Scents of cinnamon and citrus bit the air like the cane about to bite Ruth’s bottom. Again.

As she strained at the bindings on her wrists and ankles, Ruth’s eyes shot open. Not that it was of any use, the blindfold was remorselessly effective.

Yet it wasn’t the cane that next came to rest on Ruth’s bottom, but a firm, leather-gloved hand, lovingly squeezing her cheeks: chastising yet tender. Those sweet, assured touches were enough to hold off the panic and stir flickers of elation deep in Ruth’s stomach.

David. Ruth felt it had to be David. Confident, quietly charismatic David. He’d always smile at her acerbic jokes, even the ones that escaped other colleagues.

It was wild that, all these months on, Ruth remained unsure of the identity of her admirer: the Secret Santa now teasing and punishing her so expertly. 

Perhaps it was Martin. Martin was cute, but was he capable of the elegant, masterful handwriting on those notes? So long as it wasn’t Jeremy. That was a risk, of course. Jeremy was smart enough and stylish, yet he was also the most irritating, sanctimonious fathead Ruth had worked with. She’d use the safeword immediately if it turned out to be Jeremy removing her blindfold. But there’s no way Jeremy could write such intoxicating prose. Surely?

Ruth longed to see. But it wasn’t her blindfold that the gloved hand was removing. 

It was apparent now why there had been a wrap dress in the scarlet box that Ruth had found on the sofa-back she now lay bound across. As per the instructions, she’d removed her coat, skirt and jumper, folded them neatly, then slipped into the heavy silk of the wrap dress in the flickering half-light of the candles and open fire, finally securing the leather cuffs and blindfold before tinkling a small bell to indicate her readiness.

But first, Ruth had taken a moment to admire her lingerie in the mirror over the fireplace. She’d looked deep into her eyes, imagining she was finally meeting the gaze of her secret admirer. Then she took hold of two porcelain dogs on the mantlepiece and turned them to face the wall.

‘Don’t you imagine you’re about to get a free show, you dirty dogs!’

Taking position, listening for a hand on the door behind, Ruth ran her fingers across the woven silk, caressing her contours with a sensual imagination enlivened by her sudden, temporary blindness.

Dean would never buy her such an expensive dress. Not now, anyway. The last time Ruth could recall Dean even paying her proper attention was on their honeymoon. Perhaps it was the rounds of IVF, the grinding disappointment, but she’d lost Dean’s eyes to his phone long since.

The belt of the wrap dress slid clear from beneath Ruth’s belly. A fur-lined cuff teased at the flesh between her stocking tops and panties, sending thrills shuddering across Ruth’s skin as gloved hands turned up her dress to expose her bottom. This Secret Santa had long ago seen the naughty girl that Ruth longed to be. If only she’d known that sooner.

But what if Santa didn’t like Ruth’s underwear after all she’d been through to get it? Not that those months of saving had been for tonight. Ruth had set out to seduce Dean, perhaps in guilt at her furtive office flirtations. Six months of abstaining from her flat white habit to fund the ruinously expensive lingerie, and all Ruth earned from Dean for her trouble was a glance, a quick nervous kiss on the forehead, and a back-handed compliment about how ‘a little extra on her curves suited her’. Then Dean mumbled an embarrassed apology about needing to meet Mike to plan a fishing weekend. 

Fishing. Ruth often wondered what the fish had over Dean that she didn’t. Or was it the other way around? He’d never come to terms with her being more intelligent than him. Fish don’t answer back.

Ruth didn’t cry as Dean slammed the front door on his way to the pub that evening. Instead, her mind turned to the growing pile of small, tender notes locked in one of her office drawers: luxurious scarlet-red cards that beautifully set off exquisite, distinctive penmanship.

The first note appeared on Valentine’s Day, slipped discretely between some papers on Ruth’s desk. 

‘I’m bound to say I love your dimples. I’m lost whenever you smile. Xx’ 

With her heart racing, Ruth looked around the office to detect her admirer. David caught her eye, and they exchanged wry smiles. How she hoped it was David now, lustfully stroking her thighs. But her Secret Santa remained perfectly, agonisingly silent. 

