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A Christmas Story

Chime go the bells! Tis the season to be jolly .. fa la la la fuck. All this contrived holiday joy just masks the incessant hustle, bustle, and frantic scrambling to and fro for just that perfect gift for that special some one, bah. These were Violet’s thoughts as she watched all the superficially “jolly” folk scamper about shopping at the mall. The Christmas cheer is all well and good for those whose innocence is still as pure as the driven snow, but for Mistress Violet, that fake sheen of innocence was as long gone as her girlish hopes and dreams, her belief in fairy tales or the mystery of magic. Now, she lived in the shadows at the edge of the abyss as the object of the dark desires of all male hearts.

Later, after shopping while trying to relax Violet thought to herself, “Men … all of them are so much the same, at their core. They work so hard pretending to be so tough, strong, righteous, and up-standing members of society. They’re so full of themselves – men, ha!” For now, they were being the dutiful husbands, fathers and men in good standing. After all, this was the season to be on their best behavior with their families, friends, and co-workers. However, Violet knew, knowing men as she did, that soon after all the holiday hustle and bustle had died down those same men would be back in her dungeon begging for all that she had to offer, licking her boots and crawling, fawning at her feet. They had bought this “temporary” freedom with all the little goodies already purchased, wrapped up by some stressed-out sales person without much care and even less affection, and delivered by over-worked postal carriers to her doorstep. Those same packages were decorated with impersonal cards printed by computers or written by trustworthy secretaries. Shaking her head, Violet took a sip of the warm chai tea steaming in her new “holiday” mug. The spicy taste lingering on her tongue and the warm liquid giving her a temporary feeling of contentment and euphoria that would be gone in moments but hopefully taking away the taste of the bitterness she felt tonight. For her there were no presents to unwrap here, no Christmas carols to be sung.

Looking out the window at the dark star strewn sky, once again Violet hears those ghostly chimes that remind her of silver bells and faint memories of Christmas past that she could not quite grasp. “Silver Bells,” she laughs aloud before taking another sip of her tea, “So very different from the usual chimes I hear. Those chimes being the sound of the chains that rustle regularly in her dungeon room. Sighing, Violet turns from the window and the quiet of the night outside and misses the shadow across the moon that moves over her home.

Violet sat down and picked up the book she was in the middle of reading when she heard those persistent chimes again, but now much clearer and closer. The sound, so close now, that she finally grasps that illusive memory, of course, the image of a horse-drawn sleigh. While Violet analyses this intense mental image, her living room door swings slowly and silently open with a gasp and a choke on her tea, Violet watches as a huge, bearded figure shrouded in darkness steps into her home. Here is a sight that she had never in a million years would have expected to see in her home, stepping into the dimly lit room is the one and only, dressed in red and white as if he just stepped out of a child’s fairly tale book, the one and only Santa Claus!

(to be continued)

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