Roleplay | BDSM | Erotica | Consensual
A Visit from Daddy Santa (Part 2)
Patient planning pays off to fulfill filthy fantasies
She grinned and collected three toys, holding them against her bare breasts, and crawled toward him on her knees. He placed his leather-gloved hands on his thighs, open to accept her selections. One by one, she added a pair of nipple clamps, a leather paddle, and a skein of green and red bondage rope to his large hands.
Her eyes glowed with love and adoration as she looked up at him. “These, please, Daddy Santa.”His grunt of approval turned her cheeks rosy. He lifted his hands as she pressed her chest over his thighs, her breasts pressing into a scratchy synthetic costume, then slid to sway on the other side of his firm thighs.
“Happy Christmas, Michelle,” he said as one gloved hand brushed over the smooth curve of her round ass.
“It’s going to be a good night, Daddy Santa,” She moaned as his fingertip teased between her lips.
The man in the cheap red Santa suit gripped her bare ass with his leather gloves. He’d spent much time preparing them for this, soaking them in water, letting them dry, and repeating until the leather was rough and weathered. Michelle’s moans at his rough touches had his cock swelling, pressing against her abdomen stretched over his lap.
Adding a sharp smack between gropes, he continued to warm up her bottom until her skin was rosy and her whimpers of need shifted into higher-pitched whines.
“S-Santa!” she pleased, her hand sliding under her and between his thighs, reaching for his rigid cock.
That earned her another slap, sharper with a growl. “Hands behind your back crossed just above your juicy red ass. You’re a greedy slut, but Santa is here to discipline you,” he said, leaning near her ear, his hot breath flowing over the tender flesh along her neck.
He watched her fine hairs stand on end as goosebumps erupted over her blushing skin. She pulled her hands to the small of her back, crossing them at the wrists. A shudder passed through her body as she heard him removing his gloves. The nipple clamps and paddle dropped with a clatter against the wooden floor as he worked with the rope, finding the bitter ends and casting the coil away from where she lay shivering over his lap.
“Good girl.” His voice was low and gruff, but his praise made her pussy clench, and he felt her arousal drip against his thigh. He pulled the rope back, pulling the paired lines evenly through his fingers, coiling the line loosely as the bight at the far end snaked across the floor. “You’re fucking soaked, I don’t even need to check with my fingers, do I?”
“Yes, Daddy Santa, I can’t help it. I’m such a dirty slut.” She confessed, grinding herself against his firm thigh and earning herself another sharp swat. “Mmmnnnh, thank you for disciplining your needy whore, Daddy Santa.”
The grin that spread over his lips behind his salt and pepper beard could only be described as wicked as he pulled the bight of the red and green rope under her crossed wrists, pushed the paired line into the loop the bight formed, gripped the bend with strong fingers, and slowly pulled the rope through the bight until the rope lay taut against her warm flesh. He quickly wrapped the stiff, natural fiber rope around her forearms, binding her elbows to the opposite forearm, and secured it with a knot.
Only after he checked his work, running his fingers along the coils of rope, checking for even pressure, twisted lines, and any other potential worry, did he shift his hand down the heated flesh of her ass, slid his fingers along the cleft of her ass, and cup her drenched pussy. The moan she emitted as his fingertips traced along her pussy lips, swollen and distended in her growing arousal, was pure lust as he spread her leaking juices over her bare lips. He smiled behind his beard at the timing of this night so soon after her regular waxing.
“Such a needy pussy,” he commented with a low timbre that could almost be mistaken for praise. “On your knees, kitten,” he commanded as he pulled his fingers away from her pussy, leaving her empty and frustrated.
“Unnnnngh, yes, Daddy.” Her moan of complaint swallowed as she slid back and folded her knees under her ripe red ass. She grimaced with discomfort as she arched her back, compressing her weight into the lightly abraded flesh, and knelt with a straight back and bowed head.
