Brads Xmas Miracle Santas Slave

Disclaimer

All characters are legal adults in the jurisdictions presented, and in any case are 18+.

This story revolves around a universe where there is legal slavery either voluntary or by debt-based indenture. This universe is loosely based off the works of Carl_Bradford, Joe_Doe_Storirs and many others.

Consent is paramount! Slavery is bad. Historical and race-based slavery was exceptionally bad. Modern slavery, in all forms is bad and should be condemned.

The concept of "legal slavery" and "self-indenture" is a fictional erotica topic with BDSM themes and should be taken lightly, not as a serious presentation of any desirable future. I'm borrowing the universes well presented on Literotica without consent or knowledge of the prior authors: I beg their indulgence.

This story employs themes of body modification, non-consent/reluctance, mind control/hypnosis, slavery, bondage, submission, control, and Domination.

Brad's Christmas Miracle - Santa's Slave

Brad hung limply in the chains of the grading area. He was devastated. A slave wrangler had just come by and announced that he was going to be released and would be free to go.

Most would-be slaves would be relieved, but it meant Brad had just missed out on another opportunity. He'd planned to have himself auctioned today for a two-year stint, but only if he managed to grade Choice Plus. Hearing he was going to be released: he knew he hadn't made the grade. It was a last-ditch attempt at a Christmas miracle.

It had been a long shot, but it was the only way he was going to get his brother the money he needed to leave that hellhole country he was trapped in. Trading his freedom for his brother's had seemed like a fair deal for a two-year stint, but he wouldn't sell himself without reservations. No medical modifications, no dick piercings, no international travel or re-sale, and no male-only households: he'd thought he'd entice at least one of the graders looking for labour or dancers—after all, he kept a decently fit body... But there was no luck there.

One by one they had all passed by, and passed on him too, it seemed. He'd find out his grade once they released him, but it almost didn't matter. His Grandmother held his power of attorney, and she knew the stakes as well as he did: she'd be disappointed too. Tears were beginning to well up in his eyes when he heard the sound of a large man clearing his throat.

Quickly looking around and trying to switch mental gears back into that of the horny stud, he blinked and did his best to sway his hips a little as he turned a smile toward the man. The frustrating tears in his eyes made focusing hard, but it tried to not let it show.

Tall, slightly portly, and wearing a red suit and red floppy hat, he was certainly the oddest silhouette Brad had seen pass through the grading area, but he wasn't in a position to judge. Rather, his position was literally to

be judged

. The blurry outline of the man seemed to stoop to the post in front of Brad with his paperwork.

Tut-tutting, the man turned his attention to Brad directly. Brad still had trouble focusing on the man in the red suit, even though the thought of tears was long-banished as he tried to make himself comely for the stranger. There was some aura around the large man that seemed to blur him from vision. Despite his blurry appearance, Brad could sense the piercing eyes of the stranger burrowing deep into his soul. It made him squirm in his bonds.

"Now this isn't a very nice grade, is it?" asked the stranger, Brad could only shrug. "I would say this grade is downright

naughty

... And you seem like a

nice

boy." Brad looked the stranger straight in the middle of his out-of-focus head and winked. "Ho-ho! A very nice boy indeed... Were you hoping for a Christmas miracle, my boy?"

Brad nodded, he needed this miracle more than anything. "Did you want to sell yourself to save your brother?" asked the stranger.

Brad was stunned, '

How does this stranger know?

'

"I know you're devoxxed for grading, boy, so all you have to do for me is make the wish in your mind," the man continued. Brad for his part look confused. "Don't question it, just do as I say: Obey, Focus, and Wish Your Freedom Away..."

As the man in the red suit said the words, Brad let himself submit to the older man's instructions. The words of his dream were half-formed, but the substance was there. The exchange: him for his brother, one day to be reunited. As he finished forming the thought, still trying to find the words, the older man's blur seemed to slow. As Brad's focus started to flicker, he could have sworn he saw literal Santa Claus winking at him just as he lost consciousness...

[...]

"SOLD!" cried the auctioneer as the hammer rang down on the anvil. The punctuating sound snapping Brad from his reverie. Looking around, he realized he was on his knees, one hand spreading his rosebud for a crowd, his face pushed down into the sand by the auctioneer's boot. Presently the pressure lifted, and Brad rolled onto his side.

