Holly switched on her tiny Christmas tree. It was barely a foot high, and powered by batteries in the base, but it comforted her as she climbed into bed. It also had a setting where it played mid midis of public domain carols, but that did not comfort Holly, because she was still mostly hinged.

It was a chilly night; not snowy though. Instead, freezing rain was bucketing against her window.

She had loved Christmas as a kid; the excitement, the lights, the presents. Her family still loved her at that stage, or loved the ‘him’ that Holly was trying to leave behind. Now her parents thought she was having intercourse with the devil, and mocking God, who apparently had quite a lot invested in her being a boy. Probably distracting Him from stopping wars and mending the environment. Her cool older sister thought she was a lackey of the patriarchy, on a war against single-sex spaces. And also that she had bullied the wizard school author into… Holly didn’t remember, maybe getting bad plastic surgery?

Anyway, she didn’t really regret cutting them out of her life, but it still made her sad. Her mum still sent a Christmas card, but while it had her deadname on the envelope it went in the bin. 

She sometimes—often—worried that she had no-one. Oh, some friends on the Internet, some flirty friends, even. They were important to her, but so far away. Sometimes she needed a friend to hug her. Well, a girlfriend, to hold her, let’s be honest. Okay, look, she would quite like some lovemaking. Ideally, a girlfriend who would pin her down and rail her mercilessly. No, she laughed to herself, I will not spend Christmas Eve wanking.

If she had a girlfriend though, she thought, they could have spent the day wrapping presents, drinking mulled wine, laughing at The Muppets Christmas Carol.

And then snuggled in bed, against the winter weather. Kissing; her girlfriend’s mouth gentle, then fierce. Maybe her girlfriend would produce some handcuffs and then treat her just the right amount of mean. Or even take her to a lesbian gathering, and have her passed around between all the hot, aggressive girls.

She sighed. My pretend girlfriend is very assertive, she explained to herself. She turned off her Christmas tree, and dropped her hand down to her girldick.

🎄

She was awakened by a snowflake melting on her lower lip; she had an acute image of it melting against the pink skin. The fractal arms losing definition; the tiny chill becoming part of her heat.

There should not be snow in my bedroom!

Holly sat up. Beyond the bottom of her bed, an entire wall and most of the ceiling was missing. And worse, beyond the non-wall was a plain of undulating snow, with a few pine trees scattered about. Above them, a night sky, strewn with dancing ribbons of green. The aurora borealis should not be localised entirely within my bedroom, she thought. My landlord will be cross and will definitely find some way to blame me.

Thoughts of the fine-print of the rental contract soon vanished, however, when Holly saw a figure approaching across the snowfield. It rode a, well, Holly supposed it was a deer. But not a fallow deer or even a reindeer; this was big. Standing maybe two metres tall, with huge antlers, it looked somehow primordial. It bore colourful ribbons and a bell-covered rein led up to the rider.

Holly squinted against the flurries of snow. She couldn’t make anything out, except for their red clothing.

“Santa?” said Holly. That was very unlikely, she thought, but so was the northern lights in her bedroom. 

The figure dismounted from the monstrous deer. Something about their movement made Holly’s heart skip a beat.

“Mrs Claus?” Holly said.

The figure walked forwards, at some point passing an unseen threshold, and coming plainly into view. 

She was beautiful. Holly could not estimate her age, but the word MILF pushed itself to the front of her mind. Her face was proud and somewhat imperious. Her eyes were ice blue, as was her lip gloss. The robes were blood red; her tall boots in the same shade. A band at her head was silver and set with animal teeth, some short, some long, all sharp.

She walked closer, to within the confines of Holly’s bedroom. Sky, snow, and deer gradually disappeared: the wall tentatively reasserting itself.

“Mistress Claus,” the woman said. “Number four-eight-nine.”

She held out a hand towards Holly, palm down.

Holly was just staring.

“You are supposed to kiss my hand,” said Mistress Claus, haughtily.

Holly reached for her hand, nervously kissing it. She had talons, and not in a metaphorical bold makeup way. Her fingers ended in sharp claws.

