Story - Sisters of the Heart I - All I Want for Christmas by Shadowkeeper

[center] [u:1ifzls3l][b:1ifzls3l][size=14pt]Sisters of the Heart I All I Want For Christmas

By Shadowkeeper[/size][/b:1ifzls3l][/u:1ifzls3l][/center]

[center][u:1ifzls3l][size=12pt]Part One – Christmas Past[/size][/u:1ifzls3l][/center] [size=12pt]

As long as I can remember, I haven’t been able to sleep on Christmas Eve…not a wink. I know that doesn’t sound too unusual, well, at least not from kids, but in my case it isn’t from some breathless anticipation of the gifts to be opened the next day, or hopes of sneaking a peek at some jolly guy in a red suit. No, for me, the penultimate night of the holidays is one of terror; terror at the thought of a hairy, lecherous fat man violating the sanctity of my domicile like some magical home-invader on a one-night-a-year binge.

Year after year, I would be sent up to bed along with my many sisters with the usual protests and complaints emanating from them, and quiet whimpers from me. You would think that having so many siblings around me would help to make me feel more secure, but it didn’t; instead any horrid imaginings that I applied to myself would also involve my sisters, something far worse for me than suffering alone.

There in my bed I would shiver with the covers pulled over my head as I imagined every small sound in the night to be that famous fat man entering our house, emptying his huge bag, and finally coming upstairs to refill it with little girls. In the early years I was never quite clear on exactly what horrible fate would befall us after we had been taken, but in some ways that touch of the dreadful unknown was worse than having anything concrete to contemplate.

Finally, after a full night of sleepless terror, I would emerge from my room in a shell-shocked zombie state, dazed and drained like some war refugee. At that point I would have no volition of my own, and one of my sisters would assign herself the task of guiding me through the morning. Luckily, we were all unusually close, especially given how close we were in ages, and so I was able to use their assistance to make it through the family gift opening routines with the adults none the wiser.

Whenever a gift would fall into my lap, one of my sisters would loudly go on and on about how wonderful some gift was, drawing the attention of the adults from me as my designated handler opened the present for me and propped it up like I was displaying it. A whispered reminder would prompt me to smile and mouth ‘thank you’ in the appropriate direction, and then we would start the process all over again. I was never fully aware of what was going on, lost in physical and emotional exhaustion, so I usually didn’t even know what gifts I had received until I was shown the next day.

I was of course the reason that my sisters decided to start the tradition of taking a nap after the gift opening, something I never failed to appreciate, given that they had to have been frustrated by having to wait to play with their new stuff. Whenever I tried to thank them, they just pointed out that while they got some sleep, it was usually disturbed by someone moaning and whimpering all night long – they said this playfully, not in any mean-spiritedness, and I never took offense, although I did still feel guilty.

One year we were finally told that there was no Santa; I had to hide my sigh of relief and pretend that I was upset like my sisters. Finally, finally my terror will be gone, I thought. Unfortunately, that was the year that I learned that phobias don’t have to make sense, and cannot be ruled by the rational mind; my terror and the visions in my head were still there, and worse than ever. Now when I imagined my holiday abduction, I did so knowing that rescue was beyond hopeless, as no one would investigate a kidnapper that they thought didn’t exist.

As I got older, progressing through high school, I inevitably matured sexually, and as I did, my subconscious just as inevitably sexualized my Christmas Eve terrors. Now I finally saw what would happen to me after the bearded man got me to his lair. Countless scenarios danced in my head on those nights: rape by not just the fat man and his cruel wife, but by cold-eyed elves as well, and even by impossibly well endowed reindeer. And at the end of all that suffering, my final fate was always the same…to be cooked and eaten, fulfilling the promise of Santa’s huge belly as I was spit-roasted, or stuck into an oven, or just cut up and tossed bit by bit onto a grill.

Now when my terrors involved my family, none of them were victims. Instead my parents and sisters would drag me to the kitchen, cover me in frosting and pop me in the oven to become Santa’s milk and cookie snack. Somehow the baking would transform me into a living gingerbread girl, while my breasts would start to lactate. Then I would lie on a tray in front of the hearth, waiting for my nemesis to come devour me.

