Mary Christmas

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( [email protected]. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Mary read the text on her smart phone. “Boarding, see you around ten.” Paul would be home for Christmas. She normally didn’t mind the amount of travel he did with his job, but the just-before-Christmas annual company planning meeting had always irked her. Paul was always gone for the three days before Christmas. He had explained to her, “It’s got to be done right at the end of the year, so it is either just before or just after Christmas. We will still have Christmas eve and Christmas day together”

Christmas was a very special holiday for Mary. Her maiden name, which she kept when she married Paul, was Yule. Evidently, somewhere way back, one of her ancestors was responsible for building the Yule fire and for feeding the Yule Log slowly into the fire during the Winter Solstice celebrations that pre-dated Christianity in much of northern Europe. With a name like Mary Yule, it was natural that people would call her Mary Christmas. And with a nickname like Mary Christmas, it was natural that she would either hate Christmas or it would be her favorite holiday. Mary loved Christmas.

Mary and Paul had even been married on Christmas day. It had been almost impossible to find a minister or justice of the peace who would marry them on that day. Finally, in desperation, Mary had Googled “Pastor Kringle” and found a pastor by that name only a couple hours drive from where they lived. Because of his name, he understood and agreed to officiate. His first name was Christopher, spelled with a “K,” so on Christmas Day, five years ago, Mary Christmas was joined to Paul Davis in holy matrimony by none other than Pastor Kris Kringle, himself.

This was their five year anniversary, and Mary wanted this to be the most special Christmas ever. She had a very special gift in mind for Paul. When he got home, he would find HER wrapped beneath the tree. Well, not exactly beneath the tree. She would be more like a separate tree standing – or more accurately, hanging – in the middle of the living room.

She had been preparing this for months. It actually started last Christmas when she saw a picture on line. She was looking for decorating ideas by searching for pictures of unusual Christmas lights. One of the pictures which popped up was of a woman in bondage who was wrapped completely in hundreds, if not thousands, of Christmas lights. The woman’s legs were in a spreader bar and her feet were barely touching the ground. Her hands were held high and taut above her head by ropes which hung from a stout hook that had been screwed into a ceiling rafter. As soon as Mary had seen that image, she knew what she was going to get Paul for their fifth anniversary. But it was going to take a lot of planning.

The house was a western design with lots of wood everywhere. She bought a heavy, wagon-wheel style chandelier which looked very good in the living room, but required a very strong anchor to hang from the ceiling. Paul didn’t quite understand why she was so worked up when he installed it.

“You really like this, don’t you?” he said as he looked at her standing flushed and almost panting watching him use a hammer as a lever to screw the massive black hook into the ceiling. As soon as he was finished, she took him into the bedroom and made mad, passionate love to him. “Wow,” he said afterwards. “I need to put up new lighting more often.”

Mary just smiled at him and thought, “Wait until you see the lights next Christmas.”

Over the summer, while Paul was gone on long trips, Mary planned and practiced. The hook was exactly what she needed, but the wagon wheel was very heavy and she couldn’t take it down by herself. Then she remembered visiting her grandfather’s farm as a child. He had an old-fashioned barn with the big hay mow door on one end. Above that door was a thick beam, and from that beam hung a rope with a block and tackle. Until aunt Louise caught them, she and her cousins used to play with it and hoist each other up to the hay mow. It took very little effort, and she was able to pull her much older – and heavier – cousin up to the mow with no problem.

Without telling them what it was for, she explained what she was looking for to a clerk in a hardware store a couple towns away. What she now had was smaller, made of heavy plastic, but essentially the same block and tackle mechanism that grandpa had once used to hoist hay bales up into the barn. She would pull it as short as possible, and then let it out an inch or two. Then she would connect it to the hook and to the top of the wagon wheel. Pulling it up slightly enabled her lift the support chain off the hook. Then she would lower the chandelier down to a serving cart that was normally out on the back deck.

Putting herself in place of the chandelier was a little trickier. There were two slightly smaller hooks that carried the chain of the chandelier over to the wall. From there a cord hung down and plugged into an outlet. By trial and error, Mary discovered that if she ran the rope through those hooks, she could pull downward alongside the wall and easily pull the chandelier up in place. In fact, if she tied a two gallon bucket to the rope all the way up at the ceiling, and then filled that bucket with sand, it would descend to the floor and pull the wagon wheel up almost to the top.

