The Christmas Tree

'Andi!'

I spun at the call of my name, the winter chill in the air punishing me with a brisk gust.

It was Christmas Eve and me and my flatmate still didn't have a tree. There were lots of little reasons - busy schedules, paydays not syncing up - but they all added up to an empty space in the living room.

'Andi, over here!'

Andi isn't my full name - it's actually Andrea, but starting school it felt a bit strange being called a name more fitting of a middle aged woman, so the teachers took to calling me Andi, and it's stuck. Now, even after graduating Uni, I am and will forever be Andi, even though my dad's called Andrew and has been relegated to 'Drew'. He hates it. I find it hilarious.

I weaved between frustrated parents and dead Christmas trees, looking for the source of all the noise. They had obviously made the same mistake as us, their faces scrunched up against the cold, trying to think of clever excuses to put on Facebook.

I eventually found the source; my flatmate, Sarah, who was talking to the guy who sold trees from his little farm.

We had driven here in her mum's pick-up which she had borrowed, so transport wasn't an issue. What

was

an issue, however, was the fact that we were being shown a tree with a great gaping hole in the foliage.

'Hey,' I said with a nod as I approached.

Sarah turned to me, her long dark hair a reflection of my own, but her eyes were a shocking green as opposed to my squirrel brown. She smiled, grabbing me by the coat to pull me over.

'This is the last good one,' she whispered, trying not to tip off the parents around us.

'It's got a massive gap!' I laughed.

'Just put that bit at the back,' said the guy selling, his flat-cap dark from wet snow and his boots as caked in white as mine. It wasn't snowing now, but it clearly had been before we arrived, and the poor bastard had probably been out here all day - it was dark now, and, you know,

Christmas Eve

. Might be good for business, but can't be a lot of fun. 'Point that at the wall, tinsel up the rest, she's a beauty.'

'How much?' I asked.

'Twenty five, and I'll bag her up and stick her on your truck.'

I looked at the thing; it looked thin, but less so than the others here. It looked gaunt, but it could be decorated just fine.

Besides the gap (which could, indeed, just be pointed at the wall anyway), it was lovely. I almost wondered why it hadn't gone sooner, but decided not to bother asking questions.

'Done,' I said, shaking the man's freezing gloved hand. Sarah beamed at me, her tartan scarf almost hiding it.

-o-O-o-

Ten minutes later, we were packed into the pick-up, tree in the back and twenty five quid worse off for the winter.

Ah well. Between the heating, the Christmas songs on the radio, and the company, it was hard to be upset.

I

was

tired as hell though, and ready for a bath and a crap movie with Sarah before bed. Our newfound nightly ritual.

She sang like a cat all the way home, as I tried to not join in. It was impossible, of course, so by the time we pulled into our building we were an easy noise complaint. Ah well. We'd done a lot worse in the past.

Our flat was on the first floor, so maneuvering the damned thing up there was killer. Even so, I noticed for the first time that the tree had a very... distinctive smell. Not unpleasant, but also not what I know a fir tree to smell like.

Me and Sarah arranged the plastic base between the TV and a little table, secured the tree, and called it a night. It was late, we'd both been working (my part time Tesco job was basically the only reason I was able to stay in Uni), and we both just wanted to get Christmas started. We'd decorate it then, and swap presents before starting the food.

We both had complicated histories with Christmas, which was why we were both happy to spend it away from home. Well, for me, I didn't have much of a home to go to - growing up in care does that. Sarah's parents had spli when she was young, and so for her Christmas had just become a pissing contest. It kind of killed the Christmas spirit when your parents spend so much time trying to out do eachother that neither of them seems to notice you. First opportunity she had, she's spending it alone. Or, with me. It was perfect.

Satisfied with a day's hard work, I crawled into bed.

After about an hour, though, I realised that I wasn't tired. Or, I

was

, but apparently not enough to sleep.

Now, I'm no nympho, but as a healthy twenty-two year old I knew that one of the best ways to nod off was to masturbate. I had a few toys, but all but one of them vibrated, and with Sarah next door I wasn't interested in broadcasting my

activities

. We'd learned the hard way that these walls are thin, and while I might have a little crush on my gorgeous roommate, I didn't need her hearing me get myself off.

