Christmas Lighte

She calls herself Lighte. She is Filipina, of a petite build and slender physique that gives her an aura of permanent youth. Long, straight, black hair trails down her entire back, finally terminating around her waist, where the tips tend to dangle in a state of restlessness. The visage of a model is broken by a round face, cutely wide nose, and a perpetually bashful expression. Rather than being flaws, these human features on a body of inhuman allure only serves to make her complete.

And him? He stands several inches higher, of similar complexion, but with Caucasian features inherited from his mother. A mess of black hair scrabbles at his forehead but stops just short of interrupting his field of vision. Though by no means an imposing specimen, he towers easily over his partner, who stands before him, eyes closed in euphoria as warm water rains down on her back. Beads join and form rivulets that travel along the thick tresses of her hair before falling freely to the drain below.

His lips meet hers in a firm, confident kiss that challenges her trepidation and threatens to incinerate her soul with its intensity. It is the smallest, most gentlest of kisses, yet all of their passion surges through the tips of tongues and corners of lips that barely touch, condensed like sunlight through a magnifying glass into a razor-thin beam that leaves them both feeling that the kiss must burn.

He reaches forward and takes her hands, which cover her body in a futile attempt at modesty. As she hesitates, his hands move to her wrists and pivot her, forcefully pressing her back against the cold tile of the shower wall. The contrast from the hot water makes her gasp, and his mouth once again meets hers, dominating the part of her that is trying, unsuccessfully, to draw in a shaky breath.

His firm touch wears at her insecurity, and as she begins to relax, his grip on her wrists loosens, allowing her hands to wrap tightly around his trunk. He cups her face with both hands and closes his eyes into the kiss, allowing them both to float into a state of trance, where the universe blurs to bring that one singular kiss into focus.

His kisses begin to move down her body, pausing at her throat to mark her flesh, once again at her nipples to suck gently, and at her navel, exploring the small depression and casting her deeper into a state of erogenous hypnosis. His tongue slowly makes its way lower, beginning to lap at the periphery of her mound as she leans back against the wall, transfixed, either unable or unwilling to move away. Just before his tongue meets her clit, he reaches to the side and turns off the stream of water. The sudden silence draws her out of her reverie, and the blush returns to her face immediately as her eyes snap open.

They both step out before taking turns using a towel to dry each other. He kisses her left breast, just over her heart, then leads her to the bedroom. There, he takes a box out of the closet and hands it to her. Lighte puts on the collar, the cat ears, and the fingerless paw mittens. All that is left now is a soft tail that lays between her two hands, attached to a small plastic bulb. He takes the tail from her hands, then places the plastic end to her lips. His own mouth meets hers, and their tongues travel around the plastic bulb to meet, coating the surface of it with saliva.

When he breaks the kiss, Lighte asks him to help her with the tail. "What do you want me to do with it?" he asks quietly, his breath warm against her skin.

She blushes and struggles to answer, as if ashamed of her own desire. "Can you insert it..." She bends over and rests her hands on her knees. "... Here?"

He nods at her, putting a hand on her shoulder to support her as his other hand presses the plastic end firmly against her rear opening. He considers forcing her to provide a more direct answer, but his selfless mind tells him to protect her pride, while his selfish mind tells him to break her more slowly. So instead, he waits as she instinctively tenses up before beginning to relax at his touch. When her breathing is steady, he whispers in her ear, "Lean back."

As she falls back against his hand, her hole stretches around the bulb, engulfing it and leaving only the soft tail, which hangs tantalizingly from her backside.

"Good girl."

Her knees weaken as his words, and he has to step to the side to support her. Humiliated but wanting, she wants not to offer herself, but to be taken. Gently, she is guided to the bed, where her arms and legs are secured to the corners of the bed with pine green silk rope. As if in imitation of her helplessness, her stomach knots in nervous anticipation as he begins wrapping Christmas lights around her bound arms and legs, stopping just below her knees and elbows.

With the lights out, the scene is surreal, lit only by the multicolor glow emanating from Lighte's naked body. Her flesh tingles at the slight heat given off by the lights. Her partner's body lays flat against hers as his self-control wanes and he is drawn irresistibly to her lips, sating just enough of his desire to continue working her closer to the edge of oblivion.

