Page 6 of Subbing For Santa

A sensible person would call the police.

Apparently, the non sensible part of my brain needs to know if this man is just a Dom asserting his authority. Which is fucking scary because it means he was here last night, turning off my power, right outside my house. And he probably watched me run out to the meter box in the dark.

Deep down I know I should be bolting for safety, yet here I am, staying put, wondering who this man could be.

With no power, I had to use my phone for background music for my 2pm client. Not that he cared. He was only interested in the tantric therapy I offer. The candles still created the right atmosphere, and everything else I needed didn’t require power. I was just thankful the house hadn’t turned into a sauna since today’s sun was hidden behind the clouds for an overcast day.

I take another cold shower before getting ready for dinner with Shane and Ben. I make sure I’m clean-shaven and smelling fresh, and at 4:45pm, just like instructed in the note, I insert the egg-shaped device. Lube wasn’t even required, despite being annoyed at this guy for taking my electricity away. Just the mere anticipation of what’s to come has me aching with need. Hence, no lube being required. I’m already dripping.

The idea of slipping the egg vibrator inside me is all sorts of hot. I love sex toys. I have a drawer full of them. They help take the ache away, and do a bloody terrific job at that, but they are no substitute for a warm body. The toys can’t look at me lustfully. They can’t grin sexily and give me dirty talk that makes my knees quiver. They may be able to hit the spots that send me soaring easily enough, but when I come down from my high, I’m always left feeling empty.

When used with a partner, sex toys can be thrilling. Just another way to be vulnerable and reach new heights. The fact that Santa is entering the game so strongly has me aching between my legs.

Fuck, I hope I’m not talking him up in my head too much and he turns out to be a lazy lay. I think I’m the one he should be scared of if that’s the case.

I love sex. I had to learn to love it after I ran away when I was seventeen, needing to use it to help get me food, shelter and transport across the country. I can’t really complain. Even though some of the men were slobs, they treated me well, making sure to teach me what they liked, while showing me how it can feel good for me, too.

I’ve never had sex against my will, but there were times I almost said no. They were situations I didn’t really know how to get out of, so perhaps a few times it was a little against my will, but ultimately, I said yes. Sometimes I wonder if I had said no more often when I was younger, if my life would have turned out differently, or if I was destined to be on this path of a lonely, yet sex consumed life.

Ultimately, I used what I had to in order to survive. And it worked.

Am I proud of some of the things I’ve done? Hell no. There’s a lot of shame carried on my shoulders, but I’m here and alive, and for that I remind myself daily that I’m thankful.

I know I’m doing nothing more than existing right now, but maybe, with time, and as the Timber Valley region forgets about the sex club scandal, I’ll be able to really live.

A girl can only dream.

I stare at my brown eyes in the mirror as I slip the red and silver bra on, wondering if the person I see in the reflection is the same person other people see.

Do they see my golden blonde hair, or is it ashier in colour to them? Are my eyes a nice brown, or a boring brown? Have my twenty-eight years given me deeper smile lines than I see, making me look older? And are my C cups sagging yet?

It blows my mind that the lingerie fits me perfectly. Has this guy been snooping around my underwear drying on the line outside? How does he know I’m a size 10?

So many questions rampage through my head, which is one of the many reasons why I’m going through with this. I need to get the answers to my questions straight from the source.

Once the lingerie is in place, I slip on my red dress with the black trim, and step into my Top End heels before making sure I have the phone tucked safely in my handbag. I give myself a once over in the mirror, running my hand over my styled waves one last time, and then nod.

Yep. I’m ready for Santa.

The Irish Pub is in the main street of Redfield and is a popular meet up place for dinner, drinks and a night of dancing. Shane and Ben are already there when I arrive, sitting across from each other like they are nothing but good mates.

It’s sad that they can’t be themselves in public and show the world just how much they care about each other, but my presence will help to keep their secret hidden, just the way it’s been for the last four years.

I slide into the booth next to Shane, and their brows shoot up at the red number I’m wearing.

“Looking fine, Aggie. I hope you didn’t dress up just for us,” Ben remarks with a smirk and I grin back, shaking my head.

“Just trying to get into the Christmas spirit.” I lie, and they nod, none the wiser.

We place our order for drinks and food, and our conversation is light as my eyes take in my surroundings and the people filling it.

It looks like the regulars are here. Nothing out of the ordinary, so I quickly forget all about Santa and his twisted game as I relax with my friends.

I’m halfway through my chicken parma when a dull vibrating sensation reminds me that I have a sex toy inserted inside me. I nearly choke on the food I’m trying to swallow, as I realise exactly what Santa’s intentions are.

Don’t get me wrong. I understood that he was going to tease me with the device inside me, but I kinda thought it would be later, when I’m dancing or something. Not trying to eat dinner.

As I cough a little, Shane and Ben glance at me in concern, offering me a glass of water and a pat on my back.

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