Page 24 of Yule Tied Up

“Ho-how did you hide your prints?” I ask, confused.

“Live out in the mountains for long enough, you learn how to hide your own tracks. Think I’m stupid, missy? Huh? Is that what you think of the locals?”

I shake my head. “No, not at all.”

The second thing that’s dawned on me, as I shiver in horror, is that there’s only one vegetable out here.

Fake Santa strides over to our snowman. He lifts one boot high and kicks the head. It half slides and half rolls, and lands on the ground face up, the carrot nose jutting up.

He waves the gun again. “Come on. Pants off. I want you to sit on old Mr. Frosty’s face.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Tino growls.

Kirill takes a couple of steps forward. “Leave her the fuck alone.”

Santa jabs the muzzle in his direction, and I scream. “Kirill, no!”

I can’t have any of them get shot on my behalf. I just can’t. It’s only a carrot. I just fucked a cucumber less than an hour ago. What’s the difference? Of course, then I didn’t have some stranger pointing a shotgun in my face, and I was lying in front of a warm fire with my three men worshipping me.

This is about degradation, not worship, but I’ve been through worse, and if this fucker thinks I’ll let his sad little request break me, he’s wrong. I’ll also do it to ensure none of us gets killed.

Of course, he might plan to kill us anyway, but anything to buy time is worth it. My heart pounds, and tears fills my eyes, more from the fear that I might lose one of my men thananything this bastard has planned. I need to keep calm because, if I lose it, I risk provoking a seizure. I’ve got really fucking good at compartmentalizing. I’m the queen of it, and I do that now.

The pajama pants are baggy with an elastic waistband. It won’t be easy getting them over my snow boots, but it won’t be impossible.

“Don’t do it, Mack,” Dom says.

A tear trickles down my cheek. “What choice do I have?”

He glances over at the car, and I read his mind, and yeah I want to get out of here, too, but we don’t have the damn keys. How will we get inside?

“Don’t make me count to ten,” Fake Santa snaps, waving his gun at me. “Now!”

I jump at the volume of his voice and make my way over to where our snowman’s head is on the ground. My feet crunch in the snow, but the rest of the world seems eerily silent. It’s as though the snow is absorbing all sound. In a way, it helps, because this is surreal, a moment out of time.

“Take them off,” he commands.

Shaking from fear and adrenaline and the cold, I pull down the pajama pants. I’m not wearing any panties. I hadn’t thought they were necessary when I dressed. I’m not wearing a bra either, and my nipples are bullet hard inside the top. I’m grateful for my snow jacket so they’re not visible to this prick, but he still might force me to take it off. I drag the pants over my boots, hopping to pull them off. The pants get stuck and fill with snow. They’re not going to be pleasant to put back on again, but that’s the least of my worries.

“Now straddle Frosty.”

One of the men makes a sound that is half moan, half curse. What are they thinking, seeing me like this? I pray they don’t think I’m weak for giving in.

Naked from the waist down, aside from my boots, I straddle the snowman’s face. I turn my face away, not wanting to focus on the man with the gun.

“Fuck it. Fuck Mr. Frosty. I want to hear you enjoy it, or one of these assholes is getting a bullet in the face.”

I crouch lower, and the tip of the carrot brushes up against my pussy. I’m still wet from where all three of my men came inside me, and I think this is what saves me. Their combined cum still drips from my pussy, lubricating the carrot nose and stopping it from being completely freezing.

Fake Santa licks his lips and adjusts himself in his red suit. “That’s it. Take the whole thing into your cunt, you little slut.”

“Don’t call her that!” Kirill snarls.

The carrot slides inside me, and, despite myself, I moan. It’s cold against my heat and stretches me, just like the cucumber did. I reach down to hold it in place, staring down into the snowman’s coal-black eyes. It grins back at me with its dotted coal mouth.

Enjoying the show, Frosty?

“Touch your clit,” Fake Santa commands. “I want to see you come. And no faking it. If I think you’re faking it, it’ll be my cock you’re bouncing on next.” He grins. “I’m not evil. Give me a good show to fill these dark winter nights, and you won’t have to fuck me. Fake it, and all bets are off.”

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