The thing that truly confused me was that, even as my terror and loathing overtook me, my hands would unconsciously move to my breasts and crotch, and by the time a scenario had finished playing out in my head I would have to use a pillow to muffle my cries of ecstasy as I climaxed harder than at any other time of the year. Now when I shuffled downstairs on Christmas morning, my exhaustion was not just from lack of sleep, but also from an unbearable number of powerful climaxes. My siblings all knew what was happening, but we were all old enough to each have our own individual kinks and so nobody made a big deal about it.

Finally, the time came for me to go away to college, and I ended up at one that was too far away for me to come home for the holidays. I had an apartment with some roommates, but they were all going to visit their families, and so there I was, all alone for the first time on my annual night of torment.

After the obligatory hour-long family cell phone chat, complete with useless but still very much appreciated suggestions for alleviating my ‘problem’ from each of my sisters, I tried to use the television to distract myself, but this proved to be a mistake. Channel after channel, I found movies, shows, specials, shopping, worship and of course, incessant commercials, all focused on that ultimate Hallmark holiday. It was hell, and by dusk I gave up.

Finally I curled up in the far corner of the living room, buried under blankets in a huge love seat. I had turned off all of the lights and closed the shades on the windows, in an irrational move to make Santa think that everyone was away to visit with family…no sir, no gifts to deliver here…[/size]

[center][u:1ifzls3l][size=12pt]Part Two – Christmas Present[/size][/u:1ifzls3l][/center] [size=12pt]

So now I think you know enough to understand why I am currently sitting alone in the dark, wrapped up like a little burrito, shivering in combined fear and lust, while the witching hour of Christmas Eve approaches with the slow, steady pace of an executioner. I really have no control over my actions at this point; my instinctive, unreasoning animal mind is playing at being Captain and Pilot tonight, and all I can do is go along for the ride. As my body diddles with itself and jumps at every little sound, I can’t help but hate Heisenberg for not applying the uncertainty principle to aspects of personality; it would be so nice if the simple act of observing were to give me some small influence on the course of events right now.

I don’t know how late it is when I hear the back door opening softly, but I do know that no one should be coming home for another day and a half. My heart is hammering as my other-self, the one in control, freezes in terror as she thinks that surely this must be Santa finally come to get her; for my part, I am just as terrified, only with the thought that it must be someone intent on robbery, and if they find me here, they will probably feel it necessary to kill me.

As I see a flashlight beam playing over the kitchen, my guess seems to be confirmed, but my idiot alter ego doesn’t even notice it, since flashlights don’t match up with her image of a Santa attack. Suddenly the doorway from the kitchen to the living room is filled with the dark bulk of a large man; my body whimpers quietly and starts to really rub at its pleasure centers in response. The flashlight plays over the room aimlessly, missing me on the first few passes, and both of my selves dare to hope that we won’t be noticed; after all, only my face is uncovered, and the blankets are piled thick enough to appear a shapeless mass.

The man at the door appears ready to move on and explore a different room when my hands, still going on autopilot under the covers, suddenly bring me to a powerful climax. My alter ego has enough presence of mind to try biting her lips to muffle her cries, but it just isn’t enough. The light swings over to my still shuddering form as my eyes stare back blindly, wide and mindless as any deer caught in headlights. The gasp of surprise that comes from the man mirrors my own terrified intake of breath, and then I hear a deep, rich baritone voice. “What the fuck? Shit, no sense in trying to sneak around now.”

The overhead lights turn on, suddenly illuminating us to each other. He can’t really see much of me, other than my pale, sweat soaked pixie face and messy shock of deep red hair, but I can now see him, and I stop breathing for a moment in shock. Standing before me is a huge white-bearded man in a red suit and hat, trimmed in white fur, with a matching, empty bag. My animal-mind of course fails to notice that the beard is fake, and the suit is stretched at the wide shoulders and barrel-chest instead of the stomach, which I figure is probably wash-board flat, and to be honest, my alter-ego isn’t the only one mingling fear with arousal at this point; as a really petit girl I’ve always had a thing for being dominated by really big guys – it’s a contrast thing.

My idiot other self actually gasps, “Oh, shit, Santa found me!”

