The invitation came in a red envelope, embossed with gold print.  It was decadent and formal, but also cold and impersonal.  So I knew right away who it was from: my girlfriend, Rachel.

Rachel is the definition of an ice queen.  I think just about every guy on campus has noticed her.  She’s selective about who she notices back, though.

Her latest fixation was Troy.  Troy was an upperclassman like her, a junior, and he was on the football team.  For months I had managed to keep Rachel’s interest, with the help of my parents’ credit cards.  But Troy had me there, too; he owned a Mustang and rumor had it that his grandfather was on the Board of Trustees.  He was loaded, and since Rachel had begun her pursuit of him, I hadn’t seen much of her.

So I was glad to get the invitation, even if it was very standoffish and businesslike.  I mean, that’s how Rachel was, too, sometimes.  Most of the time.  Rachel is not friendly, especially with boys.  She knows she is better than them, and if they can’t handle her (and most can’t), she’s quick to cast them off.

The invitation curtly stated that my presence was expected (not requested – expected) at the Queen Building’s Silver Ballroom on Friday at 6 pm.  It didn’t give any more information than that.  It wasn’t even signed; Rachel’s name at the bottom was printed.

To be fair, Rachel wasn’t just busy with Troy.  She was also busy with work and school.  We had finals coming up, and on top of that, since moving into the Quen Building, she’d begun seeing lots of private clients.  She was busy almost every night, and seemed like she had less need for my money than before.  I’ll admit it: I missed her.  I tried to lure her out with offers of every kind, but Rachel knew precisely what she wanted, and it wasn’t me.  So I waited while she used her rare free days to go on dates with Troy, feeling neglected.  I didn’t know what she saw in Troy; he was a loud braggart, the kind who kept tallies of all the women he slept with and revved his car at stop lights so everyone would look over at it.  He also didn’t seem like he was very submissive, and I knew Rachel’s interest in brutal domination, which I couldn’t imagine Troy being into.

Maybe this invitation meant she had finally realized Troy wasn’t worth her time.  Maybe this was a reward for my patience!

I was blind and naked, entirely at her mercy. It was as thrilling as it was frightening.

I had a spring in my step as I crossed the campus grounds and made my way downtown.  The Queen Building loomed over everything, the largest and most imposing building in town.  It was mid-December and there was a chill in the air; a few flakes of snow swirled down into my hair and I shook them off.  Lamp posts were adorned with garlands and wreaths and lights, and the Queen Building was festively decorated with reds, golds, and deep evergreens.  I stepped into the warm lobby to see the largest Christmas tree I’d ever laid eyes on, covered in white and silver garlands. 

I looked around the huge hotel, searching for signage to point me to the Silver Ballroom.  Before I was able to find it, a bellhop in a crisp red uniform and a matching leather collar approached me.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m looking for the Silver Ballroom,” I said, pulling the invitation from my back pocket to wave at him.  I had brought it just in case I needed it.  I didn’t dare show up for anything with Rachel unprepared; Rachel did not tolerate that kind of thing.  I still had no idea what was going on in the Silver Ballroom, but when I mentioned it, a strange expression passed over the bellhop’s face.

“Oh, yes.  Of course.  You must be the entertainment.”  He sounded almost apologetic.

“…the entertainment?” I repeated, not knowing what he meant.  “No, I’m just– I’m a guest of Rachel.”  I pointed to her name, printed at the bottom of the card. 

The bellhop nodded and gestured for me to follow him.  “Right this way.”

He led me down a hallway off of the lobby, down a zig-zagging row of corridors.  I was still in my winter coat and starting to feel stuffy.  But finally, the bellhop stopped in front of an unmarked door and pulled it open for me.

Inside it was dark.  I took a step in, confused.  This was not a ballroom.  I turned and began to ask where I was, but the bellhop was already slamming the door in my face.

“Jung!”

Rachel’s voice reached my ears and any confusion I had was replaced with gratitude and relief.  There she was, my girlfriend.  I had forgotten how gorgeous she was.  Her face was sharp and angular, her features accentuated by her hair, which was light and trimmed short so that it only reached the very top of her neck.  She was wearing a red corset and her breasts were out.  Though small, they were perky, and the corset gave them a little lift so that they seemed bigger.  Her corset matched her tall red boots, which came up to the middle of her thighs.  Above them were a pair of green and white lace garters.  And aside from that, she was wearing nothing else at all.  The area between her legs was bare and plump and pink, and my eyes wandered there before I could stop myself.

