The Santa Claus Abductions
By Cordelia White
Alyssa Phillips bounded down the stairs as fast as her nineteen-year old legs would carry her. The door chimes were still ringing in the large hallway as hand went to the door. With her parents away, she knew that she should be careful. Her father was a rich lawyer and he always warned her about trouble.
But this was different.
She already knew who was there.
She had looked from the upstairs.
What she saw she liked: red had with white trimming, large white beard, red jacket ... sack!
She liked the idea of the sack best of all: someone had sent her a present.
There was no danger here. Not from Santa Claus.
Detective Janice Western was an attractive woman in her late twenties. An excellent police officer, she had a winning manner, a slender, shapely figure and an above-average IQ. Now she looked puzzled.
‘Three disappearances in three days,’ she said, ‘and the only clue is that a Santa Claus was seen just before each one. And the disappearances are happening one a day. So there may be a fourth today.’
Lieutenant Joe Mintner looked almost angry. ‘Three young women, all college students, all extremely good-looking, all from well-off families. When the press get hold of this one we’re in deep trouble.’
‘The only distinguishing feature seems to be that the Santa Claus had a limp,’ Janice said.
Then it struck her.
Alyssa Phillips stood shaking in the inside corner of her large bedroom. The Santa Claus, who pointed the gun at her, had already explained about its silencer. She would have to do everything she was told. No-one would hear a thing if the gun went off.
The problem was that Alyssa did not want to do what she had been told. She looked again at the two pairs of worn panties lying on the bed. The black lace pair, she had worn to go clubbing three nights earlier. The white cotton pair, she had worn the following day. The Santa Claus had removed both from her laundry basket, dismissing the pairs on the top, before digging deep to discover these.
‘Put them in your mouth,’ the Santa Claus repeated. ‘Both of them. And I want them in so far, you can close your lips over them.’
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t.
The bullet which shattered the antique vase, her aunt had given her, changed her mind.
‘But ...,’she started.
‘You’ve got no more use for it,’ Santa Claus said. ‘Now gag yourself.’
Reluctantly Alyssa began to fill her mouth with the foul-tasting undergarments. It was a struggle to get both pairs in. By the time she had finished she was retching and choking.
‘Push your lips together and seal them with this,’ Santa Claus said, passing the flesh-colored medical tape to her.’
This time Alyssa did as she was told.
‘Good,’ Santa Claus said. ‘Now strip naked.’
Ruth Griffith strained one more time against the crushing leather that welded her arms together behind her back. She looked through the bars to see an equally-naked Amy Vernon struggling with her own bonds in the cell next door.
The sheath had been her only apparel since her kidnapping four days ago. Even when she was taken up to be allowed exercise and daylight in the secluded garden, she was naked, and that was despite the cold late-December weather. Naked that is except for the sheath. Of course, the sheath covered none of the bits that mattered. It crushed her fingers and squeezed her elbows tightly together, bowing her body into a strange, contorted shape that thrust her breasts out. Two straps came from the top, over her shoulders, crossed between her bare breasts and went under her arms and back to the sheath top. A third went from her finger tips, tight between her legs, where it was pulled in deep into her vulva, before rising upwards across her pubic mound to be anchored to the waist cinch torturing her already slender waist.
In the cell next door, Amy wore a similar sheath. Like Ruth, she wore it day and night. She wore it when she slept and she wore it when she ate, which meant that both had to lap their food up from their plates without the use of their hands.
‘Nnnggggghhhh,’ Ruth heard Amy groan in an attempt at communication. Like Ruth, Amy wore a head harness, which held a jaw-straining leather plug in her mouth. The plug was so large it prevented all sound except for a throaty groan. With the exception of meal times, Ruth had had the gag pressing at her tongue and throat for the whole three days.
The pain in Ruth’s knees forced her to try to re-adjust her position. Not that much movement was possible. Her legs were folded so that her heels pressed against the crease between thigh and buttocks. Each ankle was strapped tight to the upper thigh. Her knees were parted, each one strapped to the end of a two-foot spreader bar. She knelt upright against the bars between the two cells, strapped to them at neck, waist and thigh. But the strapping was not enough to relieve the pressure on her knees from the strained position.
Amy had it no better. Her legs had been strapped together at upper thigh, lower thigh, knee and ankle. Then she had been hog-tied, her ankles pulled up and secured to a strap fixed to the apex of her head harness. She had been left lying like that on the bare concrete floor, a tether, held aloft by a ceiling pulley and fixed to her ankle/head juncture, making sure that she did not topple over. With engineering precision their captor had tied her so that her loins were pulled clear of the ground. Ruth had been secured that way herself two days previously and knew exactly how painful it was to have all her weight on her breasts.
