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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 20 Dec 2013 10:22:18 -0600
From: The Technician <Technician666@HotMail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Mary Christmas         Romantic, F/Solo Bondage, M/F
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Date: Fri, 20 Dec 2013 16:10:14 -0500
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Mary Christmas
by 
The Technician

F/Solo Bondage, M/F

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Mary wraps herself up in lights as a Christmas present for Paul

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY.
Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content.  All people and
events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is
purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and
should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between
fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal
territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please
stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first
century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment
of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article.
This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for
personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple copies of this story on
paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

 = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
 * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Mary read the text on her smart phone.  "Boarding, see you around ten."  Paul
would be home for Christmas.  She normally didn't mind the amount of travel he
did with his job, but the just-before-Christmas annual company planning meeting
had always irked her.  Paul was always gone for the three days before
Christmas.  He had explained to her, "It's got to be done right at the end of
the year, so it is either just before or just after Christmas.  We will still
have Christmas eve and Christmas day together"

Christmas was a very special holiday for Mary.  Her maiden name, which she kept
when she married Paul, was Yule.  Evidently, somewhere way back, one of her
ancestors was responsible for building the Yule fire and for feeding the Yule
Log slowly into the fire during the Winter Solstice celebrations that pre-dated
Christianity in much of norther Europe.  With a name like Mary Yule, it was
natural that people would call her Mary Christmas.  And with a nickname like
Mary Christmas, it was natural that she would either hate Christmas or it would
be her favorite holiday.  Mary loved Christmas.

Mary and Paul had even been married on Christmas day.  It had been almost
impossible to find a minister or justice of the peace who would marry them on
that day.  Finally, in desperation, Mary had Googled "Pastor Kringle" and found
a pastor by that name only a couple hours drive from where they lived.  Because
of his name, he understood and agreed to officiate.  His first name was
Christopher, spelled with a "K," so on Christmas Day, five years ago, Mary
Christmas was joined to Paul Davis in holy matrimony by none other than Pastor
Kris Kringle, himself.

This was their five year anniversary, and Mary wanted this to be the most
special Christmas ever.  She had a very special gift in mind for Paul.  When he
got home, he would find HER wrapped beneath the tree.  Well, not exactly
beneath the tree.  She would be more like a separate tree standing - or more
accurately, hanging - in the middle of the living room.

She had been preparing this for months.  It actually started last Christmas
when she saw a picture on line.  She was looking for decorating ideas by
searching for pictures of unusual Christmas lights.  One of the pictures which
popped up was of a woman in bondage who was wrapped completely in hundreds, if
not thousands, of Christmas lights.  The woman's legs were in a spreader bar
and her feet were barely touching the ground.  Her hands were held high and
taut above her head by ropes which hung from a stout hook that had been screwed
into a ceiling rafter.  As soon as Mary had seen that image, she knew what she
was going to get Paul for their fifth anniversary.  But it was going to take a
lot of planning.

The house was a western design with lots of wood everywhere.  She bought a
heavy, wagon-wheel style chandelier which looked very good in the living room,
but required a very strong anchor to hang from the ceiling.  Paul didn't quite
understand why she was so worked up when he installed it.

"You really like this, don't you?" he said as he looked at her standing flushed
and almost panting watching him use a hammer as a lever to screw the massive
black hook into the ceiling.  As soon as he was finished, she took him into the
bedroom and made mad, passionate love to him.  "Wow," he said afterwards.  "I
need to put up new lighting more often."

Mary just smiled at him and thought, "Wait until you see the lights next
Christmas."

Over the summer, while Paul was gone on long trips, Mary planned and practiced.
The hook was exactly what she needed, but the wagon wheel was very heavy and
she couldn't take it down by herself.  Then she remembered visiting her
grandfather's farm as a child.  He had an old-fashioned barn with the big hay
mow door on one end.  Above that door was a thick beam, and from that beam hung
a rope with a block and tackle.  Until aunt Louise caught them, she and her
cousins used to play with it and hoist each other up to the hay mow.  It took
very little effort, and she was able to pull her much older - and heavier -
cousin up to the mow with no problem.

Without telling them what it was for, she explained what she was looking for to
a clerk in a hardware store a couple towns away.  What she now had was smaller,
made of heavy plastic, but essentially the same block and tackle mechanism that
grandpa had once used to hoist hay bales up into the barn.  She would pull it
as short as possible, and then let it out an inch or two.  Then she would
connect it to the hook and to the top of the wagon wheel.  Pulling it up
slightly enabled her lift the support chain off the hook.  Then she would lower
the chandelier down to a serving cart that was normally out on the back deck.

Putting herself in place of the chandelier was a little trickier.  There were
two slightly smaller hooks that carried the chain of the chandelier over to the
wall.  From there a cord hung down and plugged into an outlet.  By trial and
error, Mary discovered that if she ran the rope through those hooks, she could
pull downward alongside the wall and easily pull the chandelier up in place. In
fact, if she tied a two gallon bucket to the rope all the way up at the
ceiling, and then filled that bucket with sand, it would descend to the floor
and pull the wagon wheel up almost to the top.

