The Christmas Candle, by Joe Doe

[imreadonly2]

From Joe:

I loved the description in Mr. Smith's story of the daughter in law's pole painting, and felt totally inspired to build on the imagery. Although it is wildly out of season, I offer this as my gift back to Mr. Smith. No sequel planned, as I'm just having fun with the pole!

A CHRISTMAS CANDLE

Marsha bounded into The Big D, with her mother Elyse in tow. Seeing her pal Jamal, Marsha smiled.

“Hey Jamal! I didn’t know you were working today. Wh‘Sup?”

The young black man behind the counter looked up at the smiling blonde. “Wishing I was studying for Calc, instead of working here. Oh, hi, Mrs. Keats.”

Elyse stiffened, and looked a bit baffled as she stared at the young black man. “I’m sorry. Have we been introduced?”

Marsha rolled her eyes. “Mom! Could you not like TOTALLY embarrass me? You remember Jamal. You wouldn’t let me date him because he’s black, and you thought that made him ‘gangster’ or some crazy shit.”

“Oh. Yes, Jamal. Nice to see you, again,” Elyse said weakly, in a voice that made it clear she wasn’t at all pleased to see him, especially not behind the reception counter at The Big D, and especially not now.

“How can I help you two ladies today?” Jamal said, cheerfully ignoring the slight.

Before Elyse could explain that another day might be better, her daughter, taking charge, cut her off. “We’re getting mom slave graded for Christmas. My dad’s out of town, too, so I was thinking maybe a day of slave training would help her grade.”

“I’m not sure if that’s really necessary,” Elyse protested.

“Maybe TWO days,” Marsha said, obviously enjoying the reversal of fortune as she overrode her very uncomfortable mother.

“Sure,” Jamal said. “We actually have a Christmas special. Two days of training, and the Christmas pole, all for the price of an official grading. And only $10 more for The Christmas Candle.”

“Tight!” Marsha said, clearly delighted. “We GOT to do the Christmas Candle, right mom? When can we start?”

Elyse had never head of the “The Christmas Candle” but she did not like the smirk on Marsha’s face. “I’m not sure if the slave training is really…”

Marsha, hands on her hips, turned and confronted her mother. “Like, EXCUSE ME, boss-mom. Like, I’m taking the slave training class in college, so we agreed I’d be in charge today? That was our agreement. Remember?”

Elyse nodded.

“So that means I’m in charge. You’re not going to be giving orders when your being graded, so you NEED backup. That means I’m in charge. Got it?”

Elyse nodded.

“I didn’t hear you,” Marsha said testily.

“You’re in charge, dear,” Elyse replied.

Elyse was proud that Marsha was taking a slaving degree at the community college. Marsha was bossy, and loved being in charge, so Elyse thought maybe a career as a slave handler would be a good fit for her. Elyse’s suggestion had been a good one, and for the first time in her life Marsha was a straight A student, instead of just Miss Popularity.

Marsha had been through a slave grading herself, naturally, with Elyse supervising. Elyse had to admit she’d rather enjoyed putting her daughter in her place. But now the tables were turned, and if revenge was a dish best served cold, Marsha thought it was best served cold with relish on top! "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!" Elyse thought.

“Dad deserves the best. Don’t you want to get the best grade for him?” Marsha said, challenging her.

Elyse frowned. Marsha’s new major had definitely changed the dynamic in her house. Naturally all of this talk about slaving had peaked the interest of Elyse’s husband and son, and now slave girls was all they ever seemed to talk about. When Elyse had told Marsha about her idea of getting an official grade for Christmas she had risen to the occasion, and promised to take care of her “tip-to-toe”, whatever that meant.

The family drama having ended, Jamal finally interjected. “Well, we don’t open for another 30 minutes. Hey, where do you two think you’re going?”

Elyse and Marsha turned to see two teenagers trying to nonchalant their way past the yellow bollards and into The Big D.

“We need to get a slave collar,” the smaller teenager said.

“Yeah. For his sister,” his partner in crime added.

Jamal was unimpressed. “That’s very thoughtful of you. First, we don’t open for 30 minutes. Second, do you two have some ID on you?”

The smaller one opened up his wallet. “Here you go. I turned 18 on Friday. See?”

“You don’t look 18,” Jamal said, holding the driver’s license up to the light.

“Yeah, everybody calls me Scrawny, cuz I’m so short and skinny.”

“Everyone calls me Zits,” the other boy said, not needing to explain why he had that nickname. “I have an ID from the community college.”

Jamal examined the ID. “This looks legit, too. But it doesn’t have your age on it.”

“They let high school students take classes at the community college,” Marsha offered unhelpfully, smirking at Zits as she dashed his chances of getting into heaven.

Jamal handed back the IDs and rendered his verdict. “Okay, Scrawny, you can go in when we open at 10. Your friend Zits will have to wait here, behind the yellow bollards.”

