White Elephant: Chapter Five

Chapter Five

December 20th, 6:23 PM

Erin could hear paper ripping, could hear the sounds of cursing ("Fucking ribbon!"), could feel the warmth of a fire.  When the top of the box came off, the light was blinding.  It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust.  When they finally did, they gazed on the smug, handsome face of Brent Hammerson.

"Oh boy, it's what I've always wanted," Hammerson giggled.  "A little superheroine doll, all of my own."

Erin blinked.  "I always knew you collected dolls, Hammerson," she said.  But it came out as "Mmmph mmph mmhphh mmmph mmphh."

Hammerson laughed out loud.  "Here, let me help you with that."

He brought his fingers to Erin's face and, with a single violent motion, ripped the label from her lips.  Erin gasped with pain.

"Thanks, you bastard," Erin said, with a cough.

"What can I say?  It's the season of giving," Hammerson said.  "From what I understand, Sunny's elves gave you a real beat-down, earlier.  And for a live audience!"

Erin couldn't deny it.  "Yeah.  Those elves are tough.  Maybe if you'd hired them months ago, you'd have defeated me sooner."

Hammerson smiled.  "Well, I'm glad it's happening this way, Blue Lynx.  A Christmas miracle, just for me.  A hot little superheroine, all trussed up and delivered right to my doorstep."

He was wearing a red silk robe and carrying a pointless old-fashioned pipe in his teeth.  Erin rolled her eyes.  Hammerson was the picture of phony male authority-- a second-rate Hugh Hefner.  She wasn't about to be his bunny.

"I'm going to make this a Christmas you'll never forget," Erin snarled.  "I'm going to take that pipe and shove it up your ass."

"Wow!" Hammerson said.  He seemed genuinely stunned.  "Such language!  You're supposed to be cheerful this time of the year, babe!  Maybe you've been in that box too long."

He reached down into the present, trying to suavely slide his hands behind Erin's back.  When Erin resisted, whipping her head around and twisting her shoulders, he pressed harder, sinking his fingers into her spandex.  He yanked her body up and brought her head near his chest, taking a long whiff of her hair.

"You smell... sweaty," Hammerson said.  "But I like it."

"I don't give a crap what you like," Erin spat.  She tried banging her head against Hammerson's body, hoping to shake off his grip somehow, but each movement brought an opposite reaction from her foe.  He was now holding her closer than he ever had, in a hug that was equal parts tender and menacing.

"Okay," Hammerson whispered, moving one of his hands underneath Erin's thighs.  "Out you go."  With a steady, assured motion, he hoisted her up from the box and cradled her near his body.  Erin was surprised how easily he had picked her up, and how gently he was now pressing her against his bulk.  She could feel his heart race underneath the silk robe.  It was almost... Kind of...

"Stop," Erin silently told herself.  "You're in danger.  Focus."

From the snare of Hammerson's arms, she looked around.  They were in a garishly decorated living room.  It was hard to tell which parts of it were for Christmas and which parts of it were for Hammerson's love of ostentatious wealth.  There was a massive tree covered in identical golden ornaments, a massive fireplace complete with a roaring five, a massive red couch.  There were several side tables on which there sat many lit candles.  The light which had seemed blinding after hours of complete darkness now showed itself to be quite dim and almost... Romantic?

"Let's sit down on the sofa," Hammerson said.  He carried her to the red couch and delicately placed her length-wise on its soft, plump cushions.  After hours of being stiff and sore, bound and within a box, the sofa felt like a big, warm caress, and it forced a noticeable sigh of pleasure from Erin.

"You like that?" Hammerson asked, taking a seat near Erin's lower legs.

Erin's face turned sour.  "You have good taste in furniture, for an evil maniac," she sneered.

Hammerson chuckled.  "You know," he said, placing his hand on Erin's thigh.  "Sometimes I look at you and don't know whether to punch you or kiss you."

Erin squirmed.  She didn't like where this was going.  But the ribbons still hadn't given an inch, and until they did, she was Hammerson's captive, plain and simple.  She'd have to play along until something happened.  She just couldn't play along too much.  "Not too much," she thought.  "Not too much."

"You usually settle for both," Erin replied.

"I know," Hammerson said.  He brushed his fingers up and down Erin's leg, from the top of her kneecap to the place where her spandex leg-hole met her skin.

"You could get a lot more action if you loosened these ribbons a bit," Erin said, her eyes fixed on Hammerson's, which were fixed on Erin's lower body.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Hammerson laughed.  "Unfortunately, I'm not as dumb as some of the sex-crazed fiends you take advantage of night after night."

It had been a long shot.  But all of Erin's options were long shots, now.  A seduction strategy still seemed like the best way out.  So she slowly rocked her hips back and forth, watching Hammerson take her in, licking his lips.

"Come on, Brent.  You've got me here, all tied up," she cooed.  "Your little present.  Now... Are you going to be nice to me?  Or naughty?"

Hammerson looked up at Erin, his eyes full of desire.  There was a split second of hesitation, and then, he was on top of her.  He pressed his body to hers, moving his hands to her breasts, kissing her neck, grinding his groin against her sealed-tight legs.  Erin knew this had been coming-- she had tempted him all the way-- but was still surprised the ferocity of it.  It was overwhelming, this Hammerson onslaught, and it quickly conquered Erin's stoicism.  She felt Hammerson's hot breath, the tingle of his fingertips on the skin underneath her spandex, the weight of his lower body on hers, and she gasped.

"That's it," Hammerson breathed.  "Come with me, Blue Lynx..."

Erin shut her eyes and tried to focus on everything else-- Margot, her predicament, the elves-- but everything crumbled next to Hammerson's face, his body, his open mouth on Erin's, his hands pushing her V-neck off her shoulders as far as the ribbons would permit, his legs wrapping around hers.  She gasped again, and then moaned.

"You're so hot," Hammerson whispered.  "The only thing that would make you hotter is if we take off that mask..."

"No!" Erin thought, but it didn't come out that way.  Deep in the realm of ecstasy, obeying the beck and call of Hammerson's hands, a different sound emerged from Erin's lips.  A slow, breathy, barely audible "Yes."

And Hammerson, grinning manically, cupped Erin's ass with one hand, and moved the other up her stomach, between her breasts, across her long neck, and atop her mask.

"Merry Christmas, Blue Lynx," he said.

And he pulled the thin blue strip of fabric from Erin's face.

On to Chapter Six