He rose, his red dime store synthetic trousers tented lewdly by his tumescent, throbbing shaft. This was sweet torture for both of them, to delay the desires that welled within both of them. He stepped behind her and took hold of the loose ends of the rope, pulling from the knot in the center of her bound arms up her spine. Bending the rope, he pulled it around her chest, across her heaving breasts as she struggled to breathe slowly and even. Her festive red and green strands lay flat against her tawny flesh as he wrapped the paired rope around her torso twice more.
He checked the tension of the rope bands as he held the rope along her spine, then satisfied, he bent the line again, pulling the rope to the front, under her full soft breasts, then through the bend at her spine, reversing and wrapping until the breast harness was finished. The compression of the strands bulged her tender cups as he knotted the line just above her elbows. Bending the line up and over one side of her neck, then laying it flat and pulling it down between her breasts and under the bottom band of the harness, he reversed the line and kept even tension as he tugged the line taut and over her other shoulder.
He hauled on the loose end, his free hand guiding the band up under the strain, further compressing her breasts, blushing from the strain. Satisfied with his work, the rope decorating her chest, enhancing the swell of her full breasts, capped by insistently rigid nipples, he secured the last of the rope along her spine, near where her arms were bound. Her fingers stretched and curled helplessly far from any of the knots. She was completely at his mercy.
Perfect.
He stood up and stretched, arching his back, extending his arms to the ceiling, then working his fingers into fists. He stalked around her knelt form, eyes looking at her body, checking his work while admiring the beauty of his naked wife, bound for his pleasure. Her head was bowed, her arms bound securely behind her, and her breasts rose and fell in a steady rhythm as she sunk into the submissive mind space she craved. She was still, even as all the signs of her arousal blared insistently — rigid nipples the size of ripe raspberries, her chest, neck, cheeks, and ass blushed from the careful manipulation of his hands, fingers, and rope. The compression of the rope harness felt like a firm hug as she knelt before him, her body, mind, and soul at peace, even as a burning fire of need smoldered in her core.
“Eyes, kitten.” His low voice was rough with desire as she stared at the floor six inches past her knees. She hesitated, her eyes blinking, before her chin rose slowly, lifting until their eyes met. The thrill of their power exchange vibrated between them, her submission to his will flowing through him and returning to her as his dominance. One could never exist, persist, or thrive without the other. Their union was deep and had grown only deeper through the years of their marriage. It wasn’t their marriage that defined them. Rather, this connection flowed and cycled between them on this quiet Christmas night was the energy that strengthened their bond.
She didn’t need to speak, or beg, or plead. Her mind had settled into a quiet space of submission and the knowledge that she would derive her pleasure from his use of her body. Whether it be via sadistic pain, degradation, or rough insistent rutting possession of her leaking pussy, she would fly with the sensations. Even the humiliation of being a mother, a grandmother, and a respected leader in their community, being bound helplessly at the feet of the master of her heart, mind, and soul, caused her juices to drip in streams along her inner thighs. She was a magnificent picture of submission, desire, and lust.
He paused, perhaps longer than he should’ve, soaking in the connection of their gazes before crouching and lifting the lasso-style nipple clamps from the floor. He pulled open the loops, then held them in one hand as he stared at his captive, who shivered then straightened, presenting her bound chest to her captor. One hand gripped a breast, kneading into the swollen fleshy orbs, pulling at a stiff engorged nipple, then pressing one loop over the tip before pulling to tighten the thin line around the base of her nipple. He watched her as her eyes stared into the depths of his lust-darkened hazel eyes until she gasped and bit her lip.
“You take pain so well, slut.” His growl of praise stiffened her back, her mouth open as she breathed through the pain. Her other nipple was similarly trapped, and her deep, steady inhalations through her flared nostrils were the only evidence of her processing the sensations she desperately craved yet would deny to anyone not present. “Such a good pain slut, aren’t you.”
“Yes, sir.” She breathed in a whisper. “Your pain slut, Master.”