“AWWWWWWW!” Zits whined. “My mom is going to come by, soon. She has my ID.”

“If she gets here with your ID, then I’ll let you in. Until then, I want you both behind the bollards, okay?”

The boys, defeated, retreated behind the bollards as Jamal returned his attention to Marsha. “Like I said, we don’t open for another few minutes.”

Elyse bit her lip and shuffled her feet, feeling more like a teenager than a mom. “I thought I could get here and get processed in before… the rush.”

“She’s like all SHY!”, Marsha giggled. “It’s like, adorable-licious! She’s like, a total BAE, but won’t even wear a two piece to the beach. It’s like being raised by, like, Queen Victoria.”

Jamal and Marsha both laughed at Elyse as she bit her tongue, not at all pleased that her daughter was discussing her as if she wasn’t there.

Jamal seemed unconcerned. “Well, normally for the girls enter naked, but as we’re not open, I won’t take any points off if we get her stripped down at the counter,” Jamal said.

“Wow! Thanks, Jamal. You are like the BESTIE friend ever!” Marsha said. “Do you have a property box?”

“No. But I got a Big D bag,” Jamal said. “Got the logo and everything. You can put her shit in here.”

Reaching over, the smiling Marsha slipped her mother’s shoulder bag off her and dropped it in the bag. Giving her mother a wicked grin, she said. “It’s SHOWTIME. Everything off. Down to the skin!”

Elyse was shocked. “What? Strip out here? You can’t expect me to…”

“Actually, I can,” Marsha said authoritatively. “You signed all the paperwork at home and we scanned it in. You signed up for a slave grading, and that means you have to get SLAVE NAKED. In a second, I’m going to help Jamal pull up your order, so we can add in the two days of training.”

“And the Christmas pole,” Jamal said.

“And the Christmas pole,” Marsha repeated, “Jamal, do you have a slave goad?”

Smiling, Jamal reached behind the desk and handed Marsha a slender black stick with two sharp metal prongs at the business end. Elyse shuddered as Marsha pressed the trigger, and the electricity arced between the two pointy spikes. Marsha smiled as her mom blanched. “Now this place is going to being going all jingle bells in about 20 minutes, so if you don’t want to be stripping for Cowboy’s Stadium, I’d get shucked down fast.”

“In front of THEM?” Elyse said, pointing at Scrawny and Zits.

“Yup!” Marsha replied. “As I recall, you made me strip in the parking lot when I got my slave grading, so if anything, I’m giving you a break.”

“That’s different. I was your mother. I was doing what I thought best.”

“Now it’s my turn to do what’s best, and, as per our agreement, you’re not my bossy mother for today, you’re slave pussy I’m processing. Slave pussy that has clothes on, when I want her clothes off. All of them.”

“I want them to leave, first,” Elyse said, pointing at the two pie-eyed teenagers.

“You’re not in charge, here. Jamal said they have to stay behind the bollards, isn’t that right, Jamal?”

“Sure ‘nuff” he agreed, very much enjoying seeing Marsha’s racist mom squirm.

“He’s in charge, so that’s where they stay. In fact, I’m going to let these two little Boy Scouts do their good deed for the day, while I finalize your paperwork with Jamal.” Using the pointy end of the slave goad Marsha roughly pushed her mother in front of the bollards that the two teenagers were standing behind. Handing Scrawny the bag and slave goad she said. “Get her stripped down, boys, the quicker the better. Slave naked. Everything in the bag. And don’t be afraid to use the zapper,” she said, flatly.

"Please! I can't. Not in front of them!"

Marsha smiled. "See that mistletoe above the bollards, hanging from the green and red handcuffs? That's called slave-tle-toe and if I make you kneel under it, you'll have to give a slave kiss to anyone who comes along. That really sucks, and so will you. So there's a lot worse things than stripping for these two, which you're going to find out if you don't have at it."

The grinning Scrawny held the zapper up in front of Elyse’s face and pressed the button. Elyse jumped as once again the electricity arced between the two pointy prongs. Relishing his newfound power, he said. “You heard the lady. Everything off.”

“EVERYTHING,” Zits repeated, smiling.

“Let’s start with those strappy shoes. Now.”

Elyse put one hand on the bollard and quickly slid off her high heel sandal. She had put some thought into her wardrobe today. She didn’t want to dress up, but she didn’t want to dress down, either. She wanted to be sexy, to get a good grade, but she wanted her grader to understand she was a lady, too. With these diverse goals in mind, she had chosen a blue skirt cut just above the knee, and a white silk blouse, without hose.

“Come on, hurry it up. Both shoes, in the bag.”

“Yeah, quick stalling,” Zits added, enjoying his role as second banana to the bully-in-charge.

“Now for the good part. Let’s take off that blouse.”