"Ask," he murmurs, his eyes reflecting pinks, yellows, and greens as they smolder into hers. She looks back, her eyes darker with no glimmer shining directly into them but her gaze no less intense. "Break me," she croaks through a voice choked with excitement.

So it begins. His fingertips graze over her neck, her armpits, her ribs. Her back arches and she thrashes back and forth, tossing her head from side to side helplessly. She cries and pleads as his fingers find her sides and stomach. Sweat beads on her skin as she tries to pull away from the gentlest touches. The sensations are delicate but excruciating, and soon she is out of breath, adding to her distress. She feels lightheaded, and the room becomes a haze which she is anchored to only by the ropes securing her and the feathery touch torturing her sensitive flesh.

Lighte cracks. "I'll... Whatever you want."

He returns her desperate gaze with a soft, relaxed one. "What *do* I want?"

There is a pause. "Put it in me," she pleads. He shows no indication of having heard her, his fingers continuing to dance up and down her body. Then, neither quietly nor loudly, the words, "Fuck me," escape her dried lips.

Scarcely have the words left her mouth when he is. His hands close around her throat just above her collar as she is impaled on his manhood. She is breathless thrice over, out of breath from her torment, in shock from the organ inside of her, and held captive by the fingers constricting her windpipe. Her toes curl and her hands open and close uselessly. Drool forms at the corner of her mouth. Her sight and hearing dim, but she knows she is being taken.

For her, a paradoxical strength exists inside of her weakness, so virulent that her innocence can be shattered time and again. She is a virgin that can be touched, invaded, filled, and still be broken anew every night.

He retracts slightly, poised to push forward into her core again. This time, his hands release her throat, the force of his thrust rendering her breathless at precisely the moment she would have taken in a breath of air. By the time she recovers, his mouth is clamped over hers, her nose pinched shut between his fingers. Lighte begins to twitch and struggle, writhing under him, but instead of letting go of her, he instead takes a breath through his nose and passes it through her mouth. As her cheeks swell, she begins to work with him, accepting the hot, moist air like some kind of ritualistic CPR. Through their silent breathing, the only sound in the room is the quiet sloshing as Lighte's hips rock against his, his throbbing manhood steadily working in and out of her.

Finally he relents, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back, sinking his teeth into her neck. Immediately she begins taking in large gulps of cool air, the sudden rush of oxygen making her even more lightheaded as he marks her flesh again and again. His teeth tug at strange, oblique angles as the force of his thrusts ripples through both of their bodies. He reaches for her breasts with his free hand, cupping and squeezing the velvet-soft mounds and teasing the dark nubs between his fingers. Lighte whimpers quietly, blissfully helpless.

When his lips finally return to hers she kisses back feverishly, embracing him with her lips, unable to do the same with her arms even as she pushes herself closer to him. He reaches for her hands, gripping one of her wrists and offering the wrist on his other arm to her open hand, which she clumsily grips through the soft paw-like mitten. She feels strong, the control now a mutual circuit that travels clockwise through closed grips. Their eyes lock in the dim light as their rhythm hastens, her hips now rising to meet his with almost as much urgency as his. His movements become more violent and forceful as his carnal lust yearns toward its peak. Lighte feels almost as if she is falling in slow motion into some bottomless pit, yet somehow they are only moving closer and closer to one another in some grand denial of rational logic. The universe begins to spin around them as his cock pistons in and out of her, finally pressing almost painfully against her as he empties hot ropes of his seed into her womb.

When he pulls out, he senses the buzz surrounding her entire body. Immediately he moves down, his lips locking over her clit as he grabs the tail and begins pumping it in and out of her viciously. The bed frame creaks as she pulls at the rope, sliding further and further into the pit threatening to engulf her. She twitches and bucks in her bondage, emitting a pitiful whine as she climaxes, her moisture filling his mouth.

Mere seconds later, she is asleep, a collapsed heap on the mattress. He unties her, kisses the red marks along her wrists and angles, and falls asleep beside her.