No matter how brave she’d told herself to be, Priscilla (Prissy) Lockett couldn’t hide her shudder as the pink and white paint of No. 277 Thunder Road neared. Could she do it? Could she actually stop outside that shop and enter between those candy-stripe columns?
It was all Granville Hardy’s fault she was here. The wanker.
Last night as Prissy had shrugged into her Elmo pyjamas, shattered after a hard day at the office, all she’d really wanted was a cuddle and a good spooning.
Then Granville heaved out this huge sigh and said: “Elmo. I guess that means no rumpy tonight?”
And Prissy could have said all sorts of things, but what she said was: “What’s wrong with Elmo?”
“It’s either Elmo or your souvenir Australian Cricket Team World Cup nightie, Pris. Only one of them gets me laid, and we both know why that is.”
Prissy had sputtered a bit, but Granville flicked Elmo’s nose in that I-rest-my-case-way.
That got interesting for half a second because Elmo’s nose happened to be situated right on top of her left nipple, and Prissy had always been a sucker for a bit of nipple flicking. Not that Granville noticed her indrawn breath. Oh no, he was still resting his case.
“Just once, don’t you think it might be nice if you came to bed in something see-through and lacy? Something with belts or ties or clamps or bows. Something pink or black or leather, instead of Australian cricket team yellow? Don’t I deserve more?”
“Of course, Granville,” Prissy said, wondering whether it was too soon to go for the spoon.
“Prove it. It’s Christmas… why don’t you buy a little present for yourself that I’d like too.”
Prissy’s step slowed, and slowed again. At this rate she’d soon be mincing up the sidewalk and that was plain ridiculous. She was a grown woman and just because she was nearly twenty-eight and she’d never been in a sex shop before—
Sex Shop. Oh God.
Sucking in a deep breath, Prissy glanced over the top of her sunglasses.
The window wasn’t so bad. Cheery with tinsel and holly; little smiling elves; and what were those furry triangular bikini things hanging up? Some new kind of Christmas wreath?
She couldn’t stand staring all day, someone would see her. Ogling a sex shop window wasn’t something she wanted to explain. To anyone. Once inside, she’d be right. No one would see her.
Sucking in a deep breath for courage, Prissy felt her big girls pants crimp around her stomach as she closed her hand on the door handle of the shop and pushed. Nothing happened. She looked at the door, saw the word “Pull” and pushed again. Still nothing.
“It’s shut. Bloody hell.” How could she have worked up the courage to come only to have the stupid shop shut? What kind of hours did they keep? She scanned looking for a sign with the hours and then she saw movement inside.
She stepped backwards as a great towering giant with a bright shock of blonde hair opened the door towards her. He grinned and all she could see were teeth. White, glorious teeth surrounded by plump pink flesh looking as soft as a baby’s bottom.
“You need to pull, not push. It’s a trick for the unsuspecting.” His voice made Prissy’s thighs clench, her stomach drop and moisture pool.
“I have to pull?” Prissy felt her lips move but the voice that came out was throaty sex siren.
“The door, sweetheart. You have to pull the door towards you. But if there’s something else you’d like to pull, I’m open to offers from beautiful women like you.” That should have sounded sleazy, but it didn’t. Prissy didn’t recognized her own laughter, she was like a bird trilling.
This blonde giant was flirting with her, Prissy Lockett.
It had been a very long time since a man flirted with her. Okay, well, a man under the age of eighty. All the old men in the retirement home flirted with her, but that was just because that’s what old men did. This man had no reason to flirt with her – except for the fact that she was entering a sex shop, and maybe that gave him a license to flirt.
Prissy wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. She just knew she couldn’t look at the giant any more. He was so gorgeous he was hurting her eyes, and battering her hopeful heart with his meaningless flirting. She walked through the doorway with a tiny, “Thank you,” then lifted her gaze to take in the shop.
Her gaze bounced off the rubber vaginas, slid off the lubricants and landed upon things she had no name for. They looked a little like prosthetic unicorn horns. Who knew that unicorns frequented sex shops?
She scurried away from the blonde giant, wanting nothing to do with the precipitation he incited in her knickers. That sort of thing was so very unlike her. What would Granville say if he ever found out? Though it was his fault in the first place that she was skulking in a sex shop like a member of parliament between sittings. Like it was her fault he didn’t consider Tickle Me Elmo pajamas a sexual invitation. Truly, what red-blooded man didn’t?
She fled to the safety of the bookshelves lining one wall. There she scanned the titles, eyes widening. Understanding Your Submissive Garden Gnome. Debrief Me: A Guide to Talking Dirty to Your Public Servant Lover. How to Reach Orgasm Through Ikebana.