‘Mmmmmphhhh, mmmphhhggnnnng.’ The noise came from behind Ruth. But tied as she was, she could make no eye contact with Kristen Trevor behind her. Kristen, she knew, wore an arm sheath and gag set just like those worn by herself and Amy, and was otherwise equally as naked; and had been since her arrival the previous day. And Kristen’s crotch strap had been applied, if possible, even more tightly than her own. Other than that, however, Ruth could not say how Kristen was tied, as she had been tied last of the three. But, about one thing Ruth was sure. Kristen would be secured with agonising tightness. All three of them were always secured with agonising tightness.
"Nnnnmmmnnng,’ Ruth replied, retching as she did. Not even the low groan that was all she could manage came without cost. She wondered if the others had seen what she saw that morning. When she had been led, gagged, sheathed, knee-tied and hobbled for her "exercise" session in the cold garden, she had noticed that the label attached to each cell door had changed. Nothing had been removed. They still said respectively Amy Vernon, aged 20, 34C-23-33, 5’7", 112 lbs, brunette, Ruth Griffith, aged 20, 36C-24-35, 5’8", 120 lbs, blonde, and Kristen Trevor, aged 19, 34C-24-34, 5’6", 114 lbs, blonde. But now a new word had been added in red capitals to each. It said simply SOLD.
Alyssa Phillips groaned into her panty gag with every step. Although she was covered from head to foot, she still felt naked. And that was because beneath the rough Santa Claus suit, she was naked. Beside her, Santa Claus was now dressed in civilian clothes. Beneath it, she was bound excruciatingly tightly with thin scratchy cord. Cord cinched her hands together palm to palm. Cord crushed her elbows together in the small of her back. Cord encircled her twenty-four inch waist reducing it to twenty-two inches. Cord ran from her cinched wrist bonds to her navel, bisecting her labia on the way. And Cord encircled her body and thirty-six C breasts crushing them to give that flat-chested look common to most Santa Clauses.
As she walked painfully towards the waiting van, the cruel cord between her legs sawing at her vulva and clitoris with every step, Alyssa knew that she looked like any other Santa Claus. The red outfit hid her bonds. And the white beard hid her gag. Next to her, the ex-Santa Claus limping beside her, pressed the unseen, silenced gun into her ribs.
Keith Mintner limped to the door as soon as he heard the bell ring. He was carrying more weight than he ought to be. And that, together with the bad leg, meant that he moved only slowly. Impatience showed on the face of the attractive young woman framed in the doorway.
‘Can I come in,’ she asked aggressively, thrusting a police officer’s ID into his face.
‘Why,’ he asked feebly.
‘Oh, just routine,’ she said pushing past him.
She made her way into the main room of the house, where she stood watching him follow her. As he joined her, she unzipped the front of her expensive fur-lined leather jacket.
‘Must be hard, living so far from anywhere,’ she said. ‘What with that limp.’
‘No. I like it that way,’ he said. He wanted to lighten the tone. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Water be nice,’ she said, in a way that suggested that water must be a rare commodity in his house.
She followed him through to the kitchen and waited while he ran off some water. As he did so the system made a loud cranking sound.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked as he filled the glass beaker.
‘What do you do for a living, Mr Mintner.’
‘Not much since the accident.’
‘At the steel mill. Bust my leg. Gonna take at least another six months to heel.’
‘And in the mean time?’
‘Nothing. I got good compensation. Used one of them free-unless-you-win lawyers.’
She paused and he watched her peer around the room. She was certainly a looker. She wore a smart suit with a narrow white stripe woven into the dark grey material. Her skirt stopped just below mid thigh and showed wonderful nylon-clad legs. Her breasts swelled nicely in the white shirt beneath the jacket.
‘Ever work as Santa Claus, Mr Mintner?’
Keith Mintner focused on her pale blue eyes. They sparkled from an oval face framed in long hair. Why had he never met someone as good-looking as she.
‘I asked you if you had ever worked as Santa Claus, Mr Mintner.’
‘No,’ he said absentmindedly.
‘Because someone here ordered a Santa Claus costume in your name to arrive five days ago.’
‘No me,’ he said. ‘Must be a mistake.’
Now Janice Western knew he was guilty. Had he admitted the costume hire, she would have allowed the possibility that the limp was a coincidence.