“I-I don’t think I’ve heard of you, Mistress Claus,” Holly said nervously.

“No,” said Mistress Claus. “New management.” She sighed. “Having the same bearded guy look after a five-year-old who wants a plastic dinosaur, and a thirty-five-year-old woman who wants a Hitachi, never really made sense. So now there’s more individually appropriate Santas.”

“But Santa’s not real,” protested Holly. She was still holding the hand, very nervously.

Mistress Claus sighed. “Look, true, the old guy was also missing out most of his customers. It’s all been a bit of a shitshow. But we’re definitely real.”

She perched on the edge of the bed, and looked at Holly in an unnervingly hungry way.

“But I’ve never heard of anyone seeing any Santa’s,” Holly said, aware that she was talking more out of nervousness than anything else.

Mistress Claus’ hand moved quickly to Holly’s chin, grasping it firmly.

“Holly, Holly, Holly,” Mistress Claus said. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?”

“N-no,” said Holly, unable to take her eyes off the Mistress’ face.

“Exactly,” said Mistress Claus. “Now lie back.” She gently pushed on her chin, and Holly lay back immediately. Mistress Claus started removing her red robe. “Now,” she said, “you’ve been such a good girl, are you ready to give me my present?”

“Your present?” said Holly, “but—”

Under the robe, Mistress Claus was wearing red lingerie, in a bondage-inspired style. 

“We are given broad freedom to change the present protocol, and to adjust the scoring methodology,” said Mistress Claus, in a bored singsong. “Do you know why you are a good girl this year?”

Holly shook her head. Her ability to speak had been swallowed by the lingerie. 

“Well, you got points every time you keysmashed,” said Mistress Claus, bending so that her face was very close to Holly’s. “Every time you blushed when friends teased you.” She darted in, delivering a fast but delicate kiss to Holly’s lips. “Every time you stared into space, imagining being tied up.” She kissed Holly again, for slightly longer, pulling back just as Holly began, confusedly, to return the kiss. “Or strapped down.” She kissed Holly again, more passionately. “Or, maybe, imagining your girlfriend passing you around between her friends.”

Holly blushed. “That… I mean…”

“She sees you when you’re sleeping,” said Mistress Claus, kissing her jaw. “She knows when you’re awake.” Kissing her neck. “She knows what you’ve been fantasising about, so you might as well masturbate!”

“Do you really—” began Holly.

“Oh yes,” whispered Mistress Claus. “All those compromising positions you imagine yourself in, all those office milfs having their way with you, all the cruel goth lesbians that collar you.” She laughed. “So you really earned a visit from Lesbian Domme Santa. Now, isn’t it about time I had my present?”

“Er, I haven’t got—”

“Tut, tut, tut,” said Mistress Claus, unfastening the top button on Holly’s pyjamas, her talons precise. “Even you must know the type of gift I’m after.”

“Um,” said Holly.

“Oh, do you want me to spell it out?” said Mistress Claus. She unbuttoned the next button, then whispered, “I am here to fuck you, Holly. Slowly. Thoroughly. Making you gasp and scream and whimper. To leave you a quivering, subby mess.”

Holly squeaked and went red again.

Mistress Claus carefully finished with the buttons, and drew the sides of her pyjama top apart.

“I-I’m afraid my breasts are a bit small,” Holly said, looking at Mistress Claus’ generous decolletage. “And kind of far apart.”

“Oh no,” said Mistress Claus. “They’re lovely. Delicious. And so handy to tease.” She bent and clamped her soft lips around Holly’s right breast, getting a fair portion into her mouth. Holly felt her teeth, not biting, but there and with more canines than usual. The mistress’ tongue, long and dextrous, licked over her wide, puffy areola, and then wrapped around her hardening nipple. Holly whimpered, and felt the mistress smile. Holly closed her eyes; Mistress Claus had a scent, wonderful and strange. Baked apples, and the pine ashes they cooked in, dark honey with the ghosts of summer wildflowers, fine mead with winter spices. Holly sighed, and without meaning to, brushed the mistress’ cheek.