“Why are you still in your coat?  Hurry up and get undressed,” demanded Rachel.

I didn’t even think; I obeyed immediately, pulling off my coat and looking around for a place to put it.  I found a stack of chairs against the wall, and draped it there.  Looking around, it appeared we were in some kind of backstage area.  There were cords coiled on the floor and sound equipment shoved against the wall.  It was very dark.

Pain like lightning drew a line across my ass, temporarily blinding me; I yelped, reflexively trying to jerk away, but I was trussed up like a holiday gift and couldn’t go anywhere.

I could hear music and murmuring somewhere beyond the big, heavy curtains on one side of the room.  It occurred to me that maybe this was some kind of game to Rachel.  You know, a naughty, secret little playtime.  The Queen Building was known for its upscale clientele.  The idea of fooling around in a backstage area, just within earshot of a fancy corporate Christmas party, was certainly titillating! 

In fact, by the time I was pulling off my jeans and boxers, I was already semi-hard, excited for whatever Rachel had in store for me.  She watched me undress with her arms crossed, a small, pouty frown on her lips, which was pretty typical for her, actually.  I put all my clothes aside and stood barefoot on the smooth wooden surface of the stage, awaiting her instruction.

She didn’t give me any at all.  Instead, she grabbed my forearms, led me over to the middle of the dark stage area, turned toward a table, grabbed a dark piece of cloth, and pulled it over my head.

If the backstage area was dark, then the hood was pitch.  I couldn’t see a thing!  Rachel cinched a cord around my neck, and I felt a brief stab of panic as my throat was squeezed.

One of Rachel’s hands pressed against my abs.  “You can breathe, so long as you don’t panic,” she said.  This was about as close as someone like Rachel got to reassurance.  I forced myself to breathe slowly and calmly.  I was blind and naked, entirely at her mercy.  It was as thrilling as it was frightening.

“You trust me, don’t you, Jung?”

I nodded.  “Of course I do.”

“You know obedience is important to me.”

“Of course I do,” I repeated.

“So you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?  Because I need tonight to go off without a hitch.  Usually, Madame Maxine does this, but she’s in Toronto this week.  This is the first time someone who isn’t on staff was asked so it’s a very big deal.”

My head swam.  The inside of the hood was really claustrophobic, and I felt like I’d missed some key context.  I didn’t know what needed to go off without a hitch or what it was that Rachel had been asked to do.  All I knew was that I was part of it now.

“Also I invited Troy so he can get some perspective on how to be more deferential.  You’ll set a good example for him, since you’re so compliant.”

Invited Troy!  Annoyance rippled through me.  I wasn’t normally jealous.  I knew Rachel saw other guys.  I had grown used to Rachel playing around with others.  But Troy had lately become Rachel’s primary interest, it seemed like.  She went out with him in public and made sure everyone saw them.  Recently, in one of my classes, I overheard someone refer to Troy as Rachel’s boyfriend.  As Rachel’s actual boyfriend I didn’t like that.  It was one thing to fool around with other guys, but it was another to feel replaced.  And I didn’t get Troy’s appeal, either.  The only thing they seemed to do was normal vanilla stuff.  Rachel said she liked being “dicked down,” and didn’t elaborate further. 

My hope was that this was part of some kind of long game she was playing.  Troy would fall.  Troy, after all, had a reputation for getting more than it bargained for when it engaged with beautiful women.  And unlike Helen, Rachel wouldn’t need a thousand ships.  Rachel could break any guy within a couple of hours, with nothing but her whip and her words.

I cried, no longer caring if I was being bad or embarrassing her.  I just wanted it to stop!  The pain, the horror of it.  Rachel ignored me; she didn’t seem to care.

If Troy was present then I was going to be on my best behavior.  The last time I had seen Troy, Rachel had brought him over to my dorm and they’d fucked right on my bed.  Watching his ass cheeks bounce up and down over my girlfriend, I had sworn I would repay the favor.  And now was my chance.  He would watch us, and I’d show him that he wasn’t going to easily replace me as Rachel’s favorite!

I stood straight-backed and patient, my head still engulfed in the black hood, awaiting further instruction. But Rachel seemed to have left.  So I just waited, hands clasped behind my back, trying to figure out what was going on.  I hadn’t seen Troy or anyone else since coming to this weird backstage area, and Rachel sure hadn’t told me much.  I strained to hear her.  The thick cloth of the hood muffled all sound, so I wasn’t certain at first when I heard a chain rattling.

