Elderinda Drouge was not pleased. In fact, as she sat at her huge desk, absently grinding the heel of her Gucci pump into the plush carpet and growing more agitated with each passing minute, "not pleased" was quickly becoming an understatement. And why not? Every year it was like this, and every year it nearly drove her crazy.
"What a waste", she muttered.
Gazing through the massive walls of glass that surrounded her austere office, Elderinda scowled. Everywhere she looked, the sources of her discontent appeared as if to taunt her: colorful ribbons peeking out from the tops of not-so-well-hidden shopping bags; half-eaten plates of cookies taking up valuable desk space; vapid holiday greeting cards stuck to company walls with misused company supplies and, worst of all, the infuriatingly pained expressions on the faces of her employees--as if the mere fact that it was December 24 somehow meant business as usual no longer applied.
"Idiots", she thought, "like little children. Don't they understand how much this so-called "season" costs the company every year?"
Had he been thinking more clearly, Bob-from-accounting probably wouldn't have chosen this particular moment to ask a favor of the unhappy Ms. Rouge, but Bob had other things on his mind as he tapped lightly on her office door.
"Ms. Drouge? May I speak to you?"
"Well, what is it?" she snapped.
Steeling himself against her piercing gaze, Bob Catchit stepped softly into the office.
"Well, Ma'am, it's my son. He's...umm...not well and...umm...well, I was hoping I might leave a few minutes early today. We have a doctor's appointment and..." he stammered and trailed off, staring at his worn shoes and shifting his from leg to leg.
"A few minutes early? A FEW MINUTES EARLY?" she thundered. "Why, of course Mr. Catchit. Far be it from this company to expect something like ITS WORTH from its employees!"
"But, Ms. Drouge...I mean...it's almost Christmas and it's just a few minutes. We've waited months to see this specialist..."
"Christmas." The word snaked venomously from her lips as she fixed Bob in an icy stare. "Why stop there? I have an idea. Take the entire week. Better yet, take the rest of your worthless life, Mr. Catchit. YOU'RE FIRED! Now get out of my sight before I call security!"
Something like a satisfied smile spread over Elderinda's face as she watched a suddenly devastated Bob Catchit slink down the hall. She swiveled away from the disbelieving faces of her employees and gazed smugly at the gleaming skyline through her 12th floor window.
"Now. Now just maybe they'll finally get the point", she mused, and promptly dozed off in her luxurious leather chair.
She awakened with a start. What was it? A sound? Almost like...but no, that didn't make any sense.
Spinning around toward the outer office, she was a little surprised to find it completely empty and shrouded in shadow. Glancing at the clock, she realized she'd been asleep for nearly two hours.
She gasped. There it was again. That sound. Like something metallic--clinking. But what? And where?
Quietly, she crept to her doorway and, sucking in a shallow breath, peered into the darkened hallway. In an instant, her breathing stopped altogether and all she could discern was her heartbeat thundering in her heaving chest. A shadowy figure was moving toward her from the opposite end of the corridor, and with each step the unmistakable clinking sound grew louder and louder.
Elderinda staggered back into her office, lurched toward the desk, snatched up the phone, and began wildly punching numbers into the keypad. To her horror, the phone was as dead as the rest of the otherwise silent office. The clinking drew nearer and, with each passing moment, panic rose in her throat and threatened to choke off what little breath she still possessed.
Finally, the mysterious intruder appeared in the doorway and stood there, motionless. Squinting for a better view, Elderinda was taken aback by the sight of him; clad from head to toe in black leather, his jacket opened to reveal a muscular chest; fierce, dark eyes framed by pale skin and raven hair made him seem at once intimidating and yet, somehow familiar. Abruptly, her gaze froze on the figure's hand. He held a thick, black leather belt and she realized that its buckle, dragging along the carpeted floor, had roused her from sleep with its insistent clinking.
"Who in the hell are you? And what in the world do you think you're doing here?" she demanded tersely.
The man remained silent but, as Elderinda opened her mouth to speak again, he raised a single finger slowly to his lips and caught her in a steely qaze.
She stopped, her mouth gaping wide. Who was this man, and what did he want? A complete stranger to her, and yet it was as if...
"Well, Elderinda Drouse, you've had quite the day, haven't you?" His voice was low, almost serpentine, and it held her as tightly as his unflinching stare.
"Wha...who are you?" she managed, finally.
A crooked smile snaked across his lips, a smile that hinted at cruelty and something like desire.
"I am the ghost of pleasures past, my dear" he answered evenly.
"Pleasures? What do you mean, pleasures past?"
He stepped toward her, his features sharpened by the light of the desk lamp, and she made no move to back away.
"You know exactly what I mean, Elderinda. You've known it from the moment you first saw me. I'm all those feelings and desires you've so carefully kept a lid on all these years. All those you've forgotten in your unwavering push to the top. Well, you've made it, Ms. Drouge. How does it feel? How does it feel to be despised and humorless and cold? How does it feel to lack even the tiniest shred of compassion for a man like Bob Catchit? How do you like being...dead?"
Elderinda gasped at the word, and her legs felt as if they might give way beneath her.
"Dead? What do you mean...I..." she sputtered.
