We’re lying in bed instead of Christmas shopping. I’d just made my Mistress cum and now we are snuggled together, her curling her fingers in my long red hair. Fairytale of New York by The Pogues is playing on the radio. 

“You know, you remind me of Kirsty McColl.”

I look up and smile. 

“Really, Miss?”

“Mmhmm. The same long red hair, pale skin and gorgeous green eyes.”

I blush.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, Miss.”

She shakes her head in mock disgust.

“Fuck, what are you, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-three, Miss.”

“God, I feel old. She died before you were born.”

“You’re not old, Miss, just experienced,” I giggle.

She replies to that with a swift spank to my arse.

“You know, that is one of the saddest love songs in the world. I can’t believe primary school children sing that in carol concerts, even if they aren’t allowed to mention the F word these days.”

I giggle again. “So what’s it like to be an old slut on junk, then?”

She springs up at that and pushes me down on the bed, her hands gripping my wrists.

“Naughty girls like you won’t get any presents. Don’t you want to be a good girl?"

Fuck, those words induce a Pavlovian response. Of course I want to be a good girl.

“Yes, Miss,” I whimper. “I want to be a good girl.” I look up into her eyes, fluttering my eyelashes, giving her my best Puss from Shrek look. “I want to be your good girl so much.”

She leans back on her heels as she straddles me. Her ass grinds down on my mound and I feel more juices ooze out of me.

Her fingers drop to caress my nipples. The pale pink nubs swell unbidden at her touch. Her fingernails trail over the dimples of my areolae, every touch and tingle sending a pulse direct to my core.

She rolls them both at the same time. Finger and thumbs rubbing in tandem. She tugs, twists, teases and torments them until I writhe beneath her, silently pleading with my eyes as she grins.

Suddenly, she stops. She spins off me and climbs off the bed.

“Get dressed. We’re going shopping. You need new underwear.”

I close my eyes, letting the final remnants of the pleasure she inflicted on me pulse through me before rising and standing as she rifles through my wardrobe. She hands me a blue silk blouse and a maroon leather skirt. I know to wait and not interrupt while she selects my wardrobe. She opens the dresser drawer and pulls out a pair of over-the-knee black socks then picks up the pair of matching maroon heels and smiles.

I nod and dress. The cool silk feels so good against my aching nipples though I can see they show through, producing two obvious pokes. I stand and watch as she puts on her lipstick. It’s her favourite shade, Opinionated. She told me once she chose it for the name, but it suits her. A dark almost maroon shade, almost matching my skirt and shoes, I think.

She turns to me, smacking her lips together. She unbuttons my blouse. I gaze ahead, just as I’ve been trained to. I swallow as she opens the lipstick and writes on my chest.

She nods when she refastens the buttons.

“Good, now we’re ready.”

I follow her into the shopping arcade, always two steps behind her. The Christmas spirit is in full swing. Tacky Christmas carols blast from speakers festooned with tinsel on every second gantry. 

She leads me into a rather fussy department store. We pass the rows of tired-looking lingerie, most of them for women of a certain age. I’m just about to protest to my Miss that we must be in the wrong shop when she stops at the desk. I see the sign, ‘We measure bras. Just ask.’

A cold sweat breaks out.

“Go and get measured and then we will choose you something.”

It’s such a simple request, but not when you know your Miss has just written something on your tits. I look at the woman behind the desk. She’s attractive, with long brunette hair tied back. The woman smiles and beckons me over.

“Follow me. I don’t bite,” she giggles and pulls a curtain to conceal me from the shop floor.

On auto-pilot, I unbutton my blouse. I know my Miss is watching outside, waiting. I remove my blouse and place it on the chair. The woman turns and stops dead.

I can see her read the writing. A smirk forms. She glances left and right then steps closer and grips my left nipple hard and twists.

I wince but bite my lip and stare straight ahead. Her hand snakes down my stomach and slides under my skirt. “No panties either?”

I nod, feeling my wet, needy pussy drip on her hand. She pushes her middle finger inside me. I swear I can hear it squelch as she fucks me. It’s rough, hard and fast. I stand, my marked tits jiggling as she brings me to the brink of orgasm almost instantaneously.

She curls and uncurls her finger. Tap tap tap on my spot. It matches the rhythm of Noddy Holder’s wishes blaring over the store PA as she drives me to the edge.

I glance down and can read the upside-down lipstick writing. ‘Needy Slut’ and ‘Use me’ are scrawled on me.

“Please,” I whimper and then she pinches my nipple with her other hand and slams her hand in deeper. I cry out and orgasm, impaled on her hand.

“Christmas cums but once a year,” she laughs before wiping her cum stained fingers on my marked tits.

Without giving me time to recover, she opens the curtain and pushes me back to my waiting Miss.

“Sluts like her don’t need bras,” she laughs as the assembled Christmas shoppers stop and stare.