But as the noise grew louder, I realized, with horror, that the curtains were being pulled open.  The big, noise-canceling barriers between the stage and the Silver Ballroom were opening!  And I was blind and naked!  As the curtains were pulled apart, the sounds of merriment grew louder: glasses clinked, voices murmured, piano music played. 

There was some fancy holiday party going on and I was about to crash it!

I began to reach up to pull off the hood, but then stopped.  No, better to keep the hood on, and remain anonymous!  But how was I supposed to hurry away if I couldn’t see?

The answer came to me: I wasn’t.  I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere.  This was what Rachel wanted.

The holiday jingle being played on the piano ended, and the murmuring voices died down.  Somewhere, a handbell rang.  And then, Rachel’s voice, crystal-clear, boomed out over the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen… honored guests of the Queen Building… welcome to Queen Building’s annual ‘Season’s Beatings’ Christmas charity fundraiser!  I am your hostess, Rachel, substituting this evening for Madame Maxine.  And tonight’s offering is Jung, a freshman with a fetish for suffering!”

Rachel grabbed the top of the hood, along with some of my hair inside it, and ripped it off.  I blinked in the bright stage lights, dazed with the sudden flood of light.  I was on the stage but now, the curtains were open, and I was facing a massive ballroom.  It was filled with people, at least a hundred, all of them dressed elegantly.  The men were in tuxedos and the women were in gowns; many of them held small cocktails, and every one of them had their attention turned… to me! 

I stared out at them like a deer in the headlights, hyper-aware of my nudity.  I felt completely frozen.

Rachel stood beside me, a long red-and-white striped cane in her hand.  A candy cane, my mind supplied, about a half-second before she swung and snapped it against my upper thighs.  It was a sharp hit and it made me jump with a yelp.

The audience tittered in amusement, watching intently.

She was going to tear me apart, right in front of everyone, and they were egging her on, smirking at my humiliation.

Rachel put her other hand up in the air with a little flourish, like a magician directing the audience’s attention to her next trick.  I looked up, following her hand.  Above us there was a harness dangling from the ceiling, several red and green ropes slung expectantly over the crossbar.

“For those of you who are joining us for the first time ever,” said Rachel, her powerful voice floating over the ballroom, “Welcome!  As you all know, Madame Xara believes strongly in philanthropy, and this is one of the last charity events of the year.  For every thousand dollars donated, Jung here will endure one minute of exquisite abuse for your amusement.”

A thousand dollars a minute?  I wasn’t sure how long the show would last, if it cost the audience a thousand dollars a minute!  But when I looked out at all the tuxedos and smiling faces, my heart dropped.  This crowd was rich.  Rich with a capital R.  I would know; I came from a family with money.  And I could imagine my parents shelling out a few thousand for charity without blinking an eye, especially if they’d had a few drinks.

“Without further ado… let’s get this show started!” exclaimed Rachel.  She turned to me, and her voice lowered, sultry and dangerous.  “Bend over, Jung.”

I hesitated.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to obey.  Of course I did.  But the idea of bending over and mooning a crowd of fancy rich people felt a bit obscene.

Rachel’s eyes narrowed and I hurriedly turned and bent over.

“Further,” she commanded sharply.  “Grab your ankles.”

I bent further, doing as she instructed.  I made the mistake of peeking behind me.  A sea of strangers’ faces watched with amusement.  I gulped.

And then, in the back, I saw him.  Troy!

I had briefly forgotten that Rachel had mentioned he was present.  I had been too shell-shocked by the situation, the black-tie party and my apparent role as the evening’s entertainment.  But there he was, hovering in the back of the room, wearing a suit and tie and looking very much out of place.

Oh, I’d show him. Rachel had made me watch him fuck her several times; she’d made me bring them a towel when they were finished, fetch them glasses of water and fresh sheets.  Now it was my turn to be the center of Rachel’s attention, and have Troy watch.  That would show him!

I gripped my wrists even harder, and when I felt Rachel step forward, her body brushing against mine, I couldn’t help but sigh with contentment.  I had missed her over the last month, as she’d focused most of her attention on Troy.  It was good to be hers again.

She slung a rope under my stomach first, cinching it up so that it was cradling my body.  Then she knelt and, with deft hands, looped more lengths of rope around my wrists and ankles, securing my position.  The next set of binds went around my elbows and knees, forcing my limbs together so that I couldn’t move.  I was bent over like the letter A, my head bowed toward the floor and my bare ass up in front of the audience.  I could see, upside-down, my own cock dangling down in front of the audience.  I realized why Rachel had wanted me.  I was hung; she wanted to put on a good show, to make sure that there was plenty for the audience to see.