Those little scarlet notes reignited in Ruth the thrill of being seen.

‘You have quite the eye for fashion. I can’t help but notice your delectable bottom in that skirt. Xx’

Delectable. Ruth was happy to take delectable, though it was a very particular part of her bottom she most desired to be devoured like a delicacy.

By late March, Ruth would get an occasional request.

‘You looked so elegant in your emerald dress on Friday. It catches the mischievous laughter in your eyes beautifully. Perhaps you could wear it tomorrow? Xx’

Ruth, known for her self-assured rapier wit, found an unexpected pleasure in obliging her admirer. Over time, the notes became more detailed and instructive, though always sweetened with observant compliments.

Right now, Ruth hoped the glow from the fire was masking her blushes as a hand drifted tenderly up her inner thigh. Not wishing to appear too wanton, she used the cover of a deep sigh to relax and allow her legs to drift apart just a little.

But the hand withdrew.

SCHWHACK!!

Ruth was unprepared for the searing sting of the cane on her voile panties and freshly exposed skin. The leather cuffs bit into her wrists as she strained to control a streak of pure, blinding pain.

That was the sixth stroke; there were six more to come.

The first gift appeared in early April. An exquisite black velvet hair tie that looked just like a rose when Ruth retrieved it from under her monitor.

‘I think you’re enjoying these missives. I hope so. But I won‘t be offended if you’d rather I stop. I saw a little something that reminded me of you. I’ve left it under your screen. Wear it, and I’ll know to continue. If not, I’ll leave you be. Though I do hope you like it. Xx’

It was perfect. Simple, stark, opulent. Ruth wore it immediately and for the rest of that week.

In early June, the gifts took a more intimate turn.

‘I could spend a lifetime gazing into your eyes. Perhaps I can stoke the fire within? I’ve left a small parcel in your desk drawer. Open it in private. I hope you’re not offended. Perhaps you might wear it right away? Xx’

In the loo, in the privacy of a cubicle, Ruth unwrapped the package and prised open the small box inside. A black velvet bag held a cool, shiny butt plug with a dark cabochon stone set in one end, replete with a miniature bottle of lube. 

Ruth hitched up her dress and pulled down her panties, teasing her clit at the thrill. She loved a buttplug yet had never thought of wearing one in the office.

With her heart thudding, Ruth walked to her desk, enjoying the sensation of intense fullness. Ruth did little work in the twenty minutes she first wore that plug. It was impossible not to keep scanning the office for a glimmer of awareness. Ruth’s eyes flicked from man to man. Though it seemed her admirer was a master of this particular poker game. 

That afternoon, with the buttplug now washed, dried and locked deep in Ruth’s file drawer, another note appeared. 

‘Well, you’re every bit as risqué as I hoped. Those panties of yours must be soaking. You should forfeit them for such wicked behaviour! There’s a little bag hidden behind the large ficus plant in the emergency stairwell; leave them in there, you naughty girl. Xx’

The sensation of Ruth’s naked buttocks sliding against the smooth lining of her skirt kept her head gently swooning for the rest of that afternoon. Ruth checked the ficus pot on her way out. The bag and her panties were gone.

‘You’re a dirty bastard. And I think I like you.’ Ruth loved the tension of speaking aloud to no one. ‘No, not you!’ she added, addressing the ficus plant.

It wasn’t Ruth’s hands removing her panties now. Leather-gloved thumbs tweaked the waistband slowly down to Ruth’s ankles. Soft kisses caressed the welts growing on her pale cheeks. The hands parted them, twisting the cabochon butt plug approvingly.

Ruth’s head swam in exquisite embarrassment, delighting in her captive exposure and the release of abandoning herself to a fate that was months in the making and so against her inclination for taking the lead.

Ruth had no idea where she was. She only knew how she’d got there.

Barely half an hour ago, Ruth stood before a dark green door at the end of a small courtyard. It was moments from her office but in a back street, unnoticed by her until today.

Ruth’s breath had fogged the air as she felt for the card in her coat pocket.

‘You smell divine today. Secret Santa would like to see you after the office party tomorrow. But have you been naughty or nice? Xx’

Then there was an address, this address, and a time: 8 pm.

