The House of Elyot

Blissemas Is Here

Posted on: December 3, 2016

Hello, I’m Justine and I’m your elf for the day. I hope you’re enjoying the season – and if you like a little bit of kink along with your eggnog, I’m your woman!

What does a kinky Christmas look like? Well, I imagine it’s as varied as the enormous range of fetishes and dynamics that exist in the world.

I haven’t had the most productive year (call it the curse of 2016) but I did publish a little anthology of short stories called Six of the Best.

One of them, Belonging, centres on an unusual dynamic that I find really interesting – a married couple with their very own live-in female submissive. Here’s my attempt to imagine their Christmas morning…


My alarm wakes me at seven.

I am on an inflatable mattress at the foot of Paul and Danni’s bed. They were out late for Christmas Eve, at a drinks party with some friends of theirs, and I took the opportunity to have a quiet night in, wrapping parcels in front of Carols From Kings. By the time they came in, I was asleep, and they didn’t disturb me.

I take my phone out from under my pillow and kill the vibrations. Sitting up, I can just about make out their shapes under the duvet. It’s pitch black and freezing cold, but I have no alternative but to take my naked self to the bathroom and start my morning routine. (It’s a house rule that I am only allowed to wear clothes in the house with their permission. On a normal day it’s given without a second thought – but today will not be a normal day.)

Once I am shower fresh, I head downstairs and put on the fairy lights. In their dim shimmering glow, I take a big bow-topped box from under the tree and open it, examining my secret stash.

The silence and darkness is both eerie and exciting. Peeking through the curtains, I can see only one set of house lights on in the street – belonging to a household with small children. I smile, remembering Christmases past, when I tried to stay awake all night to catch Santa.

Now I’m the one that wants to be caught.

In my box, I have a hairband with jingle-bell antlers. I set it on my head, keeping my movements to an economic minimum. I am goose-pimpling all over, my nipples stiff and my toes like ice. Luckily enough, I have a pair of woolly reindeer-printed socks to put on. I suspect they’ll count as clothes, which will earn me a punishment, but a spanking beats gangrene any day, so I defy the rule.

Next I draw from the box a beautiful leather harness. This is my real Christmas present to Paul and Danni. I know they’ll get so much usage and enjoyment from it, dressing me up and putting me through my paces. It’s gorgeously soft and pliable leather – cost a fortune, but I know it’s worth it as I strap myself in, attaching clips to D-rings and pulling taut until my breasts stand out and proud, securely contained along with the rest of my torso. I put a pair of red glittery nipple tassels in the shape of present bows on those distractingly stiff peaks, take a look at myself in the mirror and laugh with pleasure at the thought of their faces when they see me.

Now for the difficult bit.

I take the bottle of lube and the ponytail butt plug and eye them up fearfully for a while, gnawing at my lip. I’ve never tried self-insertion, and I’m worried I won’t be able to go through with it.

Besides, a reindeer butt plug doesn’t seem to exist, so the ponytail seems a bit wrong. Reindeer don’t have tails like that, do they? In fact, I’m not even sure what a real reindeer looks like.

“Artistic license,” I whisper to myself, opening the lube and spreading a thick layer over the business end of the plug.

I use a combination of pushing in and squatting back to get the thing in. I do it quickly, in one tear-inducing move, so as not to wimp out. Paul or Danni will always go for the gradual insertion, to get maximum squirming and pleading from me. My own technique is shocking, but mercifully swift.

But it makes me cry out.

I raise my eyes to the ceiling. Did they hear me?

There’s a chance they did, so I arrange myself swiftly. Now I’m fully plugged, all I have to do is take out the riding crop and hold it between my teeth. I crawl forwards, into the embrace of the fluffy white rug, in the welcome glow of the fire, and get myself into position: a begging stance, on my knees with my back straight and my hands out like paws. Begging to have the crop used on me.

I know that the alarm I set on my iPad and left on their nightstand will wake them soon, even if my amateur self-plugging hasn’t done so already. I wonder if they will be annoyed at being woken early; if they will be hungover and grumpy and all this will fall flat.

My nerves tighten as I hear the distant thunder of a footstep overhead. Gushing from the water pipes, the muffled high note of Danni’s laugh.

My teeth clench so tight against the crop I worry about damaging the shaft.

My vision is a multi-coloured fairy-lit blur by the time I hear the first foot on the stair. I shake my head, sharpen my senses, make the room return into focus.

Danni enters the room alone, in her short silk wrap and nothing else.

My heart swells to see the enchanted look in her eyes.

“Well, well, well,” she says in a low, laughing voice. “Paul!”

“Just a moment.” From the echoey tone, he is in the bathroom.

“Come and see what Santa’s left us.”

He is down in seconds, still holding his toothbrush, usually immaculate hair falling in an unkempt sweep over his brow.

“Ohhhh yes,” he sighs, taking me in from head to knees. “Santa knows what we like.”

He comes to crouch in front of me, reaching out to stroke my cheek, as far as he can with the obstruction of the riding crop crossing it. He removes the whip from my mouth and proffers it at Danni, who takes it from him.

She slaps it into her palm, watching Paul kiss me thoroughly. His newly-minted toothpaste breath makes me tingle, even as his tongue slips into my mouth.

“Well, then,” he says, standing up again and motioning me on to all fours. “That lily-white bottom isn’t the proper festive colour, is it? We need a good Santa hat red, don’t we? Danni?”

He puts one foot between my shoulder blades, holding me down and raising my bum high. Danni walks around to my rear, swishing the crop through the air.

She lays the flat tip against my plug and taps it once, twice, three times.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” she says, as the first stroke swipes home.



Thanks for reading! If you are interested in reading more about Paul, Danni and their pet, you can find their story in my collection Six of the Best, available for Kindle on Amazon:


I wish you all a Merry Christmas – I hope it’s just as kinky as you want it to be ;).


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