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From: begonespam@aol.comdom (Adrian Hunter)
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Subject: {ASSM} Christmas Stories (repost): Claustrophobia and Silent Knight by Adrian Hunter (bd, nc)
Date: Wed,  6 Dec 2000 19:10:02 -0500
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Some holiday favorites from a few years ago...enjoy.

PS my extreme thanks to everyone who voted for me as Bondage Writer Of The Year
in the just-concluded SIGNY Bondage 2000 awards extravaganza.

PPS my website has moved to a new server! Please reset your links and bookmarks
to:

http://www.adrianhunter.com

Happy happy joy joy,
Adrian Hunter

*****************************

Claustrophobia
by Adrian Hunter

As he finished tying the knot around the stem, she thought the two pieces of
rope trailing down to the floor made the doorknob look almost festive, like it
was decorated with party streamers.

 -~Tis the season to be...

"Get on your knees," he hissed, his finger pointing at the space in front of
the door.

She sighed as she eased herself onto the floor one leg at a time, trying to
find a more comfortable angle for her wrists so the handcuffs didn -(TM)t bite so
much.

Don we now our...

Downstairs, the Christmas gala raged on. Someone must have convinced the DJ to
stop spinning sappy carols and switch to a trashed-at-the-wedding-reception
repertoire of grunt-rock and Motown standards. Obviously, nobody had heard a
thing. Not even the sound of him hammering.

Would they call a locksmith first? Or would some stupid hero try to break the
door down? Depends if the senator stops by his office before going home
tonight. Did he leave anything important in here? She didn -(TM)t dare turn her
head to look at his desk. And she couldn -(TM)t remember when he was scheduled to
leave Washington for the holidays. She tried to visualize his calendar, but she
hadn -(TM)t paid attention to the day-to-day drama of his appointments since
she -(TM)d been promoted after the election.

Despite the gloves and the ski-hat mask, she knew this guy. Well, pretty sure,
anyway. Not that she would get the chance to prove it. Everyone had become much
better at hush-hushing this sort of thing after Vince Foster.

But what if he calls the cops himself?

Oh god, she hadn -(TM)t even considered that option. An anonymous tip. The boys in
blue banging on the door, figuring out that it was nailed shut, then climbing
through the window. Full report. Public record. The Moonies at the Times would
go absolutely apoplectic.

She felt something jostle against her knee.

"Here," he grunted. "You may need this."

A cushion from the couch. How thoughtful. He must be thinking long term. Great.

How many hours had it been already? The party was supposed to start at five.
She told the others not to wait while she wrapped up a few things at her desk,
laughing off their jibes about sucking up to the senator by working late on
Christmas Eve.

Lots of holiday cheer at the Old Exec tonight. Probably several high-ranking
officials doing their best to get into compromising positions. The security
guys busy pouring congressmen and cabinet members into their limo. Or maybe
they -(TM)re halfway in the sack themselves.

She heard the unmistakable sound of duct tape being torn off a roll. What, more
for her mouth? That would be rather redundant at this point.

His hand touched one of hers, followed by a sticky strip. Not good. She closed
her eyes and pictured the crowd downstairs sloppily miming the letters to
"YMCA" like cheerleaders after one too many Percodans.

Once her fingers were sealed together, he started wrapping rope around her arms
up near her elbows.

It had to be him. Who else would want to humiliate her like this?

Ever since he started working for the C.O.S., she had pegged him for a loser.
Young, bright, brimming with the insufferable "no problem!" spirit of a
terminal rookie. And he was always spouting off about his exploits, especially
the ones that supposedly took place at his college fraternity. Christ, he made
it sound like he had lived at the Playboy Mansion with Van Halen as roommates.

She leaned forwarded and thrust out her chest to ease the tension as he tried
his best to make her elbows touch behind her back.

So she had done a little research. Found a few phone numbers. Made some calls
to his brethren. Discovered he was a charity case, a legacy toad who had spent
most Saturday nights praying to the porcelain god after maybe three beers.