Mistress Claus stopped, and delicately kissed Holly’s hand, and shook her head. A green ribbon appeared from nowhere, undulating through the air. It snaked around both of Holly’s wrists, and then pulled them to the headboard, where it fastened itself in a neat bow.

“I’ll decide exactly how I am going to enjoy this present,” the Mistress said, before redoubling her efforts on Holly’s breast. Holly moaned and arched her back, and Mistress Claus pushed her down again. Holly surrendered; she was very hard, but she knew that her mistress would decide the pace. And in the meantime she would get her titties sucked.

When Mistress Claus finally unmouthed the boob, trailing saliva, it felt swollen and pleasantly sensitive. The areola was even puffier than usual, and the actual nipple was the size and complexion of a cherry, but very hard.

“What a lovely dessert,” whispered the mistress. “Just right for a party. Can you imagine a dozen women each taking it in turns to help themselves?” 

Holly just whimpered. Having a magical woman who, apparently, knew what you were thinking meant it was difficult to pretend to be chaste and toppish.

“Oh Holly,” said the mistress, “you were never fooling anyone.”

Then Mistress Claus bent and took the left breast into her mouth, and licked and explored the—already sympathetically sensitive—little mound.

The mistress’ hand wrapped around the right tit, caressing, groping, before her talons caught the nipple and softly played.

Holly came, squirting into her pyjama bottoms. From somewhere, some silver bells rang out. 

“Mmm,” said Mistress Claus, “coming from just having your tits played with? Adorable. I can imagine you with two girlfriends, maybe in a cinema, each absentmindedly playing with one breast, and you trying not to moan or ruin your jeans.”

Holly blushed berry red.

“I’m sorry—”

“Why?” said the Mistress. “By the time I’m done with you, I will have wrung every last drop out of you. You’ve just given me a head start.”

She suddenly got off the bed though, leaving Holly strangely bereft. Mistress Claus removed her tall boots, glancing at Holly, apparently to make sure she was watching. Then she took off her complicated bra; Holly was definitely looking. Mistress Claus’ breasts were not in the first perk of youth, but they were exactly as Holly dreamed. Big, and smooth, and soft, her nipples and areolas compact and quite dark.

“Why, Holly,” she said, “you’re virtually drooling.”

“Sorry,” said Holly, looking away.

“No, silly,” the Mistress said. “Watch me. I love to see my little prey animals frozen in the headlights.” She held her breasts up. “And I have good headlights.”

Holly made an incoherent sound.

Mistress Claus pulled her panties down, a large girlcock popping out at the first opportunity. It was long and thick, with a beautiful curve.

“Oh gosh,” said Holly. “I-I think that might be too big for me.”

The mistress shook her head. “Oh no, Holly,” she said. “I assure you she is exactly the right size. An inch less and you’d be thinking ‘I could have taken more for my Mistress’. An inch more and you’d find the pain outweighing the pleasure. No, this is the right size for railing you to oblivion. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

She straddled Holly, then leaned over and kissed her mouth. Holly tried to kiss back, but Mistress Claus was as assertive as she was ferocious. Her tongue invaded Holly’s mouth, her teeth nibbled Holly’s lips. The Mistress’ girlcock was hard, pressed into Holly’s stomach by their position. It is lovely, thought Holly, but its heft is intimidating. Any penis that naturally called for the word ‘heft’ was a bit worrying. While the Mistress continued kissing Holly’s mouth, she used her hands to rub her breasts against Holly’s still sensitive tits. Holly tried to moan, but the mistress’ hungry mouth made that difficult. 

Finally, Mistress Santa broke off the siege. “Do you like my breasts?” she asked. 

“Y—” began Holly, but was immediately kissed into silence.

“Would you like to taste them?” asked Mistress Santa.

“Y—” 

The mistress kissed her again, then began climbing along Holly; a breast was dangled towards Holly’s mouth, but then stopped.

Holly craned her neck, but the mistress held it just out of reach.

“You’ve got a tongue, haven’t you, Holly?” said Mistress Claus. 

Holly stretched her tongue and just whisper-touched the mistress’ nipple.