No, I went for my simple dildo, pulling it from my favourite drawer. It was rather small and baby blue on one side, silver at the base, but slightly curved - perfect for hitting that spot that made me squirm.

I lubed up, skipping any self-romancing, hoping to just crack one out and get to sleep.

I rolled onto my front and slid my hands under me. It had always been my favourite position - face down, ass up, prone for the taking. Maybe it was the lack of control, giving someone that physical power over me, letting them fuck me like a toy. Maybe it was the fact that when a cock slid into me from behind, it felt deeper and bigger, my mind filling in the blanks as my face is buried in the bedsheets.

Plus, it was objectively the best way to do anal, and while I'd only taken that step with my last boyfriend (he was the only one patient enough and, frankly, small enough), it was some of the best sex I'd ever had.

I slid the dildo in, using that memory of Richard pushing into me as my mental starting point, letting myself become flush with the thought of him. One hand slowly sawed the slick toy in my slit, the lube letting me get straight to it, while my fingers deftly coaxed out my clit and started playing.

Within minutes, my breath became shallow as I bit my lip to hold back my moans as I fucked myself, each thrust timed in my head with Richard grunting in my ear, his hands on my hips, my throat, a fist in my hair, teeth dragging along my earlobe.

I felt a familiar pressure in my core as I fucked myself, the lips of my labia slick with my juices, a soft squelching filling the room as I tried not to moan. I was so close, so

close, sO -

A knock at my door.

Even in the state I was in, my brain went into automatic mode, and flipped over, pulling the duvet up as quickly as possible.

Sarah cracked my door open. 'Andi?'

'Yeah?' I answered, trying to sound like I wasn't just a hair's breadth from cumming. 'It's late, Sarah.'

'I know, it's just... I heard something. And... I can

smell

something.'

As my eyes focused in the dark, I could see she was at my door, not intruding. Her pyjamas were appropriately festive, making her look like Mrs Santa, all in red with white fluffy lining. It was, unintentionally, sexy as hell. Or perhaps that was just my blue-ballsed brain talking.

'Where?' I asked.

'The living room. Like, a rustling. And it smells weird.'

I sighed, and almost went to get up, before realising that 1) I was naked, and 2) the dildo was still in me, and moving slightly was pressing it blissfully against my g-spot.

I fought back a moan, trying to dismiss it as a cough.

Fuck, I'm too horny for this

, I thought.

'Can you check it out?' Sarah asked, her voice heartbreakingly sweet. Like butter wouldn't melt.

I sighed.

She knows how to play you

.

I knew she was crap at horror movies, and that jumping out at her from behind a door can make her cry, but this was a new level of scared-y cat.

'Sure. But I'm in the duff, so lemme get my PJs on and I'll take a look.'

'Thanks,' she whispered, before closing the door. I heard her shuffled back towards her room, which was further from the living room than mine.

I considered, for a.moment, just finishing myself off and then telling her everything was fine, but truthfully there was a strange smell - the tree. And she'd heard a rustling?

Shit

, I thought.

Maybe a rat or something caught a ride

.

The idea made my skin crawl, but, truthfully I was still so keyed up and horny that I felt a little... daring.

The dildo I had still hanging out of me had a flat base, just to stop it, you know, getting lost inside you. So, I pushed it to the hilt, feeling the smooth plastic stretching me deep, filling me nicely; the size meant it was enough to shift and rub my sweet spots as I moved, without being uncomfortable. The pad pressed nicely against my trimmed mound, too, brushing my clit as I pulled my own pyjamas over it.

Soppiness be damned - so long as I turned the lights off Sarah would never notice.

My pyjamas were a pseudo elf costume; striped leggings with green shorts patterned onto them. They were quite thick, too, so once they were over my hips there was enough clout there to hold the dildo - or long, thin pussy plug - inside me. I pulled the cord tight and tied a quick bow at my waist, so they were tight against my pussy. If I didn't have the toy in, this would have definitely given me the deepest cameltoe ever, but as it was I just felt

sexy

. I could feel my juices seeping into the crotch as I buttoned up the pyjama top - they were just pop-on buttons, but they added to the elf effect. Plus, with no tee underneath, I suspected that, at the right angle, someone looking might get a bit of an eyeful, which just added to my already silly arousal.