The man, whom for simplicity’s sake I shall just call Santa, looks puzzled for a minute, then just shrugs and starts to approach me, as he notices that I am making no attempt to escape him. His hands reach for my covers hesitantly, evidently trying not to spook me, and then when he notes my frozen state, he slides them off of me with surprising gentleness. Santa gives a long, low whistle as he takes in the sight of my small but shapely naked body, covered in sweat and amazingly still playing with itself.

He’s speaking again. “Wow, you are one hot little thing, aren’t you. And look at you getting your poor chair all soaked with your juices; you’ve got a thing for Santa, don’t you girl?”

I find that I am nodding even as a shudder runs through my body, eliciting a small squeak from me. He seems to like that and smiles; he’s definitely turned on by this, and I can see the wheels turning in his head, but I still see a certain kindness in his face that makes me hope that I’ll just get a good lay and be left alone. That’s when dumb bitch, the other me, has to open her trap; she’s of course still lost in her own little world, and thinks that this is her past imaginings become real. “You – you’re gonna take me home in that sack, aren’t you?” My voice sounds half fearful, half expectant – god, how embarrassing, I sound like a slut.

From Santa’s expression, I can tell he hadn’t considered doing anything of the sort, but now the idea has been planted in his head, no doubt along with the observation that I am unlikely to put up a fight. After hesitating for a moment, his smile – damn he’s got a great smile – comes back full force and he nods. “Yeah, you’ve been a bad little girl, haven’t you honey…you’ll be coming with me so I can make sure you behave from now on, won’t you?”

My eyes are tearing up - this is so pathetic. “P-please don’t let Mrs. Clause hurt me, please, I’ll be good for you…” Wow, I’m just spelling things right out for him now; no doubt he’s pretty far along the road of figuring out just how out of my mind I really am.

He’s caressing my hair now, petting my head like a dog, and to my humiliation I’m responding to it, rubbing against his huge hand and moaning softly while staring up at him with big, bright hopeful eyes. “Tell you what honey; you tell me where you keep your purse and any jewelry, and then get yourself into that bag, and I’ll make sure the Mrs. doesn’t even know you’re around, okay?”

It’s probably a half an hour later that I find myself tied up in a big soft bag, surrounded by random valuables from my home, and banging around on a hard metal surface as I’m driven towards some unknown fate. My alter ego, of course, is interpreting this as some kind of sleigh ride, but I’m pretty sure I’m in the back of a pick-up truck, and I hate pick-ups, they’re so country-western. Well, I guess Mr. Right can’t be perfect; I just hope he doesn’t listen to that music – I’ve heard that it makes you more likely to murder someone, and despite my visions of being Christmas dinner, I have no intention of dieing tonight…[/size]

[center][u:1ifzls3l][size=12pt]Part Three – Christmas Ghosts[/size][/u:1ifzls3l][/center] [size=12pt]

The ride is a long one; luckily the bag is high quality, thick and soft, and so the crisp winter air is kept away from my naked body. Nevertheless, it feels like I have been bouncing and sliding in it for days by the time the truck finally comes to a stop and its engine shuts down. I hear my psuedo-santa get out of the truck, and shortly thereafter I hear the tailgate drop and I’m being dragged towards it.

Expecting to be carried over his shoulder in the traditional manner, I’m surprised as he instead cradles me in his arms through the bag like a bride about to be taken over the threshold; then again maybe for him this is an equivalent scenario. His arms are massive and solid as steel, yet his touch is light and careful as he supports me under the knees and shoulder; I have the overpowering desire to reach up and put my arms around his neck to complete the romantic picture in my head, but the bag prevents that.

He doesn’t take me far before he pauses and I hear the tinkling of keys followed by the sound of a metal door opening, and then closing behind us as we start to move again. After a short distance we stop and I am placed in a sitting position on a smooth surface without changing elevation; obviously I am on a counter or table of some sort. My tender kidnapper starts to speak in an authoritative tone as he loosens the tie at the top of the bag. “Now baby-doll, I want you to close your eyes, and keep them closed until I say otherwise, understand?”

I screw my eyes shut obediently as he pulls the bag down around me. He moves away for a moment, then places something over my eyes and ties it firmly behind my head. “You can go ahead and open your eyes now babe, not that it will do you any good.” He sounds amused and pleased; somehow I can tell he’s taking in the sight of my nude, vulnerable body once again, and I can feel myself starting to blush with embarrassment.

