I have been toying with the idea of a Nutcracker story for several years now -- having had my own sort of Nutcracker tale in the form of my very first BDSM experience. This is very loosely based on that experience, but someday I will eventually write the real story for you all.
And of course, this is merely the Overture, as it were. In the future -- perhaps next Christmas, I will continue the story. I hope you enjoy this, and...Happy Holidays!
*
It had all started with the small wooden figurine -- and the slender girl, sitting beneath the Christmas tree, who now cradled him in her pretty hands. Well... no longer a girl -- but if you were to see her, you would understand my mistake. She still had the lithe, supple form of a young lady. Her fair hair -- the color of the very best champagne -- was piled high on her head, exposing the smooth back of her neck and her small little ears, from which dangled expensive pearl earrings. Her eyes were a deep blue. From a distance, they appeared almost black.
So there she sat, on the parquet floor of the cream-and-gilt ballroom, her lovely gown billowing out around her, as she studied the carved little fellow. He was gaily jacketed in a martial red, his regimental officer's insignia carefully picked out in gold paint. His navy-blue trousers with the smart white stripe fitted snugly over slim hips, and were neatly tucked into his glossy black boots. Storm-grey eyes stared straight ahead, unseeing. And a tiny gold crown sat atop his golden curls. Every detail was just as she remembered. She ran a fingertip lightly over the wooden cheek, tenderly, as one touches a lover.
Marie-Claire Therese Stahlbaum von Hoffman -- let us call her Clara -- cradled her beloved Nutcracker in her hands. How long had it been since she had last held it?
Twenty years
, she realized, with a start. Had it really been twenty years since her godfather had given her the gift - not merely of a child's plaything -- but of a dream that even now, years later, could still make her catch her breath with the wonder and amazement of it all?
She touched the Nutcracker's hair, and reflected upon her life since that glorious night, when old Uncle Dosselmeyer had brought the carved little soldier-prince to life, and how he had whisked her away to the Kingdom of the Sweets, for one magical night. She had known, without being told, that it could only be that one night. For we must, all of us, eventually put aside the things of childhood, and grow up.
But oh, how hard it was! To put aside the memory of the Nutcracker Prince, the feel of his mouth covering hers, in those tender little kisses that had just started to stir her, to awaken something deep within, that she hadn't even suspected existed. Sixteen years old... first kiss... first touch...
But... one must grow up... and Clara was nothing if not obedient...
A part of her, in her heart, had railed against Fate, even as she dressed in the low-cut, white gown of the debutante, worn the flowers in her hair... She had laughed, danced, drank a little champagne, and eventually made that brilliant marriage that certain good girls from certain good families are expected to make. Well... perhaps not brilliant, but certainly Franz had been an excellent match. Wealthy and successful, a lawyer, some years older than her. Solid upper-middle class. Very dull. And with a mistress that Clara was supposed to know nothing about. Franz, who tended to view women as simpler and not nearly so intelligent as men, and who had been somewhat displeased to find Clara was every bit as clever as he. And like most men, the passion and fire that he sought in a mistress... he found shocking in a wife. Disappointment on all sides. Still... they had a charming home here in Vienna, with a full staff, a wardrobe full of beautiful gowns, and such lovely jewelry. She was quite the envy of her friends. What more could any woman want?
Passion
, whispered that little rebellious part of her heart.
Fire. Sexual fulfillment.
Clara ignored that little voice - having had years of practice - and turned her attention back to the Nutcracker.
Where
had
it come from? She looked at the paper wrappings on the floor, where she had unwrapped a dozen other cherished old ornaments, now carefully hanging from the branches of the stately pine. How funny to think that it had been here, all these years, somehow overlooked...
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the quarter-hour, and she reluctantly set the Nutcracker aside, rising gracefully to her feet. She shook out her skirts, and made her way across the room, intending to go work on some correspondence. A stray eyelash, stabbing into her eye, made her pause in front of one of the ormolu mirrors. It eluded capture for some minutes, and her eyes were watering as she finally got it out. Just then, the clock chimed the hour. How peculiar, had fifteen minutes already passed? Blinking away tears, she glanced at its reflection in the mirror. But instead of the clock-face, there was Drosselmeyer, smiling benignly at her! She gasped, and whirled around to face the clock...
But the old grandfather stood there, staid, stalwart, ticking away stolidly, wearing the same painted wooden face it had worn for years. And here came the housekeeper, with the tea things. At Clara's nod, she laid them out on the small table in front of the fire.
