by Qwillia Rain
As carefully as she could, Elf tucked the blanket around his broad shoulders and quietly exited his office. Yep, the extralong, extrawide sofa had been the right choice to hold her boss’ six-feet-four-inch, two-hundred-pound frame.
The instant she covered him, he fought the urge to drag her down on top of him. It didn’t matter how soundly he slept, one touch from her, and his body was wide awake and ready.
The woman was driving him insane.
Dayton waited until Elfina left the room to rise up on his elbows and gaze at the closed doors. It couldn’t continue, he determined, as he thrust his hands through his hair. For three and a half years, he’d watched the curvy little witch steam roll her way through his life.
His business.
She was a foot shorter and eight years younger than him, and she treated him like a pesky fly. In the office, she put on a good show of placating him, as if he needed her approval. The irony of being born with the name Kringle assured him worldwide recognition, but the reputation he’d built as a sound and skillful businessman was what kept his name amongst the Fortune 500.
Hell, he counted several powerful businessmen, two senators, and a world-famous photojournalist as friends, and Elf responded to him the way Sister Agnes had when he was growing up at the St. Rose Orphanage. To add insult to injury, sometime in the last six weeks, Elf had decided her wardrobe needed revamping.
The shorter skirts he could handle. It was the CFMPs ‑‑ Come Fuck Me Pumps ‑‑ and the way they put a sway into her rounded hips that had him sweating. Every time she sashayed into his office, the impulse to find out if the flavor of her lips would be the same as the taste of her sex washed over him. He needed to know if her lips, nipples, and pussy were all the same deep, rose pink color. Most of all, he wondered what she’d sound like as she climaxed with his cock sunk deep in her pussy, or hard up her ass.
He’d spent the last forty months harder than a railroad spike at the mere thought of her bent over his desk, her round ass bare and waiting for his attention. Well, damn it, this year he was getting his Christmas wish, come Hell or high water. He’d plotted and planned for the last eight months. He would be damned if he didn’t get himself a piece of Elf before the clock struck midnight on Christmas Eve.
Chapter Three
Her first gift arrived on Monday, twelve days before Christmas.
It appeared when Elf stepped out to get her lunch, and lay in the center of her desk as she pushed through her door, hands filled with the covered plastic bowl containing her salad and a bottle of iced tea. Elf stood staring at the gold foil-wrapped box as the door swung shut behind her. Setting her lunch aside on the reception area coffee table, Elf examined the square box covering half of her desk blotter. Expensive gold foil and silver fabric bows decorated it, making her reluctant to follow the simple “Open me” instructions on the vellum tag taped to the top.
Taking a seat in her comfortable executive chair, Elf lifted the gift. Returning it to the desktop she contemplated it for a moment, wondering who could have given it to her. Carefully peeling away the tape, she removed the paper, revealing a deep blue, velvet box.
Fingers trembling, Elf raised the hinged lid. A sheet of vellum, like the tag on the wrapping paper, was folded in quarters covering the contents. Lifting the paper, Elf gasped at the four chains tucked into the eight-by-ten-inch box.
All four were made of alternating silver and gold links, each small enough to still be feminine while large enough to resemble the chain used to secure gates and hold dogs in a yard.
Pulling the shortest chain free, she estimated its length to be just over fifteen inches, with a single clasp on one end and an O-ring at the other ‑‑ a necklace of sorts, Elf guessed. Returning it to its tray, she pulled out the second one, and was more certain of its purpose considering its length was close to thirty inches with the same clasp closure and O-ring at each end.
In high school she’d briefly indulged in the trend of wearing a waist chain. The second gold and silver chain reminded her of the short-lived fashion accessory.
As for the third and fourth chains ‑‑ their purpose stymied her. Putting the waist chain back, she pulled the shorter of the two remaining chains out, and studied the clasps at both ends of the twelve inch strand. The longer of the two also carried the clasps at both ends, but it was at least twice as long as the third. About nine inches from each end, three round, onyx beads ‑‑ maybe an inch in diameter ‑‑ replaced the third, sixth, and ninth links on the remaining six inches of chain.
