Christmas Inside

The alarm went off. It was 06:00 and Lara woke along with the other five slaves in her dormitory only slightly refreshed from her six-hour allowance of sleep. She glanced at the calendar as she folded her standard-issue blanket and placed it on her bunk in the dimly lit, windowless box room. It barely contained the two three-tier beds for the slave girls. 23rd December - surely she would be let home soon. She and the five others lined up automatically outside the room, straight backed and naked to wait for inspection and instruction.

The guard came at 6:05, dressed in his standard uniform of a tight black vest and expensive black Calvin Klein boxers, with a belt and pair of shoes that would seem to the outsider ridiculous. However, as the building and organisation were very insular, the workers were very rarely allowed out. When the guards had leave, they could wear their own clothes, unlike the slaves. Lara pondered this injustice as the guard checked the dorm.

“Number 46b, your blanket is badly folded.”

Lara was rudely shaken from her thoughts; that was her. The number written on her left breast in permanent marker would betray that fact. She stepped forward.

“Sorry, sir.”

“Fold it up, then come here.”

Lara opened and re-folded the blanket hurriedly, both looking forward to and dreading the punishment to come. She turned around and stepped gingerly back out into the corridor. The guard surveyed her. She was short at about five foot four, but her lithe body supported a large and firm pair of breasts. Her face, its lascivious lips dominating the lower area, and its bright, blue eyes the upper, was charming and inviting. Her dark auburn hair, sometimes brown sometimes ginger to the involved observer hung messily but prettily around her face, most of it lost from the hair band during the night. He turned her around and let his eyes drift over her tapered waist to her full butt, which he duly felt. Turning her round to face him again, he grinned at her and said.

“Kiss my hand, and ask me to slap you.”

She had learned from months in this place that this was a light punishment, and that trying to avoid it would be disastrous. She lent forward and tenderly kissed his strong hand.

“Slap me.” She added huskily. He slapped her face lightly, the pleasure of his dominance showing on his lips.

“Right. Today you’re preparing for Christmas. The Mistresses want it to be spectacular, and if it isn’t, you slags are going to pay.” He pulled out a palmtop from a black pouch hung on his belt.

“44a, 44b, 45a and 46b will follow me now. 45b and 46a will report to Room 41 for preparation for departure.”

45b and 46a were two happy-looking women. The naked two, stifling smiles, were pleased that their good behaviour had paid off, and after six weeks in, they would get one week out with their friends and family. The remaining four looked far less elated; Christmas for them had effectively been cancelled. Eight weeks in had rewarded them with nothing. But then again, they hadn’t sucked as much dick as Tina and Hannah, who walked off happily, knowing that within minutes they would be clothed (albeit sluttishly) and released. The other four women followed the guard along several long corridors and down to Room 38 on Level 2, four storeys below their dorms and the “costume cupboard” of the organisation. Their guard pulled out his skeleton key and herded them into C6, the Christmas department.

Although all four women had spent the past week completely naked and observed (not to mention seven other fabric-lite weeks), the sight of clothes reminded them somewhat of their nudity, and modesty, a modified and far less powerful sense here, made them slightly edgy. The guard was searching through racks of scanty Santa costumes, reindeer tails and revealing elf-clothes, and turned to the four ladies with a small amount of then unidentified red clothing. Easily unhooking the fabric, he separated four red thongs and threw one at each slave in turn.

“Don’t put them on yet.” He examined his palmtop again, and after a short while had confirmed the Mistresses’ other requirements. Clicking his fingers angrily, the costume-servant appeared. A tall, blonde woman allowed only pair of white hot pants and a bra; she curtseyed before the guard and awaited her instructions. Receiving them with a caress of her exposed and flat midriff, she quickly produced the demanded white fluff that rims Santa costumes and cut ribbons of it, which she sewed with lightning speed onto the four thongs of the slaves. Standing to attention all the while, the slaves peered on anxiously at their emerging costumes. The finished thong sported a fur trim around its top thicker than the garment itself, and the Lycra material from which it was made looked embarrassingly stretchy.

“Put them on, bitches.” Ordered the guard.

The women donned the thongs, examining each others’ to judge their adjustments. Lara briefly enjoyed the sensuality of the thong before the guard attached a bright red leather leash snugly to her neck. She then lined up with the similarly leashed slave girls to have her hands chained loosely and lightly in front of her. The silver chains were thin and easily breakable by hammer, but were designed simply to keep the slaves working; they were long enough to allow considerable arm movement. Lara was mildly aroused by being chained, and would remain so for the remainder of the holiday season.