“Well, what did you think?” said Mistress Claus. Before Holly could answer, she said, “Oh, you looked so sad.” And pushed the breast down onto Holly’s face. This made it difficult to breathe, but Holly decided to happily die a lesbian’s death. She licked and sucked on Mistress Claus’ nipple, feeling it harden. Through her nose she breathed in the mistress’ scent, spicy and warm.

“My, my,” said Mistress Claus, “how greedy you are.”

She swapped breasts; Holly licked and sucked that one too. 

“Oh, if you like licking stuff,” said the mistress, “I have just the thing.”

She shuffled further up.

“It’s too big,” said Holly.

“Relax,” said Mistress Claus, “I’m not going to throatfuck you. Well, not this year, at any rate.”

The mistress put her girlcock on Holly’s face, from chin to forehead. Holly kissed the section that lay over her lips. It smelled of Mistress Claus, but deeper, muskier. The mistress moved it, presenting fresh areas to be kissed. It had that velvet texture, plus a lovely vein snaking along it. 

Mistress Claus pulled back somewhat and manoeuvred the glans toward Holly’s mouth. She opened her mouth to take it in, and then licked and sucked, exploring with her tongue. Like an adults-only gobstopper. Holly relaxed; this was how she should be. Her anxiety would be a lot better if she could just mouth a hot woman’s dick 24/7. And yet the NHS won’t go for it.

“Mmm,” said Mistress Claus, slightly breathless. “Wow. Look at my oral-fixated girl! You just wrap your lips round anything placed close to your face. But I’d better stop you—”

Holly sucked more desperately. 

The mistress moved again, so that her girldick was pointing more directly down Holly’s throat. Holly wondered if she was going to get throatfucked after all; true, that would probably kill her, but dying in martyrdom to this glorious girlcock was a better end than she had hoped for.

Mistress Claus did not martyr her, however. She took hold of her cock, the head still in Holly’s mouth, and wanked. Holly squealed and sucked diligently. She almost went cross-eyed trying to watch the vein, and the mistress’ hand.

When Mistress Claus exploded into her mouth, Holly did her best to swallow, but it was a bit retriever-at-a-hosepipe. She certainly swallowed some, revelling in the salty and aromatic taste, but more spilled out of her mouth and decorated chin, cheeks and neck. Holly concentrated on making sure that the mistress had spent every drop.

They sat for a couple of minutes, Mistress Claus’ cock slightly detumescing, Holly in a weird reverie you can only approach with a mythical woman’s cum on your chin.

Then the mistress pulled her cock free, and slid down Holly’s body, until their heads were level.

“Very good,” said Mistress Claus. She scooped up some of the larger splatters of cum, and fed them to Holly. “You are such an excellent cocksucker. Have you thought about offering your services to a polycule of trans women?”

Holly couldn’t reply with the mistress’ talons in her mouth.

“Of course,” whispered Mistress Claus, “I’m only mythic-human, so it will take me longer to come when I’m railing your behind. Might have to be rougher too. Are you ready to get started?”

Holly squealed and nodded. 

Mistress Claus descended the bed, beginning to tug Holly’s pyjama bottoms down.

“Aww,” said Mistress Claus. “It’s so cute.”

“It’s small,” said Holly, “and it sometimes has a problem getting hard.” 

“Not now,” said the mistress. “Now it’s like a stoic pixie. Standing bravely proud, despite the monster over head.” She put her mouth over Holly’s girldick, having no trouble taking it all into her mouth, like a snack-sized Mars bar. Holly whimpered. 

Mistress Claus wrapped her tongue around Holly’s girlcock, rolled it, played with it in her mouth. Holly could not entirely tell what was going on, except that her cock was in a warm, wet place, being thoroughly… caressed? Masturbated? Wrestled?

It didn’t take very long for Holly to come again. Silver bells chimed. It wasn’t a spurt this time, more of a long leak. Holly making little moans. The Mistress sucked it away, rather neatly. 

“Now,” she said, “what was I doing before that pleasant distraction? Oh, yes.”

Mistress Claus finished stripping off Holly’s pyjama bottoms. Then she flipped Holly over onto her stomach; the ribbon at her hands doing a bit of rearrangement, but leaving her restrained.