Settling the last chain in its place in the box, she turned to the paper, thinking perhaps it held the answers.
My Elf,
On the first day of Christmas…
Santa needs to break his reindeer to the harness for the long ride on Christmas Eve.
Harnessing his Elf, though, can prove as adventuresome as the journey around the world.
You may accept these bindings, knowing full well the wearing of them indicates your willingness to submit yourself to your Santa’s will.
His every command is yours to fulfill while your every pleasure is his only goal.
Know that eleven days remain before you’re claimed, and in that time the sight of my collar around your throat excites me nearly as much as imagining my cock thrusting inside your cunt.
In anticipation,
Santa
Visions of the catalog she and Jodi had laughed and commented about filled her head. It wasn’t possible…she thought, remembering the slave devices photographed on the glossy pages. From clamps to weights, she and Jodi had investigated the various items, remarking on the mention of them in the erotic novels they’d read.
As a friendly dare, they’d each selected an item from the BDSM supply catalog and purchased it. Her choice of nipple clamps had seemed tame compared to Jodi’s violet flogger.
Eyes wandering back to the chains, Elf could feel her cheeks heat even more. She imagined they were a fiery red by now, as the purpose for the third and fourth chains became clear.
The third chain could serve as a leash for the collar-necklace. The purpose of the fourth chain would be stimulation. Secured between her thighs and connected, front and back to the waist chain, the onyx beads that had looked so innocuous before, would…
She could feel her breasts swell and her nipples peak at the images forming in her head. The explicit books she indulged in purchasing online had described the devices in different ways, but actually being gifted with them…
Between her thighs, her panties grew damp. Fingering the smooth spheres her mind conjured pictures of Dayton settling each one into place. His calloused fingers spreading the swollen lips of her pussy open and pressing the first of the three beads against her sensitive clit made her breath catch. The second he would settle at the mouth of her vagina, and the last would be left to rub against the pucker of her ass.
Wearing the chain would be stimulating. Trying to walk, bend, or stretch, movements she was constantly making during the course of her day ‑‑ Elf shook her head, those kinds of moves would be torture. Exquisitely arousing, she decided, but torture nonetheless.
Giving herself a moment to think, she stepped away from her desk and collected her lunch. Leaving the open jewelry case in front of her, she alternated reading the note, eating, and stroking the chains.
Could she do this?
Though her mind envisioned Dayton as the gift giver, it was possible someone else had left it. If she’d still been dating Dean, she could see him trying to send this to her. Even Greg down in Marketing, an inveterate flirt, had shown an interest when she’d started her campaign to gain Dayton’s attention. There was always Howard in Accounting. She shuddered to think of him sending such a gift. At the best of times, she dreaded contact with him.
From his door, Dayton watched with a slight smile as Elf read and reread the note. Her hands caressed the chains in the box while her eyes remained focused on the paper.
When he’d purchased them for
her, he’d known exactly what he wanted to say in the note. Unfortunately, telling a woman you’ve never had a personal relationship with that you could see her ivory smooth skin glowing against gold and silver bindings would have created a bit of a panic.
He’d written the first note while his mind was still entranced with the images the chains stirred. Visuals of using the onyx beads to rub her rose-colored nipples into stiff peaks had filled his head. He could see himself warming the cool stone on her breasts so his lips could suckle the aroused buds. Once heated, his fingers would sift through the tight brown curls between her thighs, appraising the readiness of her clit.
His cock had gone stiff as he contemplated sliding the chain down her belly. Trailing his lips over every new inch of flesh, he would carefully fasten one end to her belly chain before spreading her lips and using the juices he’d coaxed from her body to lubricate the beads. Attention would be paid to her clit, rolling the bead over and around it, getting the nubbin of flesh familiar with the texture.