Lara waited outside the room, feeling the smooth Lycra of her thong with pleasure, and enjoying the sight of Geri (45a to the authorities) in hers. A petite blonde of Lara’s height but with thinner features, her comely face was played by smirks as she eyed up Lara’s breasts. The two glanced around and stole a quick kiss, Geri’s hands running down to Lara’s arse, the chains slung over her head. They were startled as Tina and Hannah walked past, stopping to look them over. The two, tallish and slender, but with nicely prominent breasts and behinds, were dressed in short white dresses and white stilettos. As they stood, they unconsciously pulled the skirts down, but they barely covered their thin white thongs. Tina’s black hair had been brushed and hung cleanly over her shoulders. It was uncommon for slaves to speak for fear of punishment, but obviously her civilian clothes inspired some bravery in her.

“You too look so slutty, but hot.”

“So do you. Dick-sucking lips always make you look like a hot bitch.” Lara was bitter at Tina’s shameless flaunting of her love for head, a love that had bought her out for a while.

Tina smiled slyly, and, using her unbound hands, closed in behind Lara and clasped her waist, leaning in over her shoulder. Geri had removed her hands and stood nervously watching the door to C6. Tina’s hands dropped to Lara’s skimpy Christmas thong, and went under it towards her cunt.

“Yes, but my lips got me out of here over the holiday. I’ll be on the outside, sleeping all I like, drinking red wine and having sex when I want it. You’ll be stuck in here until Easter, getting fucked so long as you’re wet. We all like it, but sometimes you need to get outside; wear some of your own clothes and walk down the street.” Lara was wet from Tina’s touch, but looked round at her stubbornly.

“Who knows - I might smuggle you in a pair of knickers, if you eat me in January.” She pressed herself to Lara’s back as she gloated these words, enjoying every single one.

“I’ll see you in the New Year, bitch.” She whispered invitingly as she applied slight pressure to Lara’s shorn pubic mound. Tina then nibbled her ear quickly and left, guiding the young blonde Hannah down the corridor towards the stairwell. Lara and Geri watched her arse as the very bottom of it showed under the tight dress riding up over her tanned cheeks.

“She’ll make French Maid next year, lucky bitch.” Said Geri bitterly.

“Oh, serving food and getting fucked - what’s so good about that?” asked Lara quietly, pulling at the leather collar to loosen its soft grip.

“More holiday, more clothes, better sex, nicer dorms…” Lara looked despairingly as Geri answered.

“And we’re stuck as slave-girls forever.”

They rocketed straight back to attention as the door to C6 opened and the guard came out followed by ‘44a’ and ‘44b’, or Christina and Kirsty on the outs. The two were both wearing strappy red stilettos and short, bright red, long-sleeved crop-tops, made of Lycra so thin, and stretched so incredibly, that they were nearly see-through. Even white-blonde Christina, with her petite frame and pretty little tits, only just fitted the top in some areas, only her thin arms allowing the material to shrink back to its original size. Kirsty however, a taller and fuller slave girl, may just as well have had nothing on. The fabric was stretched so tightly over her breasts that her number was clearly visible through the top. Her dark, long hair would hide her breasts from time to time as she knelt and it covered her front, but her large, rouge nipples poked almost through the Lycra top. The guard handed such a top to Lara – in its original form it was ridiculously small – and she battled and stretched to pull the thing over her D-cup breasts. After her had unchained and re-bound her hands, and a bright red lipstick had been passed around, he led the Christmas bitches to the central hall of the complex.

There, they were able to look at themselves in the full-length wall-mirrors in the light and airy space. Lara examined herself as the guard contacted someone from the palmtop to discover their jobs for the day. Starting with her new and tawdry red shoes, and following up her smooth and shapely legs, Lara was turned on by her own appearance. The thin thong and thicker trimming led to her flat and taught midriff and then to the crop-top, the Lycra giving in to its instincts and bunching up below her breasts and on her arms, creating ripples of cheap red fabric. She used her loosely chained hands to put her hair back in her band, now red and adorned with tinsel, leaving her trademark small spurt of hair at the front. Her full lips were covered with thick crimson lipstick. She noticed from a darker rouge patch on her panties that she had already moistened her new thong. She realised how dirty she looked, like a harlot in all this red, but that was the point of being a slave-girl here; she could have no dignity.