With a shudder she moved away, almost left—whore couture be damned—when another title caught her eye.
The Joy of Elf Sex. That seemed an odd title, even for a sex shop. Though it was Christmas, maybe it was a naughty story about Santa’s elves.
Elf gang-bang. She almost snickered. Blinked. Sweet baby Jesus, where were these crazy thoughts coming from?
She smothered a shriek as a hand rested on her shoulder. An upward glance and she met the giant’s deep blue eyes.
“Did you know that elves are wonderful lovers and that we don’t carry any sexually transmitted diseases? Well, not ones that affect humans, anyway.”
We? Her body flushed hot and cold.
His smile was faintly lopsided, the left corner of his lip rising a fraction higher than the right. Not that she was focusing on those delectable lips or anything – that would be creepy- but it was a smile loaded with charm and sexual confidence, and Prissy knew instinctively that the blonde giant was a sex god.
“We? “she whispered. Her eyes darted about the shop, expecting to see pointy-eared customers wearing ornate headbands and earthly coloured robes. To her surprise, there were a lot of blonde-haired people, but their ears were obscured by their long hair. Maybe it’s a favourite sex-shop for hippy Norwegians?
“Yes, Prissy. We. I’ve been waiting for you.”
If his lips didn’t set Prissy’s panties on fire, the infinitesimal twitch in his eyebrow did. Almost imperceptible, it screamed of mind-blowing pleasures, most of which Prissy had only ever imagined, or witnessed on late night SBS. Bless those laissez-faire Scandinavians.
She tried to speak, but was overwhelmed by the desire to strip her clothes off and mount this blonde giant. Her inner-Scandinavian was revealing itself.
“Come with me,” he said, taking her trembling hand in his bear-sized paw. “I believe there’s something in this shop that will interest you. Something that will …” he did he eyebrow thing again … “bring us both everlasting pleasure.”
Everlasting pleasure. Every girl’s dream! Prissy had experienced many orgasms, but never with Granville in the room. His name was misleading- there was nothing Hardy about Granville. That man wouldn’t know endurance if it beat him on the ass for nine hours.
“Tonight. You and I. Here,” he said, placing an address into her hand.
“Yesss, yesss.” Under a spell, she couldn’t stop herself from agreeing to meet him.
“A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting,” he said as his lips caressed the palm of her hand. His moist breath made her panties disintegrate in a pouf of magical stardust. In her hands he placed a set of red, furry handcuffs and matching baby-doll. It looked like Elmo, dissected, and made the precipitation in her panties turn into a torrential downpour.
By the time she could drag her eyes from the red, marabou trimmed bedroom mules which he'd also added to her instant sex-goddess outfit, he was no where to be seen. What the? Could an overdose of candy canes bring on hallucinations?
She looked down at the profusion of red in her hands. Not what she'd choose for herself, but then she doubted they stocked a crotchless Elmo onesie. Prissy looked around once more, but no sexy blond giant. Her damn imagination had about as much staying power as Granville.
She pushed aside the black velvet changeroom curtain, but no joy there either. Oh well, she was no stranger to fuelling her libido with imaginary lovers, but doing it in public was new. Kinda freaky. Kinda kinky. She smiled and caught sight of her reflection in the changeroom mirror, face slightly flushed, a profusion of red silk and marabou clutched to her chest. The colour looked good against her skin. The silk would probably feel good against it.
Stepping into the small room, Prissy pulled the curtain shut behind her and in moments the liquid softness of red silk was sliding over her body. The babydoll fell to just below her butt and clung to her breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her breasts looked amazing. She slid her feet into the marabou mules and twirled. Damn, her arse looked amazing too. Her imaginary elf knew how to sex up a woman. As she surveyed her gorgeousness a scrap of white on the floor caught her attention.
The paper shook in her hand as she picked it up and saw an address written in what could only be described as elfish script. 'Geezus Miss Prissy, I think you've fallen down a rabbit hole,' she told her reflection. 'Or,' - she looked down at the sparkly-heeled red mules – 'landed in Oz.'
What he hell. Today was already weird. What could it hurt. Prissy closed her eyes and clicked her spangled heels together.
Prissy’s mouth fell open. She had been expecting some sort of mansion woven from magical tree branches and the wishes of fairies. Where she had materialised, however, was on some sort of balcony overlooking…what in the name of all that is holy was that? It looked liked she was looking into Santa’s factory – lines and lines of elves making toys. She did a double take. Not just toys. Sex toys.