“Yeah, let’s see the dairies!” Zit’s added.

As she unbuttoned her blouse Scrawny asked her, “Do you remember me?”

“No,” Elyse admitted. “Should I?”

“You KNOW her?” Zits said, impressed.

“I delivered newspapers to her house for 4 years. She was, like, a total bitch about everything, and always complained if the paper wasn’t exactly in front of her precious front door.”

“Bitch,” Zits agreed.

“Naked slave bitch, in a second. Blouse in the bag,” Scrawny said, aborting her attempts to fold the material by simply stuffing it in the shopping bag.

“Nice bra, though. All lacy red. Nice and slutty. Now the skirt.”

Elyse blushed. She had purchased the lacy red underwear thinking her grader would see it when she stripped in back, not to perform a slow striptease-to-order for some pervert paperboy. She glanced over her shoulder, to where Marsha was leaning over the counter, and flirting with Jamal as she finalized Elyse’s order. She wondered what they were talking about. Her attention was refocused as Scrawny poked her in the right boob with the sharp tip of the goad. “Skirt, bimbo. NOW.”

Elyse unbuttoned and unzipped the skirt, letting it fall to the floor. As soon as she stepped out of it, Zits, wanting to get into the act, grabbed it and stuffed it into the bag.

“You know what comes next, bitch,” Scrawny said. “Booby time.”

“Yeah, show us your tits.”

Elyse had known she was going to have to take off her clothes, but not in front of two cretins several inches shorter than her. “Look boys, let’s be reasonable...”

Scrawny poked at her with the zapper, causing Elyse to lunge backwards. “Okay, okay!” she said, reaching back to unsnap her bra.

Elyse shrugged off her bra and Zits grabbed it out of her hands. “Nice jugs.”

“Don’t cover up,” Scrawny said. “No need to hide perfection.”

Gritting her teeth, Elyse let her hands drop to her side. “Now that, Zits, are two Grade A milk duds.”

“Makes me hungry for ice cream!” Zits agreed. “I can’t believe this bitch is really stripping for us.”

“It only gets better from here. Panties next!” Scrawny said brightly.

“Yeah, show us that nice, tight pussy.”

“Pussy. Pussy. Pussy!” They both picked up the chant.

Blushing crimson, Elyse pulled down her underpants and handed them to Zits, who examined them before dropping them into the bag. “Wow, she’s wet,” he said.

“Of course she’s wet,” Marsha said authoritatively. “She’s slave hot. All slave sluts get wet stripping down to their slave suits.”

“Ha, ha! Her slave suit!” Zits said. “I love it.”

“I’ll have those,” Masha said, taking off her mother’s diamond ear studs. “And slave girls don’t wear wedding rings.”

Reluctantly, the blushing Elyse dropped her wedding band into her grinning daughter’s palm. Examining the ring thoughtfully, Marsha rolled it between her fingers. “Such an important symbol, of permanence, and safety. When you’re wearing this ring Dad would feel like he would have to protect you. But without it, he’ll see you as the naked slave slut you really are.”

Marsha, asked for a slave whip, and Elyse swallowed hard as Jamal handled her a three-foot-long lash with a wooden handle. Elyse jumped as Marsha gave it a test CRACK, and it cut through the air.

Turning to the teenagers, Marsha said, “Nice job, boys. She’s all ready for the Christmas pole.”

“What’s the pole?” Elyse said.

Marsha rolled her eyes. “Like, don’t you know ANYTHING? The Christmas Pole! It’s only, like, the coolest thing EVER.”

Using the slave whip to poke her mother in the back Marsha led Elyse over to a pole, painted like a red-and-white striped candy cane, with faux snow on the top and a directional sign that read:

SANTA’S WORKSHOP
NORTH POLE

“Get down on all fours. No, dummy, over here, so you’re facing Santa.”

Alyse positioned herself so she was on all fours in front of an audio animatronic Santa, sitting on a throne chair, smiling down on her.

“Now, what?” Elyse said, baffled.

Marsha’s tone was calm, matter-of-fact, and instructional. “Now, silly, lift your hind leg, back into the pole, and start rubbing your twat on the pole.”

“It’s called licking-the-candy-cane!” Zits offered helpfully.

“Spreading Christmas cheer!” Scrawny countered.

“Yeah, spread it nice and wide!” Zeke guffawed.

“Marsha, you can’t be serious. I can’t spread my legs in front of these two… BRATS!” Elyse said, looking up in horror at her smug, daughter. “No way!”

“Way, Mom,” Marsha said smugly, taking two steps back. “Remember, when the reindeer won’t play, Santa uses the whip!”

CRACK!

Elyse cried out in pain as the whip bisected her ass, the popper digging into her bottom right buttock and crossing to the top of the left as the lash set her bottom ablaze.

“AAhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Elyse screamed.