The second bead would be slid into place, and then the third. After fastening the rear clasp to the back of the chain, he would tug on the gold and silver links. First in the back then the front, observing the bowing and flexing of his Elf’s body as the onyx stimulators pressed against the sensitive tissues he would explore.
Fucking her would come only after he’d used the beads to induce multiple climaxes. Watching her eyes dilate, her mouth gasp for air, her body reach for bliss, would assist in his training of her. Pushing her body to its limits would provide a challenge for both of them.
Each of the fantasies flickering through his mind was included in his first note. So detailed and erotic were the images his words had created, he knew the letter might send alarm scurrying through his Elf, thus making it unusable. But Dayton had kept it. With luck he would be able to share it with Elf. Later.
Tamping down his desires, he’d penned the note she currently perused, hoping it would stir her desires without frightening her away. Her repeated reading of it must mean he struck just the right chord of mystery, something to entice her curiosity.
While he contemplated whether to approach Elf or not, the phone beside her rang, drawing her attention. After finishing the call, he watched his Elf hastily close the jewelry box, lock it in the drawer where she kept her purse secured, and discard the trash from her lunch.
Present one delivered, just eleven more to go…
* * * * *
Much of her afternoon was lost to musings about her gift. Scenarios flitted through her mind. Scenes in which Dayton called her into his office, ordered her to remove her clothes so he could examine his gift against her skin.
In a gravelly voice, he’d command, “Tease those pretty round tits. Show me how you like to play with yourself. What makes your nipples hard, Elf?”
With him leaning back in the chair behind his desk and her facing him, she would comply, aroused by his commands, knowing her power lay in choosing which directives she would follow. Stroking around and over her breasts, her slender fingers never quite touching her nipples, she’d tease her body while exciting Dayton as well.
When he motioned her closer, Elf rounded the desk to stand between his spread thighs, her eyes captured by the straining erection hidden behind the placket of his jeans. His hands reached up, replacing hers, and calloused fingertips explored the puckered nipples, exerting pressure with his thumbs and forefingers.
Just as pleasurable pain bloomed under his attention…
“Damn that idiot Hayes!” exploded behind her, shattering the fantasy and thrusting her full force back into the present.
Dayton came storming out of his office, “Call Halsey and see if he’s still got some of the cedar in his warehouse, then meet me in the finishing room.”
* * * * *
The homeless shelter was noisy and crowded, smelling of unwashed bodies, peppermint sticks, and wood shavings. Elf’s feet ached in the pointed green slippers, and her legs were tired from the long day at the office. Trying to keep up with Dayton had been tantamount to running a series of 100-yard dashes all day. Her muscles ached after first chasing down the issue of the ruined order of cedar, and then discussing Dayton’s idea about increasing production without decreasing quality with two foremen. She’d had to trot after Dayton just to keep up with his powerful strides.
Glancing around the brightly lit room, with its cafeteria-style tables and cots folded against the wall, Elf looked for Dayton in the crowded shelter.
Leaning against the wall watching a man slowly eating his dinner, Dayton’s fingers stroked the neatly trimmed white beard he grew every winter. Curling gray hair brushed the collar of the red crushed velvet suit hugging his broad shoulders and muscular thighs. The knee high, black leather boots were polished to a high shine, as was the wide belt that fastened snug over his flat belly with a gleaming brass buckle. There was no padding beneath his costume, only trim, taut flesh kept in shape by hours of walking the factory floor and working beside his employees, hefting heavy boxes of product in the warehouse.
Squashing the frustration she felt at being ignored, Elf crossed the room to stand beside him, and turned her attention to the man Dayton watched. She noticed he had two toys and saw how carefully the man touched them as they sat beside his plate. First, he stroked the red-painted smokestack of the engine, then the glossy black wheels of Dayton’s gift. Then he would play his trembling fingers over the marred surface of another train engine, this one faded and worn, before dipping his spoon into his bowl.
Weary, bloodshot brown eyes never left the toys as he lifted his spoon. His shaky grip spilled much of the soup back into the bowl so only a small sip actually reached his lips, but the man didn’t seem to care. His sole focus was the toys.
