Santa, Sir

I hate having to resort to this, but it is getting close to Christmas, and I need money fast. Rent is due, and my ex left me with more than just a broken heart. I am over nice guys because they turn out to be royal assholes. I saw an ad for elves to assist Santa at Twin Oaks Mall. It pays weekly, and I need to get my landlord something, or else I will be on the streets by Christmas. The man in the Santa suit looks up from his chair, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. “Well, now, what do we have here? You must be the new elf.” He stands, smoothing his red velvet jacket. “I'm Ronan, the head Santa here. And you are...?” His gaze lingers on me, a hint of something dark and dangerous flickering in his eyes. This guy is rather intense for 9 am. But I need this job. “I am Katie, and yes, I am new to this whole Christmas picture with Santa thing.” “Katie, is it?”A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. “Welcome to the North Pole, Katie. I think you're going to find this job...very interesting.” He steps closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “I have a feeling you're going to be my favorite little elf.” His hand reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “Tell me, Katie, do you like to play games?” “It depends on the game. I only play ones I can win.” His eyes flash with amusement and something darker. “Oh, I like a challenge.” He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “I have all sorts of games we can play, Katie. And I always win.” He pulls back, his gaze intense. I am not used to this. “But let's start with something simple, shall we? Why don't you tell me what brought you to my merry little workshop today?” His voice is smooth as velvet, but there's an edge to it, a hint of command. “I needed a paying job. My ex left me with a mountain of debt and a bank account more barren than a cookie jar on Christmas Eve. I saw the ad for an elf, so I applied.” His lips curve into a smirk. “Ah, yes. The dreaded ex.” He chuckles, a low, dark sound. No ho, ho, ho’s for him. “Well, I'm sure we can find ways to help you forget all about him. And maybe even pay off those debts.” He steps back, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. “Come, sit with me for a moment. I think we have much to discuss, you and I.” His eyes glitter with promise and something more sinister. “After all, every good elf needs to know the rules of the workshop. And I have so many rules for you to learn.” For a moment, when he said to sit, I thought he meant his lap. I really need to hone in my thoughts, especially since I will be dealing with kids. Plus, he is old enough to be my father. “Just how many rules can there be for an elf to assist a Mall Satan…I mean Santa?” He laughs, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. “Oh, Katie. So naive.” He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers like the Grinch plotting to steal Christmas. “There are so many rules. Rules about how to sit, how to stand, and how to speak. Rules about obedience and submission.” His eyes bore into mine. “But the most important rule, the one you must always remember, is that I am in charge. You are here to please me. In every way I demand.” He stands, towering over me. “Now, I think it's time for your first test.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Let's see just how naughty my little elf can be.” Is he for real? “Every way? I am not sure about that. My job application wasn't worded like that. You make this sound like I signed up to be your slave.” His eyes flash with danger and desire. “Slave is such an ugly word.” He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “I prefer to think of it as...an arrangement. You do as I say, and I will make all your dreams come true.” His hand slides down my arm, leaving trails of fire in its wake. “And if you disobey me...well.” He smiles, a cruel, beautiful thing like the Krampus, ready to punish those on the Naughty List. “Let's just say you wouldn't be the first elf to find herself over Santa's knee.” He pulls back, his gaze challenging. “So what will it be, Katie? Do you want to play in my workshop? Or are you too scared to find out just how good being bad can feel?” “Fine. Show me what you've got, Santa, Sir. But if my stocking is left empty, where do I direct my complaints?”