It was perfect. The office Christmas party was always on a Friday, starting at lunch. It was over by six, with various groups straggling to different bars and pubs to keep the festivities rolling. Ruth would inevitably arrive back home late after her Christmas bash. Dean would suspect nothing. 

David, typically up for some evening revelry, had made excuses and peeled off home. Or so he’d said.

Ruth nursed a glass of wine; she’d paced her drinking all afternoon. This was a night she would remember. 

Duncan cornered Ruth by the dart board in The Crown. She’d forgotten just what a bore Duncan could be. A detailed account of his ‘mad’ holiday to Garmisch-Partenkirchen littered with particularly tedious puns served as an unwelcome reminder. Linda from accounts rescued her.

‘Duncan, sorry, excuse me, but I think Dan was looking for you.’

Nobody was ever looking for Duncan, so with eyes aflame at the possibility of being wanted, Duncan apologised for cutting his account short and disappeared into the crowd.

‘You okay, Ruth?! He’s a bloody nightmare when he gets going! He bangs on longer than the Duracell bloody bunny!’

‘Oh, I’m fine. But thanks, Linda. Why is it always the ones so desperate to be the soul of wit who invariably fail halfway to their goal!’

They laughed together, though Ruth was distracted. Linda was excellent company, but it was twenty minutes to eight. Ruth downed her wine, made excuses and the promise to meet Linda for lunch next week, then escaped into the cold night through a side door.

The bitter air flushed Ruth’s cheeks as she strode purposefully towards her destination. She held herself stiff against the cold; it helped to contain her trepidation at what would be. 

‘We both know how naughty you’ve been. But you’re not yet sure who I am. I’ll reveal all this evening. But only if you can take twelve strokes of the cane first. Don’t be fearful. I’m well-practised. And I believe you’ll find it electrifying. I’m desperate to be alone with you later. Xx

p.s. Let’s use SCARLET as our safeword.’

Over the last few months, Ruth had enjoyed not only punishments from her admirer but also the small acts of defiance that gave rise to them.

The first punishment, in late August, arose through a misunderstanding. By then, it was routine for the scarlet notes to instruct Ruth on what to wear. She found a strange joy in the demands, a joy which intensified through cycles of pleasing her admirer in exchange for astute compliments.

‘Tomorrow, you should wear the cream dress that ties at the shoulder straps and sets off your shoulders beautifully. I’ll confess, my thoughts are entirely filthy. What would happen if I pulled those straps free? Xx’

Alas, Ruth had worn that dress to a picnic the weekend before, and her wayward friend Fiona had pitched a glass of red wine down it in a moment of physical exuberance. Ruth planned to dye the dress navy, but there was no time to do that for the following day. Instead, the next morning, she chose a dress that gathered and tied behind the neck. While it offered the same promise of easy access to her bosom, it wasn’t the dress of her admirer’s instructions.

Returning to her desk with a sneaky espresso, Ruth saw a scarlet note tucked into a stack of envelopes.

‘Certainly, you look delightful in that frock today. But you know that’s not what I asked you to wear. I shall have to think of a way to punish you for your defiance. Xx’

Ruth felt a peculiar urge to explain herself and pondered the idea of leaving a note of her own next time she deposited her panties behind the ficus. But the asymmetry of their communication held a curious magic that she had no desire to break prematurely. The thrill of simply following, for a change, remained alluring. Besides, she had no way to initiate such a contact.

Another note had appeared on her return from lunch.

‘In your top drawer is a little gift with which I plan an exquisite torture. Since you relish being naughty, perhaps you’ll delight in your punishment. Xx’

Ruth had developed the habit of opening these gifts in the same cubicle at the far end of the row. But that was engaged. Annoyed, she took the next cubicle along, peeling open her parcel gently to avoid giving any audible clue at what she was doing. Inside was small vibrator designed to nestle in the gusset of her knickers. 