“Mmm” said Mistress Claus. She delivered a long lick up Holly’s spine. “So pretty.” She trailed her talons across her back, drawing complicated patterns and spirals, humming to herself. Holly could feel the mistress’ hard girlcock pressed into her lower back and bum.

“Please,” whispered Holly.

“What’s that?” said the mistress. “Oh, do you want me inside you?” Holly nodded. “You want my long, hard dick to impale you? You want to be railed so roughly that you will dream about it for the rest of your life.”

“Yes,” whispered Holly.

“Say ‘This pretty little arse is yours to ruin, mistress’,” she said.

Holly whispered it.

“Louder,” said Mistress Claus.

“This pretty little arse is yours to ruin, mistress,” said Holly, voice raised.

“Really?” said the mistress. “How kind!”

She moved down, and felt Holly’s buttocks, caressing and stretching. From nowhere, Holly heard a bottle being unstoppered, and lube poured into her behind. The mistress’ finger worked it in, massaging her butthole. Holly tried to relax; tried not to think about how large the mistress’ cock was.

“Don’t be silly, sweetie,” whispered Mistress Claus. “I’m not going to injure you. You trust me, don’t you?”

Well, thought Holly, if you’re not going to trust a beclawed mythic-human who entered your room through what was almost certainly magic and pretty immediately tied you up and got hella sexy, who the heck will you trust?

“Yes, mistress.” She relaxed; the room was warm, the mistress was warmer, and her girlcock you could use as a towel warmer.

Said hot girlcock was being run in the cleft now; the mistress being careful not to frighten the butthole. Then the tip was presented, a little push. This was fine. Then more of a push, and the entire head of the girlcock entered; Holly meeped.

Mistress Claus kept up the pressure; the next few inches of shaft were fine. Holly congratulated herself; she enjoyed the feeling of the mild pressure.

“Good girl,” said Mistress Claus, and gave her the next few inches. Holly buried her face in the pillow; the pressure and fullness was getting intense now. But the mistress kept going; Holly breathed in and out. She was probably being torn apart, she thought, like a deer brought down by a pack of wolves. Ah well, she thought, prey is prey. 

Finally, another few inches, and Holly felt Mistress Claus’ body against her buttocks. “Well done,” the mistress whispered, and kissed her back. Holly just breathed; most of the cum on her face had transferred to the pillow, so she was surrounded by the—fucking horny—scent of the mistress. She felt full and stretched. It was uncomfortable, but not without pleasure. Pleasure at taking the mistress’ massive cock. Pleasure at being a good girl. Also, pleasure from the constant pressing on her prostate. Now she would just need Mistress Claus to remain completely and utterly still, she thought. 

Mistress Claus began to move; not really thrusting, more like a gentle rippling. Holly groaned. The ravaged deer had pulled itself to a hot spring amongst the snow, and now the warm water both stung and soothed the wounds. 

The waves slowly accelerated, became sharper, thrusting. Holly made some low moans, only partially muffled.

“Scream if you want,” said the mistress, very breathlessly. “No-one will hear you. Magic.”

Holly thrilled slightly at the thought that this mythical being could do whatever she liked to her. There is a submissive part of her brain—a comparatively large part—that lit up when she was captured by a woman she trusted.

Mistress Claus changed her rhythm again, getting faster. This movement was really hitting Holly’s p-spot, giving a sort of almost-too-much joy. The mistress dived a hand underneath Holly and encircled her little—but stiff—girldick. Holly moaned again. She smiled as she groaned; there was a pleasure in simply being an object. The mistress got faster; Holly felt the back-and-forth movement within her, heavy but exciting. She felt like a bomber plane, a nuke loaded in her bay, rattling through the snowy turbulence. Was she going to make it?

Mistress Claus was slamming now; her body slapping against Holly’s. She was right, Holly thought, there is just enough room for the pleasure to beat the pain, but only just.

Holly was coming; a long but patchy leak into her mistress’ hand. Bells. The deer’s blood leaking into the water. She felt a change in her mistress’ girlcock, a tension. The bomb bay doors opened, and the bomb fell into the wintry sky. Falling, accelerating, through clouds and snow. And into the clear and cold night, falling towards a small hot spring and an exhausted deer.

