Chapter 12

Gerhard

I’ll be damned if a bent screw in a vent keeps me from saving her! When were these things installed? Why hasn’t anyone removed them to clean in the last decade? I curse the sugar walls fused to the metal screws as an elf in a green hat wraps Liselotte in the flimsy rug and carries her from the room. Of course, the sugar melted onto the screw as the friction drove it into the wall. My shoulder aches from slamming the panel. Time to switch tactics and pick the solidified sugar from the edges.

Perfect, here comes the elf dressed in blue, from his hat to his jingle-belled boots. I’d love nothing more than to bash him over the head like he did to my fiancée. He raises on tip-toes to peer into the grate. Bracing my back against the far side of the cavity, I kick the grate with all my strength. The bottom pops out and knocks into his pointy chin. He’s sent skidding across the floor, flat on his back. I dive through the opening, scoring the back of my tux jacket on the jagged metal edge of the grate cover.

“Pick on someone your own size,” I whisper as I crawl over to him. My elbow cocks back to punch him in the nose. He’s already unconscious. With the commotion in the atrium to this office, I’m a heartbeat from exposure. Ripping the bells off his shoes and searching him for other jingling accessories, I disarm him. He fits into the closet easily after I remove a few crates of old files stacked on the bottom. Those same crates will hold the door closed if he wakes. I slip back into the pipes and finger-tighten the screws on the grate just in case someone looks for me.

No pipes lead into the office’s atrium, but I follow my cavity around the perimeter of the second floor. I must find where that pint-sized prick took Liselotte. Crap, there’s a fork in the pipes. Do I follow the widening pipes or the pipes of the same diameter in hopes of finding another wet bar or drinking fountain?

I strain to hear any clues on which way to go.

The faint sound of water churning from the direction of the wide pipes plants my feet in the opposite direction. If there’s some freaky bath or an outlet into the ocean—filled with Gods know what creatures—I don’t want to stumble upon it. The skinny pipes lead to another water fountain at the doorway of a meeting room. A giant peppermint table surrounded by grey gumdrop chairs is a dead giveaway.

Crouched below a boiling cavity designed to make hot drinks on command, I peer through a vertical-slat vent. What’s up with these elves wearing monochromatic outfits? This one sports magenta from head to toe, like a rejected mall rat from the 1980s. Her long pigtails wave as she slaps a female Krampus across the face.

“You know their names! If you’re telling the truth and know who the portal creators are, you know their names!” She yells, yanking the horns of the sobbing Krampus.

“I could point them out! Return me to the others, and I will point to the three! I’m just a maid. I clean their apartments! Please stop! They don’t talk to Krampuses like me. How would I know their names?” Her screams and sobs twist my guts and break my heart.

So, the elves are attacking the service class first? Well, this civil servant wants to jump to the head of the line. My temper fuels my movement before my common sense catches up. I poke the barrel of the gun through the grate slats and fire. Blood sprays in a giant burst from the elf’s pointed ear. She doesn’t have time to scream before she drops dead.

Holy shit, I just killed an elf.

“Who’s there? Please, please spare me,” the Krampus says, throwing her body out of her chair. Smart female, taking away my direct shot, but she needn’t have worried.

“Shh, shh, I’m on your side,” I whisper. Her hiccups and sobs calm to sniffles as if I hit a switch. “Have you seen Liselotte? She would be unconscious and carried by an elf in a green.”

“Please don’t kill me,” she whimpers softly. “I don’t know who that is.”

“There, there, it’s okay,” I whisper in my gentlest Dom voice. “Be a good girl and work to free your wrists, lock the door, and hide the elf’s body under the table. Sit tight until I come back to get you. Can you do that?”

I don’t stick around for a response. Grunts and growls come from the next room. A lump of sugary goop snags my left pant leg on the way. This room has a full sink, so I emerge into a cabinet from the wall’s grate. In hopes that slow means silent, my body moves at one-tenth my usual speed to move the paper towels—made of sugar, of course—and spray bottles from the front of the space. Using the gun barrel, I open the panels a half inch to peer through.

Eugene hangs his head in a blood heap. A gunshot wound gushes from his kneecap. He’s tied to a desk chair while two elves pummel him with tiny fists. One lands a punch to his jaw that swings his face my way. His eyes are swollen shut, and he’s missing a few teeth. Before I can ask if a man can go to hell for shooting elves, I’ve shot the far one.