He shed his trousers quickly. Her change in tone, honorific, and the welling need in her stare told him more about her state of mind than he could explain. He needed to be inside her as desperately as she craved the taste of his cock. Now bared to her, his shoes kicked aside, torn trousers in a bundle, his cock pulsed, jutting from his groin and stabbing at her like an accusation. She licked her lips before her eyes lifted to his. He gripped the base of his cock, the squeeze nearly buckling his knees, and traced the tip of his cock over her open lips. His arousal gleamed as he spread his precum over her full lips, a small whine of desire spilling over the tip of his cock. She sucked his crown into her willing mouth as her cheeks hollowed, and she obediently lapped her tongue along the bottom of his shaft.
He gripped her head, and then his fingers pulled the knot of her bun loose, spilling her blonde locks over her shoulders. Gripping her locks near her scalp, he took control. Her mouth was open for his use, and he fucked her mouth with strokes that punched deeper and deeper. She was lost in his dark stare as she heard the obscene glucks and gags pulled from her lips as he possessed her completely. Her eyes were welling with tears, her cheeks darkening with spoiled remnants of mascara, her bound breasts dripping with the drool that his deep strokes pulled from her throat.
She moaned, her hips shifting back and forth as they rested on her heels as he used her mouth for his deviant desires. She was already on edge, the fire of lust and need he’d so expertly stoked as he patiently bound her nearing the boiling part. His pleasure morphed into hers as he drove himself towards his precipice. He punched deep into her throat, dark eyes glaring into hers as his cock filled her. She swallowed like the obedient cock sucker he’d trained her to be. Her throat muscles accepted his rigid shaft until his balls rested on her chin. Holding himself there, the base of his cock pressed against her mouth. She felt his urgent pulse vibrate against her lips and tongue. It seemed like she didn’t need air when he was this deep inside her, but when he pulled back, she gasped out and sucked in a breath before opening her mouth for him if he wanted to use her mouth and throat more.
He blinked. He could lose himself in this, take his pleasure, and leave her wanting. She’d love it if he did. He knew this intimately. As his true submissive, she lived for his desires and pleasure. He kept a grip on her hair, then drug her mercilessly. “Over the bench, slut,” he growled as she scrambled to her knees to move in his direction three steps to the ottoman that stood opposite their sofa. The room where they watched Christmas movies with their children for many years. He stretched her over the top of the ottoman, her knees barely touching one side, her clamped nipples ached as she pushed her chest into the opposite side.
“I’m just his toy, his to use for his pleasure.” Her mind echoed as he reached down the front of the ottoman, pulling a snap clip secured to the ottoman frame from between the cushion and clipping it to the sliver loop that had permanently adorned her neck for countless years. The sound of the clip closing, the tension she felt at the back of her neck as it held her in her place, added to all the reminders that filled her mind of his complete and utter possession of her. “Just his toy, just his toy. Just his devoted fuck toy.”
She barely heard the scrape of the paddle across their wood floors. She felt the heat of his hand press into the base of her spine, flattening her hips against the firm cushion of the ottoman. She felt her pussy compress against the fabric and shivered at the damp ring that she’d leave as proof of her loving devotion to his degenerate determination. She felt the paddle’s flat against her abraded skin, the cool wood almost soothing as he rubbed it in circles.
“Why am I paddling you?” He asked hoarsely.
“I’ve been naughty, Santa,” she replied and they snapped back into the roles they began.
“Why, slut?”
“Because I need it, sir.”
Her voice wavered as she confessed his determination to her deviant need. She needed to feel his firm hand. She needed to accept his pain; it was part of who she was, and this was part of who they were. It was inseparable, a part of their bond. His administration of pain filled her need for it. He was a sadist. She was a masochist — yin and yang. The only whole was conjoined wholly with parts of each of them.
He grunted an affirmation before continuing. “Count, bitch.”
His growl was dark, and the word he called her crude. But it hit her degradation and humiliation kink squarely, and her pussy throbbed at his tone.
