Jane's Toy...

ONE

Jane woke slowly...

It was warm in her bedroom, luxurious and comforting. She simply laid there, coming awake and letting her eyes focus on her surroundings; the rich, dark paneling of her walls, the expensive prints and pastels framed for her pleasure, the old, sturdy furniture of the dresser and vanity, the wardrobe that she loved so much.

She could smell coffee percolating in the kitchen, barely, over the smells of bacon and eggs. Jane smiled, glad that Cook was single, with no family near. Her mouth watered, anticipating breakfast.

It was some time later before the Goddess, Jane, made an effort to get out of bed. She threw back her comforter and swung her long legs to the floor, gasping at the sudden chill in the hardwood. She felt about for her slippers, wishing that her footslave was there for her pleasure and comfort, but he was in the kennels this morning, being punished.

Ah well. She would just have to fend for herself for a bit.

Jane slid her feet into her waiting scruffy pink slippers and stood. She retrieved her robe from the bottom edge of the bed and slipped it over her long jersey that she wore as a nightgown, belting the tie loosely with a quick obi fold. She stretched, reaching for the ceiling, moaning as her bones popped and her muscles strained. Finally she sauntered off to the bathroom.

She took care of her morning needs, personal things and the more mundane until she felt refreshed and ready to face another day. She left her bathroom, certain that one of her slaves would tidy up after her, and made her way towards the kitchen, following the delicious odors of breakfast beckoning.

She was passing through the living room when movement caught her eye.

She paused, staring at the stocking hung by the chimney with care.

She was long past believing in Santa Claus, but still every year she hung a stocking, a big one made of felt, bought in Duane Reade. She knew that Armand or one of the other Handlers usually dropped some trinket into the stocking; a necklace, a gold ring, a tennis bracelet. She held no illusions, but still she hung the stocking as it brought her pleasure and made her Handlers happy. This year was no exception, but -

Jane gasped as the stocking jiggled and jerked. her eyes went wide as she stared, waiting...

And again!

Her heart was hammering as she inched forward, wondering what they were up to- her Handlers. If they had slipped a mouse into her stocking as some sick joke she would flay them all and dismiss them. She could not believe...

"Help... "

She gasped again to hear the tiny, tinny voice. she stared as the stocking churned.

"Help me!"

Jane stepped forward, licking her lips. her eyes were wide with wonder as she eased closer to the stocking hung at the chimney. tentatively she peered into the opening. There was a card, which she plucked from the opening and read...

MY NAME IS CURT. USE ME AS YOU SEE FIT.

She read the card again and again, uncomprehending. The stocking shivered and thrashed suddenly, and she dropped the card. Jane eased forward, holding her breath as she peered inside again. She gasped.

Her eyes went wide as she staggered back, biting her lip as she stared at the stocking. She could not believe it.

It was impossible.

She crept forward again and looked in.

Tiny blue eyes looked up at her in fear, imploring. Jane screwed her courage and reached inside the stocking. She felt warmth, squirming flesh. She wrapped her fingers about her prize and drew it out.

Jane stared in astonishment at the thing gripped in her hand. She could feel it squirming- it was alive, but it was so tiny. The poor little thing writhed, helpless in her grip.

It was a little man, maybe six inches tall and bound head to toe in red and green Christmas ribbons. There was even a tiny ribbon tied about his tiny, engorged penis. he was whimpering and crying she saw as she raised him up to her face. He was beautiful. Perfect...

"Let me go!" he shouted, wriggling in her fingers. he was not strong enough to break her grip, but he did try. Jane giggled, giddy with excitement. She bit her lip as she pressed her thumb into the tiny man's chest, increasing the pressure until he stopped squirming.

She was getting hot feeling his movements in her hand. She shifted his position so that he was lying in her palm and raised her free hand, her index finger scratching at his balls, his belly, flicking at his hard nipples.

He squirmed for her and she felt a chill shiver down her spine at his thrashing. She felt her juices flowing, she was so hot. She had a tiny little man for her pleasure, ready to do whatever she asked, whatever she demanded or desired.

Jane orgasmed just holding the little squirming thing in her hand...