Part One: The Night Before

Christmas Eve was far from Sophia’s favorite time of the year, but close as it came it wasn’t the worst either. That honor went to the big day itself, the 25th. This one would in fact be her 25th, but after 24 preceding Christmases had come and gone she’d grown accustomed to never getting what she really wanted… or losing what she really hoped to. And yet… hope still flickered in her heart as her quill whipped across parchment.

The calligraphy was elegant, her hand well practiced. It was a hobby she’d practiced since childhood, and it made her a simple living now, creating bespoke cards and lettering for signage.

This time it wasn’t a greeting card she was creating, but a traditional, handwritten letter, using an inkwell, good feather pen and the finest vellum. An endeavor such as this one required only the best tools of her trade. After all, this might be the last time she would ever use them.

It had started last January. Claire from the salon had come in with an incredible announcement – her husband’s penis enlargement pills had actually worked. Not just to add a half inch or so, but to turn the man from a three to a seven.

That was impossible of course, as Sophia was quick to point out, but Claire had told her the ‘secret’ as they left that afternoon.

Her letter to Santa.

She took it for a joke at first, but Claire was sincere.

It was ridiculous. Claire was utterly nonsensical and hilariously childish, to think that a letter to Kris Kringle could add four inches to her lovers’ manhood.

And yet… Sophia had seen the man at the pool over the summer, as had many others. He wasn’t shy of his equipment anymore, and nor could he keep it under wraps.

It had made Sophia think that just maybe it was worth trying herself. She would be disappointed certainly – no matter how nicely she asked Santa wouldn’t fix her body for her, or put together a man who wasn’t a creep or a loser, but still it really cost her nothing to try.

And so, there she was, on Christmas Eve, penning a letter to Santa on more time. In a way it felt like her last, foolish gamble. One final shot, before letting go of the impossible dreams she’d held on to for so long. Once this failed, she’d move on; forget all those long-nurtured aspirations and desires, and face reality. She could never have the body of her dreams and she would never meet Mr. Right, but she could still meet a guy who might make her happy enough with a normal, comfortable life.

Admittedly the crop of candidates those past years had been woeful, but she’d been asking too much. The men who shared her desires were all the same – sadists, only into the scene for the thrill of a defenseless victim, or gross perverts who cared only about the physical, and didn’t even bother to get to know her – certainly no-one who was actual partner material.

The solution had to be moving beyond the insular community and accepting that she would never find a guy who wanted everything she did. Probably not even most of it.

Sophia sighed, brushing back her flowing brunette hair as she set down her quill and capped the well.

Her letter was complete, a beautiful work of craft, addressed and ready to go.

Once it was dry she slipped it reverentially into the envelope, and sealed it with wax, using the design of her family ring. It had been defunct for generations of course, but she’d had one made when she learned of her old family crest. It was a perfect accoutrement for a calligrapher, and somehow that extra touch made the letter feel surprisingly real.

Carrying the letter over to the fireplace, she opened up the burner.

The heat was unpleasant against her skin, and she hesitated. It seemed a waste to put so beautifully made a letter into the flames, but Claire was clear on that. Letters to the old saint went to him the same way he came to you, via chimney.

Slipping the letter in, she pulled her hand back quickly.

It ought to have fallen into the pile of wood and charcoal, blackening and curling in an instant, but it didn’t. The letter fluttered on the hot air, cinders dancing around it, and then a sudden gust of air rushed into the room with a bang.

It had been a calm night, yet the wind had flung open the window over her desk. By the time she had it shut once more her letter was already gone, so thoroughly consumed by flames that not even the ashes remained.

Just for tonight she would let herself believe instead that it had been spirited away, blown up the chimney and off to the pole, where its recipient awaited.

Curling up in bed soon after, the thought circled in her mind, of Santa getting her letter, and understanding. Granting her wish and letting her wake up tomorrow a changed woman. The person she should have been from the start. She wondered what it would feel like. It was hard to really imagine, despite many years of trying, despite the dreams that came to her every night, but she had never tired of the attempt.

As she drifted off, hugging herself and smiling, it was with that happy, warming fantasy still fresh in her heart. At least in her dreams she was always herself.

