Christmas morning is one of the few mornings we wake up alone. My wife and I let the fucktoys have their own time in the morning. I made her breakfast, and we stayed in bed and let them do their thing. They’d be busy enough the rest of the day, setting up decorations and preparing for the entertainments they’d provide or be.
We talked and connected, fucked, and gave each other presents, and generally stayed within our Master suite for the whole day. While we planned a lot of our parties — and we were working on our plans for the New Year’s Eve party — we left Christmas and birthdays up to the fucktoys to plan.
We got dressed, my wife in a long green skirt and bright red low cut top, while I wore my traditional black pants and shirt. I wore the shiny black one, at least, that seemed festive. One of these days I’ll wear something else, and the fucktoys will all have heart attacks.
When we arrived in the basement hall, we saw that one corner had been laid out like a cozy den. There was a tree, and a fake fireplace, along with some comfortable couches. A fucktoy was serving as a coffee table, and Pierce was suspended over the fireplace.
Stockings hung from her corset piercings and from various strategic places on her legs and and arms and the ropes binding her. The stocking were full with treats, fruits and little toys. I ran my hand over her body as we inspected the work; I teased her tits to let her know she was doing a good job. I know it made me hard.
At the other end of the hall was a raised stage, with curtains and everything. “We can leave that up for the New Year’s Party,” my wife said to me, and I concurred. Small low-backed couches were arranged to face the stage, with our divan right up front.
While our Christmas parties are often extravagant — fucktoys given a little freedom often go a long way to please their masters — they are also relatively intimate. While our New Year’s party was well enough attended that we had to sell tickets, Christmas was only for our closest friends and intimates — our kinky family, if you will. These were the local dominants and submissives, sadists and masochists who were part of our circle, and for whom our doors were always open.
As we settled down, our guests began trickling in, leaving gifts under the tree and coming by the divan to talk and greet us before finding a place on one of the couches. After most people were seated, Carol walked up to my wife and I. She was the zaftig redhead who arranged the entertainment, and whom I’d mistaken for a fucktoy interviewee last week.
“Hello, Sir and Lady Tortuga,” she said as she walked up. She curtsied, which was difficult in the extremely short green skirt she was wearing, and the green felt vest she had on parted and showed her cleavage and hinted at her nipples. She saw me looking, and flipped her skirt up, showing her garter and stockings and absence of panties. “I’m more accessible today, you see!”
“I do,” I said, and introduced her properly to my wife. “I look forward to the entertainment you planned, and why you needed six of my fucktoys to pull it off.”
“Well my part is all set to go,” she said. “In fact, I was hoping you could entertain me during the show.”
“Well,” I said. “Christmas is a time for family, so always spend it with my wife.”
“Oh…” she said.
“He means that we have to share you,” my wife said. She patted the space between us on the divan.
“Oh!” Carol replied. “That works.”
We moved to give her enough room to sit, and I caught my wife’s eye as she arched her brow. I’d told her the story, and just winked at her, and mouthed “Merry Christmas!” She loves round, redheaded women as much as I do, and here was one just asking for it.
The entertainment was interesting. Some of the fucktoys have good voices; they treated us to sung carols. Also, there was an interesting rendition of the “Night Before Christmas” with pony- (or should I say reindeer-) girls and a sexy Santa Claus. By the time Carol’s piece came around, we had her top off, and her skirt up around her waist. She’d was wet and open to my fingers; she had gotten my cock out and was stroking it with her right hand.
My wife’s top was also off, and her skirt was up around her thighs, hiding exactly where Carol’s other hand was. Not that it was hard to guess from the sounds my wife was making. The curtains closed, and Carol stopped stroking my cock for a second. “My piece is next,” she said.
“You need to go?” I asked.
“No, I just want you two to fuck me during it,” she said. “Let’s move the divan.”
I smiled and waived over a couple of servant fucktoys to help us as we repositioned the divan. We quickly repositioned it so that I would face the stage as I fucked Carol. She lay on her back on the divan, and my wife straddled her head, lowering her pussy down to Carol’s mouth. I slid between her legs into her wet pussy. For her part, Carol let out a muffled, contented moan
Normally when my wife and I fucked someone this way we faced each other, but this time we both faced the stage. Neither of us wanted to miss Carol’s mystery entertainment. When the curtains opened, the five females on Zee’s team were on their knees, arms tied behind their backs. Hand bells hung from their tits, held there by nipple clamps. The lone male member had a single bell dangling from his cock, which was hard, but pulled down by the weight.
With the fucktoys was another woman, dressed in a green leather corset with fur trip, and a Santa hat stepped out. I recognized her from the scene, but couldn’t place her name. She had a crop in each hand, and bowed to the audience before turning to the fucktoys. I had some idea of what was coming and I thrust hard into Carol’s pussy. My wife was grinding her crotch against Carol’s face.
The top reached out with the crop and began precisely striking the bells. They each ran exactly once, pulling on the tit of the fucktoy it belonged do, and playing out the melody of Carol of the Bells.
I could see that some of them, particularly Zee — who had two of the first four often repeated notes of the song — were having trouble keeping position, due to the pain every time one of their bells was struck. But there were no stray notes, and no one moved, which made me proud, as well as very aroused.
But I was going to be aroused by the feel of Carol’s soft silky pussy as I drove myself into her. We fucked Carol in time to the bells, speeding up with the song; I felt her come when the top struck the bell that hung from the male fucktoy’s cock. I came soon after, and saw my wife shuddering and arching her back as she came..
We slid off Carol as the song ended, lifting her up to sit with us as three fucktoys came over to clean us up in accordance with my household rules. “That was amazing,” I said.
“You bet,” she said woozily, kissing me and giving me a taste of my wife.
“I told the fucktoys they would get a special prize if you were satisfied by their performance,” I told Carol. “So what do you think?”
“Oh, I’m pretty satisfied,” she said. “And the performance sounded perfect to me.”