Once I was secured, Rachel grabbed the ropes at the top of the harness and gave it a good shake to make sure I was secure.  I almost lost my footing, but it wouldn’t have mattered.  Even though my feet were on the floor, I was practically suspended.  My arms and legs were tied together, and my torso was fastened to the harness, so that I was stuck in place in the center stage.  There was no way to escape.  I was at Rachel’s mercy.

“Please direct your generous donations to Dr. Forbin, who is seated to your left.  Let the festive fun of holiday hurt begin!” announced Rachel grandly. 

And with that, she stepped to the side with a firm click of her heels.  The audience clapped as she reached for the red whip coiled at her side.  She loosened it, her wrist moving expertly, drawing elaborate designs in the air, a C, an H, an R… even upside-down, I saw her spell out the word, CHRISTMAS, her whip floating like a ribbon through the air with fluid grace.

And then it came for me.

The sting of the tail landed on the bare, tender flesh of my ass.  It had been a while since Rachel had thrashed me and I had forgotten the springy power of her lashes.  Pain like lightning drew a line across my ass, temporarily blinding me; I yelped, reflexively trying to jerk away, but I was trussed up like a holiday gift and couldn’t go anywhere.

With a crack like ice breaking, the whip criss-crossed over my ass, leaving long red stripes on my skin for the audience to see.  The tail of the whip came dangerously close to licking at my balls, but Rachel was a pro; she let the leather trail and flick over my taint without ever going lower, and the suggestive flirting made my cock ache.  As I began to swell, whimpering at every strike of the whip, I could see the smirking faces of the partygoers.  I had never been put on display like this, and my face was heating up. 

One of Rachel’s hands cupped my balls roughly, twisting them a little as she pulled them outward for the audience, as if she were showing them off.  I gasped in pain, the noise catching in my throat, my eyes tearing.

“Rachel–” I whimpered, trying to be discreet.  “Too hard–”

She ignored me.  I couldn’t tell if she had heard me or not.

“You know,” said Rachel loudly.  Her voice carried over the room.  She leaned a forearm over my buttocks; the pressure on the fresh marks there lit my skin on fire.  “I love Christmas decorating, but I’ve always found Christmas ornaments to be awfully fragile.  Do you know what I mean?”  She juggled my balls in her hand, then squeezed again, even harder than before.  If I looked up I could see them, slowly turning from their natural olive-tan to a deep puce.  My eyes teared, blurring my vision.  I choked out a loud gasp.  “S-stop… stop, please,” I whimpered.  I would normally never dare to tell Rachel to stop, but she was squeezing them harder than she ever had before, like she intended to pop them like a pair of grapes or wrench them right off.

I could hear soft chuckles in the audience.

Rachel let them go and stepped away, heels rapping against the floor.  I struggled to catch my breath, but the pain lingered.  Rachel returned holding something in her hand.  A small tray of Christmas decorations.  Round, fragile glass ornaments, bells, ribbons, and holly.  She held up a sparkling blue ball, letting it glint in the stage lights.

And then with a swift sweep of her hand, she smashed it right against my testicles.

It immediately shattered, showering my head with tiny shards.  I closed my eyes reflexively with a yowl of pain, struggling against my binds.  The rope dug into my skin as Rachel lifted another ornament and smashed it against my balls, crushing it like an egg.  The ornaments were too thin to do much damage but when they broke, the pieces nicked me like papercuts, leaving my balls stinging with red-hot pain.

“Rachel, no!  Stop!” I cried, no longer caring if I was being bad or embarrassing her.  I just wanted it to stop!  The pain, the horror of it.  Rachel ignored me; she didn’t seem to care.  What was it to her if I got injured?  The audience was fascinated with the sparkling spectacle as she crushed the ornaments against my soft, exposed ballsack, littering the ground around me with festive colors.  I moved one foot and stepped on a sharp piece, yelping and trying to pull away, but the harness I dangled from held me fast.

“Hmm… only one left… I think we should keep this one as a souvenir for now,” said Rachel.  She drew out a length of ribbon from her little holiday box, and reached down for my cock.  When I felt her hand grasp it, I realized for the first time I was still hard.  I had been with Rachel so long, been trained by her so often, that my body felt confused between pain and pleasure.  Her torture had given me an erection.