Part Two: Owen’s Awakening

The jingling of sleigh bells roused Owen early on Christmas morning. With no-where else he needed to be that day he had meant to set his alarm back and have a good lie-in, but the sound of the music told him he’d forgotten.

It was a terrible shame; he’d been having an incredible dream. It was the only one he ever had lately, a dream in which his impossible fantasy woman appeared before him as a reality. Not just as some victim of calamity, but as a willing, eager volunteer, as thrilled by herself as he was.

The softness of her skin faded as the noise roused him, becoming mundane and sad; just the edge of his pillow against his palm.

He was never going to meet a girl like that in his waking life.

Peering out through a hole in the covers he reached for the old-fashioned retro radio-clock, to hit the snooze button. As he did, he glanced at the display, wondering which station was playing Christmas music that that time of day.

What he saw roused him to wakefulness, his curiosity piqued.

His alarm wasn’t due to sound for another half hour.

Flicking the timer off entirely, Own sat up in bed. He slept nude, and as the covers fell away, they revealed a modestly athletic physique and a handsome, chiseled face. Running a hand through his short black hair he stretched and yawned.

Owen made an amusing contrast with the collection of retro electronics and old movie posters that decorated the bedroom, objects more at home in the bedroom of an 80’s teenager than a 21st century young professional who kept himself in such good shape. Software engineers didn’t really have a type, but most couldn’t escape the layer of pudge that seemed to settle inexorably around the stomachs of anyone who sat for eight hours a day at work. He was proud of being one of the few still putting in the gym time to stay trim even after he switched to working from home. His arms might not be the mighty trunks of some gym goers, but his ab crunches were a daily ritual by this point.

But first, water. Maybe coffee. Feed the cat and take a leak.

And he wanted to find the source of that jingling. It had sounded like it was coming from right inside the room, or at least the apartment. Perhaps he’d left the TV on.

Slipping from his bed, unhooking his morning wood from the sheets, he stepped over the pile of old computer magazines and headed into the lounge, scratching the small patch of fuzz above his manhood as he walked. Living alone he was accustomed to his own nudity, having nothing to fear from neighbors thanks to his 32nd floor home.

Or so he had thought.

Owen froze as he saw a face across the room.

Not at the window – that would have been absurd enough – but suspended over the minimalist decorative fireplace that lined the interior wall, poking out of a long red mass suspended there.

He might have imagined it was Santa, running late, but the face was too beautiful, and the shape, although formless enough to be the jolly old rotund saint, was far too small.

Owen stepped closer, fascinated, as he studied the sight.

It was a young woman’s head, sticking out of a merrily decorated Christmas stocking.

Wreathed in shoulder-length brown hair, her face had delicate, pretty features and smooth creamy skin. Her eyes were closed, as if in sleep, and her head hung to one side on her shoulder. Owen would have guessed she was about his age, had she been real of course.

The model was extraordinary, breathtaking in fact, but it was certainly just that, a model. Perhaps a prank by some ‘friend’ who’d found out his little secret.

That didn’t explain where she came from though.

She had a funny expression, her lips hanging slightly open, not the flawless and serene look you’d expect a sculptor to capture, but it made her seem so much more human.

Then he saw her lip move and noticed her chest rising with her breath.

His own caught in his chest as he realized; she was real!

With a gasp Owen stepped back, and almost fell over his couch, but the fright was fleeting. This woman certainly couldn’t pose any threat to him while she was stuck in place there.

She must be very short, and an incredible contortionist, to fit her limbs in around her without making the stocking bulge out to twice its current size. She had to have gotten help to put herself up there too, but the greatest mystery was why. It was a cruel prank to play, if they had hoped just to capture his hopeful reaction.

There wasn’t even camera in the room.

Who was this miniature beauty, so artfully, surreally posed on his mantelpiece as a present, and why was she there?

She certainly wasn’t anyone he knew. Owen would have remembered a beauty like her. That delicate nose and those elegant eyes and brows were just his type, and her wide, full lips made the perfect contrast to his mind.

Before he knew it she was only a step away, dangling, dozing just in front of him, her chest a little below his. He still couldn’t see how she fit the overgrown stocking, or where her limbs went past her shoulders and hips, but he saw no reason not to find out. Whatever reason she had for being there, in this surreal bondage, she could only be there for him.

