Hungry For Fuschia
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Chapter 8: Home For The Holidays
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 8: Home For The Holidays - While on holiday in London, Hungry Guy buys a slave girl at a slave auction in a warehouse in The Docklands, and brings her back home to the States with him...
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Slavery Lesbian Heterosexual Humor Cheating Slut Wife BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Rough Humiliation Sadistic Torture Swinging Group Sex White Couple Oral Sex Anal Sex Water Sports Cream Pie Needles Slow Caution
Winter in the northeastern United States is often bitterly cold. For this reason, Guy permitted his slave to cover up her delectable body with an old paint-stained drop cloth that he had sewn into a crude hooded robe for going out.
Fuschia carried an armload of bundles from the car into the house--the residue of Guy's shopping spree at the mall.
"Oh, Fuschia, my sweet slave," said Guy in a sing-song voice.
"Yes, Master?"
"Come here!"
She set the bundles down on the sofa and hurried over to where he was standing. "Yes, Master?"
"It's time to put up the Christmas tree."
"Oh, good! Where is the tree?"
Guy just crossed his arms and stood there grinning wickedly at her.
"Oh my!" she said with pursed lips.
Guy led Fuschia into the dungeon and had her carry out some chain and a wooden cross-beam.
A few minutes later, he had suspended the beam from a pair of suspension points in the ceiling. "Bend over, Fuschia," he said.
She bent over. He attached two ankle restraints to her ankles and lifted her up by the ankles while she stood on her hands.
A few minutes later, she was hanging upside down by her ankles from the beam with her legs spread wide.
Guy then left and returned a moment later with a big box full of tree ornaments.
"This may hurt," he said to her as he stuck a T pin into her thigh and hung a red satin ball from it.
"Owww," whimpered Fuschia as a slight trickle of blood dripped from the tiny wound.
A while later, without too much blood, Fuschia was well decorated. Two antique ornaments, family heirlooms, hung from each of her nipples as her breasts drooped oddly downward. "Now for the tree-top!" he said.
"Ooohh," gasped Fuschia.
Guy took a long slender red candle and pushed it down into her--as usual--soaking wet pussy. He pushed it in as far as it would go, then he lit it.
Standing back, he took a photo of his human Christmas tree. The ornaments glistened and twinkled in the soft glow of the candle rising up out of her bush, framed between the V of her legs suspended from the ceiling.
"Merry Christmas, sweet Fuschia," he said as he went over to the sofa, set out his cards, packages, wrapping paper, and tape, and began to wrap his gifts to put them under the tree.