“Who the hell doesn’t understand aim then shoot?” The other elf turns from Eugene to yell at the doorway.

I explode from the cabinet and onto the elf. We land in a flurry of punches and kicks. He bites my wrist when I try to pin him to the ground by the turtleneck sweater. Pain blinds me as he shakes his head. The demon points sink deep and shred everything holding my forearm together. Eugene wakes and struggles with his bonds. My growl would make a Krampus proud as I backhand the little bastard. Why do my knuckles tingle?

“Stop it, Eugene,” I hiss. “Your noise will bring more elves.”

The elf I hold screams bloody murder and kicks his feet as if swimming. I clamp my jacket sleeves over his face to muffle his cries—or suffocate him. He switches from kicking to wiggling his feet. Bastard rings his jingle boots for help! I sit on one foot but can’t capture the other one unless I let go of his mouth. He bites the fleshy part of my palm through my thin dress coat, and I see stars.

“Nobody moves,” says a tiny voice from the doorway. Like that will shake me—red has tinted my vision and taken control of my body.

A bullet pierces the wall over my head, snowing powdered sugar on me.

“I didn’t have to miss, but humans like to talk, and I need answers,” says an elf in black stripes.

Emo Elf trains a sniper rifle at me, backed up by three other similarly armed elves. I raise my hands in submission before I’m swiss cheese. He yanks my weapon over my head, catching my chin in the strap. At least the elf below me already took his last breath, so there’s one less enemy.

“Tie up the human, and don’t be gentle about it. Pine is missing. I have a feeling this asshole knows where to find him as well as the three magical Krampuses,” he adds to the elves flooding into the room. There must be thirty of them—all carrying assault rifles.

The worst is the raucous ringing of their shoes. I resist the urge to cover my ears. There’s no way I’m giving away a weakness unless I’m bleeding.

These idiots tie me with sugar ropes.

If I work up a sweat and wait it out, they will break. I will be free in a few hours—if I survive. And, why does my body tingle everywhere the elves touch me, as if they have a raging case of static cling? So far, I’ve witnessed a lot of hitting, but what if I turned it into impact play? With a clear subspace, I can handle—even enjoy—a plethora of pain. As they tie my wrists with licorice, I imagine a crew prepping me for a scene with Liselotte. My body grows heavy as I focus on the restraints biting into my skin and blend the squeeze with my fantasy. I wink at Eugene to signal I know what I’m doing before reality retreats to the back of my mind.

“We can’t carry the human, sir.” A yellow-clad elf with red curly hair starts a chorus of whining from my captors.

“String the human up. Use the chandelier. We will question him here. Sunshine, you wheel the Krampus out of here. We will break the human if he has no hope of rescue. I don’t care where you put the Krampus,” Emo Elf instructs with his palm raised, signifying that he’s as sick of their whining as I am.

The groaning of Eugene’s chair joins the jingling of bells and grunting of four elves as they push him from the room.

I hope they don’t try to go next door.

The squeaky voices of the remaining elves are harder to block out than I thought, but they give my mind something to do while they string me up like a slab of beef. My jacket button pops open and clatters to the hard sugar floor. I wait for my dress shoes to drop off, but I’m too tall. My lips press together to conceal my laughter. The elves can’t lift me off my feet. With my knees bent with stiffness from crawling, my toes touch the ground. Once I stretch out, I’ll be flat-footed.

This is great. Sarcasm is a natural defense when you’re about to be tortured by those who don’t understand the pain/pleasure barrier—hell, they don’t even understand stringing a guy off his feet. I’m more scared of an accidental injury than an intentional one. A sub endures because they trust their chosen Dom or Domme knows what they’re doing. In this case, well… Is the best strategy to lean into their blows or block them out?

“What brings you to Christmas Island, human?” Emo Elf takes the lead but stops his questions when his backup flocks to the window.

Interesting. They rush out the door without a word to this self-inflated elf. I bet he isn’t as important as he claims.

“Must be a sale on pointy hats,” I quip. “If you want to join them, I’ll hang out here.”

“You’re funny. I don’t like funny. The Big Guy won’t find you funny, so I suggest you answer my questions and leave the jolly jokes to the man in charge.”