Was rope really necessary around her wrists, too? Weren -(TM)t the handcuffs
ratcheted tight enough already?

One of the brothers said he had a picture of him dressed in a bra and panties
during hazing. He emailed it to her. She forwarded it to some mutual
acquaintances on the Hill. Everyone had a good laugh.

This was one hell of a way to find out he lacked a sense of humor, among other
redeeming traits.

His fingertips grazed the edge of the tape covering her mouth.

"Don -(TM)t say a word."

He ripped it all off with one swift pull.

She fought back the tears welling in her eyes as her cheeks burned. No way was
she going to give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing her break. Even
though she knew what was coming next.

"I -(TM)m sure you -(TM)ve polished a few knobs in your day," he sneered. "Let -(TM)s
see if you can get a rise out of this one."

He pushed her face toward the brass ball.

"Open."

She hesitated for just a moment.

"Would you rather lose a nipple first?"

He waved his knife in front of her eyes.

She shook her head and scooted herself into position, then stretched her jaws
wide around the cold metal until the doorknob disappeared into her mouth. He
quickly wrapped the ends of the rope around her head and knotted them tightly
around her neck.

She found herself thinking about that Kevin Costner movie about a spy in State.
What was it called? Oh yeah. "No Way Out." As she recalled, the plot had hinged
on a photograph, too. And he certainly had plenty of new ones to make up for
the Polaroid of him in drag.

That -(TM)s why she knew it had to be him, and not some random rapist. First of
all, he hadn -(TM)t raped her. Not with his dick, anyway.

She felt his hand grab one of her ankles and pull it up against her thigh. That
will teach you to think it can -(TM)t get any worse, she rued as he began trussing
her folded-over leg, forcing her to balance precariously on one knee, then the
other.

She wished she had struggled harder at first. Then again, people armed with
guns and switchblades tend to win arguments, no matter who -(TM)s right.

Once he had her stripped, handcuffed and gagged, he could have done anything he
wanted. Instead, he had spent hours taking photographs of her bound in
strenuous positions. Hogtied on his desk. Spread-eagled on the coffee table.
Hanging from the coat rack. Stretched out in front of the fireplace so you
couldn -(TM)t miss the senator -(TM)s pictures on the mantle. Very intimate angles.
Very obvious location. Very incriminating for her, not to mention her
very-married boss.

But not even one gratuitous fondle. Cold. Methodical. Vengeful.

It had to be him.

Is the party never going to end? Don -(TM)t these people have families?

She caught a peripheral glimpse of him hovering, then kneeling at her side.
With something in his hand.

"A little present to remember me by," he said, trying to be suave and cruel.

Her eyes shifted sideways and saw the black binder clamp held open between his
fingers. She gasped as he maneuvered it over one of her nipples, then squeezed
her eyes shut as she braced herself for...

Something clattered loudly behind them.

"What the FUCK was that?" he yelped.

Her eyes popped open as he sprang to his feet and disappeared from her field of
vision.

"Huh-huh-who are..." he stuttered. "W-what do you think you -(TM)re..."

She tried to turn her head to look, but there was no slack between the doorknob
and the rope.

"Hey, you -(TM)re..." he said, sounding suddenly very small and surprised.

A thump. Big and heavy and noisy.

A groan.

Another thump.

Then something hit the floor. Hard.

"Are you all right?" a strange voice asked from behind her.

She practically twisted her eyes out of their sockets trying to see who was
speaking to her. Definitely male. Older. Concerned. Kindly, even.

Hell, he sounded almost jolly.

"Well, he -(TM)s not going anywhere for a while. And neither, it appears, are
you."

Panicking, she screamed into the doorknob and thrashed wildly against her
bonds.

"There, there, everything -(TM)s going to be fine now. No need to worry. Let -(TM)s
see, I -(TM)ll just set off the alarm..."

The code-red security sirens began ringing loudly throughout the building. How
did he know where the secret button was? Besides, his voice was coming from
somewhere near the fireplace, not the senator -(TM)s desk.