The thought made his dangling manhood stir, reviving from his earlier shock as he reached out for her, his heart racing.

Touching her side through the fabric, he ran his fingers lightly over her, starting at her shoulder and trailing down. He was feeling for some binding, or just the tell-tale bump of an arm or leg. Instead, he found only softness, unbroken curves that ended in the sweep around to her underside.

That couldn’t be right.

His hand felt her base, searching. A leg wasn’t something you could just hide like that. The other hand joined it, and his palms cupped the rounded, blank spaces around and under her hips. In a daze he slid them up to her hips and gripped. There was nothing hidden in the stocking.

This woman wasn’t a contortionist.

It couldn’t be… he had to still be dreaming… it was that same dream all over again, just wrapped up in a merry Christmas stocking.

Hands trembling, hardly daring to hope, he lifted, and the whole form of the girl rose up in his grip, barely half the weight he’d expected.

“Impossible,” he whispered, unable to hear the word over the thrumming of his chest.

He held her in both hands, staring at the form of his Christmas present in disbelief, his manhood standing to full attention as he drank in the sight of her. The shape of her shoulders, and the way her hips curved before vanishing into the tail of the giant sock that contained them.

She was perfect.

A totally limbless human being, right there in his hands.

A giddy quiver passed through him, and for a moment he feared he was about to wake up again, back in bed, but as he squeezed her sides gently and felt her weight he knew this wasn’t some fantasy.

His manhood was starting to hurt as he saw her eyes moving under the lids, roused by his hands on her body. A moment later she raised her head and they flicked open.

A deep, enchanting green met his amazed look, his strange visitor matching his expression.

Then she screamed.

Part Three: Unwrapping Sophia

“Please, rid me of my limbs, and bring me a lover instead.”

Drifting off to sleep on Christmas Eve Sophia had the thought repeating in her mind like a mantra, over and over. It was the dream she’d held since she was five, since she first learned that a human being could lose a part of their body and go on, and she saw the armless young woman on the TV struggling to dress herself with her feet.

Ever since that moment she’d known that what she wanted more than anything in life was to cast off not just her arms, but her legs too. To surrender and be liberated of those body parts forever, so she could be in her waking hours as she was in her dreams.

Utterly, eternally limbless.

But as she slipped into that happy, hopeful slumber she had definitely been at home, in her bed. She could distinctly remember pulling the covers tight about her sides, imagining what it would be like to feel… nothing there. Just smooth fabric against blank shoulders and hips. The comfort of knowing there would never be anything there again.

Now she was upright, almost floating somehow.

What was stranger was that the sensation of her dream self lingered as she was waking. Sophia wished she could drift off again, to prolong that happiness just a little more.

Feeling something move against her she was forced instead to awaken, disturbed - she didn’t have any pets in the house.

Opening her eyes she saw a strange room, not any part of her home, and a strange man looming, towering over her, his hands on her sides.

He had an erection too, his impressive member pointing right at her face.

It wasn’t surprising that she screamed.

What did surprise her was that she dropped as she did.

Freefalling she tried to reach out, to catch herself, or at least cushion the impact.

More terrifying than the bizarre sensation of plummeting from what should have been waist height was the realization that she couldn’t feel anything from her arms or legs.

Not just the numbness of a sleeping limb, or the immobility of a body part bound.

All sensation ended at her hips and shoulders, as if her limbs had never existed at all.

The painful bump as her ass hit a rug jolted through her, and she tried instinctively to raise her hands up to stop herself from toppling forwards, but all she felt was fabric sliding over smooth, blank skin.

Sophia fell face-first into the fluffy rug, powerless to catch herself.

Landing on her chest and face was unpleasant, and the abrupt drop and impact left her dazed as well as confused, but it hurt less than she’d expected. The reason could only be because of how shockingly light and small she suddenly seemed to be.

This was impossible. Completely impossible.

She dared not let herself believe what her senses were telling her… and yet as she tried to raise herself, to push herself up off the fluff of the rug, she felt her movement reach her shoulders and simply stop.

“Oh shit! Sorry! Let me help you!”

The speaker was unknown to her, coming from somewhere high above, but it could only be the giant nude man who’d been holding her.