"I said SOLD, slave, and that means get the fuck off the stage!" cried the auctioneer as he threatened Brad with a whip. He immediately scrambled to his feet, fearful of the lash, and was greeted by another slave handler coming to him with a leash.

Snapping the clip of the red leash shut on his collar, Brad was dragged gruffly off the auction floor. His grandmother in the stands trying to wave him a reassuring wave as he went. To her it was a true Christmas miracle: not only had they got enough money to save Edward, but her grandson had fetched enough to safeguard her retirement too. "Such a good boy..." she said to no one in particular, as the next lot was brought out for bidding.

[...]

Brad was in a state of shock and confusion as he was dragged through the slave auction house. Brad had been devoxxed for the grading, but he found he'd been given the antidote during his blacked-out time. "Where am I going?" he asked the slave wrangler desperately.

"I should shock you for asking, but we haven't got time. Your buyer paid a premium for expedited packaging, and that's what he's getting," explained the slave handler. Presently they came to one of the side doors of the building. There was no cage, only a simple railing for tethering slaves. "Here we are slave. Kneel here, don't move, and shut the fuck up." The handler was brusque as he quickly tied Brad's tether to the railing.

No sooner had his hands left the leather strap that they heard a knocking at the side door. "That'll be your owner slave. Best behaviour now..." cautioned the slave handler as he wrenched open the door. The expression on the handler's face got slightly confused as he looked through the door. '

Do I need to clean my glasses?

' thought the handler as he tried to see who was standing before him.

The figure didn't wait long, however, and Brad's stunned eyes focused on Santa Claus himself bustling in through the door of the slave auction house. Seeming slightly stunned, the slave handler wordlessly held out the paperwork for Brad's indenture. He didn't seem to notice that the slave buyer signed the forms with a wave of his hand, ink magically scrawling on the dotted lines, nor the generally jolly nature of his acquisition.

Instead, the slave handler, mostly slack-jawed, quietly said "So, yeah, I guess he's all yours Sir. Thank-You for buying at The Big Hammer?" Santa merely patted him on the head, and the handler smiled a vacant smile and walked away.

Brad could speak, but he was wordless nonetheless.

"Looks like your Christmas miracle is coming true Bradley," smiled the jolly man in the red suit. "Now, let's get you ready for transport!"

"Transport?" Brad asked confused. "Where am I going?"

"Why to your owner's home Brad. Or should I say,

slave

." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm owned?" Brad was trying to catch up. "But I thought I was getting a Christmas miracle?"

"You are, little one: your family has enough money to save your brother and more! And all it cost me, was you!" Santa laughed as he finished. "Now let's get you into the right sort of collar!" he cried, and he pulled a bright green collar festooned with jingle bells and a D-ring. Snapping his fingers, The Big Hammer collar disappeared to be replaced by its festive counterpart.

Smiling as he fingered his slave's collar, Santa exited by the side door briefly, only to return with a large, empty velvet bag. He held open the neck of the bag and shook it, indicating Brad was to step in. Stretching in otherworldly dimensions, the bag swallowed up Brad's form, only to leave his head poking out, the ruffle of the bad cinching around his neck with a golden-braided cord tied in a large bow. Santa removed the leash tethering Brad to the railing and pocketed it.

Hefting the sack onto his shoulder as though it were full of feathers rather than flesh, Santa kicked the door open and hefted Brad into his sleigh. There, among the sacks of gifts, were the silent, sleeping faces of others cinched tight in their own gift bags. Their serene faces had small smiles and were all slightly apple-cheeked from the cold.

Brad was about to ask what was going to happen to him, when Santa looked him dead in the eye, held a finger to his lips, and whispered, "Sleep now..." and Brad's eyes became leaden, and closed.

[...]

He awoke to a warm feeling glowing on his face. Wrenching open his eyes, a golden light filled his vision. Firelight, candles, and wood combined to give the space he was in a comforting appearance. Like a welcoming cabin, this was a simple space but a cherished one. His eyes scanning around from the fireplace, and seeing nearer to him, he noticed a scent of pine.

To his left and right were wrapped gifts, and he realized with a start as he looked up that he was sat at beneath an enormous Christmas tree. A slightly shuffling and warm at his back, told him that the other bagged slaves were likely stirring to life behind him. Finally, someone groaned, and their captors finally took notice of them, and returned to the room.