“Wow! Great shot!” Scrawny said.

“Ahhhh! My ass is on FIRE!” Elyse shouted.

“That was just a flick. I’ve been professionally trained in whip handling, remember? Now, MUSH!”

CRACK!

The second stroke bisected the first, leaving two crisscross crimson welts on Elyse’s shapely bottom.

“X marks the spot!” Zits yelled.

“I’ll say. Whip her ass!”

“I will,” Marsha said sternly. “If my little reindeer doesn’t start humping her candy cane!”

Seeing that Marsha was preparing for another crack of the whip, a panicked Elyse backed into the candy cane pole, raised her leg, and started to rub her pussy.

“Wow, I can see EVERYTHING!” Zits said.

“I can see her pink panther!” Scrawny agreed.

“I can see the brown between her butt cheeks.”

Elyse felt dreadfully exposed, particular with the two urchins behind her providing color commentary on her private parts, but Marsha remained unsatisfied. With the smug, arrogant, condescending attitude that was her favorite tone of voice, Marsha said, “A good start, mom, but you can do better. Way better. Raise that dainty little foot high into the air, and move it ALL the way to your left. Remember, slave girls have no shame. You’re showing the boys the hors d’oeuvres. I want them to see the Christmas spread.”

Reluctantly, Elyse lifted her left leg higher, causing the gap between her thighs to widen and exposing more of her gash to the boy’s inspection.

“More like WHORE-deves!” Zits laughed, as Elyse’s blush deepened.

Marsha knew Elyse could do better, and decided to show Elyse – and everyone present – who was in charge. Secretly delighted at her mother’s reluctance, she cracked the whip for a third time against her unprotected ass.

“I said SPREAD!”

Responding both to the crack of the whip and her daughter’s authoritative voice, Elyse needed no further urging. Lifting her left leg as high as she could, she splayed her legs as far as possible, and RUBBED!

“Wow! I can see her butthole!”

“I can see… all the way to CHRISTMAS!” Zits said, astonished.

“That’s a good girl,” Marsha said, stepping in close that Elyse could look at her shoes. “Show the boys your warm, wet Christmas pudding!”

“This is amazing!” Zits said. “I can see… EVERYTHING!”

Marsha, finally enjoying herself as her mother blushed crimson, smiled. “Just wait, boys,” Marsha said. “It gets better.”

Turing to Jamal, Marsha said, “It’s curtain time. Let’s fire ‘er up, and get this show on the road!”

Jamal fiddled with some controls on his iPad, and the animatronic Santa came to life. “How’s my little Ho-ho-ho?” he asked, looking down at Elyse as she rubbed her pole. “Have you been a good little slut this year?”

Behind her, Elyse felt the pole began to buzz, as overhead, three gigantic jumbotron monitors, each about 10 foot across, flicked on.

One screen was focused in on Elyse’s blushing face. The second, looked down on her ass from a ceiling camera as she humped the pole.

The third view was what amazed: a closeup of her rapidly moistening pussy, sliding up and down the pole.

“Wow, great views!” Zits said.

“Yeah, Scrawny said. I can even see her tits bounce.”

“Wow, this must be a new model,” Marsha said, smiling as she looked up at the monitor. “I don’t think the gynecologist gets that sort of view.”

“He doesn’t,” Jamal agreed. “This year’s model is all digital. Santa’s eyes have cameras. They track to your mom, as she moves her head, so he stays focused on her face. The camera that shows her ass is in the ceiling. The pussy cams are actually in the pole. The paint is translucent on one side so the camera can see through it, and the computer adjusts the image for the wetness and smear so that you can get a clear image of her pussy hole. Quite a bit of R&D went into this.”

“Worth every penny!” Zits said, breathless.

“I’ll say!” Zits agreed.

"For goodness sakes, Marsha!" Elyse pleaded. "Turn off the cameras at least. This is filthy. They can see... my poopy hole!"

Everyone laughed at Elyse's quaint terminology. Elyse had always been sensitive about exposing that, considering it "dirty". She had even made a note that she didn't want to be touched "there" for her grading, even though Marsha had just laughed and told her that if she identified herself as a virgin her grader or the handlers would fuck her up the ass for sure!"

“It's not your poopy hole anymore, Mom. It's the merchandise, and you got to show it to sell it. Now let's get that ass moving, up and down the pole,” Marsha said, glancing at her watch. “I want that candle sponge SOPPING before the store opens at 10AM. Better get busy!”

Elyse redoubled her efforts as she found herself staring at her daughter impatient, tapping toe, and the lashes from the whip popper, dangling down in front of her face. The threat was unmistakable, and Elyse began to HUMP.

“Take your time, slut,” Scrawny said. “I’m enjoying the floor show.”

“Candle sponge?” Elyse said, allowing herself to glance between her legs at the green sponge encircling the pole.