He had a pleasant voice, smooth and clear with a soulful sound, but the depth and power that had always made Sophia tingle.

Hands gripped her shoulders, and she gasped as they seemed to push in, through her flesh, to sink into her tender joints.

The man was being gentle, but it was intense as he lifted and turned her, carefully rolling her body over and laying her back down. His hands pulled back, and he knelt over her, looking down with concern.

He was still naked, still erect and looming, but she wasn’t thinking about him at all.

She too was looking down. She saw the red fabric around her body… and looked out to the edges to take in the rounded, blank spaces there.

Her limbs were gone.

Sophia’s blood was roaring in her ears, her chest heaving for breath as she tried to move herself once more, to raise an arm, and saw only the subtle shifting of the surface around her shoulder.

Muscles were contracting and her shoulder blade sliding to bring the joint forward, but there was simply nothing attached there for her body to move. She ended at four rounded, blank corners, not even the smallest stump remaining of her arms and legs.

All she could feel from the spots where her body parts used to be was the itchy, tender sensation of healing, and exposed tissue unaccustomed to touch. Somehow that made it more real. Whatever… whoever had removed her limbs had to have operated on her. She probably had stitches, even scars under the absurd, embarrassing stocking into which they’d stuffed her.

The mountainous figure watched too, and a quiet whimper escaped his lips as he saw her trying to move herself… and utterly failing.

“I’m really sorry, really, I’m such a klutz,” the man was saying, “I just didn’t expect you to be here, and then you screamed, and I think I screamed too and… I kinda let go. I didn’t mean to! Are you okay? I mean, you’re… you’re not like gonna bleed out or anything are you?”

He was babbling, she observed, but his anxious, blushing face was actually very cute when he did, and he seemed just as confused and shocked as she was. In a funny way it helped Sophia get a hold of herself, in a strictly metaphorical sense of course.

“I’m okay,” she said slowly, “it doesn’t hurt, and I don’t think I’m injured, I’m just trying to… take all this in.”

Her heart and breath were slowing as she calmed a little from the initial shock, but she could still feel the beat racing in her chest as she looked between the strange guy above and the… rest of her below.

It was an incredible sight, and an even better sensation, and she couldn’t help but break into a grin as she tried once more to raise her arms, and again saw nothing happen. If anything, the strongest effect it had on her body was between her legs.

No… between where her legs used to be.

Subconsciously she reached down to stroke herself… not her burning, aching pussy, but the bulbous, cutely-proportioned hips she had to either side, unblemished by the legs that were a part of her for the past 25 years. Of course, she couldn’t reach anywhere now – instead she felt that visceral reminder once more as her shoulder twisted and nothing happened. She had lost all four of her limbs, and she couldn’t even touch her body to feel where they used to be.

In that moment everything else was forgotten, the strange man, the alien apartment, even the absurd clothing she was stuffed into.

Feeling her utter helplessness, Sophia was in heaven.

Watching this woman on the rug, helpless and immobile, wiggling her armless shoulders at him, Owen was in shock.

She was the actual, literal woman of his dreams, and there she was laid on his floor, immobile. There was no sign of dismay on her face either. Hers was a look of wonder, even awe, as she twisted her neck to get a better look at her stumps – or rather the lack thereof. She wore a genuine, rapturous smile as she tried to raise her hips, and her torso just wriggled up and down instead.

That made Owen smile too, and then as their eyes met, they found they were grinning at each other.

He was the first to look away, feeling his face flush.

“Sorry,” he said, a bashful plume of darker red working its way over his face as he realized she could also see the painfully stiff rod standing upright between his legs.

“It’s okay… it’s nice to meet you too” she answered, her smoky, indulgent voice making clear it really was, “I should probably be flattered… but just right now I’m distracted, shocked actually. You see, I had arms and legs when I went to bed last night. I… didn’t really expect them to be gone this morning.”

The knowing smile that played over her lips as she spoke made Owen wonder just how shocked she really was, but with how bizarre the whole situation was, he believed her. But if even she didn’t know what had happened, then how could he explain all of this?

His head was still spinning as she spoke up again.

“Is this your Christmas stocking I’m in?”

