tracing out abstract symbols of pleasure in my flesh. Eventually, he strips away his boxers. His cock jumps up, ready. He straddles me, then shimmies forward. His hands are on my breasts, then his cock is between them. With a firm grip, he fondles and presses tit-flesh together as he slowly thrusts his cock between them. He’s fucking my titties and I’m panting as he does it and then he shifts a little more forward and the tip of his cock is pressing up against my lips. Open up, there’s a good girl, he says, and I do as he orders, swirl my tongue around the head, purse my lips, suck a little. He grunts with pleasure. If possible, he grows even harder.

            Then he’s gone, sliding backwards on the bed. A brief pause as he tears open the condom, rolls it down over his penis. Then he rises over me, arms either side of my head. His cock points like a spear towards my pussy. He’s about to enter me. Suddenly—I’m afraid. I want this but I’m afraid. I’m so fucking horny but I’m also afraid. I remember Icarus and I remember Julia’s apartment. My memories of sex as a girl promise only pain and humiliation. My breath catches in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut. Were my arms not tied to the headboard, I would grab him and push him away. Were my legs not tied to the baseboard, I would kick him off me. As it is, I strain against my bonds until my muscles burn. I twist and pull and my wrists burn and my back arcs. Trembling, I fall back onto the bed. He remains a silent presence above me.

            He waits and says nothing.