Chapter 6

Gerhard

“It’s not much, but it’s mine. Unless you live in Krampus Village, you rot in one of these highrise apartments. The higher you climb up the caste system, the lower your floor, the bigger your apartment, the nicer your bath facilities. You get the idea.”

“It doesn’t matter where we spend tonight. When you blush so sweetly, I doubt I will take my eyes off you.”

“That’s the plan. Just don’t look around, and you will love my place,” she replies with a sassy eye roll. I add it to her list of infractions. She’s about to taste her first punishment and hasn’t a clue.

With a grand flourish, she opens the door and waves me inside the efficient studio apartment. Her kitchen, carpeted in tired beige, is a collection of yellow dishes over a large sink on the right wall. I guess in a land of sugar with no fuel, cooking isn’t a necessity. Little pops of color bring life to the space in a dreary, grey realm, like the colorful Christmas cracker remains that hang on her wall.

“Are those—”

“Yes, each wrapper is a cracker we broke together over the years. I didn’t keep them all because I had to sneak them out.”

“Why did you have to sneak them out?”

“If you knew I treasured each one…”

Her humiliation steals her words, leaving me to traverse the room in awkward silence. I want to tell her how much her theft warms my heart, but she’s not ready to hear my feelings. She’s slipped into her professional suit of armor. My words won’t penetrate her defenses until she lets her guard down again. I hope, over time, I can teach her how lovely the real Liselotte is. She claimed Krampus Village isn’t as status-hungry as the outside, so maybe her hunger for power will shift to another hunger…

A double bed on a raised platform sits to the left. My sweet fiancée doesn’t make her bed in the mornings, judging by the wad of scarlet sheets at the foot. Oh yes, those canopy posts and footboard bench will replace my spanking bench nicely. Beyond the bed’s platform sits a large bath, toilet, and sink.

There’s no bathroom door. How quaint.

“Do you like it? I mean, nobody likes these apartments. They motivate us to work the full one hundred years for a spot in Krampus Village. Our final house will be amazing, I promise. But can you live here for a few days?”

“You know what I love about your place?”

“There’s something to love?”

I’ll never tire of the little clicks of her hooves or the cloud of sweetness that follows her everywhere. I ignore her eyes widening to saucers as I approach her bookshelf beside the bed. She forgot her little secrets and now tries to guide me away from them—adorable.

She bumps into my back when I stop to read the books’ spines. The bottom shelves are nonfiction, practical manuals, and astronomy textbooks, while the middle shelves contain well- loved paperbacks about romance, space adventure, and…aliens? My mystical lady believes in aliens. They may compete for her heart. I guess everyone needs an escape from reality, even those who live outside of it.

“I love the personal touches that give away your deepest secrets,” I say, showing her a shred of a microwave popcorn bag from the top shelf of her bookcase. “Did you squirrel this away from the Earthly realm because you liked the smell? Did you lick off the salt on the journey?”

“I took it because it’s yours…from last Christmas… The used crackers, the popcorn wrapper, the pieces of tinsel…I didn’t want to take anything of value, but since I left a piece of my heart with you each Christmas, I wanted to have a piece of your life in return.”

Her eyes water as they descend to the floor. The flush on her cheeks matches her scarlet bedsheets. She shuffles her hooves with nerves. Oh, the pride that confession must have cost her…and what a gift to her master. She plotted my migration to Christmas Town for over a year. My intuition says she fantasized about it even longer. “Thank you, kleine dame , for your honesty. To reward you, I think popcorn should be our safe word. If I ever cross the line, yell popcorn .”

“There’s no risk in me yelling that out in the height of passion,” she says with a little of her sparkle returning. Maybe that’s what drew me to her in the first place…she’s more animated than anyone I’ve ever met…when she lets down her guard. It’s like she was given extra magic that radiates from her expressive face to those she trusts. I crave that deep, trusting partnership like a drug.