“No, mine’s smaller! Not that you’re big, I mean you’re pretty tiny now, but… bigger than a sock, you know?”

“I don’t suppose there’s a label… on me… to say who I’m for?” she asked, her delightful face pink at her own embarrassing turn of phrase.

That look was enough to stir Owen’s heart, and as awkward and confusing at the situation was, he reached down confidently to the fold of fabric bunched up around her chest.

She looked ready to object at so bold a move, but as his hands pressed to her tender breasts it was only to grip and unfurl the folded wool. Revealing the name knitted into it.

“For Owen, it says. That’s me so… I guess that means you’re my Christmas present?” he suggested, grinning.

He didn’t even know this person’s name yet, and there she was defenseless at his knees. The glimmer in her eyes had emboldened him, and from her chest he let his hands trail over her to her sides, brushing away trailing hair. Reaching her corners, he gripped her soft, armless shoulders.

“Does my gift have a name?”

Her face had totally changed as she listened to his words and felt his touch, and her shoulders pressed into his palms in willing, quivering helplessness.

Her trembling lips spoke only “Sophia.”

A yowl from the kitchen shattered the intimate moment, as Buster yelled for his owner to come provide his morning feed.

The duo had both looked away, startled by the intrusion, and as the two people looked back at one another, they saw anew that they were looking at strangers.

Sophia felt herself going just as red in the face as Owen was, wondering what she was thinking, giving in to her urges with this man she’d never even met before… now of all times. It had just been so hard to think clearly when she heard things put like that… that she was a gift to him… and felt him touching her, feeling her limbless shoulders. The thrill had overtaken her.

Perhaps he was feeling similarly, as he withdrew his hands from her body.

“I should get some clothes on…. Don’t go anywhere.”

She wondered if that was supposed to be a joke, as he left her there, immobile on the ground.

For a minute all she could hear were the sounds of doors, and the distant meows of a hungry feline, but he returned quickly enough, wrapped in a bath robe, a second smaller one in his hands.

“My ex left this here,” he explained. “I thought that we should get you out of that stocking. Make sure you’re okay too, you know? Then we can try calling the… I don’t know, the fire brigade? Ambulance? Who do you even call for… missing limbs?”

Sophia giggled despite herself, charmed by the sheepish but enticing grin Owen wore.

“I think a private dick might be more in order.”

His eyes widened, and Sophia herself wondered at her own boldness. Never in 25 years had she felt so forward with a man, but something about Owen was just so… disarming.

“For now let’s just check how you’re doing under there,” he suggested, his lips wavering, as if biting back a laugh.

As he pulled back the fabric around her shoulders they were both watching intently, and both were amazed at what they saw.

“Nothing,” she murmured, “there’s really nothing there….”

And it was true. There wasn’t even the faintest scar or a single stitch, just smooth, rounded skin that looked as natural as if she was born that way. All that gave away that Sophia had once possessed two arms were the pink patches, where the flesh was ever so slightly inflamed, still healing from whatever procedure had amputated her appendages to leave her with empty sockets flawlessly covered over with tender new skin.

She moved her right side, and watched as the shoulder flexed, feeling the lightness and the sense of soothing emptiness around her joint. Looking left she saw the same. She ended at two rounded, beautiful bumps, no trace of either humerus, no blemishes of any kind there to spoil the perfection of her armlessness.

“Keep going!” she insisted.

Owen needed no further spurring. The sight of those gorgeous ‘stumps’ and the astonishing, blissful look on Sophia’s face were all the encouragement he could possibly need.

He raised her back under one hand as he worked the stocking down her. He hadn’t noticed until now, but there were red ribbons under the fabric. A pair of them looped over the tops of her shoulders, tied together into a small bow around her neck, and as he pulled the stocking further down, he saw they were covering her nipples too, preserving some shred of modesty in the most erotic manner imaginable.

Releasing her breasts revealed the generous proportions of those last remaining extremities, and just under them he saw two more ribbons, wrapped about her sides, coming in to meet those covering her nipples at one central bow over her soft, lovely stomach. Two more came up from just over her hips, and a final pair seemed to be meeting the other six from either side of her crotch. They were perfect decorations for a limbless torso such as hers. So adorned, Owen would have gladly paid her tummy a great deal of attention, but neither of them minded that middle section of her anatomy now. Both were thinking only of what awaited at her hips.