He silently guides me off of the counter, or whatever it is, and onto my feet; I feel cold hard tile and start to shiver slightly. One of his massive hands engulfs both of my own and tugs me further into the room; I can tell by the sound of our steps that it is a large one, and lacking in softness. Still silent, he gently uses his hands to pose me with my legs spread wide, hands clasped tightly behind my arched back, thrusting my pert breasts up and out while my hips go back. I’m uncomfortable, but undeniably turned on by the image in my mind of how sexy I must look like this.

He moves away from me, and I have to fight the urge to throw myself after him. He seems to sense my tensing up as he stops long enough to speak again. “Just stay right there sweety; I’m just going to get some friends – I mean elves to meet you. God they are gonna just eat you up!” Hearing that gets my alter ego in a tizzy, as she takes it literally; I just take it as a figure of speech.

I don’t know how long I waited there in my chill, dark little world, but eventually I heard my Santa’s voice approaching, mixed in with several other excited voices. I can hear them stop nearby as several gasps of surprise come out, accompanied by my man’s low chuckling. One of the new guys gets his voice back as he tentatively approaches me. “Holy shit dude, you were right – she’s a hot little bitch – and standing there without any restraints, all ready for us…you really must be Santa to come up with this kind of gift!”

That seemed to break the ice, as suddenly I am being groped and fondled from all directions. I start to moan softly and wiggle around a bit as my skin begins to tingle from the stimulation; without my sight it’s like being felt up by ghosts, and the thought turns me on like hell. When they start to stroke and squeeze my breasts my breath quickens, and when one of them tweaks my nipples a shudder runs through me as my moans grow louder and more throaty – I’m starting to lose awareness of my surroundings as my arousal moves into a new, more demanding stage.

My legs almost collapse when I feel a finger run along my shaved little slit. Whoever it is seems to be impressed. “Shit man, this bitch is soaking wet…her cunt’s just begging for our dicks!” He’s right; I need a good fucking right now more than I ever have before.

At some non-verbal signal, the rest of the men back off a bit as my Santa’s huge hands settle on my shoulders and gently push down. I obediently fall to my knees, instinctively knowing what he desires. My hands start to come out from behind my back so that I can reach for the member that I have been thinking about since I first saw him in my living room, but I pause as he speaks. “Keep those hands back there little lady, or we’ll have to tie them that way. I want you to do this with just your mouth.”

I gulp and nod as I hear him releasing himself from his pants, and then lean forward until I feel his warm, semi-hard flesh at my lips. Adjusting my position so that I can feel the head, I flick it with my tongue, tasting his pre-cum and eliciting a low moan in response. Pleased with his reaction, I smile and then start to take him into my mouth. In the darkness of my blind-fold, my eyes widen in disbelief – he’s huge, far larger in girth than anything I have ever taken in any of my holes. I don’t know whether to be excited or apprehensive about the idea of it entering my relatively inexperienced pussy, so I just concentrate on the blowjob. I have to open my mouth to its limits in order to get him in without scraping him with my teeth, but somehow I do it. I suck on the head for a moment as he quickly hardens, and he responds by groaning and then wrapping those massive hands around the back of my head.

At this point I’m figuring that I’m about to get the skull-fuck of my life, but instead he just steadies me and slowly moves himself in and out of my gaping mouth, occasionally nudging the entrance to my throat but never going beyond, even though that must be leaving a lot of his length untouched. His self-control amazes me, and his care with me is so touching to me that my eyes start to tear up. If I could speak right now I’d probably ask him to marry me.

After a few minutes of this, my Mr. Right releases my head and orders me to my hands and knees. Again guessing easily at what he has in mind for me, and by now desperately needing it, I eagerly obey, and go the extra length of making sure that my legs are well spread and that my ass is invitingly far up and wiggling in an open invitation to take me.