The first smack echoed in the living room of their family home. Her screech of pain was sharp as her tears welled along the darkened lower rim of her eyes. The blow transmitted through the flesh of her bottom and impacted into the deepest of her core. She shuddered, inhaling a breath before crying out. “One, Daddy Santa!”
He could have taken his time, drawn it out, and she’d have loved every strike, the growing ache, the welling of the bruise she’d wear for days. He could have extended this degraded punishment, and he would have indulged in the depths of his sadistic cravings without limits. Knowing all of that, he was also in control. He knew without his control, they’d be each other’s end, and it was for this reason he stopped at ten. Her body bucking from the abuse and her arousal, arms bound just above the flat of his hand holding her down, her neck secured, trapping her as the object of his will.
He dropped the paddle and then to his knees. When his hands gripped her ass, fingers kneading her bruised flesh, she emitted a low whimpering cry of pain, pleasure, and a deep building need.
“F-fuck me. God. Please. Fuck me. Fill me. I need baby.” Her voice was quietly strident.
His fingers dug deeper into her flesh, and she shrieked from the pain and pressure. He pried her cheeks apart, peering into the valley between them, the tight ring of her ass tightening in ripples as her pussy glistened with need. Her lips were thick and blossoming like a flower open for the sun’s light. He pressed the tip of his thick crown into the center of her sex. Then drove in deep with a hard, merciless stroke. Her cry of pain mixed with pleasure as he watched his cock disappear inside her. That image and her lustful cries hit his amygdala and triggered a primitive part of his mind. He lost his cool control.
He rutted into her like a primal beast, his hands gripping her possessively, anchoring his body and using that as a connection to pull him deeper as his hips thrust, punching into her depths. Her cunt clenched around his driving cock, and his vision rolled to the heavens. “Fuck, baby. Your mine. MINE!” he growled as he slammed into her, grinding her swollen clit into the soaked upholstery of their ottoman.
“YES! Yours!” she cried, moaning and groaning, her breathing shallow gasps as her mind fogged and split apart. Then, She was lost as wave after wave of pain and pleasure coursed through her overloaded nerves. She babbled and cried out as he possessed every part of her with savage aggression the dark part of their souls craved. She flew into the deep space of her submission and detached from her body to hover above them, enthralled at his complete possession of the love of his life.
He grunted, watching her slip into her space just as he hit his peak, his cock throbbing. He shot thick ropes of his hot cum deep into her as his hips jerked and his balls emptied into his willing, devoted chalice. He stilled then slowly drooped, his body relaxing limply over her back, his weight compressing her into the cushion while he caught his breath. He combed her blonde hair back over her neck and kissed her behind her ear.
Then he began the next step and unclipped her collar from the ottoman, tucking the snap clip back into place. She stirred but didn’t move as he pulled at his knots and carefully pulled the coils of rope from around her limp body. He checked her as he carefully rolled her onto her back. Her breathing was steady, and her skin color returned to a healthy, ruddy blush. He leaned and kissed her softly.
“This is going to hurt, baby.” He mumbled against her lips, then pulled the nipple loops open, and blood rushed into the swollen, stiff nubs.
“Oh FUCK!” she screamed as numbed nerves came alive and fresh pain filled her already endorphin-drunk body.
He cradled her, lifting her as he rose and stood. Kicking the ottoman aside, he turned and sank into their sofa with her across his lap. He pulled a warm fleece blanket over her shivering body. He kissed her, hugged her, and praised her. “You did so good, baby.” His tone was soft, loving, even tender, as she relaxed into his chest. His lips pressing into her hair, she slowly returned to the present. Her gaze lifted to her lover’s caring eyes. Her genuine smile only faded by near exhaustion.
“Thank you, Santa,” she whispered as their lips met.
“I love you, Michelle.”
“I love you, Nick.”
