Chapter 6
I’m still orgasm drunk as he continues to help himself to an inventory of the drawers in my dresser. He’s still naked from the waist up, and the view of him from behind is creating more chaos in my brain, because, damn, this man has a back that has more hills and valleys than Montana.
“I hate you,” I whisper as he spins with a pair of black pantyhose in his hands, his dark eyes twinkling beneath the mask as he tugs the hose wide, assessing them in some way that makes another flood of fear come over me.
“Really?” The question sounds sincere, adding to the bizarreness of this whole situation.
He balls the pantyhose into one hand, starting back my way.
“I don’t think that’s true, Cindy Lou, because your fucking pussy there disagrees.
You soaked my cock, left a wet spot on the bed as big as Yellowstone, so I’d say hate is a misrepresentation.
We’re a perfect match. I trust your pussy more than your mouth. ”
As the war rages on inside my body, he steps in front of me. I nail my eyes straight at his chest, the thick muscles of his pectorals shifting and flexing as he brings the toe of one leg of the hose to my throat.
“Gotta keep my little dog on a leash, so she doesn't run away.”
The muscles in my back ache. I’m carrying the baby weight in front of me, and the tension of trying to stay calm is having an adverse effect on my body. But I breathe, long and low, remembering I just need to get through this.
Or get to that knife and—
A shudder cuts the thought short as his hands loop one end of the hose around my throat, tying it tight enough that it pulls against my windpipe.
“If I had a couple sticks and some ribbon,” he starts with that low, growly baritone voice that makes things wiggle in my core, “I’d tie some antlers to your head.
You’d be my little Cindy Lou reindeer dog.
Short-sighted on my part, I’m so sorry, Cindy.
But we’ll still have fun, I promise, now come along, little doggy. Follow your master.”
Then he turns, tugging on the makeshift leash so I’m jerked toward the bedroom door, stumbling to keep up with his long strides.
“Let’s go explore. It’s a nice fucking house, Cindy Lou.
Just a little cold for Christmas. Not a tree or a bow anywhere.
Guess Santa really did put you on the naughty list. Maybe a lump of hard coal somewhere…
I’ve got two lumps of coal down here.” He reaches down to grab his crotch in a crude gesture.
“You’ll be licking them soon. Sucking them into your mouth, warming them up with that hot little mouth of yours. ”
He swivels his head, looking around as he leads us into the hallway, then down the grand curved staircase to the main level of the house. I hold my breath as we walk through the great room, the stone floor cold under my bare feet.
I look over to the table where I left my laptop when I headed upstairs earlier.
It’s open now.
How long was he in the house?
I know I closed it. A new chill covers me as he walks straight for it, sweeping it off the table with one hand without missing a step.
“We’re going to do some reading together. And you’re going to give Santy his glass of milk, and then he’s going to eat your cookie.”
I can see the Grinch mask more clearly in the brighter lights of the downstairs as he tugs me along toward the massive open kitchen.
“Please,” I force out, my voice cracking as my resolve to give him whatever he wants, like I promised, starts to fray. Please be human. “Let me go. You had your win. I just want my baby to be safe. I let you do what you wanted, followed your orders…”
His lopsided grin slices through the shadows as he turns and tugs hard on the leash.
My balance shifts, and I stumble into him, the cotton ruffle on the hem of the nightgown brushing the front of my thighs as his fingers clamp around my throat.
I lash out with my knee, connecting solidly with his thigh, but he squeezes harder so that for a split second I see stars.
His black eyes behind the mask glint down at me like twin Christmas lights from hell.
“Looks like Santa’s little helper is having second thoughts about our deal,” he drawls as he releases me, stepping around the granite island counter, pulling me along behind.
He sets the laptop down on the long wooden kitchen table as we pass, then grabs a coffee mug from the open shelves next to it.
The nylon noose around my neck tightens with each tug and movement, compressing my windpipe.
“I... just, please, it’s Christmas.” My voice cracks as he wraps the nylon around his hand, shortening the leash until I’m right next to him.
“Yes, and look.” He nods to the mug. “No milk left out for Santa. But that’s okay, I like my milk fresh from the cow’s udder.
No homogenized, pasteurized, processed dairy for me.