Rube Goldberg would have been pleased with her next step.  She placed a
stepladder next to the bucket, and put a plank across the top.  One end of the
plank went under the bucket.  From the other end, she hung a four gallon
insulated water jug which was suspended over a plastic trough like you use to
mix concrete.  A rope ran from the top of the big handle of the water jug to a
plant hook in the ceiling above it.  The jug had a pouring valve like you would
find on a large coffee pot.  You could push down to pour a cup of water, or
lift up to lock the valve open.  By slowly adding sand to the bucket and water
to the jug, she was able to keep the system in balance.  When she opened the
valve on the water jug, the water would slowly drain out into the trough until
the weight of the jug could no longer counterbalance the bucket and the bucket
would begin to descend.  The board would slide off the ladder and drop to the
ground beneath the bucket.  The water jug would drop slightly and then hang
there swaying above the trough.

She tested this arrangement several times, allowing it to hoist her up to the
ceiling.  For each test, she made sure that there were at least two chairs that
she could step onto so that she could get herself out of the ropes if they
tangled around her hands.  Again, by trial and error, she slowly  blocked off
the drain on the water jug until it took around an hour for the sand bucket to
begin its descent.

The next step was figuring out a way to wind the lights around her body.  She
first tested to see that the lights would not burn her if they stayed against
her skin for too long.  She unpacked the lights that were normally on their
tree and wrapped three 300 light strings around herself.  That seemed like the
right amount, even though  they were bunched up very unevenly and didn't look
right.  She would deal with that later.  What she needed to know now was would
they burn her.

They didn't burn, but 900 Christmas tree lights give off a lot of heat, and it
got really warm wrapped up in them.  She bought several strings of LED lights
on line to solve that problem.

The next hurdle was getting the lights wrapped around herself evenly.  She
practiced wrapping herself up in the lights while holding on to the block and
tackle which she had connected to the hook.  It had a swivel at the top, so she
was free to turn in circles beneath it.  But no matter how slowly or rapidly
she revolved, the lights wouldn't wind properly around her body.  She was
starting to think that she was going to have to confide in a friend and have
her wrap the lights for her when she realized that if the lights were somehow
fed from up high, they would wrap properly around her body.  The question was
how to hold the lights that high in the air while she rotated.

The solution was the room divider shelf on the end of the wall that separated
the living room from the kitchen.  If she very carefully laid out the strings
of lights on the kitchen floor and then fed them through one of the little
square openings on the top shelf, she could hold the end of the string in her
hands and slowly twirl to wind them around her body.  As long as the string
remained fairly taut as it fed through the shelf, the lights would descend
slowly down her body as she turned.  She added an extension cord that was
plugged in on the living room side and fed through the same square into the
kitchen so that it would pull out when all the lights were out of the kitchen.

After several practice sessions, she could wind the lights around herself so
that she was evenly covered and there was nothing left but an extension cord
leading from the wall to her feet.  Once she started putting her feet into the
spreader bar, it took a couple more practice sessions to get it right again,
but finally in late November she was totally ready.

Since there was no getting out of this once she started, she started asking
Paul to text her just before boarding his flight home whenever he was
traveling.  That way, on Christmas eve, she would know for sure that he was on
his way before she lit herself up.  As an added safety, she had also asked one
of her neighborhood friends to stop by sometime Christmas day to pick up a
present she had for their kids.  If something did go wrong and Paul's flight
got diverted or badly delayed, it would be embarrassing to explain why she was
hanging naked in the living room, but she would not be permanently trapped.

Christmas eve finally came.  The tree was lit.  The presents - except for her -
were in place.  The heavy, wagon-wheel chandelier was out on the back deck. The
bucket of sand and the jug of water were balanced over the step ladder. Mary
was dressed in nothing but thigh-high white stockings with little red bows on
the back at the top.  A red satin mask was up on her forehead to be pulled down
when she was almost in place.  In white glittery letters on the front of the
blindfold it said, "To Paul - From Mary. Merry Christmas." 

A wide red ribbon went around her throat and was tied in a bow on the front.
Red, very high-heeled shoes were on her feet.  Small golden bells were tied
gently with green ribbons to her nipples.  A red Santa hat completed the
ensemble.  She had debated coloring her pubic triangle red or green, but
instead decided to shave it completely.  A slight sheen of moisture glistened
between her legs as she waited for the message to come saying that Paul was on
his way.

Finally the message came.  It was time.  She opened the water valve and then
returned to the center of the room and strapped her ankles into the spreader
bar.  Tonight there were no chairs nearby, and she wasn't holding on to the
rope.  Her wrists were in padded leather cuffs which were connected to each
other with the rope looped between them.  She pulled the blindfold down over
her eyes.  When the bucket of sand descended, she would be drawn tight.