Holding her butt raised he slipped the stocking off in one smooth motion, and Sophia gasped at the intense sensation of the wool sliding over her stumps.

The sight that came after was still more overwhelming however, as Owen gently laid her hips flat again, then helped her sit up, propping her back against his knees so she could get a proper view of herself.

What she saw took the breath from her lungs. Her legs were gone, like her arms, removed without trace to leave only a shadow in pink, new skin where she used to have two essential pieces of herself. The shapes of her hips were perfect too, her soft, jiggly butt continuing around her sides and base in one unbroken sweep now there were no legs in the way, creating a wonderful, soft pair of bulging round corners to her, squishing under her weight as Owen leant her on them.

A tear welled up in the corner of her eye as Sophia took it all in, and then as it tricked down her left cheek another followed down the right.

“This is really happening, isn’t it? I’m not going to wake up this time?”

“It’s real,” Owen confirmed at her back.

“My limbs are really, totally gone…. I’m a quadruple amputee.”

The words were thick, heavy with emotion, but not the fear or sorrow Owen might have been expecting to hear. Sophia’s heart was soaring even as she lay there motionless, utterly, permanently immobile, yet feeling liberated. It was with euphoria that she cried; the blissful sense that she was free at last. Released from a lifetime in the wrong form.

“This is real,” she repeated, as if to convince herself.

“I’m really limbless… I’m free… I’m finally… me.”

Owen could hardly believe the sight himself, but her words were more shocking to him. Sophia was saying everything he’d ever wanted to hear. This woman had just had her arms and legs amputated… and she felt complete.

The two knelt and lay like that for a while longer, before Owens eyes strayed far enough from the four empty ends of her body to notice that there was something hanging from the ribbon over her navel.

Reflexively he reached down, and Sophia squirmed in surprise as he leant over her.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I just saw something… here.”

Slipping the small, scrolled sheet from an unusual ring through which it was inserted, he unrolled it and held it up, where he and his living Christmas present could read it.

It wasn’t paper as he’d expected, but some sort of parchment, covered in lettering in a spidery, twisted scrawl that he struggled to read.

Sophia’s face lit up however, and she whispered ‘vellum’ to herself. Owen didn’t know what that was, but he was more concerned with the puzzling writing.

Sophia found nothing odd about the hand that had composed the note, however. The calligraphy was densely packed and had a waver as if from age, but the lines were still beautiful and the style one of the most ornate – and oldest – that she’d had the pleasure to observe.

“To Owen,” she read aloud, “a Christmas gift for you, in recognition of all those years of being such a good boy, and a fine young man. I’ve brought you what you desired most – the woman of yours dreams, and your wildest fantasies. Your soulmate.”

She looked up, into the face of the young man leaning over her, and Sophia was amazed to see a tear in his eye too. She read on, to let him compose himself.

“And to Sophia, who took the time and care to write me so beautiful a letter, I have two gifts. Seeing as you’re reading this, you’ve already opened the first, but allow me to explain, to relieve you of any uncertainty. To grant your dearest, deepest desire, I’ve taken the liberty of surgically amputating your limbs for you. Permanently.”

Her tongue stumbled over the final, shocking word, an electric tingle passing down her spine as she read it. Behind her she felt Owen move as well, and she realized that pressure was building against one spot in the small of her back.

But there was more to the note, and so she read on.

“Naturally, Santa has his ways and means, and so you shan’t need to fear any complications from your operation. The elves are most adroit surgeons, as misses Claus can attest. You are already well healed, but you will experience heightened sensitivity in the affected areas for a few days, as the inflammation fades. And now, the second gift. As you may have gleaned by now, you are Owen’s Christmas present, and while I spared the dear boy the indignity of affixing him a label, he too is yours. You are most literally made for him, but so is he for you. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness together. Yours, with love, Kris Kringle.”

As she finished the note, Sophia’s mind was a jumble, thoughts and emotions crashing together in a swirl of confusion and excitement.

Owen turned the small letter over, and she read a short postscript.

“P.S., I return to you the ring with which you so admirably sealed your communication – while I fear you shall never don it again, I thought it might prove a precious memento. Perhaps you will even find another way to wear it.”