She slipped a ribbon around the base of my cock and pulled it taut, tying a bow there, tightening the ribbon until it cut into my flesh.  My cock throbbed in protest at the strangulation; already thick and full, it began swelling further at her improvised cock ring.

“Rachel… Rachel, please…” I gasped.

Rachel crouched.  I squinted at her upside-side.  She was frowning at me.  “This is for charity, Jung, stop being such a little pussy.  Get yourself in the holiday spirit.”

“It hurts,” I said lamely, my muscles quivering with tension.

“It’s supposed to hurt, idiot.”  She reached up and grasped my rock-hard erection, yanking down on it so hard I felt like she was going to rip it off.

I cried out, vision blurring.  My tears made all the pinpricks of light disperse in a dazzling display, the broken ornaments on the floor shining like a kaleidoscope beneath me.

“No, no, no, no… I can’t… I can’t do it, Rachel, please, stop–”

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Jung.  I didn’t have to choose you, you know.  I could have chosen any boy on campus.  But I picked you because of that big, fat cock.  I’m starting to think I was wrong about you.  The biggest thing in your pants is your wallet.”

Tears dripped from my eyes and hit the floor, adding more shine to the shattered ornaments below me.  A roomful of people watched, smirking at my humiliation.

“Let’s show you what a real cock can do…”

“Oh, no.  No, please, Rachel!” I begged.  But Rachel was already turning away to fetch her dildo harness, and I knew what was coming next.

The audience began clapping as she presented a massive dildo to them.  It had to be nine inches long, its girth two or even three inches in diameter.  Molded in silicone, it spared no detail; it was ridged and veiny in texture, swirled with gold, silver, red, and blue.

“You know why everyone likes Santa so much?  Well, because everyone loves a big sack…” said Rachel.  The audience tittered.  “But Jung here clearly isn’t feeling the holiday spirit.  Yet.  Let’s stuff his stocking and see if he can’t be a good little ho, ho, ho.”

She placed her hands on my backside.  I didn’t have time to prepare myself and Rachel didn’t bother.  Her dildo harness secure and her huge holiday cock prominent, she shoved it against my hole, pushing past any resistance my body gave.  No lube, no stretching, simply force.  There were still a few broken pieces of ornament stuck to the skin on my backside, and they bit into me as she jammed the full length of the dildo into me, shoving her hips up against mine.  My ass was on fire, stretched to its limit; I screamed at a pitch I didn’t even know I was capable of.  The audience cheered, raising their glasses with glee at my pain.  Rachel thrust, slapping me until I could barely even tell if the pain was coming from my insides or outsides.  She was going to tear me apart, right in front of everyone, and they were egging her on, smirking at my humiliation.

“Rachel, please, stop!  Please, it’s too big, please!” I begged through choked sobs.

Rachel leaned down over me, her breasts pressing into my back, still thrusting.  When she finally pulled away, cold air hit my gaping asshole, and I was all too aware that everyone in the room could see it.  I felt so exposed, like I’d been turned inside-out.

Rachel crouched and leaned forward.  Our faces were inches from each other.  I could feel tears and snot dribbling down my face; I couldn’t even hide or wipe them away.

“You know the safe word, Jung,” she murmured, so softly I couldn’t even be sure if she was speaking, or just moving her lips.  “You can get out anytime you want.  Go ahead and disappoint me, you pathetic little worm.  Just say the word and I’ll let you crawl out of here with your tail between your legs.”

I blinked wetly at Rachel.  “No, please.  Just stop.  Please.”

“I will.  Just say the word.”

I considered.  I imagined saying it, and having Rachel cut me down.  I could picture it clearly.  She would do it, of course.  She’d let me go immediately.  She probably wouldn’t even let me grab my clothes.  She’d just kick me out, beaten and naked and humiliated, into the hotel lobby, and she and the whole audience would be disappointed.  She’d never call me again.  I would have failed her.  There would be no return to her cold, cruel embrace.

“…No,” I said softly.

Rachel slapped me across the face.  “Don’t say no to me, bitch.  Go on.  Admit you’re defeated.  Admit you can’t handle me.  Say the word, and you can walk out of here, right now.”

I shook my head, snuffling.  I couldn’t even look her in the eye.  I gazed out into the audience, their smirking faces.  Their delight at my suffering.

Far in the back I could see Troy.  He was pale, his jaw open.

That meathead.  Had he really not known the depths of Rachel’s sadism?

He couldn’t have handled this.  That was why she had chosen me.

…I could handle this, because Rachel knew I could.

“No,” I repeated, firmer.

“Say the damn safe word, Jung!”