‘Do you mind if I look around?’ she asked.
She appeared to be about to insist without explanation. But then she appeared to think better of it. She sighed, drawing in a large amount of breath which expanded her chest pleasingly.
‘Three students have been kidnapped, Mr Mintner. Each time a Santa Claus was seen in the vicinity. That Santa Claus had a limp. I cross checked a list of those who had hired costumes with medical records of leg injuries that needed hospital treatment. Your name appeared on both lists. Now, do you mind if I look around?’
‘I could get a warrant.’
He shrugged and then looked angrily at her. ‘Be my guest.’
He followed her around the ground floor. She went into the dining room and then back into the kitchen, looking in the two walk-in cupboards.
‘Let’s go upstairs.’
‘I’m not hiding anything,’ he said, panic in his voice.
She went to the main bedroom first; then to the spare room. Nothing.
‘Do you have a cellar, Mr Mintner?’
She made him go first. The light bulb flickered as she tugged at the string switch.
The sight that greeted her horrified her. Sitting on a chair and dressed in only white bra and panties was a young woman. There was a large piece of adhesive plaster over her mouth and her hands were cuffed behind her.
The police officer drew her revolver and trained it on the man. Then, using her left hand, she reached over and gently eased the adhesive tape off the woman’s mouth. The woman spat out a large ball of cloth.
‘Where are the keys to the cuffs, Mr Mintner?’ Janice asked angrily.
‘I d-don’t know,’ the man said.
‘On the table,’ the woman said.
Janice peered around and found a small wooden table. On it lay the tiny key. She picked it up and, again using her left hand, unfastened the cuffs. As the cuffs came off, the woman reached out as if to ask for re-assurance. Instead, she snatched at the gun in the police officer’s hand.
‘You bastard,’ she yelled, firing two rounds straight into the man’s chest.
The car pulled up in front of the deserted warehouse. A young red-headed woman in a short skirt, pantyhose and an expensive fur-lined leather jacket exited and went to the back of the vehicle.
‘Cold?’ she asked as she prised open the trunk.
The woman inside was most certainly cold. After all, she was stark naked. Yet despite that, her gorgeous body was covered in a sheen of perspiration.
The redhead reached inside and unfastend the strap which held the nude’s knees against her chin, crushing her bare breasts against her thighs in the process. Then she released the ankle to thigh strap. A deep groan emerged form the woman’s throat as strained muscles were allowed back into their normal position.
‘Just a short walk,’ the woman said. She reached into her pocket and produced a pair of small wire cutters. She used them to cut through the plastic-coated wire around the nude’s ankles. "I’m leaving on the thigh and knee wire,’ the redhead announced. "Just in case, you try anything.’
It took a short while to manoeuvre the woman out of the car trunk and upright.
‘Ummmnnggg,’ she groaned shaking her head furiously as she was deposited on her feet.
‘Now, now,’ the redhead said, ‘don’t be like that.’
Progress was slow. Each pace caused the nude real discomfort. Her hands were yanked hard upwards, her wrists crossed between her shoulder blades. They were bound in place with more of the plastic coated electrician’s wire, and held there with more wire which went around the nude’s shoulders. Even more wire went around the woman’s waist. From it another strand descended. It had been put on her with such brutal force that it disappeared an inch above the apex of her legs, only to re-emerge at the back, where it passed between her buttocks and was fastened to the rear of the waist cinch. Above, a strand of wire went around her chest at the mid point of her breasts and was pulled so desperately tight that it all but divided her breasts in two. Like the strand between her legs, this had no function other than to cause pain.
‘We’re there,’ the redhead said, slapping the nude’s buttocks playfully.
The latter could see nothing, swathe after swathe of duct tape, which encircled her head, covering her eyes in the process, saw to that. Nor could she speak. More tape over her mouth and a mass of packing inside prevented that.
‘Hope your bra and panties taste all right,’ the redhead said, slapping her buttocks again.
Detective Janice Western groaned through the mouth-filling gag.
‘I’m just lucky,’ the woman continued. ‘I was returning the Santa Claus outfit when I saw you coming. I used Mintner’s name and address for the hire and borrowed his limp. I intended to wait until after I took my fifth co-ed tomorrow. You know I’ve an order for five. They’re going to somewhere in central Russia.’
‘Oh, no, don’t worry. You’re not going to become my fifth. I’ve a nice spoiled rich brat called Emily Norris for that honour. I’m afraid you’re too old. No, no. I’m going to keep you.'