And then the explosion.

Holly,

Holly,

wasn’t thinking well.

She thought she’d whited-out, or maybe had snow blindness. She felt ruined, happily ruined, like there was nothing remaining past her stomach except phantom limbs. But the euphoria suggested that was a fair sacrifice. 

She was surprised, therefore, when she felt Mistress Claus carefully de-inserting her—softened but still quite large—girlcock from Holly’s insides. A gush of juices came with it.

Mistress Claus slumped beside Holly, kissing her shoulder.

“I love my job,” whispered Mistress Claus. 

The ribbon untied itself, and gently rubbed Holly’s arms until she lowered them. She could feel sleep descending on her.

“You’ll be gone when I wake up, won’t you?” Holly said.

“Yes, sweet one,” said Mistress Claus. “But I’ll see you next year.”

Holly closed her eyes. “If I’m still a good sub next year.”

“Oh, you will be,” said the mistress. “Just keep blushing at absolutely anything a top says, and you’ll get there.” She kissed Holly on the forehead.

“Mmm,” said Holly, snuggling, quite sweetly for someone cum encrusted.

“Oh yes,” said Mistress Claus. “This is quite important. Do you know Pringles?”

“What?” said Holly. “The crisps?”

“Yes,” said Mistress Claus. “Well, they do a Xmas dinner edition, and, in particular, a pigs-in-blankets flavour.”

“What?” said Holly. Was this some kind of trailer advertisement?

“Go and buy some as soon as possible,” said Mistress Claus. 

What? Holly thought she’d said, but she was actually already asleep.

🎄

Holly woke in the morning, tired, but importantly not covered in cum, hers or Mistress Claus’. She was still in her pyjamas, and the bed was fairly tidy, and certainly not ruined with the juices of two women.

She got up. She felt she probably ought to think, was it all just a dream? But fuck that, it wasn’t. If it had been, Mistress Claus would have turned into her third-year English teacher halfway through, and started to list post-war architects. No, Holly knew fucking dreams.

She looked around her bedroom for clues. In stories there would be a hint to its reality; a twig from a pine tree, a scrap from her robe, maybe the ribbon that had restrained her. But no, there was nothing. 

Holly slumped on the bed. Only then did her eyes fall on the card by the dresser.

“Your Santa was,” it said, in type. Then handwritten, “#489 Mistress Claus.” On the back there was a customer survey (“How professional was your Santa? 1. Extremely…”) but there was a note scribbled on the bottom. “Thanks for my present! Don’t forget the Pringles, Pigs-in-blankets.”

Okay, she thought, what the heck was this Pringles thing? It was making her feel bad; Mistress Claus had super fucked her, but wanted to talk about her favourite crisps afterwards? Holly thought that she was not entirely neurotypical herself, but this was next level.

Holly sighed and went back to bed for a couple of hours.

🎄

She actually enjoyed Christmas day. Her body was in a relaxed, just-been-fucked state, even though—she had checked in the shower—it was apparently unsullied. She sat and watched TV, ate Christmas food, and started a nice bottle of wine. With occasional pauses to stare into space, and think about Mistress Claus and her lips, claws and cock.

As evening rolled around, she discovered that she was out of snacks. She looked out of the window; the rain was still bucketing down. Was it worth braving the elements to go to the off-licence? No. Although they might have those pigs-in-blankets crisps.

🎄

The owners of D & B Liquor did not celebrate Christmas; oh, there were a few desultory hanging decorations, but mostly they seemed to know that people would like a break. Holly nodded her head slightly to the breakneck drumming of the not Christmas music.

She searched the aisles for the Pringles, and—when she had found pringlevana—for the particular stupid Xmas favour. 

She was so intent on peering to the back of shelves or over tall shelves, that she just walked straight into someone. Holly almost bounced off, and the someone had to put out a hand to steady her.