Nick held Michelle close, her nose tucked under his salt-and-pepper beard and pressed against the base of his neck. Inhaling his scent, Michelle relaxed against his chest, her fingers stroking his chest hair curls. Nick ran his hand along her side, feeling the dips of the rope impressions along her sides. Michelle sighed as her mind continued to knit together in the comfort and safety of her husband’s arms. They rested until she stirred, turned her head, and kissed Nick’s chest, using her tongue to swirl around his nipple.
“Okay,” Nick chuckled, “You need to hydrate.” Nick slid her onto the sofa, laying her across the cushions on her back. Michelle smiled at him as he pulled a fuzzy blanket over her, tucking it under her sides. “I’ll be right back,” he said, pressing his lips against her forehead.
Michelle giggled from Nick’s beard brushing over her nose before he rose and turned toward the kitchen.
“Santa has a fabulous ass!” Michelle called after him, giggling again as Nick strutted away, swinging his hips.
Michelle turned on her side, snuggling into the blanket and closing her eyes. Her mind flicked back through their playtime, her lips curling into a grin. The fantasy of a hot Santa had one she’d confessed to her husband often. They had always been open about sex and shared fantasies together. They’d started playing in the BDSM lifestyle a few months after they met. They went to a much, joined their group, and even paid for a dungeon membership. When Michelle got pregnant, they lightened up their lifestyle for their children. They didn’t need to hear her noises while she and Nick played their reindeer games.
“Sit up,” Nick said, bumping her shoulder with his knee.
Michelle looked up at him, her eyes raking up his still-naked frame. His cock wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t flaccid either, but she turned and sat up, shifting to give him room between the sofa arm and her back. Nick turned and lowered himself to the cushion, twisting so his back rested on the arm. Michelle leaned back against his chest and took one of the cold water bottles he held in one hand. Nick swung the tray in his other hand to set it on Michelle’s lap, then picked up a square of dark chocolate and offered it to his wife.
Michelle finished a long draw of the cold water, then opened her mouth as Nick waited with the chocolate. Her teeth closed and snapped off one corner, letting the candy melt on her tongue. Nick popped the other half into his mouth, chewing slowly. His arm was tucked around Michelle’s neck, pulling her back against his chest. They rested as they shared Nick’s try of chocolate, cheeses, and other bits from the charcuterie tray Michelle had prepared for a Christmas get-together later in the afternoon.
It was still night — or early morning, rather, as they cuddled on their couch. When the snacks were gone and the water bottles emptied, Nick put the tray aside and reached to pull Michelle into his lap. She felt his erection thicken against her sore ass and let out a soft moan. Nick kissed her cheek as his arms slid under her knees. Michelle’s arms encircled his neck as he leaned forward, then rose, carrying her easily. Michelle appreciated how Nick had grown stronger over the years, feeling his arms ripple as he carried her up the stairs.
Nick slid her under her covers, still turned back from the abrupt awakening. Then Nick joined her, spooning his larger body behind his wife’s smaller frame. She pressed her ass back into him, feeling how hard his cock was, and giggled when one of his large hands cupped her breasts and tugged one sore nipple.
They took their time as they explored each other. Her hand reached back between them to grip and stroke Nick’s cock. His hand flattened and skimmed down between Michelle’s thighs to tease her slick lips open. Turning onto her back, Michelle opened her thighs for her husband as Nick rose and hovered over her. She guided his cock into her pussy, and they shared a soft moan as their bodies joined. Nick and Michele tenderly made love, staring into each other’s eyes as they pushed each other gently to the heights of bliss they could only ever find in each other. Then, snug in their beds, curled against each other under warm covers, they closed their eyes and slept.
Merry Christmas to everyone.
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I hope I did the dynamic of a loving BDSM relationship between a submissive masochist and her devoted sadistic dominant justice. I, admittedly, am not a part of the lifestyle. My writing is fictional and fantasy. BDSM requires that both parties communicate deeply and freely to fully achieve the amount of trust a scene like this requires. BDSM, rope bondage, impact play, and everything else is serious business, and a scene such as I portrayed would include years of building trust, learning each other's tells, and the appropriate use of safe words. Please play responsibly.
- Hank
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