Yule Tied Up (Verona Falls University: Christmas Story)

11. Mackenzie

CHAPTER 11

Mackenzie

I’m doing my best not to cry.

There must be something wrong with us to constantly attract these kinds of psychopaths. I can’t even blame the guys, ’cause I had my fair share of them before I’d even met Dom, Tino, and Kirill.

I wrap my arms around my body to shield it from the cold. Snow continues to fall around us, catching in my hair and sticking to the ends of my eyelashes.

I’m hoping Fake Santa is just going to give us a taste of our own medicine and leave us out here. I want to protest that I was the one who said to bring him in, but now I realize that would have been a dumb thing to do, too. This man clearly has it in for us. Has his car really broken down somewhere, or did he come here with violence in mind? He came with a shotgun, but that doesn’t mean anything. Walking out in these mountains without a gun probably wouldn’t be wise. There’s wildlife out here that can kill.

But, instead of shutting us out in the cold, he steps out with us. His gaze flicks over to our snowman, and he gives a salacious grin that’s barely visible through the fake beard.

“Your little slut here likes fucking vegetables, huh? How does she feel about carrots?”

Two things dawn on me at once. The first is that I hadn’t imagined the face at the window. This prick must have been watching.

“Ho-how did you hide your prints?” I ask, confused.

“Live out in the mountains for long enough, you learn how to hide your own tracks. Think I’m stupid, missy? Huh? Is that what you think of the locals?”

I shake my head. “No, not at all.”

The second thing that’s dawned on me, as I shiver in horror, is that there’s only one vegetable out here.

Fake Santa strides over to our snowman. He lifts one boot high and kicks the head. It half slides and half rolls, and lands on the ground face up, the carrot nose jutting up.

He waves the gun again. “Come on. Pants off. I want you to sit on old Mr. Frosty’s face.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Tino growls.

Kirill takes a couple of steps forward. “Leave her the fuck alone.”

Santa jabs the muzzle in his direction, and I scream. “Kirill, no!”

I can’t have any of them get shot on my behalf. I just can’t. It’s only a carrot. I just fucked a cucumber less than an hour ago. What’s the difference? Of course, then I didn’t have some stranger pointing a shotgun in my face, and I was lying in front of a warm fire with my three men worshipping me.

This is about degradation, not worship, but I’ve been through worse, and if this fucker thinks I’ll let his sad little request break me, he’s wrong. I’ll also do it to ensure none of us gets killed.

Of course, he might plan to kill us anyway, but anything to buy time is worth it. My heart pounds, and tears fills my eyes, more from the fear that I might lose one of my men than anything this bastard has planned. I need to keep calm because, if I lose it, I risk provoking a seizure. I’ve got really fucking good at compartmentalizing. I’m the queen of it, and I do that now.

The pajama pants are baggy with an elastic waistband. It won’t be easy getting them over my snow boots, but it won’t be impossible.

“Don’t do it, Mack,” Dom says.

A tear trickles down my cheek. “What choice do I have?”

He glances over at the car, and I read his mind, and yeah I want to get out of here, too, but we don’t have the damn keys. How will we get inside?

“Don’t make me count to ten,” Fake Santa snaps, waving his gun at me. “Now!”

I jump at the volume of his voice and make my way over to where our snowman’s head is on the ground. My feet crunch in the snow, but the rest of the world seems eerily silent. It’s as though the snow is absorbing all sound. In a way, it helps, because this is surreal, a moment out of time.

“Take them off,” he commands.

Shaking from fear and adrenaline and the cold, I pull down the pajama pants. I’m not wearing any panties. I hadn’t thought they were necessary when I dressed. I’m not wearing a bra either, and my nipples are bullet hard inside the top. I’m grateful for my snow jacket so they’re not visible to this prick, but he still might force me to take it off. I drag the pants over my boots, hopping to pull them off. The pants get stuck and fill with snow. They’re not going to be pleasant to put back on again, but that’s the least of my worries.

“Now straddle Frosty.”

One of the men makes a sound that is half moan, half curse. What are they thinking, seeing me like this? I pray they don’t think I’m weak for giving in.

Naked from the waist down, aside from my boots, I straddle the snowman’s face. I turn my face away, not wanting to focus on the man with the gun.

“Fuck it. Fuck Mr. Frosty. I want to hear you enjoy it, or one of these assholes is getting a bullet in the face.”

I crouch lower, and the tip of the carrot brushes up against my pussy. I’m still wet from where all three of my men came inside me, and I think this is what saves me. Their combined cum still drips from my pussy, lubricating the carrot nose and stopping it from being completely freezing.

Fake Santa licks his lips and adjusts himself in his red suit. “That’s it. Take the whole thing into your cunt, you little slut.”

“Don’t call her that!” Kirill snarls.

The carrot slides inside me, and, despite myself, I moan. It’s cold against my heat and stretches me, just like the cucumber did. I reach down to hold it in place, staring down into the snowman’s coal-black eyes. It grins back at me with its dotted coal mouth.

Enjoying the show, Frosty?

“Touch your clit,” Fake Santa commands. “I want to see you come. And no faking it. If I think you’re faking it, it’ll be my cock you’re bouncing on next.” He grins. “I’m not evil. Give me a good show to fill these dark winter nights, and you won’t have to fuck me. Fake it, and all bets are off.”

The thought fills me with dread.

Tino roars at him. “Don’t you dare fucking touch her.”

I doubt he can tell if I’m faking. Most men can’t, but I’m terrified to risk it. I need to come, but like this? I try to block everything out. The way the snow is still falling and chilling my bare thighs. The man dressed as Santa, holding a shotgun. The dismay of the three men I love. It’s just me and Frosty. I take myself back to the cabin, when I was with the guys and the cucumber, and put myself mentally there instead.

My thighs tremble as I lift myself up and down on the thick carrot. I hold it in place with one hand as I bounce and rub my clit with the other. I don’t care that I’m wearing gloves, or that they’ll be covered in cum and my juices. It’s the least of my concerns. I rub up against the material, appreciating the warmth, and fuck the carrot nose at exactly the right pace I need.

I’ve already climaxed so much today, and, considering the circumstances, I’m sure another orgasm is near impossible. But it might be what helps me. My flesh is so sensitized and so primed that this feels … not terrible. I close my eyes and run a reel of all my favorite filthy moments with my men through my mind, and it starts to work. I pant hot clouds of air, my core tingles and tightens, and my breathing grows ever more ragged. My clit is so sensitive, it doesn’t take much.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp. “Oh, God.”

My climax powers over me, and I fold in two, my pussy clamping tight around the ice-cold carrot inside me. Wetness gushes around its length. Fuck, did I just squirt? Or was it simply a mixture of all the cum still left inside of me and my own arousal?

I fall back, my bare ass hitting the snow. I scramble for my pajama pants, eager to cover myself up again. I can barely look at poor, desecrated Mr. Frosty, his nose now sitting at an angle and glistening wet.

Santa strides forward, picks up the carrot, and bites off the end.

He grins. “Better than milk and cookies any day.”

Fucking freak.

I take small satisfaction that he’s tasting the guys’ cum as well as me, but who knows, maybe he likes that.