My invitation is accepted in seconds as I feel my labia being parted by thick fingers so that the head of his penis can come into direct contact with my vaginal opening. I gasp in shock as I feel myself opening up to him; it feels impossibly large, and even though I’m afraid that he will tear me, I start to thrust back at him, wanting to feel more. I soon get my wish as he steadily presses into me, stretching me beyond belief as I freeze up and start making low, guttural moans, which are cut off as one of my ghost-men grabs my head and shoves his already stiff member into my gaping mouth.

This man is of a more moderate size, but he is anything but gentle as he immediately forces his cock past my gag reflex and down my throat. I am completely unprepared for this, and find myself unable to draw breath while my lungs are at minimum capacity. I try to pull away, panicking, but he just holds me steady and pushes in until his hairy nut-sack is touching my drool-covered chin. Just as I’m starting to thrash in distress, he pulls out and I suck in a huge breath before he starts to piston in and out of my throat. I manage to regulate my breathing around his thrusts, and suddenly realize that in my distraction with asphyxia, I had failed to notice that the huge member in my cunny had fully entered me. I start moaning around the cock in my mouth as I feel filled in places I never before knew existed.

The cock within my overstretched pussy starts to move, and I am hit out of nowhere with the biggest orgasm I have ever had; it slams into me like a runaway freight train, and I am lost in it. It never seems to end as I am vaguely aware of being taken in many positions, and every hole – it surprises me how easily I adapt to my first experience with anal and multiple penetrations, but then the details of what is happening to me are blurred and subsumed by my overpowering series of multiple climaxes.

At some point the rough handling of my head moves the blindfold so that, once everyone is finished and I have recovered enough to be aware of my surroundings, I am able to catch my first glimpse of the room I am in. It’s a kitchen, but not just any kitchen; this one is designed for cooking huge quantities of food at a time, and thus is equipped with huge pots, pans, ovens and grills - huge enough to hold a human, and that sets off my until now relaxed alter-ego. She pulls off the blind-fold and looks around in a panic, not even noticing that her Santa is conspicuously missing his beard, and the elves look like regular, if intimidating men. I find myself backing up to the counter with the bag on it, still on my ass and covered in sweat and cum, and I hear my voice gasping out, “Oh shit, oh shit, now is when you cook me, isn’t it, isn’t it!” At the end there I’m sounding pretty hysterical, as the men around me look confused and alarmed.

My Mr. Right seems as if he is about to say something to comfort me, when one of the other guys gets an evil grin for a second, and then covers it up with a serious expression as he speaks up. “She has a point man. She’s seen us, she’s seen where she is…we can’t afford to let her go now.”

I’m hyperventilating now as I look from my new nemesis to my original kidnapper. He looks torn, and then sighs as he gives me a sad look. The meaning of that look is plain: I’m pretty well fucked now – I’m going to die, and probably soon. That breaks both of my personas, and tears start to roll down my face as my body is wracked by great, heaving sobs of despair…[/size]

[center][u:1ifzls3l][size=12pt]Part 4 – No Christmas Future[/size][/u:1ifzls3l][/center]

[size=12pt] I’m barely aware of the voices around me as I slide down onto my side and curl up into a ball. Evil grin guy is the first to speak. “So, how you wanna do this boss? You want me to slice her? Or maybe we can hang her, those look like dancer’s legs…”

My nemesis trails off as I hear a deep growling sound, like an angry bear, but somehow I know that it is my Santa. When he speaks, his deep voice is bitter, angry. “If any of you go near her, I’ll kill you. She’s mine, I’ll take care of it.” Someone tries to say something and is cut off sharply. “I said I’ll take care of it! You guys just go make sure no one gets in or out until this is done.”

I can hear the men shuffling out of the room as my Santa; the man that I had wanted to give myself to, and who will soon become my killer treads softly towards me until I can sense his bulk looming over me. I curl up even tighter and whimper as I dread the thought of our brief relationship changing this way.

My voice is strangled and hopeless. “You can’t do anything to help me, can you?”

He sighs. “I’m sorry sweety, I really am. They’ll be watching the exits, and if we tried to get past them, they would just kill us both.”

He carefully bends down and cradles me in his arms like he did when he took me from the truck; this time, I am free to respond and I do, wrapping my slender arms around his thick neck and burying my face in his immense chest, crying my heart out. He just holds me like that and softly strokes my hair and back, telling me in a whisper to let it all out.