“For your Christmas candle, silly!” Marsha said, already talking to her mother as if she were the dumbest bimbo to ever grease a pole at The Big D. “It’s inspired by that Gwyneth Paltrow Goup thing, where she sold a candle that smelled like her vagina. So The Big D has this hot-shot consultant, and she said that they should sell pussy candles for Christmas.”

“How does it work?” Scrawny said, mesmerized by the image of Elyse’s increasingly wet pussy slurping up and down the huge jumbotron a few feet above his head.

Enjoying her pedantic role, Marsha explained. “My mom’s pussy juice is running down the pole into that little green Christmas sponge. When it’s nice and soggy, we can use your scent to make a candle. He can light it up on Christmas morning when everyone comes over and we show the films of you riding the pole, so everybody will know what your slutbox smells like.”

“Smell-a-vision!” Zit’s said, clearly impressed.

“More like slut-a-vision!” Scrawny countered.

“We can make it more or less subtle,” Jamal explained. “The least offensive is here at the top, “Slave Blossom”, Jamal said. “It’s very faint, but pleasing.”

Marsha scrolled through the list of choices on Jamal’s iPad. “No, I want everyone to get a GOOD whiff of her, to see what her wet twat really smells like. How about “Dirty Dumpster” or “Fish Taco?”

“Well, if you want the strongest, stinkiest one, go for “Whorehouse At Low Tide.”

“Perfect!” Marsha said. “Make the candle large, and pink, with a closeup of her wet snatch on the front.”

“Perfect!” Santa echoed. “Whorehouse at low tide! Ho-ho-ho! Ring ‘er up!”

“Large will take a lot of rubbing!” Jamal warned. “We’ll need to get that sponge really wet.”

“No problem,” Marsha said. “Judging from the noises she makes when she’s with Dad, she’s a randy little slut.”

Elyse gritted her teeth. Marsha had teased her about making too much noise for years, and she tried to be as quiet as possible. But she couldn’t be the prim-and-proper software executive all the time.

“That’s, it, little girl,” Santa said, chuckling as he urged Elyse on. “Let’s get our Yule log burning. Give it a good rub!”

“You heard the man, Mom,” Marsha said impatiently. “Snap to it! Pick up the pace!”

Elyse wasn’t inclined to follow the directions of the grotesque, leering, computer Santa, which was plucked straight out of some ghastly uncanny valley. But Marsha was running the lashes at the end of the whip’s popper through her fingers in a way that made it clear she was dying to use it.

Elyse rubbed harder and faster. To her surprise, the pole seemed to respond, and buzzed back at her. Despite her humiliation the sensation was unbelievable. Marsha smiled as her mother moaned in pleasure.

“That’s it,” Marsha said. Give it a good rub. That sponge won’t soak itself.”

“The little slut likes it!” Zits said. “Look at her juices dribbling down the pole!”

“That’s a good girl, Elyse,” Santa said. “Give it a good rub, and feel the peppermint. All slave ho’s love the pussy pole!”

“It’s buzzing… and burning!” Elyse gasped.

“Peppermint aphrodisiac,” Jamal said. “The pole secretes it. It’s for the holidays.”

“Feel the burn, Elyse?” Santa taunted. “Ho-ho-ho!”

“Santa knows her name?” Marsha said, clearly impressed. “What gives with that?”

“This year’s model has AI. It listens to the conversation, from her and anyone around, and monitors her responses, both physical and verbal. Then the AI program kicks in programs the response. Most slave mantra’s are just repetition and a computer is actually a pretty decent trainer. You’ll see: we’ll have that candle scented in no time!”

“Smells like heaven!” Zit’s said, bending down for a good whiff.

“Smells like peppermint!” Scrawny said.

“Oh, no!” Marsha said, concerned. “That won’t interfere with the scent, will it?”

“Don’t worry,” Jamal said. The peppermint scent will dissolve in the pussy juice. It won’t interfere with the candle. On Christmas morning, the whole house will stink like your mom’s wet pussy.”

Elyse couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was butt naked, sliding up and down a pole, inches from orgasm, and her darling daughter’s biggest concern was that her pussy candle was properly scented.

Elyse wondered why the candle-of-shame had to be extra-large, as she was sure that even a small candle would give all of her Christmas guests a great whiff of her wet pussy. However, with her eyes locked on the laughing Sant, she was far too focus on raising her leg higher and rubbing her wet pussy faster to begin a debate.

“That’s it!” Santa taunted. “Open your Christmas presents, little girl. Show everyone what’s inside your box. Ho-ho-ho! Ho-ho-ho!”

