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Ben is a successful stockbroker with a nice, old home in a ritzy old
suburban neighborhood in New England. Secretly, he keeps a couple of
hott, consensually submissive females in the basement bomb shelter of his
large home, which he's converted into a play dungeon. In their warm
and dry, but hard, small, and windowless cells, they enjoy a respite
of a few days to recover from the ordeals they endured during Ben's
big Thanksgiving party. In the workshop next door Ben can be heard for several days drilling, hammering, and welding....all the while whistling merry Christmas tunes.
Brunette Jasmine is the first to be "invited" to join Ben in the
workshop, where her Rubenesque form is fitted reluctantly into a tight neoprene catsuit, complete with catheter and anal tubes. A posture collar is wrapped round her neck, high in front so that her chin is forced up
and head slightly back. Then, she is mounted upright to a sturdy
frame of stainless steel, with some kind of tanks and machinery at the
base. Once she's secure, on tiptoe with feet together and arms pinned
up behind her back, she's bundled in layer after layer of insulating
material. It starts to get hot inside....sweat pours down Jasmine's
brow tickling her nose, but of course she can't reach up to scratch.
Her outfit is topped off with a thick insulated hood...a wide rigid
tube reaches into mouth propping her teeth wide and built-in goggles
form narrow windows on the world. Between the intruding tube and the
posture collar her head is now forced well back, but swivelling her
eyes downwards she can still see straight ahead. Finally, a layer of
waterproof plastic is wrapped over the whole padded mass. Jasmine's
starting to panic, sure she's going to roast alive inside the thick
bundling, when Ben picks up her supporting frame on a refrigerator
dolly and wheels her rigid form up a ramp, around the house and out
into the frigid pre-dawn twilight.
Setting her up right in the middle of the snow-covered front lawn, and
whistling merry tunes from behind the thick woolen scarf that wraps
his face, Ben begins packing snow tightly around her. He builds a
narrow cone all around her, right over the top of her head! To
Jasmine this comes actually as a relief, even as the snow is packed
around her face shutting out her sight, since the frozen snow begins
to take some of the heat away through her thick insulation and lower
her temperature. Then she hears scraping and digging sounds....and
her eyes are opened again! Somewhat at least...beyond the goggle
lenses she peers out through tunnels Ben's fingers have dug in the
snow. More digging and she feels fresh, bitingly cold air on her
tongue, and knows the mouth-tube has been exposed. More digging, and
through the insulated padding she can vaguely guess her master is
carving out her snow-cone at neck and waist level.
A brief moment of silence, then movement in front of her ... and then
the familiar sensation of a prod entering between Jasmine's propped
jaws. It's hard, but strange...in fact it tastes like....carrot? It
reaches not quite to the back of her mouth, then suddenly it's gone
again. Her stomach rumbles deep inside the snow as her master pushes
some kind of warm mush (oatmeal?) down the tube. She swallows
quickly, and then the carrot-prod is back again, pressing down on her
tongue. Finally her master blocks her eye-tunnels with big, dark,
transluscent beads that barely allow her a dimmed, distorted view of
the snowy pre-dawn streetscape. Jasmine sees his dim form step back,
put hands on hips and look her up and down. Clapping his hand
approvingly, his lips move and through inches of snow Jasmine thinks she can hear muffled words....something about "naughty" and "next year."
Her master walks past Jasmine toward the house, and she is left
alone. She is fixed rigidly in her frame and thick insulation, the
heat generated by her voluptuous body competing with the thick snow
packed around her outside to maintain a fairly comfortable
temperature. The darkened eye-tunnels allow her only a narrow glimpse
across the street, taking in the neighbor's mailbox and a bit of the
gaily-lit home behind.
Back in the secret basement, tall, buxom, blonde Holly is led out to face a strange Holly-sized armature fashioned of steel rods, with one arm up like the Statue of Liberty. Silver pistons, tanks, and cables adorn its frame. She only gets to see it for a moment before she is pulled away to be fitted in her own insulated neck-to-toe neoprene suit, not hooded nor
as thick as Jasmine's but tubed in similar fashion. Oddly, the legs
seem to be much thicker than the upper body and sleeves...but between
the waste tubes is a slit, affording access to Holly's bald pussy.
Once fitted Holly is chained facing the wall, where she hears clanks
and knocks as (she assumes) the weird armature she saw earlier is
carried away and upstairs.