At the sound of the familiar voice, she whirled around, almost losing her balance before a large male hand caught her upper arm. Prissy landed against a chest that felt like it had been carved out of a boulder, measuring just as wide. She couldn’t help herself. Her nipples tightened and she gasped.
His blue eyes twinkled in the dim light of the walkway. “I was hoping you would come.”
Me too, thought Prissy. Multiple times. One always lived in hope.
“I have not introduced myself. I am Galaeron. And this is my domain.” He waved his arm about like a king indicating his realm.
Prissy blinked. “Your domain is a sex toy factory?” Maybe she shouldn’t have had the entire wheel of brie with all those candy canes. She hadn’t even had such crazy hallucinations when she did weed with her best friend in Year 11. This was weird. Weird, but kinda awesome.
Galaeron chuckled. “This is one of many factories. We are at full capacity, you see, with Christmas only weeks away.”
“I see,” she said faintly. “And are you…um, one of Santa’s elves?”
The blond giant’s laughter sounded like rolling thunder. “I don’t wish to disappoint you, but Santa does not exist. We are the gifting elves, giving rewards those who deserve them.”
O…kay. Prissy’s eyelids fluttered. “I-Is that why I am here?”
There was that eyebrow twitch again, and if she had been wearing undies, they would have been drenched. “But of course, my Priscilla. You, above all, deserve a reward.”
My Priscilla. Her heart jumped in her chest like a startled rabbit. “B-But why?”
He took her hand gently and began leading her down the walkway. “I see everything. I have seen what a faithful and generous friend you are, what a loving daughter you are, and most of all, how much kindness and love you have shown the elderly residents at the retirement home. They adore you, you know.”
Prissy was so shocked by all of this that she barely noticed that they had entered an elevator. A moment later, they emerged into a dark hallway, but Galaeron didn’t seem to notice, making his way through the corridor without hesitation, his hand fastened firmly around hers.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
He stopped before a large wooden door and pushed it open. “Welcome to my quarters.”
She hesitated. Courage, Pris. She stepped inside, her eyes widening as she walked to the middle of the room. It was like she had stepped back in time. Either that or she had wandered onto the set of Game of Thrones. The walls and floor of the room were made of stone and there were tapestries on the walls. The furniture was made from a dark wood, and in the middle of the room was the largest bed she had ever seen. Surely it was even larger than Brad and Angie’s custom-built family bed.
The door closed behind her and she started. Her breathing quickened when Galaeron padded towards her like a lion hunting its prey, his long fingers undoing the fastening of his sapphire velvet overcoat thingy. He shrugged out of it, and in one smooth action, the pale blue satin robes underneath flew away.
Prissy froze, her eyes transfixed midway down his perfect form. “Is that a…loincloth?”
“Mm… I highly recommend them. Even more comfortable than Bonds,” he murmured, as he slid the straps of her babydoll down her shoulders. It fell around her feet, and then she was naked before him.
“You are exquisite,” he declared in a low voice.
Whoa there. Did his loincloth just move? But Prissy didn’t have any time to look. Or touch. One moment she was upright and the next she was horizontal. She gave a startled exclamation when she felt soft handcuffs fasten around her wrists. Then there was another click, and lo and behold, she was chained to the bed.
But instead of being afraid, she felt moisture gather between her thighs. Her face heated in embarrassment and arousal. Galaeron’s eyes narrowed, and his lips – those sculpted, luscious lips – curved the faintest amount, and then they were upon her. Neck, breasts, nipples, thighs, feet. Toes. Who knew her toes were that sensitive. And then those lips landed where she was river-wet. She screamed.
The bad news was that there were no multiple orgasms.
The good news? Prissy had the hugest, longest, and most incredible orgasm in the history of both humankind and elves. It went on and on and on until she begged him to stop. He did, but merely to replace his tongue with another part of him. A very large, mind-bogglingly skilful part of him. The pleasure became too much. She fainted.
When Prissy came to, she found herself lying on her side, an arm around her waist, a body pressed up against her back.
Oh no. Her mind scrambled madly.
“Granville?” she ventured tentatively, her heart pounding. In fear. In hope.
“Granville the wanker?” replied that deep, melodious voice that she thought only existed in her fantasy.
Prissy stopped breathing. “Galaeron?”
She slowly shifted until she was facing him. It was a struggle, because her muscles felt like KY jelly. His beauty was so dazzling her eyes hurt. She sighed happily. “I thought this was all a dream.”
He smiled. “Well, I am here to make your dreams come true.”
Hmm. So very cheesy, and yet… “Can I stay with you?”
Galaeron’s eyes were warm. “For as long as you wish.”
Prissy grinned. “Well, Merry Christmas to me.”