Elyse’s company had worked on an AI slave training program, and she had even written some of the code. Fairly basic stuff, really, after you plugged in the natural language and learning modules. It was similar to the program they used to train dogs, with the endless repetition of key phrases and commands, with some fun stuff she had sprinkled in, like reciting poems or movie scenes, or singing songs. Elyse remembered recycling the dog training, and joking with her underlings that it “didn’t matter if the bitches had two legs or four. Teaching some slut to spread her legs and rub her pussy was teaching theoretical physics. It’s what comes naturally, and I do mean CUM.”

Elyse’s words came back to haunt her as she groaned with pleasure as she slid up and down the candy cane pole.

“WOWZER, look at that!” Scrawny gushed. “Up on the monitor. Her pussy is HUGE.”

“I could crawl inside it!” Zit’s said.

“You wish!” Scrawny replied. “Look at how wet it is! It’s like an octopus, pressed against the glass of an aquarium!” he said breathlessly.

Marsha looked up at the monitor. To her horror she could see her pink, wet, pussy in full closeup, slopping up and down. The lips were opening and closing, gripping the pole as she masturbated the camera. Looking at it, she was reminded of the life size model of the human heart she had once walked through in a museum. She was sure the walk through of her wet vagina would be a hit with horny teenage boys everywhere. And with the candle, Marsha could even scent the experience.

“Eyes front!” Marsha said, punctuating her command with a snap of the wicked slave whip on her ass. “Look at Santa. He’s your master, now.”

Elyse let out a little yip as she looked up at Santa. Santa’s mechanical smile widened as their eyes met. “Is that a whip I hear? Has one of my little reindeer slave girls been bad? Ho-ho-ho!”

To her horror, the smiling Santa kicked into the NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, urging her on as Marsha “encouraged” her by snapping the whip so close to her ass that she could feel the air crackle against her flinching butt cheeks.

On Gasher, on Dancer
You hot little vixen! (CRACK!)
Grease the pole with your juices,
Get those pussy creams mixin! (CRACK!)

Get your ass moving! (CRACK!)
Show us your holes! (CRACK!)
Rub your hot pussy! (CRACK!)
‘Till you come on the pole! (CRACK!)

On the last incantation, Elyse did indeed come on the pole, her mind spinning as her gaping gash sucked and squirted on the big screen in Cinemscope Orgasm-rama!

As she lost all control, a red and green police style light came out of the top of the pole, and began circling around, drawing more attention to her Christmas pole shame. The loudspeakers blared out a merry tune, sung to the tune of RUDOLPH, THE RED NOSED REINDEER.

Look at the slut-ty slave-girl,
Humping up and down with glee.
Spread out all wide and open,
For everyone to see!

“Wow! Her pussy is SUCKING the pole!” Scrawny said, amazed.

“Yeah, like a suckerfish!”

“Or a pussy fish!”

“Smells pretty fish to me,” Jamal said, joining in with the merriment.

“Her butthole is winking, too!”

“She’s saying hello!”

“Is there anything hotter than this?”

“I can think of something hotter,” Jamal said. “Computer says you need a class in block moves this semester. Would you like me to sign you up for it?”

Marsha looked shocked. “Training. You mean NOW?”

“Sure,” Jamal said casually. “Semester ends in January, right? That means you don’t have much time. You can your mom can ride the pole together.”

“Yeah! Then we can mix the scents, for a SUPER SLUT candle!” Zits said eagerly.

“Let me think about it,” Marsha said, deflecting something she clearly didn’t want to do. Marsha smiled and let the 5 little leather lashes that formed the end of her slave whip’s poppers run up her mother’s butt crack.

Marsha tut-tutted. “Really, Mom? Winking your asshole? You really don’t have any shame at all, do you? I’m thinking maybe The Christmas Pole at the Big D is the perfect place for you.”

“It is, now that the store is opening,” Jamal said.

All of the overhead lights flipped on as people who had been waiting outside streamed through the doors. To her horror, Elyse saw that her gasping, grunting face, winking butt hole, and pussy spams were now being displayed on jumbo monitors all over the store.

“Merry Christmas and welcome to The Big D,” a voice said. “We’re open until Midnight, and the mall and food court are open until 1AM. Happy shopping, masters!”

“Wow, is that Elyse?” an approaching voice said.

“Don’t be stupid. What would she be doing naked and humping a Christmas pole?”

Elyse made the mistake of slowing down, partially because her orgasm was subsiding, partially to see who had recognized her.

CRACK!

“Keep humping, slave girl!” Maraha chided as Elyse screamed in pain. The Christmas candle isn’t going to scent itself. Both eyes on Santa!”

“Keep humping!” Santa agreed, as Elyse looked up into his cold, doll like eyes. “Here, I know. Let’s sing a song!”

Joy to the World!
Let slave girls come!
Let sluts.. grease up… their poles!

Her ass stinging from Marsha’s whip, Elyse rubbed harder and faster, trying to spur on another orgasm as a crowd of shoppers, including many that she recognized, and a few who worked for her, gathered around to watch her shudder through yet another slavegasm.

