Brenda started awake. She heard a shuffling sound, felt rather than saw a body looming over her bed. Someone was in her room! She drew breath to scream. Something--a gloved finger?--touched her upper lip.
"Hush, my dear," a jovial voice said, "It's all right." A sourceless light bloomed, and Brenda goggled at the impossible figure bending over her.
"S-Santa Claus?" she whispered.
“I bring tidings of joy!” he continued. “This year has been so miserable for so many that the Powers of Christmas have decreed that as many people as possible shall have the secret wishes of their hearts granted.”
“I—don’t understand,” Brenda murmured. She didn’t think she’d ever wished for Santa Claus in her bedroom.
“Your boyfriend, Greg, has wished in his heart to have you wrapped up and under his Christmas tree,” Santa confided.
Why the cute, kinky, devil, Brenda thought. She started to say, “But, I--.”
Santa touched her lips again. “I have much to do, and can’t be distracted by conversation.” Magically, her lips were sealed by a soft material that covered her face from just below her nose to below her chin and wrapped around behind her head. She reached up to touch it, but Santa caught her wrist. Instantly, all the strength went out of her limbs and her body went limp.
Santa flipped her over. Her nightgown, flimsy as it had been, vanished. Santa wrapped her arms snugly with what seemed the same material as covered her face, all the way from her shoulders to her wrists. He flipped her over again, so her pinioned arms were under her.
Next, Santa raised her legs so that her feet were above her head. Brenda blushed furiously, realizing that her cunt was bare to the gaze of Santa Claus, but she was powerless to do anything. He clinically held her legs in place with one hand as he pulled a strap from underneath her and bound her knees to her chest. Then, he bent her legs at the knee and brought her heels back down against her buttocks. He crossed her left ankle over her right, then tied them together, then connected her wrapped ankles to her wrists by a strap of wrapping.
Santa finished by pulling one more strap from above her elbows around in front of her knees, and making one more wrapping of her shins to her chest, which he tied off with a handsome bow. Brenda was amazed but relieved that she could still breathe, let alone that her body could be so easily put into such a compressed position. Except for her head, she was practically a cube. Either the yoga lessons were paying off, or this was some more of Santa’s “Christmas magic.”
“Ah, very nice,” said Santa, as he tested the tautness of the wrappings and found them satisfactory. “Now, a final touch.” His finger touched her forehead, and a not-unpleasant tingle ran over her whole body.
Next, Santa picked her up, lifting her as easily as though she weighed next to nothing, and set her down on the floor (head upward, thankfully), and said, “One moment, while I get my bag.”
Bag! Brenda gasped, internally. Then, she caught sight of herself in her full-length mirror, and was entranced. She was wrapped up in what appeared to be ribbons of rich, red velvet, tied with beautiful bows. Even the bow at the back of the gag, peeping coyly out from behind her head, seemed fetching. Santa’s magic touch had evidently given her somewhat of a makeover, since she could see that her eyes and face were now dramatically made up, and her bare skin, where ever she could see it, was smooth and nearly glowing. Her hair was shining and immaculately coiffed, and her toenails had acquired a ruby glow of polish that matched the velvet ribbons. Brenda had to admit, she looked as good as she ever had, and what a hot package she was! If this was in fact what Greg dreamed of, he was in for the charge of a lifetime.
Then, Brenda’s eye fell on the image of her clock in the mirror. Even backwards, she could tell this time. Midnight! If it were only midnight now, how long would she have to stay tied up like this? Greg was a notoriously late sleeper on a holiday, and would probably be relying on her to ring his doorbell Christmas morning to get him out of bed. Brenda writhed against her bonds, finding that her strength had come back to her, but to no avail. Trussed as she was, she couldn’t budge an inch. Her bindings felt as soft as velvet against her skin, but they were as restrictive as leather against any attempt to escape them.
Santa came back into the room, observing her struggles for a moment. She relaxed with a huff of frustration. Whatever magic there was in the lip-sealing gag, it evidently stole her voice entirely, since she couldn’t even make protesting mmmf noises.