‘You’ll wear this all afternoon. And I’ll be in control. Xx’

While it felt a little odd between her thighs, the vibrator remained lifeless as Ruth sat back at her desk. More than an hour passed, and Ruth’s mind was far from her knickers and entirely focused on a Zoom call. It was a vital budget presentation with HQ in the States. Just as it was Ruth’s moment to present, the vibrator buzzed into life. 

‘Oh, I’m sorry, my computer kind of froze there. Erm. Wow. I lost my place. I only meant to freeze the budget!’

Ruth could see that she looked flustered, which never happened professionally. She made it through presenting those spreadsheets: just. And the moment Ruth handed over the screen share, the vibrator stopped dead.

Later, it buzzed into life as Duncan loomed over her, pressing for some of the figures from her deck. Ruth clamped her thighs hard together, fearing Duncan might otherwise detect a faint hum, but the added pressure only intensified her torturous pleasure. After Duncan left, Ruth dropped behind her desk, feigning to search the depths of her file drawer to hide her face as she bit her lip to keep her orgasm silent. She held herself taught against waves of ecstasy.

Over those months, a pattern emerged with Ruth fulfilling her admirer’s wishes, then defying them when it pleased her to see what punishments her disobedience would inspire.

Once, when requested to wear some tailored trousers that presented her shapely bottom to full effect, Ruth instead chose a boxy dress that disguised her curves. As a forfeit, she was to wear a newly-gifted butt plug for twenty minutes. For Ruth, this seemed like no kind of penalty at all. But in the loo, when unwrapping her new toy, Ruth discovered that her admirer had freshly carved it from root ginger. Her neat butthole still puckered at the thought of the burning that ensued.

On another occasion, Ruth was left a small hank of Herdwick wool and instructed to slide it into her panties and arrange the yarn across the sit-point of her buttocks, keeping it in place for the next three hours. It was the scratchiest wool Ruth had ever touched. That evening, on returning home to a hastily scribbled note saying that Dean would be out late, Ruth headed upstairs to check her still-agitated buttocks. They glowed crimson in the full-length mirror, and she worked them over with a hairbrush, teasing her pussy to an intense, quavering orgasm at the thought of being spanked by David.

But caning was a whole new level of punishment.

SCHWHACK!

Ruth’s mouth shot open. Something cool brushed against her lips as though to keep them silent. Ruth curled her tongue around it; her mouth swam with the juice of a strawberry while chilled chocolate gave way to the warmth of her lips. She bit the tip clean off, pouting at the delicious sensations from the chocolate-dipped fruit.

The leather-gloved hands parted Ruth’s buttocks. The tip of a tongue brushed her lips, running slowly up to Ruth’s plugged anus and down to tease around her clit before rising once more. Each lap wound a spring within Ruth; she was determined not to let it go cheaply.

The tongue withdrew.

SCHWHACK!

‘Shit! Shit!! If I get hold of that cane, I’ll stripe your ass like a barber’s pole!’

Ruth rocked from side to side at the pain, straining to hear any reaction to her outburst. But there was nothing.

Perhaps the caning was in response to her latest trick?

About the ugliest item Ruth had ever encountered on Amazon was an outsized pair of kickers printed with a photograph of a scowling cat. She’d ordered them immediately, knowing an opportunity to deploy them would arise soon enough.

A week ago, a note awaited her as she arrived at work.

‘I long to breathe the sweet tang of your pussy once again. Leave your panties in our usual spot. But not too soon: wear them well first. Xx’

That was when Ruth went on the hunt for a stink bomb. She knew the local party shop carried an extensive line of practical jokes, and it didn’t disappoint. The cubicle was the perfect cover for unleashing the vile odour into a Ziploc bag wrapped around the cheap panties. Deftly, Ruth sealed it shut. She was still chucking to herself as she dropped the noxious package behind the ficus plant.

Ruth knew there’d be a note the next day.

‘You have the scariest pussy I’ve seen! And indeed, the smelliest. It will take me a while to think of an appropriate chastisement. Right now, I’m still too amused to plan a suitable riposte. Xx’

The gloved fingers were pulling at the butt plug. Gently but insistently, they teased it free of Ruth’s cheeks. Reflexively, her butthole gave a pulse at its new-found freedom, only to be penetrated immediately by a diminutive soft dildo which sent relentless waves deep into Ruth’s core.