It takes me awhile, but eventually I calm down a bit, reduced to sniffles as I nuzzle against him and fall into a strange state of contentment; I know it seems twisted to feel safe in the arms of someone that you know is about to murder you, but that is just where I am at this point, to a degree that allows me to fully control my own actions for the first time tonight. Slowly I raise my head to look at him, my own bright green eyes meeting his soft, sad brown ones for a moment before we spontaneously start to kiss. It is not the kiss of virtual strangers, instead it is something pure, deep and passionate, like that shared by couples on their wedding nights, and perhaps there is something of the intimacy of that type of experience within this path which we are about to embark upon.

I break the kiss, and my question comes from both of my aspects. “Will – will it hurt much?” My voice is quiet, childish, and I see that I have brought tears to his eyes. His own voice, that deep, rich baritone that seems to always make me shiver with desire and submission, is choked, shaken. “Not much baby, not much. Mostly you’ll just quietly go to sleep, and never wake up.”

I sigh in relief about the pain, and then start to smile, perking up a bit. “Will I fall asleep while it’s still night out, still Christmas Eve?”

My lover, my executioner seems puzzled at my sudden change of spirits, but he nods and kisses my forehead anyway. “Yeah baby, we have plenty of time left.” Then he is holding me again, this time more tightly, desperately, as if he is afraid of letting me go. He’s getting melancholy now, maybe more than a little angry with himself. “God, why did I bring you here – I-I could have just had you to myself back at your place…and maybe we could have made something of it…”

I reach up and caress his chiseled features as I smile; I don’t want him to suffer the kind of hurt I see in his eyes. “I would have liked that. Really I would have. But now we need to get moving before the others get impatient and try to help out.” I shudder at the thought of nemesis taking his knife to me, or stringing me up by a rope around my neck; better whatever my love has in mind for me.

He gives me a long look, tries to speak, and then stops and just nods. He stands with me still cradled in his arms, and then lifts me a bit for a kiss so profound that I am unaware that we are moving until he pulls back from my lips and I notice that I am once again seated on a counter, this time one with indentations to carry away excess fluids from food as it is prepared.

I am right next to a huge sink, and he reaches over to turn on the water, adjusting the temperature carefully, and then soaking a soft cloth with it. I feel like I’m a little girl again as he gently maneuvers me around while carefully washing my body clean of its buildup of sweat and cum. As the semi-dried fluids are washed from my body, I feel as if he is also cleansing me of my past, my identity as a human being. Gone is the good student, the loyal sister; disappeared are my goals of becoming a doctor, and even my names, Kate or Katie or even Red, as my daddy liked to call me.

He carefully ties my thick red hair into a bun, and then tells me to lie down and try to relax while he gets some things ready. I do as I’m told, closing my eyes so that I can’t see the preparations for my demise, and try to steady my breath. My shivering is only partially due to the chilly air at this point, and I have to fight off a tendency to hyperventilate as panic tries to set in.

Finally he returns to me, after a long period of pot and pan banging, along with the familiar sounds of food preparation. I think the mundane nature of the noises helped to keep me from jumping up and bolting into a fate worse than death. As he leans over me, he once more places his lips on mine, and my fears melt away for now. I open my eyes and look up at him with complete trust as he eventually pulls away.

He smiles down at me and shows me a giant, soft basting brush. My alter ego speaks up. “Oh wow, Santa really is going to cook me!”

He chuckles as he dips the brush into a huge bowl by my head. “Yeah baby, you asked for it, and I just can’t deny you. Now relax, I think you’re gonna enjoy this part a lot.”

As he runs the brush over my arms to start, I am surprised by the texture of the sauce; it’s not at all uncomfortable, and even gives my skin a pleasant tingly feeling. It also smells mouthwatering, and the combination of wonderful sensory inputs soon has me panting and shuddering in arousal. By the time he gets to my breasts, my small nipples are hard as diamond and standing proud, and I am starting to squirm a bit.

