How did Mistletoe come to mean a kiss?
Although many sources say that kissing under the mistletoe is an English custom, there's another explanation for its origin. In Norse mythology there is a story of a loving, if overprotective, mother.
Frigga was mother to the Norse god Balder, the best loved of all the gods. Frigga was the goddess of love and beauty and she loved her son. To ensure no harm would come to him, she went through the world securing promises from everything that sprang from the four elements--fire, water, air, and earth--that they would not harm her beloved Balder.
Leave it to Loki, a mischievous spirit, to find the loophole. Mistletoe and an arrow made from its wood. To make the prank even nastier, he took the arrow to Hoder, Balder's brother, who was blind. Guiding Holder's hand, Loki directed the arrow at Balder's heart and Balder fell dead.
Frigga's tears became the mistletoe's white berries. In the version of the story with a happy ending, Balder is restored to life and Frigga is so grateful that she reverses the murderous reputation of Mistletoe, making it a symbol of love and promising to bestow a kiss upon anyone who passes under it.
So hang some mistletoe and pucker up!
Information gleaned from numerous online searches for mistletoe lore.
T’was a week before Christmas and Mrs. Claus conspires. Proposition Jack Frost to give Santa his greatest desire…
The
deviant Dominant Jack Frost can be good…very
good. But for being so good at being so bad, Santa keeps him on the naughty
list. What would Jack do to get on the good list? Kidnap Santa? With the help
of Mrs. Claus, Jack could force Santa’s submission and give him the one thing
he’s always wanted—to be on the naughty list himself. Then Jack could show
Santa just how very good he can be.
Adult
excerpt
Jack
tugged on the black buckle of Santa’s belt. “Come into my workshop—my toy shop.
We’re going to play.”
Adrenaline
like molten lava, blazed through Santa. Jack’s workshop wasn’t like the
brightly lit jovial environment where Santa and his elves put in their
fifteen-hour shifts. His gaze darted around the spacious room in the secluded
log cabin. Instead of rustic comfort, Jack’s lair was a den of iniquity. Tools
for torturous pleasures lined wooden shelves along the wall. Chairs, benches
and machines were situated around the room. Santa swallowed hard, the collar
biting into his neck. His heart pounded. He’d seen this room many times in his
magic snow globe—when he was checking to see if Jack were being naughty or
nice. Santa fought to keep from glancing to the far corner, the corner hidden
in shadow.
Santa
slowed his breathing, tried to keep from becoming aroused, but he knew what hid
in the darkened corner—a padded bench. A BDSM bed. Iron girders built the
frame. An iron canopy offered fasteners for wicked delights. Straps, belts and
bindings. Cuffs, chains and torturous tools. Would Jack leave him bound to the
bench, keep him immobile while Jack sucked his dick, or fucked him with the
machine. No, Santa wouldn’t be victim of Jack’s deviant machinations. Santa
didn’t want to want in the corner, locked to the table, his ass exposed and the
fucking machine ramming into him. But he did.
In the
center of the room, Jack positioned Santa. “Don’t do this,” Santa begged.
“You’ll
have to be more specific Santa.” Jack secured the O-ring connecting Santa’s
cuffed hands to a steel chain. The chain was mounted to the ceiling. Jack
tugged the chain, sliding the steel links through a pulley until Santa’s arms
rose over his head.
Santa’s
arms stretched high, muscles bunch and ripped and his wrists were bound
together. His fingers were already numb. He relaxed his fisted hands and tried
to calmly reason with Jack. “I can’t be more specific. What is all this
tomfoolery?” He uselessly tugged on the chain. He was Jack’s hostage.
Jack
smoothed his palms over the bunched muscles of Santa’s arms, along his
shoulders and onto his chest, toying with the silken hairs on his pectorals.
“There is more than one way to have fun. We’re going to play with my toys.”
Jack dropped to his knees on the floor. He secured the leather cuff around
Santa’s left ankle to the steel hook in the flooring. “Spread your legs,
Santa.” He did. The click of the lock on his right ankle heightened his
anxiety. “Now that I know you’ve accepted my invitation to stay, I can help you
get more comfortable.”
“But I
didn’t accept.”
Jack
tsked. “You haven’t put up much of a fight.” Jack pivoted and took a long pair
of shears from the worktable.
“I
can’t fight you, Jack.”
Jack
smiled. “I know. That’s what makes your submission all the sweeter.” Jack slid
the edge of the sheer under Santa’s T-shirt. His stomach quivered with the
touch of cold steel. The first snip echoed through the room. “Mrs. Claus told
me what you were hiding under all this finery. I want to…well, I was going to
say I want to see for myself. But I’m going to do more than look. I’m going to
touch for myself.” Jack snipped the shirt from waist to neck. Each quick cut
sent rousing frissons skittering through Santa.
Jack
slipped the fabric over the hard ridge of Santa’s shoulder, his fingertips
scoring Santa’s flesh. Santa sucked in a breath. His exposed skin shivered in
the cool cabin air. His nipples beaded and yet he was hot. Sweat trickled along
his spine. “What are you going to do to me?” Would Jack detect the thrill
beneath the concern?
“Ah,
Santa, you should know it’s better not to tell.” He tapped Santa’s cheek. “Half
the fun is in the surprise.” Jack had unbuckled Santa’s belt in the sleigh. Now
he slowly slid the leather from the loops. He snapped the belt. Santa jerked at
the crack of the leather. His cock swelled, hard and pulsing against his groin.
Santa
was in a quandary. He could not lie nor could he partake of the naughty
pleasure Jack promised. “I want to return to my workshop. Christmas is only a
week away.”
“Hmm.
That poses a problem.” Jack took the shears in hand and slipped the blades into
the waistband of Santa’s trousers. Cutting the fabric along Santa’s thigh, Jack
stripped him of the last of his clothing. “You have nothing to wear.”
Naked
with Jack. Anchored to the floor by his ankles, arms stretched toward the
ceiling, collar and cock. Santa was at Jack’s mercy and a plea for more was on
the tip of his tongue. “No,” he mumbled. He shook his head and slowly closed
his eyes. This secret desire would destroy all he cherished. His role in the
world gone for a chance to be ravished. “No.”
Jack
snapped the belt across Santa’s exposed buttocks.
“No!”
he bellowed, arching away from the sting.
“I
told you no one will hear your cries.” Jack pulled his arm back then unleashed
another powerful blow. The belt snapped, smiting Santa high on the buttocks.
Muscles tensed. The chains pulled taut. Santa nearly bit his tongue as a
blistering heat bloomed beneath his skin.
“If
you continue to say no—” Jack crisscrossed the strikes with another. “I’ll be
forced to gag you.” Jack heaved a breath and lowered his arm. “You should have
rosy cheeks.” Jack slowly circled Santa, his hungry gaze eating him up. “Now
you do.”
Santa
dropped his head forward, feeling the pinch of the collar on his neck. The
chains attached to his wrists held him up. His muscles burned and they’d only
just begun. “Please.”
“Please
what?” Jack closed his fist around Santa’s shaft. His fingers were strong as
they squeezed and stroked. Santa was used to Abby’s feminine touch and her sex
kitten ways—all the time craving something more. Craving Jack. Abby had known,
had realized that like her, he wished for something more. But unlike Abby, he’d
never had his wish.
Lust
unfurled in Santa, washing over him and making him ache to be naughty. Could
he? What would happen if Santa found himself on the naughty list? He was Santa
after all. Who would tell?
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KyAnn
2 comments:
thanks for hosting me Darah!
You bet! Glad to have you!
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