I crossed the room, legs wobbly after my cut-short session, the tension in me building again as my long-awaited orgasm twirled around the thin plastic cock inside me, shifting as I walked. On one step, it would rock to the left, dragging against my inner walls, slick and mischievous. On the next, the base would roll over my clit, and the shaft would roll over, putting pressure on the right side.

Left, right, left, right, I fucked myself.

Chest heaving, I could feel the soft, slightly fuzzy fabric against my eraser nipples, the soft brushing sending jolts through me as my hips swayed, subconsciously climbing higher, towards the cliff edge. I tried to steady myself before heading into the hall.

The smell was significantly stronger in here, permeating the air all around me. It smelled like... somewhere between cut grass and petrol. It wasn't

bad

, per se, but it also wasn't what you wanted to be smelling at almost midnight.

I flicked on the lamp as I entered the living room, letting warm orange light spill over everything.

The

thing

inside kept my attention split, however, and I was struggling to see anything out of place. The sofa was clear, shoes in the corner undisturbed, TV on standby. Even the tree looked...

Hold on

, I thought, my eyes on the Christmas tree, as-yet undecorated.

I'm sure we put the gap at the back.

In fact, I was certain of it.

But, it was impossible to ignore - the section of tree where there were no branches, no little sticks poking out,

nothing

, was now facing out into the room.

In fact, it was facing me.

Taking an uneasy step, the movement inside me sending a song of pleasure up my body. I moaned, now, despite knowing Sarah would likely be listening in. Couldn't help it, even if it was just a small one.

I approached the tree, enjoying those shifting sensations inside me, and tried to work out if it could have rolled in any way, or if the base was broken. Clearly Sarah had nothing to be scared of, but I didn't want the damn thing to come down overnight either.

As I bent to inspect the bottom, I heard a rustle.

I froze.

A rat wasn't

scary

, but I had zero intention of having to go to the hospital for, like, rabies injections or whatever. Not on Christmas Eve.

All I had to do was not startle it.

Careful

, I commanded of myself.

Careful, Andi

.

As I stood, the collar of my pyjama shirt snagged on a branch. I felt it catch, scratching lightly at my skin.

Still, that stench filled my nostrils.

I tugged again, and heard another rustling sound, this time much larger. The damn near whole tree was shaking!

I gasped, falling back as the branches shifted - and I mean

shifted

. They moved before my eyes, unlike anything I've ever seen before. The green needles of leaves fanned out, brushing my side. I yelped, pulling away, but another branch clamped on the other side.

My right arm was trapped between the hard wood, and I felt it twist around me. Both branches became malleable, wrapping around my arm, pulling on me, drawing me in.

I realised that the other branches had parted, and the 'gap' I had seen earlier was gaping open before me. The branches on my arm yanked me, and I fell inwards, mostly upright, the other branches direction my body until the back of my head hit the trunk at the middle.

'What the fu-mmMH!'

A branch, still wooden to the touch, wrapped around my head, across my mouth. My jaw was held open as it pressed in, between my lips and teeth, gagging me.

My right arm was pulled out from my body, just as more branches started to wrap around my other limbs. My left arm was matched, wrapped and yanked outwards, while I felt two wood-like tentacles - my heart sunk as I realised what they were - at my ankles. They closed in on me, holding my feet to the floor as I struggled.

Cruelly, the movement and energy resulted in the thin, buried dildo repeatedly grinding into me, assaulting my g-spot and lightly patting my clit as I was wrenched into unmoving bondage by this tree

Tree?!

I thought.

There's no way this is a tree!

It must be an alien, or some mutated thing, or a monster - it was so stupid, and I knew I wasn't thinking straight, but as the

thing

stretched me outwards, I felt the cock inside me drag against my clit at

just

the right angle.

Oh, god please n-

I felt all that tension, all of that blue-ballsed energy that had been roiling inside my stupid, horny little head burst. It shuddered through me, like lightning through my pussy, making my muscles clamp down on my dildo like a fist, my arms in tangles and my ankles anchored in strange holds that gave me just enough leeway to writh in this creatures grasp.

My back arched as the orgasm cascaded through my body, making me unwillingly groan as bliss shot through me. The pop-buttons on my shirt burst as I moved, freeing my tits, letting the soft fabric brush my nipples, pulling yet more from me.