“Good, for tonight, I want to show you how our nights will be if I’m your master—”

“Time for the spanking already?” Ooh, another eye roll; if only she knew how those burr under my skin.

“The master/submissive relationship doesn’t revolve around spankings—although you will receive your punishment for not warning me about the possessed trees as promised.” I pause to gauge her reaction. While the O-shape her mouth makes at her gasp is comical, the pebbling of her nipples under her bodysuit is no joking matter. It’s one thing to consent to a submissive role to please a potential husband and another to actually want it. My fiancée is as aroused as I am. “It’s about communication, trust, and consent. Tonight, I’m asking you to put yourself in my care. Can you surrender fully? We shall find out.”

“What if I fail? I’m used to being in control.” The fact that she asks about failing tells me she won’t.

“Then we renegotiate before we try another scene,” I say casually, fingers trembling as I push a lock of hair behind her left horn. “We’ve known one another for years, but not in this context.”

“Where do I begin? Do I climb onto the bed?” She steals the air from my lungs when she kneels on the footboard bench with her pert ass cheeks straining the back seams of her bodysuit. Her tail waves at me enticingly as if beckoning me to join her.

“You are as adorably eager as a kitten, but I think we’ll start in the bath—”

“You think I smell!”

“I think you add to your punishment every time you interrupt me with something negative—double if you include an eye roll. Now, be a good girl and show me how to remove your bodysuit.”

She hesitates for a moment as if she forgot how to undress. The agonizing slowness of her approaching hooves hitting the floor tests my patience. It’s a battle of wills as I fight my body to stay still. The erection straining my boxers wants to tear off our clothes and learn her body from horn to hoof. Its twitch draws her gaze as she approaches me. Her pink tongue adds shine to her bottom lip. I’m not the only one who’s hungry for a taste.

“I hate waiting.” My words come out in a growl as I struggle to keep my arms folded on my chest. I want nothing more than to curl my fingers around the neckline of that blasted suit and rip the front open.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to undress me?” She mimics my stance and flutters her eyelashes.

“Then you must hate this suit. You will wear the marks of my nails from when I tear it to ribbons as well as the welts on your butt from when I whip the fire out of you.” Pupils dilate. Eyebrows raise. I bet she’s soaked between her legs. With a bratty huff, infraction number four, she pulls the neckline of the body suit over her shoulders. No bra. After pulling her arms out, she peels it off her luscious curves. Lacy pink panties stick to the inside of the suit. She shrugs her shoulders and slaps her hips before kicking her clothes into the kitchen.

I twirl my finger over her head to indicate I’d like her to turn around because I don’t trust my voice not to shake.

She walks in a slow circle, gazing into my eyes as far as her neck stretches. Her wide hips swing and her tail swishes with every step. My pear-shaped beauty isn’t bashful. She’s an approval seeker. “You’re precious, my love.”

She grants me a real smile—not the tight-lipped approval she shows the world. Her lips stretch until her gums peek out. I’d gladly spend my life placing big smiles on her face until they become as natural as the sunrise.

“Still think I’m too dirty?”

“Filthy, go start the bath.”

“You won’t start it for me?” She crosses her arms over her breasts until I lower my chin in reproach. With a sigh that will haunt her later, she drops her arms to her sides.

“I’ll learn how to draw a bath with your taps by watching you.” Satisfied with my answer, she leads me to the aluminum bathtub. Two cloudy crystal knobs read H and C at one point in time but now bear faint etchings where the marks used to be. An old-fashioned rubber stopper goes into the drain.

“Baths and bathtubs are a luxury you will only see in the highest caste,” she says with some of her boastful frostiness returning. “Since most of our structures are made of sugar, we must be careful not to drip on the floor or walls. You will put a hole through them in a few weeks. We bartered with elves for the metal items when the two groups were at peace. They helped us build the conduit from the Sea of Faith. Now the pipes are targets for their bombing.”

“Are elves like the possessed trees? Did you neglect to tell me about another Christmas Island hazard? I wouldn’t have been surprised by my new tattoo-bracelet if I’d been warned of the elves.”

