She had placed her hand into the loop and, with her fingers, slowly drew the tie closed. Meg didn't know how long she had been stretched out on the bed, exposed, wet from her reminiscences She tried to get some satisfaction by rubbing the tops of her thighs together but it only made it worse. It hadn't been long but sexual excitement and anxiety had filled the time. It was now 'deal' time. They had spoken through enough fantasies, would it be one of them come to life? She knew all about permission. She had her word, her safe word. She knew that 'stop' or 'no' were impotent words, words that could be said in passion, not meant as the once and for all finishing word that would end all proceedings. A word that needed to be thought through and said in cold realisation. Deep down she believed that she wouldn't need her word, that this was another fantasy, that it would be him that rode her into the sunset. Would he send in a woman, would she feel the softness of lips, the tracing of. His hair was white, and his beard long. He was taller than most of those around him. The inference was plain."Santa," said Bob, softly."Not any more, my boy," said the old man grinning. "I'm retired. I go by Faerveren now. That means Christmas in English, but you can call me Joe." You were Santa," said Bob."That is quite true," said the man who called himself Joe, but who couldn't possibly be conceived of as merely "Joe." "But that was then, and this is now, and now I will be your mentor for a little while, until you get your feet firmly on the ice. Welcome to the North Pole, Santa."Then the silence vanished, and it was sound that deafened the new arrival.It was a whirlwind of well-wishers, and protocol and being presented enough wine and goodies to serve a whole platoon. Then it was curiously like arriving at a new Army assignment, being issued uniforms. These uniforms were of red velvet, though, with white fur trimming. The boots and belt already shone as if they'd been spit shined.
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