Author's Note:
This is my entry in the
Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023
contest. I appreciate your taking time to leave your rating and comments at the end; your positive responses if you enjoy the tale, and constructive feedback of any kind is always welcome.
_____________
Amy's breath catches as the burly, bare-chested sailor bursts into her cabin with lust in his eyes. She shrinks against the wall, fear causing her blood to race. Her eyes dart from side to side, seeking some avenue of escape from the brute; she'd been under the pirate captain's protection since her capture, but she didn't know what would happen now. She's been living under constant fear of sexual attack or rape for the past three days.
"Cap'n wants ya," the man says menacingly. "Now." He grabs Amy around the waist and throws her unceremoniously over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. She makes a half-hearted attempt at struggling but realizes it is futile in her position, so she relaxes. The sailor trundles along the passageway, expertly shifting his weight with the ship's rocking, and knocks on the Captain's cabin door.
"Come," the Captain's gruff voice calls from the room.
The sailor enters and roughly dumps Amy onto the floor. "Present for ya, Sir."
Amy scrambles back to her feet, looking about frantically. However, when she meets the Captain's eyes, she is instantly captivated by his firm, chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and steel grey eyes. Eyes that penetrate hers with a promise of erotic delights. He is handsome and powerful, and Amy feels drawn to him, wants to feel his strong arms around her body, his lips on hers. Her belly flutters under his gaze, and she feels a warmth in her loins that is both disturbing and pleasurable.
The Captain approaches her with the confidence of a large cat stalking its prey. Amy is his to do as he pleases; she is to serve his every whim. Amy's breath grows shallow, and her pulse races, but not out of fear. Instead, she craves the man, wants to submit, to be enveloped by his virile, masculine aura. An unfamiliar but intoxicating sensation floods her body.
Amy feels a gush of wetness from her vagina. She stands still, unable to speak or move, as the Captain slowly unties her bodice, his eyes locked on hers. Amy takes heavy breaths, and her belly undulates as the Captain pulls open her bodice and reveals her bare breasts. Her nipples harden in the open air--she wants him to touch her, to take her. A jolt of pleasure quivers in her sex as his fingers brush her nipples, and he cups her soft globes.
Someone talking outside the cabin distracts Amy, and she wishes they would pipe the hell down and leave her alone. She focuses on her racing heartbeat and the moisture seeping between her legs and longs for the Captain's touch. He is going to take her, ravish her body, and revel in the pleasure of her flesh... except for the annoying voices. Voices interrupting, wrecking the mood.
"Can't fit this all here; think I need some help," someone calls out in the distance.
Amy looks to the cabin's door, frustrated at the intrusion of sounds. She turns back to the Captain... he is by his desk, but she doesn't notice him moving. The room swirls into darkness, and she is confused. The Captain is gone. She realizes that her eyes are closed; she doesn't remember closing them or why she did.
*******
Amy fought to open her eyes, driven by a primal need to be awake and alert. There was some sort of danger present. She opened her eyes to a dark ceiling. Not a ship's ceiling. She was not in a ship's cabin; she was in a room on a bed. She wore a short flannel nightshirt, which was pulled up to her waist, and her bare pussy was sodden with her juices. Her hand rested on her vulva, fingertips glistening and slippery.
Amy sat up abruptly and looked around the room. Yes, in bed--but not her bed. Her sleepy brain fog cleared as if blown by a gentle wind, and she remembered where she was. Her brother's house. She was spending the night--Christmas Eve--at her brother's. She was alone over the holidays, so her brother and sister-in-law invited her to join them. They and her niece and nephew were spending Christmas Eve with her sister-in-law's parents and then would be back Christmas Day with Amy.
A dream. Just a dream. A sexy, salacious dream that was just getting hot. Amy struggled to remember, to pull herself back into her fantasy, but it eluded her. The more she tried to reengage, the more the details drifted away, out of reach, forgotten.
Amy lay back, intending to sleep again, when she heard voices again. Real voices, not dream voices. Voices inside the house. A split second of mental processing instantly shocked Amy fully awake.
Oh, my god, someone's in the house--sounds like at least two people. Shit, they are probably burglars, or... whoever they are, they're not supposed to be here. What do I do?
Amy crept out of bed, her breath shallow, skin and nipples tingling with goosebumps, and her heart racing--this time from fear and nerves instead of arousal. She didn't have a plan other than to quietly investigate and hadn't considered the possible dangers she might encounter. Still in her short nightshirt and bare feet, she cautiously and nervously descended the back staircase. In stealth mode, towards the voices.
