Candy Caned (Yule Tied 8)

Candy Caned (Yule Tied)
Kiernan Kelly
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2016 Kiernan Kelly

Sighing, I headed back to the D-sector, dragging my feet all the way. Why me? Didn't I have enough to do? I had a kazillion trains to finish painting, not to mention all my other elfy responsibilities. The reindeer weren't going to scoop their own poop, you know. They couldn't -- no hands. I also had to stand shifts at the boxing station and the wrapping station when my name came up in rotation. And we were shorthanded this year -- Bitsy, whose real name was Barbara and who was married to Thomas, otherwise known as Tinky, was about sixteen months pregnant with their first child. At least, she looked sixteen months pregnant. She might just have been smuggling an igloo under her dress, but I doubted it.

Now, on top of all that, I had to plan a fucking holiday party.

It was official. My life sucked fat, red, shiny baboon ass.

The weight of my responsibilities settled on my shoulders like a pair of lead balloons, bowing my back and souring my temper. I was actually beginning to feel claustrophobic, even though the Workshop was larger than several airplane hangars put together. By the time I got back to my D-sector, I was ready to bite somebody's head off. Or arm. Or foot. Any available body part would do, really. The point is, I was ready to do some real damage to the first person who looked in my direction.

On the way back, I passed the Whittling station, where Stephen works. Stephen, aka Stinky and recipient of the aforementioned Christmas Eve blow job, noticed my irritation right away. Stephen is my Dom and keeps pretty close tabs on my moods. He's handsome, dark-haired, beefy without being fat, and deliciously hairy. He has large hands, calloused from his toy making work, and a wicked talent for spanking.

Just thinking about those rough hands paddling my bare bottom usually made my dick sit up and beg, but not this time. I was too distracted, too overwhelmed by the press of my responsibilities. I walked past Stephen's table without even glancing at him.

I supposed that's what tipped him off to just how bad of a day I was having. He jumped up and followed me to my station.

"Daniel, what's wrong?"

I didn't want to talk about it. I mean, I did, but I suffer from a self-defeating habit of stubbornly clamming up when asked about my feelings. This little inclination of mine has instigated some of our most intense sessions to date.

Besides, there were too many ears around. I didn't want the entire shop to know I was struggling with my load of work.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. You're lying to me." His fingers caressed the thick leather belt at his waist, and I shivered.

"I'm fine." My chest felt tight as my overwhelming tension began to devolve into a good old-fashioned panic attack. Sweat broke out on my forehead.

"No, you're not. Stop lying."

My soul wanted to come clean, but my teeth clamped together like I'd just chewed on a tube of super glue.

Stephen growled, a most delicious sound that tickled me deep in the pit of my belly despite my rising panic. "You promised me you would never lie to me. This nonsense has to stop -- it's eating you up inside." He glanced up at the wall clock. "It's nearly quitting time. Get up. We're going to the playroom."