Rube Goldberg would have been pleased with her next step. She placed a stepladder next to the bucket, and put a plank across the top. One end of the plank went under the bucket. From the other end, she hung a four gallon insulated water jug which was suspended over a plastic trough like you use to mix concrete. A rope ran from the top of the big handle of the water jug to a plant hook in the ceiling above it. The jug had a pouring valve like you would find on a large coffee pot. You could push down to pour a cup of water, or lift up to lock the valve open. By slowly adding sand to the bucket and water to the jug, she was able to keep the system in balance. When she opened the valve on the water jug, the water would slowly drain out into the trough until the weight of the jug could no longer counterbalance the bucket and the bucket would begin to descend. The board would slide off the ladder and drop to the ground beneath the bucket. The water jug would drop slightly and then hang there swaying above the trough.

She tested this arrangement several times, allowing it to hoist her up to the ceiling. For each test, she made sure that there were at least two chairs that she could step onto so that she could get herself out of the ropes if they tangled around her hands. Again, by trial and error, she slowly blocked off the drain on the water jug until it took around an hour for the sand bucket to begin its descent.

The next step was figuring out a way to wind the lights around her body. She first tested to see that the lights would not burn her if they stayed against her skin for too long. She unpacked the lights that were normally on their tree and wrapped three 300 light strings around herself. That seemed like the right amount, even though they were bunched up very unevenly and didn’t look right. She would deal with that later. What she needed to know now was would they burn her.

They didn’t burn, but 900 Christmas tree lights give off a lot of heat, and it got really warm wrapped up in them. She bought several strings of LED lights on line to solve that problem.

The next hurdle was getting the lights wrapped around herself evenly. She practiced wrapping herself up in the lights while holding on to the block and tackle which she had connected to the hook. It had a swivel at the top, so she was free to turn in circles beneath it. But no matter how slowly or rapidly she revolved, the lights wouldn’t wind properly around her body. She was starting to think that she was going to have to confide in a friend and have her wrap the lights for her when she realized that if the lights were somehow fed from up high, they would wrap properly around her body. The question was how to hold the lights that high in the air while she rotated.

The solution was the room divider shelf on the end of the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. If she very carefully laid out the strings of lights on the kitchen floor and then fed them through one of the little square openings on the top shelf, she could hold the end of the string in her hands and slowly twirl to wind them around her body. As long as the string remained fairly taut as it fed through the shelf, the lights would descend slowly down her body as she turned. She added an extension cord that was plugged in on the living room side and fed through the same square into the kitchen so that it would pull out when all the lights were out of the kitchen.

After several practice sessions, she could wind the lights around herself so that she was evenly covered and there was nothing left but an extension cord leading from the wall to her feet. Once she started putting her feet into the spreader bar, it took a couple more practice sessions to get it right again, but finally in late November she was totally ready.

Since there was no getting out of this once she started, she started asking Paul to text her just before boarding his flight home whenever he was traveling. That way, on Christmas eve, she would know for sure that he was on his way before she lit herself up. As an added safety, she had also asked one of her neighborhood friends to stop by sometime Christmas day to pick up a present she had for their kids. If something did go wrong and Paul’s flight got diverted or badly delayed, it would be embarrassing to explain why she was hanging naked in the living room, but she would not be permanently trapped.

Christmas eve finally came. The tree was lit. The presents – except for her – were in place. The heavy, wagon-wheel chandelier was out on the back deck. The bucket of sand and the jug of water were balanced over the step ladder. Mary was dressed in nothing but thigh-high white stockings with little red bows on the back at the top. A red satin mask was up on her forehead to be pulled down when she was almost in place. In white glittery letters on the front of the blindfold it said, “To Paul – From Mary. Merry Christmas.”

A wide red ribbon went around her throat and was tied in a bow on the front. Red, very high-heeled shoes were on her feet. Small golden bells were tied gently with green ribbons to her nipples. A red Santa hat completed the ensemble. She had debated coloring her pubic triangle red or green, but instead decided to shave it completely. A slight sheen of moisture glistened between her legs as she waited for the message to come saying that Paul was on his way.

Finally the message came. It was time. She opened the water valve and then returned to the center of the room and strapped her ankles into the spreader bar. Tonight there were no chairs nearby, and she wasn’t holding on to the rope. Her wrists were in padded leather cuffs which were connected to each other with the rope looped between them. She pulled the blindfold down over her eyes. When the bucket of sand descended, she would be drawn tight.

