Christmas. That time of the year for reuniting with family, decorating indoor trees, and spending an obscene amount on socks and chocolates.
But not for Jessica Waters of Bunn Street. Her family was continents away, and her flatmates just wanted to get smashed and wake up on Boxing Day with a killer hangover. Not her idea of a good time. She was a shy nerd who'd rather spend the day playing
Tomb Raider
than socialising with actual people... or better yet, spend the day masturbating to her favourite porn. But her best friend insisted she come along to some Christmas party, promising there'd be hot guys and free food.
Jess scoffs. She wasn't interested in empty flirting and she didn't need the calories. But Ash had pestered her about this party for weeks and Jess had reluctantly conceded she "might" come. That was about as definite she got with social commitments, so her friend had stopped pushing.
So it was that instead of watching Lara Croft climb through another musty tomb, Jess found herself in the bathroom that Christmas morning applying the finishing touches to her makeup. She'd borrowed some of her flatmate's festive clothing for the occasion, and the fuzzy red material of the one-piece dress meshed perfectly with her Cherry Lush lipstick. She'd also brushed her usually-messy long hair back into a smooth ponytail. It felt strange to touch - silky instead of rough - but she could hardly go to a party looking like a zombie.
Ding dong.
Shoot, her ride was here already? She hurriedly finishes dabbing blush on her cheeks and and slips a clip into her hair to keep her fringe back. Then she runs to the front door, realising halfway that she isn't wearing shoes. She grabs her favourite 3" heels and slips them on as she hops the rest of the way to the door.
"Ash, I–"
Jess freezes as the door swings inward. It isn't her friend waiting on the doorstep, but Him. They'd never met in person, yet she knows him in an instant: James.
They'd met a few months ago in a chatroom that Jess would blush to mention in polite company. It had been an outlet for her deepest, darkest desires - fantasies that she was ashamed to have, let alone share with a stranger. Yet somehow he had understood. It was liberating. With him she could throw off the shackles of public censure and embrace her innermost desires. So she played the harlot: sultry, coy, teasing. A massive flirt. Over the months as they'd chatted online, she'd shared with him intimate fetishes and increasingly depraved scenarios in which said fantasies became flesh. The desire to be bound in tight rope, contorted into humiliating positions, restrained with stiff leather, or clad in gleaming latex. The urge to have her body stretched out like a canvas, her most intimate areas teased and tickled, then slapped and cropped as they flushed with arousal. The need to be used, wholly used, every sensation given or denied at the whim of her lover.
And James had shared some of his own desires in return: the desire to bind, to restrain, to titillate. They had more in common than she'd dreamed. Sometimes they'd roleplay a master-slave dynamic, other times the serendipitous meeting of two kinky strangers, and sometimes they'd simply talk about their day.
In those short few months they'd become as close as two people communicating solely by text could. And yet Jess had never had any intention of meeting him. For her it was all fantasy - sensuous, enthralling fantasy - but nonetheless a part of her life that she'd prefer remain beneath the surface. She'd made sure James knew this, and believed he'd felt the same way.
Yet here he is. How did he even find her? With a jolt she remembers: a passing muse, a throwaway mention of her street. They'd been joking about pickup lines for kinksters, and she'd said something like, "... oh, so you'd just come down to little old Bunn street packing a ball gag and start knocking on doors, would you?" He already knew which state she lived in and must have inferred her street address from various details of her apartment she'd shared over the months. Half of her is mortified at her mistake. The other half, however...
"The name's James, actually, but you already knew that," he grins. "Hey Jess. Or would you prefer Raven?"
As he voices her online name she flinches and looks around quickly, checking if anybody heard.
"James! I- uh- What are you doing here?"
Flustered. Why does she have to be flustered... This is
her
place - she has every right to slam the door in his face.
"Seeing you, obviously. You mentioned you weren't looking forward to Christmas this year so I thought I'd come around and personally make sure you have a good time."
He's still smiling that infuriating grin. Confident, easy, as if this wasn't a cataclysmic event of virtual and real worlds colliding.
"You look incredible, by the way," he says seriously, taking a step forward. Instinctively she takes a step back, releasing the door.
"Um... thanks," she mumbles, blushing furiously. She wants to explain this isn't her usual appearance, but his awe is flattering and she can't help but savour it a moment longer.
"And sorry for tracking you down like this. It must be a bit... surreal."
"No, you're not," she scoffs, as he takes another step forward, now over the threshold.
"No, I'm not," he admits, the grin returning in full force. He reaches out and places his hand on her waist, pushing her inside as he swings the door closed behind him.
"James..." she begins, a note of caution in her voice.
He puts a finger to her gleaming red lips and continues to push her waist gently until she feels the wall behind her. His hand drops to her shoulder, then slides down her arm, feeling the fluffy sleeve of her Christmas outfit. He reaches her wrist and holds it tenderly, like a fragile doll, and pushes it behind her. She hears a click followed by a loud ratcheting noise and suddenly finds she can't move her hands. Her pulse races, the room seemingly warmer by at least ten degrees.
"James..." she murmurs again, voice quivering with uncertainty.
"Shhh," he replies softly. "You've been blushing since the moment you saw me. Your nipples are practically visible through this dress, and if I'm not mistaken..." he slips a hand beneath the skirt of the dress and rubs her panties firmly as she draws a sharp intake of breath. He smiles knowingly. "...You're cooking like a little strumpet. You want this, Jess, even if you don't know it yet. So just relax and enjoy it."
She clenches her fists and strains against her ziptied wrists, feeling only more aroused as she fails to separate them.
James crouches and reaches up into her dress, pulling her panties down to her feet. She freezes, but he turns his attention to her ankles next, not her crotch. Somehow he knots the panties so that they remain stuck around her ankles when she shakes her foot. Then he straightens up and plucks another infernal accessory from his pocket: nipple clamps.