There was quiet then, and looking at her tummy Sophia saw that her ring really was there, the holder into which the letter had been slipped.

“Did you… really write Santa a letter, asking him to amputate your limbs?” Owen asked, looking down at her with a look of awe.

She felt herself blushing and nodded shyly.

His manhood twitched against her back, but she didn’t mind.

This was, according to Saint Nicholas himself, the very man of her dreams. And how could she argue, when he made her chest throb the way he did. The jolly old fellow had already given her one present so… overwhelmingly wonderful… why not another?

Of course, it was one thing to be told they were perfect for each other, even to believe it might be so, and it was quite another to lie, naked and limbless in his lap.

Her wet, aching sex was totally exposed, and she tried to cover herself… only to remember all over again the reality of her situation. She would never cover herself again. She would never even touch herself again. She couldn’t. She was utterly helpless in Owen’s arms.

That was frightening certainly… but the humiliating, frustrating impotence of her body excited her too. There was so much she was never going to do again, whole parts of her life she’d given up for this – even her career in calligraphy was over now, lost along with the hands she had so willingly given up – and it was thrilling.

He too was lost in thought for a time, after the reading of that… unbelievable letter… but Owen roused himself as he heard Buster howling in the kitchen again.

Whatever might come of this, he would at least ensure that he didn’t make Sophia regret her letter to Santa that year.

“Well,” he said, “I think the cat’s ready for breakfast, and I know I am too. Let’s get you dressed, then we can think about what to do next.”

She gave a distant nod, and Owen took that as assent.

Easing his hands around her, she scooped the young woman up in both arms.

She gave a yelp at being hefted, perhaps afraid he’d drop her again, but didn’t struggle as he carried her over to lay her on the couch.

“I feel so small like this, so helpless…,” she murmured, as she was played atop the robe he’d brought for her.

“Is that good?” he asked, as he wrapped the sides over her front, and tied the cord snug against her tummy.

“It’s… what I’ve always dreamed of, since I was a little girl. Being… permanently helpless like this. I can’t move myself, can’t dress myself, can’t even scratch my nose… and I’ll never be able to again, no matter what.”

Her breath had quickened as she spoke the words, but she looked self conscious as she finished and their eyes met… and his passion mirrored her own.

“Would you like me to scratch your nose?” he asked, as she raised her up.

“No, its fine… thank you Owen.”

“Just tell me, whatever it is you want,” he said, brushing the hair from her cheeks, “I’ll take care of you, at least until you know what you want to do next.”

He didn’t miss the way she leant into his touch, pressing her cheek to his hand, and he felt a shiver at the way she nuzzled against him, using the only mobility that remained to her.

Owen had never been more turned on by anything in his life.

Breakfast was going to be a challenge to be sure.

Part Four: A Merry Christmas

Actually preparing food for his unexpected guest was simple – like him, Sophia was an unfussy eater, happy to have the same bacon and eggs as him – the difficulty lay in maintaining his chivalry as he fed his limbless houseguest by hand.

His… Christmas present.

Buster was happily tucking in to his own food as the two sat face to face, Sophia balanced on a chair, pressed in close to the table to hold her steady. Her boobs sat on the wooden surface as she leant in to take each bite from his fork, and Owen couldn’t resist holding it ever so slightly further away each time. He observed in fascination as her armless shoulders stretched and she reached out with her mouth for the food, her back arching against the seat and the empty arms of her gown dangling at her sides, sprawling over the tabletop.

He stopped that game however, when Sophia gave a panicked little squeal as she leant a little too far, and the chair squeaked back half an inch.

That was reckless, he told himself guiltily. She couldn’t catch herself if she fell, and it was wrong to tease her, however much she might have wanted this body, and no matter how he might long to.

Or so he thought, until he noticed the way she was breathing, deep breaths that didn’t ease as the moment of panic passed. Her complexion was flushed, and those glittering green eyes looked up at him with a hunger that was unabated by her meal.

After eating he wiped the debris from her soft, sensual lips… then picked her up once more, and carried the shivering girl against his chest back to the lounge, leaning her back in an armchair. With how soft and immobile her lower half was, he made sure she was reclined, lest she helplessly topple forwards and off the seat.