When he gets to my cunt I’m primed and ready, and a single touch of those soft bristles to my clit is all that it takes to set me off, bucking and crying out in orgasm, but he’s nowhere near done with the front of my body yet. After setting the brush aside, my man starts to lovingly rub the sauce into my skin with his bare hands. The sensations he creates are unreal, like a combination of a good massage and slow foreplay. By the time he has me turn over onto my stomach, I have experienced numerous climaxes, and I am perfectly prepped for the different manner in which he does my backside. His rubbing this time is now strictly massage-like in nature, and I find myself relaxing to the point of being in an uncaring daze by the time he is finished.

When he carefully cradles me one last time and places me into a giant pan, I am so out of it that I barely notice. My eyes are half closed with exhaustion, and my breathing is slow and steady as he carefully positions me, bending my knees up to my breasts and gently but firmly tying my wrists and ankles to each other. I look up at him as he finishes and give him a little smile. “Is it bed time yet? I think I need a little nap.”

When he gives me one last, long, tender kiss, I am a little frustrated that my bonds limit my response, but between my relaxed state and the loving nature of the kiss I don’t really worry about it too much. He pulls back, but only far enough to look in my eyes. My alter ego steps in for now, as I try not to tear up on him. “Tell me what’s going to happen.”

He hesitates, but then responds in a soft, calm voice that reminds me of a doctor describing a medical procedure to a patient that is about to go under the knife; I kind of like that image and use it to lull myself back into that calm state, letting his voice comfort me. “I’m going to put you into that oven over there, and turn the heat on to a low setting. It’ll feel like a really, really warm sauna, and you might be uncomfortable for a bit, but pretty soon you’ll become exhausted and fall asleep. A little while later and heat stroke will-“ He has to clear his voice, he doesn’t want to say the word. “Heat stroke will kill you; you won’t even know it.”

It appears that my alter ego has a rather ghoulish curiosity, because she wants to know more. “And then?”

I want to tell her to shut the hell up as I see the pain this is causing him, but it is too late. “After-after you’re gone, I’ll take you out long enough to cut off your head, drain your blood and- and gut you.” He shudders. “Then you’ll go back in at a much higher temperature until you’re fully cooked…and then, well, we eat.”

I close my eyes and smile, imagining what I will look like on a tray in the middle of a table, my body roasted and my pretty little head perhaps acting as a centerpiece; in my mind at least I look delicious. “Will I taste good?”

His voice is breaking now. “You’ll be the best baby, a masterpiece.”

I’m whispering now, and both of my aspects are speaking. “Thank you. Now it’s time for me to move on.”

I feel something wet hit my face and open my eyes to see that he is crying. “God, I’m so sorry baby.”

I shake my head and smile again. “Don’t be, you’re granting me my last and only Christmas wish.” He looks confused, and is about to ask me what I mean when I shush him. “Don’t worry about it, just remember that I went happy, okay?”

He responds with a final, lingering kiss, and then whispers in my ear. “Sweet dreams baby.”

His hands are shaking as he reaches for the pan’s handles, but as he carries me to my final home, his grip is firm and steady, my last ride a smooth one. I slide in with plenty of room to spare, and turn my head to see him giving me one last, long look over. “Make sure none of my sisters have any clues to follow, they’ll come looking for me.” He nods without speaking. “Enjoy me.” I give him a final smile, and then turn my head away to signal that I am ready. It takes him a few moments to manage it, but eventually he shuts the door and locks it.

I can see the growing glow of the coils beneath me reflected on the roof of the oven as they heat up. At first the heat is unbearably pleasant as I finally lose the chill that I have been experiencing since I left my home. Soon, however, I am starting to sweat and feel stifled; I ignore the urge to squirm around and concentrate on keeping my breath steady. The discomfort grows until I start to feel a little sunburned, but then it levels off and becomes a background sensation.

I’m starting to feel drowsy now. My eyelids are getting heavy, and I don’t fight it when they close for the last time. Everything is getting fuzzy; there’s a comforting lethargy creeping up on me, and I let out a little contented sigh. Finally, after all these years, I’m about to get the one thing I always wanted on Christmas Eve, and wouldn’t you know it, after fearing him the whole time, it was a Santa of sorts that finally gave it to me. I smile as that final gift of sleep washes over me, and then…[/size] [center][color=blue:1ifzls3l][b:1ifzls3l][size=14pt]Finis[/size][/b:1ifzls3l][/color:1ifzls3l][/center]