[Mr. Smith]

Great story. Love the way it ends, with the store opening, the different views on the big screens, with her recognizing co-workers as she wantonly polishes the pole on her way to yet another climax. The power dynamic between her paperboy and her new found status as slave slut is priceless. Being stripped and then the whole the time being taunted by her paperboy and his buddy.

[Survivor29]

Is this a sequel to another story? If so, what story?

[Hooked6]

Marsha, hands on her hips, turned and confronted her mother. “Like, EXCUSE ME, boss-mom. Like, I’m taking the slave training class in college, so we agreed I’d be in charge today? That was our agreement. Remember?”

There is so much to love about this story. The dialog snippet above was hilarious yet it perfectly set the tone of the interpersonal dynamics between mom and daughter, not to mention the enticing visual and erotic anticipation it sets up in the readers' minds.

The Christmas Pole and most especially the Christmas Candle were both simply genius! What great marketing strategies - a little fake snow, some red and white paint and viola, a whole new incentive to pussy-paint the pole. I can hear it now, "Sure, I painted the pole at the Big D. Big Deal," one teen says to another. "Yeah, but have you painted the CHRISTMAS pole? I have! You've got to try it. It doesn't seem like Christmas anymore without doing it."

The Joe outdid himself with the Candle idea, however. It conjures up images of holiday guests entering the home wondering what that uncertain aroma might be and the embarrassment that follows when it is explained that the candle was made from mom's pussy juice along with the daughter's comments like, "You should see the process. I've got pictures, wanna see?"

In short, I LOVED this story - a new holiday classic for sure.

Hooked6

[Carl Bradford]

Under the heading of "hoist on her own petard," I particularly loved the note that Elyse's company had helped develop the AI technology, during which development she expressed contempt for the slaves who would abase themselves in this manner. Shades of Professor Sarah Hollister being processed by her own devious plans to humiliate slaves. Just another example of how Joe emphasizes the loss of power.
Clearly, though, part of Elyse's problem in this situation is that she hasn't read enough Joe Doe stories; otherwise she wouldn't be surprised by being forced to strip in public. Such readings should be mandatory in high school slavery courses.

[imreadonly2]

From Joe:

Good point, Carl, but even if Elyse had read all of the stories in the forum, I'm sure she'd never believe that she'd behave like one of THOSE dirty, filthy slave girls, juicing themselves on the pole. Really! Don't they have any dignity at all!

Yes, the power dynamics between mom & daughter are key, and since I loved them in Mr. Smith's story I tried to play off that. And yes, The Big D, with their fancy consultants, is a marketing machine!

Elyse blanched when Marsha, with a twinkle in her eye, set down the pussy candle right down in the center of the table. Elyse, horrified, quickly set her water glass in front of the picture of her pussy and the text identifying it as her slave candle.

Marsha enjoyed watching her mother squirm through dinner. She'd look at the candle, and then her mother, and smile, enjoying her mother's mounting sense of horror and helplessness.

"What a unique scent!" Grandma noted. "Kind of musty, but sweet. What is it?"

"It's custom," Marsha replied, grinning at her horrified mother. "Where did we get it, Mom?"

"I think it was one of a kind," Elyse said, hedging. "I'm sure that was the last one."

"Oh, come on, mom. If Grandma really wants one, I'm sure we can make another."

"I like it too," Uncle Ed said. "Make one for me, too."

"Me three," Willy's girlfriend Tina said.

"So where did you get it?" Uncle Ed said, reaching for the candle.

Elyse tried to grab it but Ed was too fast. "It's mom's pussy candle!" Marsha explained brightly, as a shocked Ed stared at a closeup view of Elyse's most private parts on the side of the candle.

With that the floodgates opened, and everyone demanded to see the video of Elyse's candle making adventure. Fortunately, Marsha had already stored the complete video in the cloud, and many of the people at the table had new electronic devices.

Everyone at the table thought Sally's new iPad had the most accurate color management, although Willy protested that you couldn't say that for sure, "without seeing the original model."

The Samsung stereo really captured Eileen's gasps as she slave-gasmed. And Grandpa's 20 inch Amazon tablet offered the biggest picture, at least until they went into the living room, where Elyse's son and his friends had gladly given up playing games on the 135 inch screen that covered most of the wall and were now enjoying Elyse's shameful performance. "Wow, you're mom's box is even hotter than x-box!" Skippy gushed.

"You did get yourself some mighty fine pussy there, son!" Grandpa said, complimenting his son. "I bet you if you sold her, you could get top dollar!"

"I bet I could!" he replied, giving his wife a playful wink. Marsha hoped he was joking.

"It would pay for my masters!" Marsha added unhelpfully.