“His name’s Charlie.” Dayton’s voice was a deep rumble beside her. It didn’t reach beyond her ears to those around them.
Elf didn’t move her attention away from the elderly man.
Dayton continued, “He’s been in and out of this shelter for the last six years.”
“What happened to him?”
“A drunk driver killed his wife and little boy. Charlie was there and he couldn’t save them.”
Looking again at Charlie’s trembling hands and bloodshot eyes, Elf asked, “Was he the driver?”
“Nope. Charlie doesn’t drink. His back and leg were permanently damaged in the accident. He’s in constant pain. He doesn’t sleep well.” Dayton grew quiet for a moment. “He blames himself for the accident.”
“If he wasn’t driving, how can he blame himself?”
“Because he thinks he should have noticed that his wife was intoxicated. He’d cut his hand on the toy.” Dayton’s head dipped in the direction of the battered train engine. “He was trying to fix it for their son. It was a deep cut and he asked his wife to take him to the hospital. They couldn’t leave their son alone since he was only five. By the time Charlie realized how dangerous his wife was behind the wheel, it was too late.”
Tears welled up in Elf’s eyes as she watched Charlie caress the toys. “How awful. Isn’t there anything that can be done to help him?” Elf turned her gaze up to Dayton.
He shook his head, “He doesn’t want to be helped. He’s just waiting to be with his little boy.” Reaching down, Dayton smoothed away one of the tears slipping down her cheek. The lashes around his dark blue eyes were damp. Sliding his fingers over her shoulder to her waist he turned her toward the front of the shelter and away from the wall. “We should go. Long day tomorrow and we need to get some rest.”
Elf didn’t argue. Looking back at Charlie, she wondered how she would feel if she were in the heartbroken man’s place. The thought of losing a spouse was painful, but the loss of a child? She shook her head. The guilt would be crippling.
Thinking of her own mother, Elf wasn’t sure her own reaction wouldn’t be similar to Charlie’s. Despite every belief she held, Elf couldn’t stop herself from offering up a prayer of hope that
Charlie’s pain and suffering would soon come to an end. Feeling the tug of Dayton’s hand on her wrist, she followed him to the shelter’s office to gather up the empty velvet sack and their coats.
* * * * *
The blue velvet case lay open on her bed, the chains gleaming in the pale light cast by her bedside lamp. Taking her time, she read the note again, her body heating at the message hidden between the lines. In her fantasy world, Dayton would be the giver.
After his actions at the shelter, a tiny part of her whispered that he was as aware of her as she was of him. She imagined walking into the office in the morning, the necklace fastened around her throat, the waist chain beneath her blouse, and Dayton’s cobalt gaze focused on her. Just thinking about his interest caused her nipples to peak, pressing against the soft cotton of her oversized T-shirt.
From the instant she’d lifted her eyes to see him stride through the office on the day they met, she’d recognized the force of his nature. Dominant and unwilling to bend, Dayton had surveyed her presence behind the desk handed down to her by Nadine Haggerty, his retiring administrative assistant. His calloused hand had swallowed hers when he’d taken it, and the firm grip had communicated both his strength and his ability to temper it when necessary. In the ensuing three years, she’d never had cause to doubt her estimation.
If he had been the person to leave her the gift, her wearing his mark of ownership would constitute an agreement she had been reluctant to give any of the men she’d dated in the past. “Frigid bitch” had been Dean’s sneered response after she’d dumped his lunch in his lap when she’d caught him with his lover at the restaurant. “Incompatible,” “cold,” and “ice queen” had been other remarks thrown at her when she wouldn’t allow intimacies to extend beyond kisses and heavy petting.
Until she’d creamed her panties the first time Dayton walked through the office door, she’d been inclined to believe them. Now, the images flitting through her mind assured her the deficiency hadn’t been all her fault. In her estimation, Dayton would have overrun any protests she might have made. He would never have forced her, but he wouldn’t have given up so easily when she put the brakes on intimacy.