But first, she had to put on the lights.  One end of the string of lights was
tied firmly to the wrist cuff on her left wrist.  She started a slow, waddling
turn to begin winding the lights around her body.  She hadn't practiced this in
the high-heels and was surprised at how much harder it was to move in the
spreader bar when she was wearing them.  She was worried that she wouldn't have
enough time, but finally she felt the large end of the extension cord against
her foot.  Everything had gone exactly as planned.

"Nothing to do now but wait," she said to herself.  A few minutes later, she
heard the board drop from the step ladder and felt her hands being pulled
toward the ceiling.  Her full weight was no longer on her feet, but they didn't
leave the floor.  She stood and listened - and occasionally sang along with -
the Christmas music which played in the background.

Time passed slowly, but the anticipation merely fueled the fire which was
slowly building within her.  Then she heard the click of the front door - or
was that the side door?  It was definitely the side door.  Paul would have come
in the front door.  "Paul?" she called out.

She had planned to remain silent, but now she was afraid that someone else had
come into the house.  "Paul?  Is that you?"

There was no answer.  Instead someone touched her.  It was a very soft touch,
but someone definitely touched her.  Hands slid along the inside of her legs.
They stroked her breasts and lightly tweaked her nipples.  They ran a spiral
path between the lights across her tummy, around to her back, and then to the
front where fingertips danced across the front of her pubic mound.

"Paul?  Is that you?"  She gasped as the fingers plucked lightly at her clit.
"Oh, please Paul, tell me that it is you."

No voice answered Mary.  There was no sound in the room except the Christmas
carols playing in the background and Mary's gasps and sighs as the hands
continued to play with her body.  The ribbons that had been snug on her nipples
were now squeezing tightly as her nipples engorged.  The little bells jangled
softly as she thrashed her body back and forth trying to hold off an impending
orgasm.

The hands were now between her legs from the back.  Fingers were reaching up to
her clit and sliding back between her legs, taking her flowing juices across
the length of her crack.  One hand was sliding through her slit, the fingers of
the other were probing her nether rosebud.  Paul had never done anything like
that.  God it felt so wonderful!  But who could this be?

Fingers were now in her cunt, pumping slowly.  A single digit pushed slowly
into her ass.  If this wasn't Paul, she couldn't let him force her to orgasm!
But if it was Paul, why didn't he say something!  Mary unclenched her jaw and
opened her mouth to again ask who it was, but all that came out was a long,
drawn out, moan of passion that she had been holding so tightly within her.

Her hips were now bucking so wildly that her feet were leaving the ground and
she was swaying on the hook from which she hung.  And still the hands were
pumping and probing.  In front, four fingers were sliding in and out of her
cunt.  In back, two fingers pumped in opposite rhythm.  Mary was grunting
loudly in time with each thrust.  Finally she exploded in a loud, shaking,
quaking, tremendous orgasm.

The hands went back to stroking her skin for a few minutes and then they were
gone.  She heard a slight swishing grinding noise that she recognized as the
front drapes being pulled open.  The house sat fairly far back from the road,
and trees separated them from their neighbors, but anyone driving by would be
able to see her hanging there.

She could feel her body redden with shame, but at the same time she could feel
heat flowing from her cunt.  She wished the hands were back.  Her body seemed
to be swaying on its own, slowly pushing her cunt forward as if seeking a lover
hidden just beyond her reach.  A single sliding touch slid across her clit and
then... silence, followed by the click of the side door being opened and the
thunk of it being closed once again.

She was alone.  "Paul?" she called out, but no one answered.  She listened for
the sound of breathing or the sound of movement or any sound at all, but if
there were any sounds of someone in the room with her, they were hidden under
the music.

Then the house phone rang.  Hardly anyone called the house phone.  It was
primarily for Paul's business and half the time he had it forwarded to his
cell.  She heard his voice ask whoever it was to leave a message, and then she
heard his voice again.  "Mary, you didn't pick up on your cell.  Flight was
delayed slightly, but I am leaving the airport now.  Actually, I am about
half-way home.  Cab should get there in about fifteen minutes.  See you soon."

Paul put his cell phone back in his pocket and stood in the snow near the end
of his driveway watching the lights of Mary Christmas sway and twist.   Luckily
it wasn't really cold, so he wasn't going to get overly chilled waiting out
here.   Besides, the sight of Mary hanging like a living Christmas tree
displayed through the living room window was keeping his body very warm. 

Would he tell her?  Would she tell him?  Would she know when his hands traveled
across her body once again to take her to the heights of passion?  Would he be
able to enter her while she was still suspended from the ceiling?  Or, would he
have to let her down and unwind her before he could fully unwrap his Christmas
present?  Would he close the blinds before, or after, they had celebrated their
anniversary?

At last sufficient time had passed and he walked back up to the house.  This
time he entered  through the front door, and so that she would know for sure
that it was him, called out, "Merry Christmas, Mary Christmas."

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END OF STORY
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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