But first, she had to put on the lights. One end of the string of lights was tied firmly to the wrist cuff on her left wrist. She started a slow, waddling turn to begin winding the lights around her body. She hadn’t practiced this in the high-heels and was surprised at how much harder it was to move in the spreader bar when she was wearing them. She was worried that she wouldn’t have enough time, but finally she felt the large end of the extension cord against her foot. Everything had gone exactly as planned.

“Nothing to do now but wait,” she said to herself. A few minutes later, she heard the board drop from the step ladder and felt her hands being pulled toward the ceiling. Her full weight was no longer on her feet, but they didn’t leave the floor. She stood and listened – and occasionally sang along with – the Christmas music which played in the background.

Time passed slowly, but the anticipation merely fueled the fire which was slowly building within her. Then she heard the click of the front door – or was that the side door? It was definitely the side door. Paul would have come in the front door. “Paul?” she called out.

She had planned to remain silent, but now she was afraid that someone else had come into the house. “Paul? Is that you?”

There was no answer. Instead someone touched her. It was a very soft touch, but someone definitely touched her. Hands slid along the inside of her legs. They stroked her breasts and lightly tweaked her nipples. They ran a spiral path between the lights across her tummy, around to her back, and then to the front where fingertips danced across the front of her pubic mound.

“Paul? Is that you?” She gasped as the fingers plucked lightly at her clit. “Oh, please Paul, tell me that it is you.”

No voice answered Mary. There was no sound in the room except the Christmas carols playing in the background and Mary’s gasps and sighs as the hands continued to play with her body. The ribbons that had been snug on her nipples were now squeezing tightly as her nipples engorged. The little bells jangled softly as she thrashed her body back and forth trying to hold off an impending orgasm.

The hands were now between her legs from the back. Fingers were reaching up to her clit and sliding back between her legs, taking her flowing juices across the length of her crack. One hand was sliding through her slit, the fingers of the other were probing her nether rosebud. Paul had never done anything like that. God it felt so wonderful! But who could this be?

Fingers were now in her cunt, pumping slowly. A single digit pushed slowly into her ass. If this wasn’t Paul, she couldn’t let him force her to orgasm! But if it was Paul, why didn’t he say something! Mary unclenched her jaw and opened her mouth to again ask who it was, but all that came out was a long, drawn out, moan of passion that she had been holding so tightly within her.

Her hips were now bucking so wildly that her feet were leaving the ground and she was swaying on the hook from which she hung. And still the hands were pumping and probing. In front, four fingers were sliding in and out of her cunt. In back, two fingers pumped in opposite rhythm. Mary was grunting loudly in time with each thrust. Finally she exploded in a loud, shaking, quaking, tremendous orgasm.

The hands went back to stroking her skin for a few minutes and then they were gone. She heard a slight swishing grinding noise that she recognized as the front drapes being pulled open. The house sat fairly far back from the road, and trees separated them from their neighbors, but anyone driving by would be able to see her hanging there.

She could feel her body redden with shame, but at the same time she could feel heat flowing from her cunt. She wished the hands were back. Her body seemed to be swaying on its own, slowly pushing her cunt forward as if seeking a lover hidden just beyond her reach. A single sliding touch slid across her clit and then… silence, followed by the click of the side door being opened and the thunk of it being closed once again.

She was alone. “Paul?” she called out, but no one answered. She listened for the sound of breathing or the sound of movement or any sound at all, but if there were any sounds of someone in the room with her, they were hidden under the music.

Then the house phone rang. Hardly anyone called the house phone. It was primarily for Paul’s business and half the time he had it forwarded to his cell. She heard his voice ask whoever it was to leave a message, and then she heard his voice again. “Mary, you didn’t pick up on your cell. Flight was delayed slightly, but I am leaving the airport now. Actually, I am about half-way home. Cab should get there in about fifteen minutes. See you soon.”

Paul put his cell phone back in his pocket and stood in the snow near the end of his driveway watching the lights of Mary Christmas sway and twist. Luckily it wasn’t really cold, so he wasn’t going to get overly chilled waiting out here. Besides, the sight of Mary hanging like a living Christmas tree displayed through the living room window was keeping his body very warm.

Would he tell her? Would she tell him? Would she know when his hands traveled across her body once again to take her to the heights of passion? Would he be able to enter her while she was still suspended from the ceiling? Or, would he have to let her down and unwind her before he could fully unwrap his Christmas present? Would he close the blinds before, or after, they had celebrated their anniversary?

At last sufficient time had passed and he walked back up to the house. This time he entered through the front door, and so that she would know for sure that it was him, called out, “Merry Christmas, Mary Christmas.”

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END OF STORY
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