Squealing with glee, Mrs. Claus looked on this year's collection with delight. "Oh Santa, these ones are

perfect

," she assured him.

"Now Missus, you say that every year I bring home new elf-slaves." He wagged a finger at her.

"And every year they

are

perfect. You always get such

nice

little gifts for me..." she sighed, smiling down at them. "It'll just take a few pokes of magic to make you my perfect little elves!" she cried.

One-by-one Santa and Mrs. Claus picked up a gift-bagged slave, brought them over to the couch, and unwrapped them. As Santa hefted each sac, Brad noticed the faces on the slaves start to change. Pinching smaller, the ears growing pointed, they became elfin versions of themselves. He noticed too as the slaves stood unwrapped from their sacs that they were all the same diminutive height.

This was a more minor observation to their uniform. Each elf slave exited the gift bag wearing the same slightly effeminate elf uniform. Candy-cane thigh-highs, curled shoes, and a green and red tunic dress held at the waist by a belt, and stopping well short of mid-thigh. As they stood in their uniform, freshly unwrapped, Mrs. Claus would *boop* each on the nose and the slave would giggle.

Each smiling slave would then be led to a door in the side of the room. Smaller than all the others, it looked positively elf-sized. Their leash unclipped, Mrs. Claus would hold open the door and the slave would skip inside with a smile on their face. On the inside, the side facing the Clauses, a large iron latch for a padlock sat open, waiting.

Finally, it was Brad's turn, and he was once again treated like a light pillow as his sac was deposited in front of Mrs. Claus. "And what was

your

name young man?" she asked brightly in a tone straight from a mall-Santa-setup.

"B-B-Brad Miss," he nervously replied.

"Hmmm... Brad's not a very elf-name is it?" she asked Mr. Claus, who shook his head. "How about we go with, let's see,

Jingle

? Hmm? How does that name feel Jingle?" her questions now turned to the elf in the sac in front of her.

As she said the word, Jingle suddenly felt a bright warmth within them sparkle as they felt their name resonate in their very bones. Jingle nodded enthusiastically at Mrs. Claus. "Jingle feels like a good name Miss!" he squeaked, '

Was my voice always this high?...

'

"And Jingle's going to be a good little elf, I know it! Now let's get you unwrapped!" Mrs. Claus smiled as she proceeded to tear at the cord keeping the sac shut and stripping him down again. Only Jingle didn't find himself slave-naked the way they had been going into the bag. Instead, Jingle was in full elf-regalia which he soon realized did not include any underwear.

He was starting to worry about what might happen if he got excited, when Mrs. Clause *booped* him on the nose, and he quickly forgot his worries. Leading him over to the elf door, he smiled as he skipped into its confines, scarcely realizing how easily he fit through the small door.

[...]

The elves woke from their dormitory beds the next morning and found a bowl a candy-cane flavoured slave kibble. Each being hungry, they silently plowed into the minty kibble. None of them seemed to mind the flavour though, in fact several who finished their bowls quickly seemed to be filled with a certain

eagerness

...

Indeed, shortly after they had all finished their breakfast the elves began licking their lips and seeing each other in a new light. They were just starting to get over their shyness when a rap came knocking on the giant-looking door that opened into their dormitory from the side opposite to the one through which they'd entered.

Thundering the door open with his massive mittens, the tall, broad-shouldered figure of their Master strode in from the workshop. Smelling of nutmeg and mace, his towering form seemed to draw their elf-gaze to him, his every breath watched by their cherub faces. Jingle didn't remember being gay, but something about this hulking form casting a shadow over him made Jingle feel weak in the knees and gave him an odd tingle deep inside he'd never known before.

"Good morning my little slave-elves," he boomed and suddenly the room fell somehow more silent. "Welcome to the North Pole. You are a very important part of the team here." The elves listened to him with rapt attention. "The other elves, the

real

elves, make the toys for children. But Santa makes gifts for

everyone

, and he needs a little help with grown-ups."

The elves nodded, each of them a little dazed, decidedly confused, and enraptured by his yuletide spell. None of them understood how they would be helping Santa, they didn't know anything about building toys, or gifts, or Christmas things. The quiet of the room slowly being occupied by some more intense breathing, the elf-slaves began to imagine different ways they might 'help' Santa.