Many minutes pass, then Ben returns for Holly. Led on her leash in
the clumsy, thick-legged, insulated suit, she struggles to follow as
he leads her up the steps, out a door into the snowy tree-lined
backyard, and then...up a ladder? Holly's rubber anal and catheter
tubes bump against the rungs as she obediently ascends in the dim
morning light, grateful for the use of her arms to assist her as she
climbs past two stories and...onto the roof? Here the climb up the
slick slate tiles is frightening, and the chill air worms it sway
through the crotch-slit to tingle her tight snatch, but her
rubber-shod feet afford good traction as she ascends behind her master
to the ridge, next to the chimney.
At the peak of the house, a gesture from Ben indicates that she is to
climb inside the chimney. Turning her blonde head to the gaping shaft
Holly sees the armature she'd glimpsed before, mounted partially
inside. Looking down into the dark, she can make out two foot-shaped
pieces of bright metal, like pedals set at the same height at either
side of the narrow shaft. Slowed by fear of the dizzying height, but
too well-trained to hesitiate, Holly swings one leg then the other
into the chimney and stands on the bright pedals; her waist is level
with the top of the chimney. Quickly, Ben fixes straps around her
feet, leg, torso, forehead, and arms, until she is fastened securely
to the rigid Statue-of-Liberty armature.
Then he begins fitting her outer costume...it is red, trimmed in white
fur, and thickly insulated. The back and sleeves are slit open to
allow fitting over Holly's bound form, and closed by velcro. When her
jacket and bulky red mittens are fitted Ben pulls a thick neoprene
hood over Holly's head; it tucks into her thick red coat and the
mask-like front is flesh colored. Then a huge flesh-colored neoprene
ball gag is strapped into Holly's mouth. She can't see it, but at the
front of the big ball a pair of red rubber lips have been glued. A
long white beard is fitted over Holly's face, hiding her cheeks from the wind; the mouth opening is arranged and glued so that the red rubber lips can just be seen. Then a pair of blue-lensed aviator goggles are fitted over her eyes - she's grateful for the relief from the cold, stinging breeze, which has made her eyes tear up - and a thick hat pulled down over her ears.
Reaching down into the chimey again Ben connects the anal and urinary
catheters, then bolts to the framework a large, rubbery dildo,
pointing straight up. He looks through the dark blue goggles into
Holly's blinking eyes as he fits the tip into the slit in her suit,
and between her shaved lower lips... then leans back slightly and
presses a button on a remote control. Suddenly the pedals drop, and
the rigidly fixed Holly gasps as gravity forces her body down onto the
rubber invader! Up again, then down....she bobs in the chimney,
slowly, the thick prong penetrating her a full 8 inches with every
cycle. She tries to close her legs but they are strapped wide and
tightly to the steel framework, toes and knees nearly touching either
side of the brick shaft.
After the first few strokes she notices that her hand has been waving.
Her right wrist was bound high up in front, by her right collarbone,
where it feels as though a heavy weight pulls it back against her
padded body. But the red-mittened left hand is raised out in space, level with her head....and now it's waving back and forth, driven by the hydraulic actuators hidden under the padded sleeve and beckoning Hello! to all the
dim, frozen, empty street below.
Ben takes a careful step back along the roof ridge, looks at the
bobbing slave and again claps his hands in approval. "Merry Christmas, Holly! You've been very nice this year!"
He plants a kiss on her neoprene-covered forehead, then makes his way carefully down towards the ladder's top.
It's quiet now as the Sun rises over suburban Connecticut, all draped
in Winter white. From her high perch the bobbing, waving Holly scans the roof of Ben's house, hung about all its edges and eaves with multicolored lights, and the neighbors' homes similarly decorated. Grinding slowly up and
down on the thick rubber dildo, she sees the paperboy approach on his
bicycle, bundled thick against the cold. He stops his bike between a
couple of frozen puddles, and looking up at Ben's new decorations the
boy smiles as he makes eye contact with the waving Santa sliding up
and down in the chimney.
Of course he can have no idea what he's really seeing; the bulky bag
slung over the figure's right shoulder turns his mind to the gifts he
hopes to find under the tree, a few days from now. As Holly watches
through her blue-lensed goggles the boy's gaze drops to the big
snowman in the middle of the lawn. It's a good one, three big balls
of snow stacked upon each other and standing maybe six feet high, with
stovepipe hat and a long carrot nose. There's a scarf around its
neck, and (though Holly can't see from her perspective) no doubt big
black buttons and eyes.
The paperboy tosses the morning news to Ben's doorstep and pedals down
the street. For a moment, before the slow-humping dildo rumbles to life with powerful vibrations, Holly wonders whatever became of Jasmine....
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