“No!”

Rachel rose and plucked the last ornament from the box.  It was a snowy little bauble.  She pinched the hook between a finger and thumb, and reached forward to hook it into my yawning asshole.  The pinch of its snag made me gasp.  My body jolted; the ornament swung against my ass merrily, unaware of the pain it was inflicting.

A short, chubby, white-haired man in a tuxedo waddled onto stage and stood on his tip-toes to cup Rachel’s ear and whisper something into it.  She smiled and nodded, turning to the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a very generous donor has just set a record for our holiday fundraiser!  Mrs. Tennyson would like to offer Jung here a refreshment, courtesy of her own Mr. Tennyson… please, sir, come up on stage!”

The white-haired man, Dr. Forbin, offered a hand to an older gentleman, pulling him onto the stage.  He was flushed, and he cast an adoring and embarrassed look to a woman in a sparkling blue gown who stood at the very front of the room, her hip jutted out smartly, a smile on her lips.  Mrs. Tennyson, I presumed.

Dr. Forbin led Mr. Tennyson over to Rachel, who ran her dangerous, long-nailed hands over the front of his suit, smoothing down his tie, before she plunged them into his pants and withdrew his cock.  She began pumping it viciously, which made Mr. Tennyson turn even redder.  Her dildo bounced between them, its size double his. 

She pointed his cock at me, and I closed my eyes just as a stream of hot ejaculate hit me in the face, dribbling down my cheeks.

“Lick it,” commanded Rachel sharply.

My tongue flitted out and I tasted the sharp, salty jizz.

The room clapped.

“Look at our stupid little elf, so hungry for some eggnog.  You like that, Jung?  Huh?  You want more?”

“No more,” I whimpered.

“No one’s making you stay here.  You can go, you know how.”

“No.”

Rachel reached between my legs and pulled on the ribbon tied at the base of my cock.  It unraveled like magic, fluttering away, and the second the blood was able to flow, I felt myself cumming violently, all over my own face and legs, my seed mixing with Mr. Tennyson’s, covering me in hot, slippery semen.

My muscles went slack and I cried at the raw humiliation of it.  It was worse because of all the jeering and laughter from the room, the rich, well-dressed holiday revelers who were witnessing my complete destruction at Rachel’s cold, uncaring hands.

I didn’t know how long I had hung there.  Time lost meaning as Rachel pulled out her whip again, slicing it into my ass.  The single sparkling ornament was still dangling from my punished asshole, and I kept expecting it to break, but Rachel’s aim was perfection; the whip missed it by a hair’s width, cracking over my ass but leaving the fragile ornament untouched.

I blinked dully at the audience, the sea of sadistic faces.  Troy had vanished.  He couldn’t even handle watching, and I felt the smallest bubble of pride.  He couldn’t even watch!  But me, I could endure.  And that made me better in Rachel’s eyes.  That made me her number one.

At some point, finally, I heard Rachel announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen… thank you all for your generosity this evening.  The balls have been decked, and we have surpassed our goal by over twenty thousand!  Our commemorative Season’s Beatings cards will be available for purchase as you exit.  We wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, and we hope you join us again next time!”

The room erupted into applause, and I heard the pulleys rattle as the curtains were pulled, shrouding us in darkness.

I dangled weakly from my ropes like a piece of tinsel, panting, wet, pained, and humiliated.

Rachel crouched in front of me and grabbed a fistful of my hair to force my face up to look at hers.

“Why didn’t you just say the safe word?” she demanded.

“…I didn’t want to be a Grinch,” I managed to choke out.

Rachel threw back her head and laughed.  “Jung, you masochistic little freak.  You loved it, didn’t you?”

“I love you.”

“Don’t get sappy on me.  I can’t stand sappiness!” she snarled.

I lowered my eyes. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she demanded.

I looked up.  She was holding something between us, a small sprig of something green with red berries.  I stared at it in confusion, trying to figure out what new twisted torture she was going to force me to endure to prove my loyalty to her.

She waited.  I waited.  Finally, voice quavering, I said, “What… what is that?”

“It’s mistletoe, moron.”  Rachel leaned in and brushed her lips against mine.

A knot in my stomach loosened.  I closed my eyes and kissed her back.

“Merry Christmas, Rachel.”

Rachel pulled away, her eyes studying me, and a small smile lit upon her face. It was a tiny smile.  As small as a candle in the window.  But it warmed me like it was a roaring fire in a hearth.

“Merry Christmas, Jung, you filthy animal.”