In any other situation, the bound arms and slow teasing would have been phenomenal; now, it was almost rape. Except, it wasn't, because this thing hadn't

done

anything sexual. It was just holding me there as I came, a slave to my own arousal.

The worst thing? It was

amazing

.

I moaned into the branch in my mouth, my teeth grinding at it but not making a dent.

As I came down, still feeling the warm dampness of my ruined pyjamas, the toy wedged in me still teasing me horribly, and my breasts now open to the room, I took a breath.

The stench was worse now, almost offensive to my senses, and it was everywhere. I could, however, smell myself underneath - a mix of cum and sweat. The mix of self-induced foreplay, memories of being butt-fucked by Richard, almost being caught by Sarah, and the uncaring, alien creature that had entrapped me were just too much.

'Fmmk', I sighed, trying to get my bearings. Post-orgasm clarity would usually set in, but the weirdness of what was going on kept me slightly off balance.

What does it want?

I knew a little about carnivorous plants; they trapped flies in acid, or in a claw or something. Then they were digested.

Wonderful

, I thought.

Now that I had relaxed a little, though, the tightness of the binds on my arms has slackened. Not much, but enough to no longer be uncomfortable. As soon as I tried to pull an arm out, though, they tightened right back up.

My ankles were the same; when I stood naturally, I could barely feel them, but as soon as I tried to move, they clamped down.

They want me to stay, but not to be in pain

.

My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of what was going on. This...

thing

seemed sentient, or at least was instinctual, which a fucking tree would not be.

Now that I was still, I felt it continue its exploration; tendrils of wood, branches or roots or whatever, wound up my arms, snaking around me. They were stiff and sturdy, as I could feel in my mouth, but moved with alarming speed.

My head was fixed forward by the gag, so I was only able to feel the shifting of wood around my feet, climbing up my ankles. With a start, however, I realised that the tendril scaling my left leg was

inside

my pyjamas, grazing my skin and making me shiver.

Shamefully, my body reacted on the come-down of my orgasm to the sensation of something slithering up the inside of my calf with a twinge inside me; my vaginal muscles squeezed on the toy, reminding myself of its presence in a glow of pleasure that seeped from me, whether I liked it or not.

I whimpered as it scaled me, a mouse caught by a boa constrictor, each limb aching from the effort to keep still. I felt something in my hair, wrapping into my loose curls like thin fingers, until I could barely tilt my head. My left leg twitched as the invading wood brushed my knee, signalling it's ascent, closing the gap between itself and my filled, dripping hole.

I sobbed as I felt my body slowly becoming encased in this strange alien wood, all fight pulled from me.

Then - brainwave - I remembered I was making noise.

Sarah could hear the rustling!

So, I started to screech, muffled by the plant-like gag that held my mouth open. It was all too much like an actual gag, as the spittle on my lips started to drip onto my bare chest, rousing unwanted memories of experimental nights with past boyfriends.

Still, as my thighs were encased in the creature tendrils, I screamed. As my shoulders were snaked over, I screamed, hoping Sarah would hear me.

If she did, she wasn't coming to help.

The branch in my pyjamas looped around my thigh, hemmed in by the fabric, which made it the most easily noticeable; the others were still hovering over my limbs, daring me to move.

It was so stupid. I was looking at my living room, bright with light, perfectly normal. The sofa to my left, a few Christmas presents just out of kicking distance from my feet. It was almost taunting me; the freedom of my usual life right in front of me, while I was

killed

by a

Christmas tree

.

I spat out another scream as my arms were pulled into the shifting pines, the needles scratching me ever so lightly as I shook, scared to death.

Then, I felt it.

The branch in my pyjamas found the soaked, slick patch of my clothing, and stopped. I could feel it, rubbing up my leg like an excited boy, some virgin I let go down on me, eagerly investigating this sweet, hot new area.

And hot I was; my cheeks were flush from all that screaming, my muscles complaining as I forced them to stay still. My slit, though, was raging. Even without the toy wedged in me, creating a perfect pressure inside me, the attention from this creature up my leg, my mouth gagged and my chest bare were having an effect.

Call me warped, or a pervert, or insane, but I was

turned on

. Couldn't help it. Not that I wanted anything to happen. Not at all.