Now, Cindy Lou Cow, pull those milkers out, and I’ll read you a Christmas story while you squeeze out a nice, warm mug of fresh cream for me, sound good? ”
I gasp, stepping back, but it’s pointless.
Not only do the stretchy hose tighten as I put tension on them, but as soon as I start to struggle, his knife is out in a flash.
He uses the hand still holding the nylon around his palm to pinch the scoop neck of the yellow nightgown, while the other hand moves like lightning, cutting a five-inch line down the fabric at my cleavage.
“Don’t fucking fight me,” he snarls, the rubber mask moving like a second skin with each word. I’ve almost forgotten it’s a mask by this point. He is this green monster I’ve been dreaming and writing about, if I’m being brutally honest, I’m thinking the reality really is better than the fantasy.
He’s right. I am as sick as he is.
“Pull out your tits and get to milking, Cindy Lou.” His voice turns pleasant again, the juxtaposition of the gentle versus the horrific making my belly jumble as sweat beads on my upper lip.
My hands shake as I reach down the new opening in the nightdress and draw out the weight of each breast. The nipples are leaking already, small dark circles showing my shame on the front of the fabric as he moves the mug to the edge of the table and taps the rim with the knife.
He nods, hooking the knife behind the open screen of the laptop and pulling it forward. Then he tugs out the chair at the head of the table, drops into it, and spins the laptop so the screen is in full view.
“Good girl. Now, I’ll read while you fill my mug.”
I just need to get through this, just get through this.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to who I was, try to forget this ever happened, and definitely, definitely delete my Wattpad account.
But for now, I start to knead the heavy orb of my milk-filled breast, positioning the point of my nipple over the mug as I give it the first long squeeze.
“Oh, now that’s a Christmas miracle, right there.
” He chuckles, slicing the knife blade through the jets of milk, then licking it off before turning his eyes to the laptop screen.
“Now, where did I leave off on this magnificent story I’ve been reading over the last couple of weeks?
You do know how to captivate your audience, Cindy Lou Who. Such a dirty mind.”
He jerks at the nylon as I work my flesh, five small streams of milk jetting into the porcelain, making soft hissing sounds as the milk hits the ceramic.
He clears his throat, his deep voice taunting me as he starts to read. “Then the Grinch is over me, the glorious weight of him pinning me down, his fur brushing over the sensitive flesh of my nipples.” He emphasizes the last word, glancing from the screen to my tits as I milk myself into his mug.
My eyes burn, but the act of milking myself for him is only encouraging that horrible Judas of anticipation and lust in my feminine parts.
“You’re a good producer. A perfect little milkmaid. Keep going, and I’ll keep reading until you have that cup half full. Then it will be milk and cookie time.”
He releases a low growly exhale as I work my breast, trying to ignore his sticky cum still seeping out of me, coating my thighs as he reads from the screen.
“The push of his cock into my opening sends me tumbling into the pleasure. It’s thick, green, and splitting me wide open.
But there is no denying this is what I want.
My deviant desires being fulfilled by the furry green monster of my Christmas dreams. I wonder if his cum is green?
Does it sparkle? I can’t wait to taste it—”
“Please,” I whimper, cutting him off as I work my other breast, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, as the mug starts to fill with the warm white liquid. “I know what it says. I know I’m sick, okay? I wrote it, I brought this on myself. I get it, I don’t need you to read it to me.”
Sweat trickles down my back as his eyes snap to mine. He spins in the chair, dragging me down to my knees by the nylon with a jerk, my spurting breast still in my hand as the milk arches and lands on his chest.
He scrapes it up with the knife, then holds it to my lips.
“That mouth needs something else to do. Lick it.”
My chin starts to quiver as he presses the cool blade against my lower lip. “Lick it clean, Cindy Lou. Then your mouth is going to get stuffed full of a different green monster.”
I shudder as he draws the knife blade across the tip of my tongue, the sweetness of the milk in contrast to the chilling slice of the metal.
“I bet your mouth is as good at taking big ole Grinch dick as your cunt. I’m making a long fucking naughty girl list of all the things I want to do to you, Cindy Lou. You’re just too good to be one and done. Now, take my dick out and give that mouth something productive to do.”
The cold tile floor under my knees makes me shiver as my breasts hang over the nightgown fabric, my fingers working the button on his jeans, then the zipper, until he pops free, as hard as he was earlier when he fucked me.