[Hooked6]

Your dialog above represents PERFECTLY the types of thoughts that would be in the minds of readers enjoying your story, as I tried to point out in my post a couple of posts above. When an author can entice readers into imagining how a scene might go, far and beyond what the author actually wrote - THAT'S a hallmark of a great writer.

Hooked6

[imreadonly2]

For her part, Elyse could do little but blush as her family discussed her "pouty pussy lips", "throbbing clit" (or "juice button", as her mother called it), "snappy tight bung hole", and "sopping wet pussy". There's was a fun, festive air, suitable for Christmas morning, and everyone enjoyed the holiday party atmosphere.

"Bullseye!" Grandpa shouted as on his gigantic pad Marsha cracked Elyse ass with the whip. "Listen to the little slave girl yelp! She really felt that one. You're pretty handy with that whip, young lady."

"Thanks, Grandpa!" Marsha said proudly. "It's just practice, really. Although having a target as big and round as mom's delicious ass really brings out the best in me. Something about her butt just makes you want to crack the whip!"

"Wow, I can't believe what a juicy slut your mother is," Timmy said.

"Clearly she has a hankering for the collar," Uncle Ed agreed.

"Funny, since she acts so prissy and uptight," her mother-in-law scolded. "Whoever thought a stuck up little bitch like her would be slave hot."

"Lady in the sheet, slave girl in the sheets, huh, son?" her father in law teased, nudging her smiling husband.

"I hope we're not embarrassing her too much. Look at how red she is."

"Her face is redder than Santa's hat!"

"She was blushing in the video, too," Marsha explained pedantically. "Slave sluts who pretend to be ladies blush when they are first exposed. No big deal, really. It's just part of the enslavement process. "Red as a tomato, hot as an oven, as wet as an otters pocket."

"Slave juicy!" Timmy said, whistling as he stared up at Elyse's pink pussy on the gigantic screen.

"Don't sit so close to the set, loser," his sister chided him. "You'll get wet."

"Smells nice, too," Tina said. "Kind of tangy."

"Yes, I make candles at home, but nothing THIS nice," Aunt Edna said.

"Clearly that candle isn't one-of-a-kind, dear, judging from the way you're squeezing your thighs together," her mother chided.

Marsha was enjoying the way her mother was blushing and squirming, but was a little jealous to see her mother the center of attention, particularly since Marsha had stored her slave whip behind the cabinet.

"The end pole on the banister is about the same dimensions as the pussy pole at The Big D," Marsha observed casually. "I mean, if we wanted to get more juice, so everyone could get their own Christmas candle."

"Would the scent match?" Tina said.

"It's pretty close," Marsha said, speaking from experience. "But the proof is in the pudding!" she added mischievously.

"We could check her beaver covers," Uncle Ed suggested, immediately picking up on Marsha's cleverly planted idea.

"Will she be wet enough?" Aunt Martha said.

Elyse's father in law jumped in. "Are you kidding? She has a room full of people starting at her pussy. Slave sluts love that. I bet she's soaking, right son?"

Her husband didn't answer, but laughed at his father's good natured teasing.

"A scent check would be nice," Tina said, sniffing the candle. "Just to be sure."

Relishing her chance to take charge, Marsha stood in front of her mother, feet apart, one hand on her hip, one hand outstretched, palm open, waiting. "Let's have the panties, slave girl," she said authoritatively. "Unless you want me to get the whip, and we'll juice you on the stairwell."

"Panties! Panties! Panties!" Timmy said. Soon everyone in the room, even her husband, had picked up on the good natured chant, as Elyse chewed her lip and mulled her two options.

[Mr. Smith]

I am sensing a new family candle making holiday tradition for all of the women folk. If you bring a girlfriend home for Christmas she better have her candle. What a way to welcome her into the family while making her feel right at home. At what point would Grannies be exempted since I am sure there are some GILFs out there. Marsha better watch out for next year.

I really liked the picture of the pussy on the side of the candle. Per chance did Marsha also pick up one of those Big D Christmas ornaments with Elyse's pussy up close on the pole on one side with a full body shot of Elyse polishing the Christmas pole on the other side?

[imreadonly2]

Whether it's slave girl ornaments, red & green slave bells, Christmas collars, or candy cane vibrators to stuff her stocking and bring out her HO HO HO, The Big D will fulfill all your Christmas desires.

New for this year are yard decorations featuring your wife and daughter as naked slave girls pulling Santa's sleigh. Or for a video treat they'll never forget, take them down to the Big D, and have our audio animatronic Santa use his Santa whip on their bottoms as they pull his sleigh through our parking lot.

Ladies, there's still plenty of time to get yourself "unwrapped" and gifted to your boyfriend. Or use one of our special red slave ribbons or cages to put yourself under the tree. Remember, if the collar's his thing, you might get the ring! And don't forget the Christmas cookies, that taste like your nookie!