The voices were coming from the living room. Amy padded silently to the doorway, peeked around the corner, and froze, wide-eyed and confused. Her heart raced, and her skin prickled as her brain struggled to process the scene she encountered because it made no sense.
Instead of the expected burglars, Amy saw a man dressed up as Santa Claus and a child dressed as an elf; they looked like they had just come from the Christmas Village display at the Mall. They were sorting and doing something with wrapped boxes--most likely stealing presents, Amy presumed.
But what the fuck? Why would burglars dress up like Santa and an elf to rob houses? A disguise of some sort?
Amy was temporarily immobilized, trying to reconcile what she saw before her with her own sense of logic. So she stood and watched, nerves on high alert, fear tempered with curiosity.
"Santa" turned and spoke to the little assistant while glancing in a battered leather notebook. "Dringle, make sure you don't forget the Duplo set for little Hunter; he's been wanting that for months now." His voice was deep and rich. "And the American Girl doll for Katie; she's been very good this year."
"Will do, Santa," said Dringle. Amy was taken off guard by the unexpected timbre of Dringle's voice--a man's voice, not a child's.
Amy found the ostensible normality and casualness of the situation mystifying. The pair behaved as if breaking into someone's house dressed in holiday costumes was not unusual. And, incongruous with her assumption that they were there to rob, from what she could work out, they were not stealing anything but instead leaving presents. Her mind raced with thoughts, images, and emotions, all tangled and confused. Nothing made sense.
How do they know Hunter's and Katie's names and what they want for Christmas? And what are they doing here? I don't understand any of this. They don't seem dangerous, just... bizarre.
Amy scrutinized the men themselves from her hidden vantage point. One was older, slightly heavy-set, with thick white hair and a beard. He wore a red hat and suit with white fur trim, black boots, and a black belt with a large silver buckle--obviously going for the stereotypical Santa look.
The other man, apparently called 'Dringle,' was more challenging to work out. He was short, well under five feet, and had snowy white hair, but was clearly not an old man. And he was certainly not a child as she had initially thought. Probably closer to late twenties or thirty years old, with startling blue eyes and quite good-looking. He wore a pair of expertly crafted pointed ears that looked authentic, which was a nice touch and showed fine attention to detail.
Dringle wore a green jacket with gold fur and oversized gold buttons, topped by a red hat trimmed with green and gold. Below the bottom of his breeches, just past his knees, red and green striped stockings lead down to red curved-toe shoes. Amy assumed by his costume his character was supposed to be Santa's helper, an elf.
He was a handsome elf with strong features and a twinkle in his eyes. Something about Dringle's vivid blue eyes caused a flash of an impression from her interrupted dream to race through her mind. Not quite there, nothing concrete, but enough to cause her belly to flutter and a warm tickle in her vagina.
Based on what she saw, Amy reasoned that the two men were not burglars. Which still did not explain what the men were doing there. Amy shook her head as if to clear extraneous thoughts and tried to deduce their purpose since they were definitely not stealing things. At least not at the moment. It never passed through her head, even for a nanosecond, that she might actually be seeing the real thing.
The men continued their activities: filling stockings, setting out presents, and, to Amy's amazement, Santa somehow made a broken string of lights on the mantel flicker and flash back on.
Amy looked on, mesmerized, her recent dream-induced arousal fading into the melange of sensations, confusion, and conduct she was witnessing. She took no notice of the cold wood floor on her bare feet, of her erect nipples pressing against the fabric of her nightshirt, or the tightness on her inner thighs where her copious pussy juices had flowed and dried.
She instead took in the scene without fear, her alarm replaced by befuddlement and fascination. She wanted to see what would happen.
Santa and Dringle were unaware of their private voyeur watching them. Santa had an inkling something was amiss, but he sensed no alarm, so he paid the feeling no heed. And he had a monumental task to complete that night.
"Santa?" Dringle asked. "I need to pee again."
Santa shook his head. "So go ahead, no one's stopping you." His inflection suggested a verbal eye-roll and a hint of bemusement."
"May I use the human toilet? I can go upstairs to a big one. They're so fun, and I never get to play with them."
"No, we don't have time for your shenanigans," Santa said. "It's Christmas Eve, and we have much more to do tonight." Santa pointed to the festively decorated tree next to him. "Just pee on the tree, as usual."
Amy crunched her face in disgust and bewilderment.
Pee on the tree? Gross, what the fuck? I won't stand by and let this guy make a mess by peeing all over my brother's tree. But can I stop him? I don't know what to do. Shit.