"When the authorities get here, tell them you escaped, then knocked him out
with this poker. Hmm, we -(TM)d better make it look good. I -(TM)ll just give him a
little whack..."

Ooh...she thought that sounded like it hurt. A lot.

"Now, let me get you out of this mess."

She felt the ropes and handcuffs fall away from her head and body, then the
tape seemed to literally melt off her hands. But she was certain nobody was
touching her. In fact, she could hear him muttering back by the fireplace,
something about fragile N64s, Tonka trucks, and "good thing I still have all
these lumps of coal in my sack for everyone in D.C."

When she was finally free, she spat out the doorknob, jumped to her feet, and
spun around with a jerk.

But all she saw was a flash of red fur, a wisp of what smelled distinctly like
pipe tobacco, and her assailant crumpled on the floor, surrounded by sooty
prints on the carpet left by someone apparently wearing big, heavy boots.

As the guards started pounding on the door, she shook her head to get rid of
the ringing in her ears.

Then she realized she was hearing the sound of bells jingling somewhere in the
distance outside the window.

*******************************

Silent Knight
by Adrian Hunter

He stared out the window by her desk and watched the snowflakes drift down
gently from the sky.

Looks like God and Jesus had another pillow fight, he thought to himself, his
tongue exploring the tip of the thick candy cane stuck between his teeth.

He remembered her voice, low and husky, right up close to his ear.

"Don -(TM)t drop it, Santa."

The water started running in the bathroom. She -(TM)ll be finished soon.

He shifted a little and realized it wouldn -(TM)t take much effort to untie the
ribbon binding his wrists behind his back. He could hide behind the
door...surprise her...take her down hard...

"Better hurry," urged the little devil voice in his head.

He tried to soothe himself by watching the whiteness begin to obliterate the
neighborhood.

So pure and unsullied.

He sneaked a quick peppermint grin.

"Unlike certain people I know," he thought to himself.

His gaze shifted down to her computer monitor. He squinted at the lines of text
herded into neat paragraphs marching across the screen, but he couldn -(TM)t
really make out the words.

Not that it mattered. You read one Akasha riff, you -(TM)ve read them all.

Judging by the number of pages stacked up in the output bin of the printer, she
obviously disagreed.

He felt his cock stir. So soon? He glanced over at her dresser. The leather
pouch looked pretty innocuous. No missing the intent of the laces, though. Nor
the plug, which she had carefully balanced so it stood up straight on its base.

"Because it looks a little like a Christmas tree, doesn -(TM)t it?"

And the red ball in the middle of the trainer, he supposed, could be
Rudolph -(TM)s nose.

The sound of hearty midwestern voices declaiming "jingle all the way" wafted up
from the stereo downstairs. He couldn -(TM)t help thinking of clamps.

This much snow probably qualifies as a bonafide blizzard. A lot of people are
probably rethinking the traditional afternoon visit to...

The door to the bathroom opened.

"Miss me?"

She strutted across the room, gleaming like a can of Raid at the "Antz"
premiere.

God, in that corset...as if she wasn -(TM)t sexy enough already...

She sat herself primly in front of the computer and picked up the bottle of
hand lotion next to the monitor.

Oh, no.

Not again.

She squirted a generous amount onto her gloved fingers and reached toward his
crotch.

Without a word, she began coating his cock while her other hand resumed
manipulating the mouse through Akasha -(TM)s archives in search of inspiration and
a few reindeer games for them to play.

He tried not to groan as she methodically stroked him, undoubtedly heading for
the hour -(TM)s second orgasm. To make sure he stayed soft for the laces.

She hummed along with Bing Crosby as he crooned that damned song for what
seemed like the millionth time today.

Of all years, this had to be the one when it actually snowed on Christmas Day.

The year he bet her that it wouldn -(TM)t.
 

copyright  (C) 1997 by adrian hunter. all rights reserved.
please do not repost nor repurpose without permission.


*******************
Please note new web address for my stories archive:
http://www.adrianhunter.com

Correspondence: adrian_hunter - at - hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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