SCHWHACK!

Frozen with shock, Ruth could barely breathe out for a few seconds. Maybe Secret Santa was softening the blows. Perhaps Ruth was becoming hardened to them. But she knew now that she could control this and take three more. Then she’d finally get to see her tormentor. Ruth was ready in every sense.

SCHWACK!!

Ruth’s head was buzzing, floating like it was no longer attached to her body. The cutting sting was both immediate and remote.

The tip of another chocolate-covered strawberry ran around her lips, and a gloved finger supported her chin as she bit deeply into her reward. Ruth imagined how she might look to her punisher and determined to chew with defiant elegance and show her full, soft lips at their finest. Her lingering pace bought time for recovery before the next blow.

SCHWHACK!

Ruth’s back arched as she let out a long, low moan. A hand eased her back to a resting position.

SCHWHACK!

The top of Ruth’s head buzzed in disbelief at speed and the searing sting of the last blow. But that was it. And it was time.

There was the glassy clink from the mantlepiece, and Ruth shuddered as a cooling balm spread so tenderly that she could feel only the cream, not the fingers moving it across her burning buttocks and then barely brushing her skin as they eased the vibrator away.

The moment Ruth’s hands were free, she pushed herself defiantly into a standing position. Before she could get to her blindfold, the gloved hands brought Ruth’s wrists firmly behind her back and clipped the leather cuffs together.

As Ruth’s feet were untied, one hand gripped her calf while the other helped the voile panties to work free over Ruth’s stilettos.

The disorientation of being spun to face the opposite direction left Ruth unguarded, and it took her a moment to realise that her bra was unfastened. Gloved fingers steadied her shoulders before working her breasts free, cupping them, then squeezing hard. They urged Ruth forward, then held her as she heard the door click and felt the intruding coolness of the hallway beyond. Ruth’s nipples stiffened.

Steadily, the gloved hands guided Ruth to the staircase. She found it strangely intuitive to ascend the stairs blindfolded. The lightest touches from her captor were sufficient to steer Ruth around the half-landing, up and into the warmth of a room above, then face down onto the deep, downy softness of a freshly-made bed which rose high off the floor.

Ruth lay on her front, her hips close to the edge of the bed, raising her burning backside and allowing air at the cooling cream which lay still wet on her cheeks.

One after the other, the hands removed Ruth’s shoes, and their thumbs ran softly from her knees, parting her legs as they drifted up the inside of her thighs.

Ruth shuddered as the tongue found the folds of her labia once more. The soft edge of the tip teased down to circle her clit before running up to probe more pointedly into her butthole, still moist from earlier intrusions. The tongue continued its lap back towards her clit, revolving up and down in waves, teasing, abandoning, returning. Ruth gyrated softly in time, cooling her bottom as she rode Santa’s tongue to a loud, wild orgasm.

Ruth basked in the warmth of Santa drawing next to her. She sighed as the gloved hands rocked her gently onto her side, pulling her close.

Then came the kiss: their first kiss. As their lips touched, Ruth knew that she’d had everything wrong. And yet, it felt more right than anything she’d known before.

In the half-light, Ruth was blinking as Santa pulled the blindfold free, and her eyes flinched in adjustment. It took a moment to peer into the shadow of the scarlet hood, deepened by its white fur trim. Santa freed Ruth’s hands before peeling off a thick hooded robe to lay naked before her. Ruth batted her eyes in disbelief, then pulled close for a second kiss.

Caught in urgent, adoring lust, Ruth traced her lips down her lover’s body, riding the contours of a well-toned stomach before pausing to take in the fragrant musk of a dark pubic thicket.

Ruth yearned to take her lover with her mouth. But first, she needed to gaze again into those dark, wise eyes. Was this real?

Ruth trembled, gripped by the nervous thrill of new beginnings. Then she slid close to her lover’s face, confessing in a whisper: ‘You know, it’s the first time I’ve been with a woman.’

In the candlelight, Ruth drew a shuddering, reflexive breath at a soft stroke of reassurance from her newfound lover. The scents of cinnamon and citrus flooded into her.