“Look, the tub’s full,” she says, climbing into the steamy water. She sighs as she lays her head on the tub’s lip, eyes closed. I glower at her until one eye peeks open.

“Two more infractions added to your punishment, kleine dame . You are up to seven.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows my words. She rolls her fingers into fists at her side. It’s cute how hard she’s working not to react. I bet it’s killing her not to argue or at least ask what the punishment shall be. I give her the mental count of ten to answer in a staring contest I won’t lose.

“Elves are sentient beings. The trees are nothing more than mouths and stomachs.” Her eyes drift closed as if she hasn’t a care in the world, and I would believe her…if she hadn’t left little crescents on the side of her thumb with her nails.

Dragging my first bag to the side of the tub, I retrieve a satchel of bath tea and plop it in her water. The pink salts fizz, and the flower petals release their fragrance. The kitchen chair whines as I pull it across the carpet. Sure, I could have carried it with one arm, but watching her pretend not to react to the terrible noise amuses me to no end. I set my microfiber cloth, pumice stone, and nail polish on the tub lip. She squeezes her eyes to block out what I’m doing, completely betraying her act of indifference. I sit still until one eyelid’s wrinkles release with eyelashes lifting slightly.

“Left hand, right hand, left hoof, and then right hoof. I won’t repeat the sequence,” I say gruffly. Water droplets splash when she lifts her shaky hand to offer it to me. If this weren’t punishment night, I’d tell her how much I love her slender fingers and how often I fantasize about them touching me. I’d paint the picture in her mind of her stroking me off while I pleasure her. Instead, I maintain my frown as her callouses are scrubbed away with the pumice stone. Her muscles loosen to goo when I wrap her hand in the cloth to massage away the knots. I pop her knuckles and stretch her wrist. “Stay,” I order as I press her hand onto the lip of the tub, cushioned by the cloth.

“If this is punishment, it’s not very effective. Might I recommend birch branches?” Her eyes are closed as if she doesn’t care, but they fly open every time she thinks I’m not looking. Lying here, allowing me to manipulate her body—even something as benign as her hands—has her off balance. The quaver of her voice and the twitching of her hooves give her away.

“Your punishment hasn’t started yet. This is for me. It’s been years since I had a little doll to pamper. In the lifestyle, I’m called a Service or Pleasure Dom. I’m as aroused by cleaning you as punishing you.” She chews her lips with anxiety—all humor gone. I paint her nails scarlet in silence and prepare her other hand. When they are finished, she raises them to her face with one of those huge, genuine smiles.

“I told you to keep them there. You will smudge the polish if your nails touch something before drying. I had no idea how dreary and grey Christmas Town was, or I would have brought every hue in our neighborhood store. You bring color to my life, so I want to color your life wherever I can.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. I kiss her forehead before moving my chair to the opposite end of the tub. The pumice stone is more for her hooves than her hands. The internet had millions of articles on hoof-care. With each search, I got more excited about caring for her hooves. With a picking tool, I clean small stones, sugar deposits, and nail chips from the center of her foot. Liselotte sinks lower into the water as I line up the debris along the tub lip.

“As your master, I’ll take better care of your body than you do.” I scoop the debris into my palm before disposing of it in her kitchen trashcan.

“That’s a bonus—”

“Because not taking care of yourself will get you punished.”

“Oh, is that punishment number eight or nine?”

“You didn’t know, so you get a free pass. Besides, I must learn your limits before I push them.” I pinch each finger to verify her nails are dry before pulling the drain from the tub. The disposable paper sheets she insists are her towels are abrasive. If I had known, I would have snagged fluffy towels from Earth. Leaving out details and hiding dangers is a theme between us that must end today. Little secrets lead to big ones…which lead to divorce…I should know.

“I think I love being your submissive,” she says with a sigh as I rub her body dry. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and lays her head upon me. As I carry her docile, relaxed body to the bed, I chuckle to myself.

She has no idea.