"Yes, my dear. Dead. What is life, after all, without joy or love or even lust? For all your wealth and power, your soul is dead, Elderinda. But there's hope. There's still time."
He drew the belt up and began to run it through his fingers "I've come to lift you up from this tomb of your own creation and set you back among the living."
Deliberately, he doubled the ends of the belt and held them together. "But first, you'll need to lift your skirt for me."
She gasped, wide-eyed and incredulous.
"Lift my skirt? Are you out of your mind? How DARE you..."
A sharp snap! from the wicked-looking, doubled belt ends instantly froze the words in her mouth, and yet she still made no move to flee. The stranger moved toward her, nonchalantly tapping the strap lightly over his palm.
"I'm going to awaken those so long forgotten, Ms. Drouge."
He SNAPPED! the belt ends again, harder, and the crisp sound of the thick leather made her shiver involuntarily.
"In fact...", he continued, leaning in very close to her face, so close that she could feel his warm, moist breath flowing over her flushed cheeks. "...I'm going to make you burn with abandon", he hissed.
Her mouth suddenly dry, her legs quivering, Elderinda found herself unable to move. As if by remote control, her fingertips found the hem of her expensively tailored skirt and began to slide it upward over her black silk-covered thighs. The stranger nodded his approval as he continued to tap the heavy belt unhurriedly over his upturned palm.
Elderinda felt the cool air caress her exposed thighs and was beginning to luxuriate in the feeling until, abruptly, his low growl yanked her back to reality.
"Turn around and bend over that desk, my dear", he ordered.
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but still another SNAP! of the belt seemed to mesmerize her into acquiescence, and she obediently turned and leaned over her own desk top.
She felt a strong hand between her shoulder blades, urging her forward until her breasts and hands lay flat against the hard surface. She moaned a little as the intruder's knee pressed between her thighs, forcing them apart and exposing her to his prying, insistent eyes.
When he slipped his fingers into the waistband of her lacey panties and roughly rucked them down to her knees, she whimpered, not so much from her own exposure to this stranger as from the realization that she was growing unmistakably, and very embarrassingly, moist between her thighs.
Still, all thoughts of flight or struggle seemed to elude her, at least until she glanced down at the floor on the far side of the desk and saw the shadow of the thick belt in his raised hand falling jaggedly across the carpet. Gripped by a mixture of fear and dread, she was about to lurch up from the desk when the belt swung down and pain exploded through every nerve ending of her fleshy bottom.
She howled and struggled to raise up, only to be pressed further and further into the hard wood by a volley of stinging leather kisses. He stopped for a moment, and the pain seemed to crash in waves up along her spine to the center of her brain and then down again, arriving back between her thighs as a message of compelling pleasure. Her mind reeled at the revelation of this transformation, but her bottom--again as if guided by a remote hand--arched up to meet the next stroke.
It came. Hard. Deep. It seared her burning flesh and made her scream, her voice echoing off the glass replaced by the unrelenting sound of another of forceful leather caresses raining down upon her squirming bottom.
"Pick up the phone", he growled at last.
Confused, she turned back to look at his face and his eyes seemed to burn the command into her as he held the belt aloft, poised for another strike.
"Dial Bob Catchit", he continued.
"What? I won't...you can't make me...!"
The unforgiving strap ended the argument with a resounding CRREAAAAKKK!!! that made her squeal and jump to obey. Catchit's voice was shaky and defeated on the other end of the line.
"Tell him he has his job back", ordered the stranger, emphasizing his point with another series of fast, hard urgings from the belt.
Several minutes and a considerable amount of gasping and nearly- unintelligible conversation later, Catchit had not only his job back, but a healthy amount of paid emergency medical leave and a sizable bonus.
Elderinda sobbed uncontrollably as she hung up the phone. The stranger laid the belt against her throbbing flesh, its touch cool and almost soothing to the red skin.
"Very good, Elderinda," he whispered. "You're doing fine."
Still weeping, she started to struggle to her feet, but his strong hand stopped her short.
"We're not quite done yet, my dear."
"Oh God! Please. Please! No more! I couldn't bear it!" she pleaded.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear. "But you must" he whispered, "and you will."
The belt came down again and again, each stroke seemingly harder and faster than the last. Elderinda howled and bucked, begged and pleaded as the pain drove to the very core of her being. And then, as if by magic, she found herself floating, still aware of the rise and fall of the belt, but beyond the pain. Floating back to a time before she had traded her humanity for power; back to a place where simple pleasures and desires were all she craved; where the touch of a loving hand or a kind word seemed like the world's most fabulous treasures.
For a few moments, she was unaware that the belt had ceased its onslaught as she lay over the desk, spent and basking in a kind of glow that felt better than anything she could remember. She turned to look at the intruder, but he was gone. With a satisfied, wistful sigh, she collapsed onto the desk top.
In the years to come, it was said that Elderina Drouge knew how to keep Christmas better than anyone, and the kindness and generosity she showed to her employees and, indeed, everyone with whom she came into contact, became legendary. In fact, so changed was she that no one bothered to comment about the fact that, on the morning after Christmas each and every year, she returned to the office with a peculiar glow and a little difficulty sitting comfortably for the next few days.