“You mean you aren’t in charge?”

“Enough, puny human! I ask the questions—”

“Unless you aren’t in charge.”

“You are in no position to mess with me. You know what? If you aren’t interested in talking, I’ll give you something to laugh about instead!” His face turns cherry red as he shouts. He struggles to remove his belt as it catches on each of his tiny belt loops.

While the strap is as thick as his hand, it’s as thin as a cane for someone my size. I slow my breathing and count the pulses in my wrist. The thundering slows to a rolling beat. I imagine Liselotte entering the room, wearing a red leather bustier and fishnet tights. Her hoofbeats match my pulse as I drift into subspace. Envisioning my beautiful seductress won’t take away the pain, but it will make enduring it for her pleasurable.

Thwack!

The elf whips the back of my thigh with his belt…over my pants. My visualization pops as I laugh out loud. I let the tears flow, releasing the stress of my first killings, but it looks like I’m crying with laughter. The elf kicks and whips at my pants, the blows only registering where the left one ripped in the pipes. My volume reaches crazed heights. I hope Liselotte hears my laughter and knows I have everything under control.

“Let’s see who laughs when I blister your skin!” Emo Elf yanks my pants open, but they stick to my legs. He leaves a tingle behind everywhere he touches, so it must be something unique to elves. This must be how the elves subdued the Krampuses and why I must never introduce Liselotte to electroplay. I’ve had a violet wand buzzing my balls on high, so this guy’s not a threat to me.

“Oh yes, undress me, Daddy,” I reply. He stops to slap my face. I’m so far under his skin, I’ve made friends with his organs. “I’m not the same size as when I bought this suit. You’re going to have to peel my clothes off.”

“Shut up, or I’ll—”

“Gag me? Oh please, Daddy, gag me, whip me, and sate yourself on my lust.”

“There’s no lust! I’ll hurt you until you beg to tell me what I want to know!” He makes the mistake of removing my belt to whip me, but I don’t correct him. My tormented torturer doesn’t need to know I prefer paddling to caning, and the thicker belt will be easier to take.

“I’ll scream whatever you want. Just bring the pain, Daddy.”

“Stop. Calling. Me. Your Daddy!” He whips me on the back of my shirt with each word. The thickness of the belt, his weak upper body strength, and my shirt-jacket combination defend me better than the Krampus Industries security.

“Harder! Harder! You want me to blow my load, you’ve got to work for it!” My encouragement does nothing but rile up my host. He hits me in faster, uncoordinated strikes that leave pink laces across my backside.

When he switches to my front, I give him diabolical smiles and blow kisses. I don’t care if he’s disgusted because I’m a human, I’m in my fifties, or I’m another male who doesn’t mind the attention of other males. He’s as aroused as I am, which is a weakness to exploit.

“I hate to point this out, but you’re a few stitches from ‘pointing out’ of your trousers. Do you need a yank break?”

“A what?”

I answer with a lowering of my chin and a candid look at his crotch’s tiny tent.

He removes his cap to wipe the sweat from his face and tugs the collar of his shirt. If only he would drip onto the licorice, I’d be free faster. I could play cat-and-mouse all day, but I must find Liselotte. Who knows what they’re doing to her? “Come on, I’ve had a Domme take my ass out in half the time. Quit playing around and hit me like you love me!”

“Take your ass out, huh? I’ll be back with a candy cane that’s just your size—extra-large—and we’ll see who’s yelling for mercy. You just…hang tight!” The elf throws my belt on the floor like it’s offended him. I don’t care if he plans on spanking me or pegging me with the candy cane because the temperature in this room is increasing by the minute. Red syrup stains my forearms where the sugar ropes binding me melt.

“Hurry back, Daddy!” I call as soon as he opens the door, so my voice projects down the hallway. He grits his teeth and gives me a high-pitched chihuahua growl. I hope the elevator was open to carry my voice to the lobby. My confidence soars as the sugar ropes fray. As each twist unravels and tiny thread snaps, I’m an inch closer to returning to the pipes and saving Liselotte.

Puny human, easily broken. Ha! His glorious underestimation of my inner strength will be his downfall. He’s about to learn that the beauty of being a switch who tops from the bottom is I submit to all acts while submitting to no one.