Clara waited until the woman had left, then turned back to the mirror, watching the clock's reflection. It was, after all, the same clock that had chimed the night the Nutcracker came to life...
But nothing happened. There were no mice, no glimmerings of fairydust, no shimmering of the air. The Nutcracker sat under the tree where she had left him, unmoving, solemn. With a rueful little laugh, she seated herself on the elegant little chaise in front of the fire, pausing to gaze into the flames.
It may have been the warmth of the fire, or the hypnotic sound of the crackling wood. Perhaps it was rhythmic sound of the wind howling outside, and the dim grey bleakness. Whatever the cause, she found herself suddenly very drowsy, and she closed her eyes for what she thought was just a moment. Outside, the wind grew stronger, louder, seeming for a moment to shake the very room. And then suddenly... all was quiet.
And Clara opened her eyes to find everything changed...
It was the same ballroom -- yet... not the same. It seemed to Clara that the walls had drawn back, grown taller. There were new colors among the cream-and-gilt on the walls -- pinks, roses, blues, violets, greens... watercolor colors... she turned quickly in her chair to look at the Christmas tree. It had grown taller, and it seemed that there were a thousand candles shimmering among its fragrant branches. She could barely make out the star shimmering at the top. She stood up quickly, looking beneath the tree.
The Nutcracker was gone.
Clara's knees buckled, and she sat down quickly on the chaise, bracing her hands on the edge, her heart beating fast... she closed her eyes. When she re-opened them, there he was, standing before her. No longer the Nutcracker, but transformed.
Transfigured.
There he was...her soldier-prince. Her heart's desire.
He stood before her in his scarlet jacket, the carved gold buttons standing out, very real. She could make out the weave of his trousers -- they weren't merely paint, but very real, very palpable fabric. She could smell the rich leather of his glossy black boots. His golden hair tumbled nearly to his shoulders in loose curls, and his storm-grey eyes gazed down into hers. His mouth, his beautifully mobile, kissable mouth, curved into the faintest of smiles. She drew a breath, tried to speak, but could not. He watched her for a long moment, and then reached forward, touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his hand.
"Is this really happening?"
He didn't answer right away, his hand moving from her cheek, around the back of her head, suddenly wrapping itself tightly in her hair. Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, more from surprise, than from pain. He pulled her to her feet in that way, and kissed her. It wasn't the kiss she had somehow expected -- it was fierce, bruising, mocking... somehow punishing...
... and it was better than anything she had dreamt of. After a moment, he pulled away and smiled at her, a loving smile, but with a hint of cruelty at the corner of his mouth...
"Yes, my darling... my pet... this is really happening... "
That hand in her hair was forcing her back to the chaise, and his other hand was unfastening the front of his trousers now. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, shocked. He gave her a little nod, and somehow... she knew. She knew precisely what she wanted, what she wanted to do. She reached up, pushing his hands away, and finished unbuttoning his pants. She tugged at them, pulling them down over his hips, freeing his semi-hard cock. She gazed at it for a very long moment... she craved it, but she was a little afraid, too...
Even semi-erect, it was longer and thicker than her husband's. He had been circumsized, and the head of the cock was exquisitely delineated from the rest, a perfect mushroom-shaped helmet. Even as she watched, his cock grew harder, longer, the skin taking on a purplish-red hue. Nestled beneath his cock his balls hung full and heavy. She looked up at him, inquiringly. He smiled that cruelly angelic smile.
"Suck it, pet. Suck my cock hard, and show me how much you missed me... "
He didn't wait for her to move towards it, but tightened his grip in her hair, and pushed his cock into her surprised mouth. Caught off-guard, she tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let her, pushing more of his length into her, choking her with his thick cock. She put her hands on his thighs, trying to push him away. He lightly slapped her cheek with his free hand.
"Put your hands behind your back," he instructed. She obeyed immediately, but within moments, had her hands back out in front of her, trying to regain some balance, some control. He gave her another little slap, and grabbed her wrists, pinning them together in a crushing grip. She gave a low little moan, but he ignored that, slowly pumping in and out of her mouth.
"Look at you," he said in a sneering voice, "sucking my cock like a filthy whore. You're a married woman." He pushed his cock deep into her mouth and she gagged as the head nudged the back of her throat. She could taste the salty precum, feel it dribbling down the back of her throat...