“Fear not, little one,” Santa Claus said, “No harm will come to you. Yes, it will be a long, hard wait until Christmas morning. As all children know, that is the price for the Christmas Magic. Yet, because of that same Christmas magic, you will have no need to eat or drink or—any other bodily function—until you are unwrapped. We cannot make the time pass any more quickly for you, but we can minimize discomfort.”
Santa lifted her again and carried her into her small living room, where her minimal bachelor girl decorations dimly glittered in Santa’s light. One long sheer black stocking hung ironically from the mantle of the false fireplace. He set her among the folds of a cloth bag stretched out on the floor. The bag seemed hardly large enough to hold her, but it stretched up around her as Santa lifted the mouth of it and drew it closed over her, plunging her into impenetrable darkness.
“This will be only for a short time,” Santa said, reassuringly, “There are some parts of the Magic no mortal may see.” Santa hefted the bag, and Brenda realized that she was being carried in the classic “slung over his back” position. Then, Santa took a step forward, and it seemed that they fell through space for a terrifying time. Brenda tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Just as she was about to discover whether the magic really eliminated the need to vomit, the sensation stopped. She was set down, and the bag was opened, revealing that she was now in the front room of Greg’s “bachelor pad”. The small Christmas tree they had bought together stood on an end table, decorations gleaming. With some ‘hum’s’ and quiet ‘ho-ho’s’ Santa arranged her just so among the other gifts.
“Then, that’s done. I have a bit of other work here, though,” Santa Claus gave her an absentminded pat on the head, and then disappeared through the door to Greg’s bedroom.
Brenda sighed with relief. Santa was going to wake Greg! Santa was taking pity on her. She imagined Greg’s astonishment, first at being awoken by the real Santa Claus, and then at what he would find here, “under” the Christmas tree. Brenda sighed again, wondering exactly what he would do with her—to her. The thoughts made her writhe in the velvet bondage. Would he ungag her first? Or—wicked but delicious thought—take advantage of her helpless state?
She could imagine his hands probing in among the ribbons to tweak her nipples, his fingers sliding into her rapidly moistening cunt just as she was. Or—and perhaps this was best of all—to free her ankles and legs, but leave the arms bound, leave her gagged—and carry her masterfully to his bed and there ravish her. She wondered how she could communicate this to him. She found that she could shake her head sharply, and decided that she would do that when he reached for the gag or the arm bindings. She felt sure she could make her desires known. Even helpless as she was, she felt as strong, sexy, and excited as she ever had.
Then, Santa came back out of Greg’s room. He was carrying Greg! Greg was wrapped up just like she was! (Or almost like—she glimpsed the ends of an additional bow hanging down from around the base of his cock and balls--). His ribbons were deep blue velvet, and evidently just as strong, for, as Santa set him down facing her, Greg’s eyes bulged over his gag, and he strained his delightfully hunky muscles in every direction, but only succeeding in bouncing in place a bit.
“Now,” Santa said, as he produced a bit of sheer black fabric, “It is Brenda’s secret dream to have Greg wrapped up and in her ‘Christmas stocking.’” He swiftly stretched out the black fabric he was holding, and slid the helpless man into it. He gathered up the open edges and lifted, easily raising Greg into the air one-handed, like a fish in a net. Brenda could see that the fabric, although stretched beyond all imagining, was a sheer, black, seamed stocking like the one hung on her mantle at home.
She sucked in breath as Santa lowered Greg into his bag, and pulled it closed. Santa hoisted the sack onto his back. Brenda shook her head again and again, No! No! No!
“I do foresee some difficulties with the opening of packages,” the Christmas elf said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “But my work ends with delivery. Unwrapping gifts is for others to do.” And, as Brenda helplessly watched, Santa laid a finger aside his nose, and vanished. Vanished, back to her apartment, where he would hang the wrapped boyfriend by the chimney with care, in hopes that Brenda soon would be there.
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