Disclaimer: This story is my intellectual property, and should be treated as such, do not plagiarize, or post without permission. If it is not legal to view writings that are sexually explicit and may have themes of bondage, feminization and other 'deviant' sexual experiences: don't read this. Don't read it, if it is not legal to do so where you live. Going any further is of your own free will, and responsibility is solely on yourself. Any similarity to real people or events is highly cliche, horrifying and unintentional...
Rules for the Subs (completely optional for those that enjoy a bit of interaction):
1. If you want to be owned for the duration of this story, simply say, 'I am Mistress Dyvia's property until my next orgasm.'
2. I like my subs, slaves and pets marked. If you have it, red lipstick and green eye shadow for the holiday theme this year. If you don't, you may use red and green markers to write on yourself, 'I am the property of Mistress Dyvia' over your genitals.
3. Keep yourself aroused during the story, if you need to pause to find your arousal, you must.
4. You may not cum without my permission. If you want permission, either comment, review below or write to me with the answers to the two questions at the end. And then politely ask me for an orgasm, I may grant it to you, I may give you a simple task first.
But the most important rule:
Enjoy.
Mistress Dyvia presents:
Mrs. Claus and The Femdom Contingence
By Mistress Dyvia
"I do." famous words spoken over the summer to my new husband Christopher, Though I usually called him 'Topher.' We had a bit of a whirlwind romance, he was recovering from his recent divorce, and something about him, made me melt. And a mere three weeks later, we said our vows in Vegas.
Then came the awkward conversation right after Thanksgiving meal at my parents home, he started with a simple, "We need to talk." as you can imagine, my first thought was, 'oh fuck.' he either cheated on me, his old wife wanted back in, or he wanted a divorce.
I asked if we could get back home first, as if it was really serious, I didn't want to be distracted while driving, and he agreed. We sat in the living room, and he dropped the bomb, "I'm Santa Claus."
My eyebrow raised, as I was looking at him for some sign of humor, and I laughed hard and long. He wasn't old, he wasn't super-jolly and he certainly wasn't fat. I laughed, and when he didn't show any sign of humor, I looked at him, "Wait, like you're serious?"
He nodded his head.
"My husband is a mall santa?" I laughed again.
He then stood up and went to the jacket closet and removed a small black box, he opened it and pulled out a red cloth, more like a cape and when he put it on, he seemed to age before my eyes, his facial hair grew and turned white, and he plumped up.
I was in shock. He took it off and was back to normal. I had to ask, "Why are you telling me this now?"
He shrugged, "For the majority of next month I'm going to need some time away from you, I'm going to need Christmas Eve off and a bit of Christmas morning. And I need you to understand why."
The conversation was long, but I had a ton of logistical questions. How the fuck did he hit billions of homes in a single night? Apparently his sleigh had a magic ball on it, so that as soon as he touched it, he and this reindeer were transformed into dark matter tachyon beings. Apparently tachyons have light speed as a minimum speed, and the dark matter form prevents them from doing damage to the air and causing crazy storms and weather conditions which would be a problem for non-dark-matter matter when they moved at 100 million times the speed of light. I don't get that super science BS, but that was his explanation.
How did he fit all those toys into his sleigh? Well apparently he had an energy to matter converter, and he had these tiny glowing cubes that could transform into anything. When he arrived in a home he would place it near the gift recipient and it would transform them into something they wanted. And if they didn't know about the cubes, opening them would implant memories into them and those around them, so a mother might remember purchasing a doll for her daughter, even though she never did. But the memories did not affect 1 in 782 people, hence the reason the myth of Santa has persisted.
Okay. I could handle this.