"Are you all ready to help Me and Mrs. Claus?" he asked the elves.

"Yes Santa! Please let us help!" they cried in a magical unison.

"That's my good little slave-elves! Now: line up!" boomed out his cheerful baritone as he rummaged in his suit jacket pocket. Drawing out a silver chain seemingly made from glitter, he attached the elves one-by-one into a coffle and led them into the 'workshop.' The elves smiling silly, vacant smiles as they skipped after one another.

[...]

The tools for toymaking had all been scuttled aside, the workbenches placed on the walls. In their place on the floor, with a snap of his fingers, benches and breeding frames sprang to existence before their eyes.

With rails of gleaming gold and bright silver, the breeding frames were exquisitely detailed. Bright facets and engravings caught the firelight as they approached. Interspersed with the frames were benches of bright red velvet cris-crossed with bright green satin straps and ties, set into rich mahogany wood, polished to an almost mirror-shine. The elves licked their lips as Santa lined them up along the contraptions: there was a place for

every

elf in Santa's workshop!

Each in turn, Santa unchained an elf and placed it in bondage. There were already three smiling faces looking up at Jingle, bright green bows tying them to their benches when Santa came for him. Smiling, Santa grabbed the elf and kissed him deeply, the waifish elf's arms dropping to his sides as the silver chain magically unlocked from his collar. Carrying him in his arms, Santa quickly deposited Jingle on their knees into the waiting breeding frame.

A few snaps and ratchets later and Jingle was barely able to move in his gold and silver bonds. The metal should've been cold, but Jingle's elf uniform and the roaring fire kept him warm. Soon enough, all the elves were trussed up in the positions Santa desired, and he smiled walking down the line, patting the occasional bum.

"Mrs. Claus was right, you

are

perfect." He sighed in satisfaction. "Now, it's time to make some toys!" his voice thundered out and he grabbed a bell the size of his fist and began to ring it loudly. Its medium tones hadn't clanged and echoed very long when Mrs. Claus entered the workshop with a fire in her eye.

"Mr. Claus," she said in a mock formality as she did a fake curtsy, "why haven't you prepared such a perfect spread!" and she spread her hands wide to indicate the arrayed elf-slaves. Hefting a pair of scrolls, "I've checked the list, is it time to

check it twice?

" she asked in a conspiratorial tone.

"Yes, my love it's time: I think these elves are

straining

for us to start!" his laughter once again boomed through the workshop, and Mrs. Claus joined him in rapture. She casually waltzed over to the nearest bench-bound slave, raised her skirts, and began to ride the face of the helpless elf beneath her.

For her part, the bound elf began confused, but as her juices began to flow from her and meet the mouth of the elf-slave, her eyes lost their confusion and found a focus. Mrs. Claus inhaled a sharp breath as the elf's tongue entered her.

Jingle didn't have long to consider that though when he felt his own tunic dress being lifted, exposing his bottom and genitals. He felt a nervous pride. '

Santa picked me first! Yay! ...But it's my first time...

' He twitched and shivered as he felt the air of the room on his exposed flesh. Santa simply chuckled and gave him a playful spank.

"Relax little Jingle, you're not going anywhere, and Santa knows how to take his time..." his deep voice was soothing to Jingle's mind, and his body relaxed as he felt something enter him. He tried to look around, but he couldn't turn his head to see. It felt like it was about two centimetres wide, it felt very slippery, and ...minty? Jingle began to moan as their body continued to loosen and relax to the intruder.

Gently, Santa removed the magical lubricating candy cane from the slave's ass and inserted himself. Firm, yet supple, Santa's length wasn't terribly impressive. It was just the right size for a novice elf like Jingle. The elf giggled: it felt

good

. Santa increased his pace and Jingle started to moan.

And would you know it, Santa's member grew three sizes that day.

Pistoning in and out of Jingle's eager bottom, his bells ringing out a musical chime to their lust, Santa swelled inside Jingle stretching him, remaking his insides. Jingle's mind became a haze of bliss as Santa stirred his senses into cyclone of pleasure. Finally achieving his release, Santa emptied himself deep in Jingle as Jingle emptied himself onto the floor.