“Whoa, sorry!” said the figure.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” said Holly. “I walked into you.” She looked up. Shit. It was a dreamy butch, tall and probably muscular. Tawny eyes, glinting with humour. A tattoo peeking over the loose collar of her Hawaiian shirt; a climbing plant with three-lobed leaves. A notched eyebrow. Holly felt herself start to blush for no reason.

“Not a problem,” said the butch, belatedly taking her hand off Holly’s shoulder. 

“Er,” said Holly. She looked at the butch’s shopping basket. “Ooh, pigs in blankets.” 

There was a look of confusion on the butch’s face, until she realised that Holly wasn’t just randomly reciting farm-yard animals and bedding. “Oh, the Pringles, yeah.”

“I was looking for those,” Holly said, without thinking.

“Argh. I’m sorry, I took the last can,” said the butch. “I’d normally offer it to you, but I promised Kalli I’d get her some. She’s mad for them.” 

“Oh, is Kalli your girlfriend?” Fuck, Holly, perhaps you should consider thinking before speaking. She might not even be gay!

“No, though we have… Er, no,” said the butch. “I’m between girlfriends at the moment.” The butch winced and looked like she was mentally telling herself off in italics.

“Oh,” said Holly. This whole thinking before speaking thing rather required you to have a functioning brain.

“Party,” said the butch, holding up her basket. “But we are already out of snacks. Those of the team that don’t get on with their family come round to mine on Christmas.”

“Team?” said Holly.

“Roller derby,” said the butch. “The Coombe Cougars.”

“I thought that was an American thing?” Holly didn’t allow herself to think of the roller derby team in detail; no point risking anime nosebleed.

“Nearly ninety teams in Britain now,” said the butch. “Turns out lesbians are everywhere.” Another wince.

“I’m… sure,” said Holly. In theory, this was better than the I’m lesbians she had almost gone for.

“How about you,” said the butch, “party or…”

“Just snacks,” said Holly.

“And you really wanted pigs-in-blankets flavoured crisps?”

“No,” said Holly. “They sound horrible.”

“Erm,” said the butch, “so you were fetching it for… a girlfriend?”

“Oh no,” Holly said. “I’m also between at the moment. Girlfriends.”

“Good, I mean, right,” said the butch, wincing. “Wait,” she said, suddenly turning—as is every butch’s right—into Columbo. “So why are you so keen on getting a can of Pringles you won’t like?”

“Er. Well,” began Holly, I got off with a sexy santa (real) and after she’d fucked me a metric shit tonne she did this weird sponsored ad for Pringles. She decided that was probably best kept to herself for now. “A friend advised me to.” 

“Wow, you put a lot of trust in your friend,” said the butch. “Anyhow, I guess I’d better…” She made a hand sign that could have been ‘get on with the shopping,’ although it could also be ‘definitely fumble this meet cute.’ 

She turned to go, then turned back to Holly. “Um, this is a bit weird,” the butch said, “but if you come to my party, I expect you can have some of the Pringles.”

Yes, thought Holly, I’m like sixty percent sure that’s a move. Accept gracefully. “I probably won’t like them, remember?” her mouth said. What? 

“Oh yeah,” said the butch, “I forgot. Sorry, stupid idea. I’ll be off then. Happy Christmas!”

“Wait,” said Holly. “What other snacks do you have?” 

The butch looked at her basket. “Um. Pickled onion Monster Munch?”

Now, it was Holly’s turn to wince. “Sure. I’d really like a number of them.” A small fucking number.

There was a pause as the butch looked like she was about to say oh, they actually have a shelf full over there. But, finally, “Um, great. I’m within walking distance, so I could take you over as soon as I’m done shopping.”

Holly blushed. This was because of the phrase ‘take you’. “Oh, will I be alright like this?”

“Of course,” said the butch, “it’s not a posh party or anything, and you’re super pretty, anyway.”

“And will your friends be okay with it?”

“Okay?” said the butch. “More than okay. Look, they can be a little rambunctious. But I’ll protect you.”

Holly blushed (‘rambunctious’) and smiled. “Thank you, that will be nice.” Well, at first. 

🎄

“Finally,” said Mistress Claus, with a gentle smile. “But would it kill you to fill in the fucking survey?”