“Okay, just wait there for a bit, alright? I need to get dressed properly, and you could probably do with some time to think. I’ll just be in the next room, so shout if you need anything. When I get back, we can make some calls, to whoever makes the most sense, and… figure out what to do.”

Sophia hesitated for a moment, but then nodded.

“Thank you, Owen. For breakfast, and for… all your help.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said simply, smiling down at her.

“You say that, but I’m sure you’d get pretty sick of feeding and cleaning up after a girl with no limbs,” she replied ruefully.

“I’d gladly do it every day for the rest of my life,” he answered quietly.

“But right now, I gotta go pee and get some clothes on. Let me know when you need to go too, don’t try to hold it in and end up pooping yourself – that I might mind cleaning up.”

With a chuckle he left her there, staring up in wonder at him.

Alone with her thoughts, Sophia had no idea what she should actually be thinking. This was all so incredible, wonderful even, but it was also happening very fast. Of course, it wasn’t as though she had a lot of options. As much as Owen talked about making calls and figuring things out, to her the situation was already quite clear.

She was permanently, totally limbless, utterly dependent on others for her every need. Even if they called a doctor, no-one could put back her arms and legs, and Sophia would rather have died than let them try.

She giggled to herself at that thought. Limblessness was perfection, even better in reality than in her dreams.

For a while she just basked in the sensation of total surrender to the world around her.

Far from a cage, her body was liberating in a way she’d never known before. With the loss of her limbs she was free of all her fears, her worries and troubles – none of it mattered now!

What did she care if rent was due, or there were bills coming? It was no trouble of hers should the car break down or her sister spark some fresh family turmoil. So what if her calligraphy business wasn’t picking up? She could never even pick up a quill again!

That last thought made her giggle, then laugh aloud, as she recalled all those thousands, tens of thousands of hours spent in study, learning her art, perfecting her craft… all lost forever.

They were a worthy sacrifice for this, to finally feel complete.

A whole person at last.

Buster the cat had finished his meal and wandered into the lounge, meowing curiously at her where she lay.

She felt him jump up on the chair behind her, and as he came closer she smelt the fishy breath, then felt a tiny, rough tongue on her face, licking at her cheek.

Twisted her head away she gave him a reproachful look.

“Do you mind? I’m a guest you know,” she said sternly.

The cat just moved closer and continued licking, paws planted on her breasts, kneading at her chest as he licked her face.

She could have yelled, or called out to Owen, but Sophia felt no need to do either.

The indignity was oddly invigorating. This was another part of what she’s wanted. This powerlessness to exert her own will, even over a simple housecat.

By the time Owen returned he found the feline curled up on her boobs, Sophia looking out past his fluffy tail with a bashful grin on her face as she saw how nicely he’d dressed up for her, in stylish pants and a pressed dress shirt, artfully opened at the neck to expose a little of his chest.

“Oh, come on Buster!” he said, shaking his head as he scooped the animal up. “I’m sorry about him.”

“It’s fine, he kept me company while I was thinking. I know who we need to call.”

“Who? Your doctor?”

“No… we need to call my family and let them know I won’t be coming to Christmas lunch this year. I’m spending the holidays with my new friend.”

“Are you sure? I don’t even have a tree up, or any Christmas food in the place. Besides, don’t you want to see your family?”

As he spoke the words Owen felt absurd – Sophia had just had her arms and legs surgically removed, and he was fretting about how she wanted to spend Christmas – but still, she would surely be happier with people she knew while she was coming to terms with all this.

“Even if it’s under these circumstances, they’d still want to be there for you and help you, I’m sure. And I was thinking, maybe you can write… dictate another letter to… Santa… and ask him to give you your limbs back again? I mean, this is… amazing… but you must want to be able to go back to your real life.”

She shook her head, smiling up at him with those entrancing, knowing eyes.

“Owen… there were no lies in that letter. This isn’t something I can take back. But I wouldn’t, even if I could. This body is who I always was… it just took a while for me to get there. And as for where I spend Christmas, if you’re the man I think you are… then I’d rather be here, eternally limbless in your arms, than anywhere else, limbs or not.”

Part Five: A Very Happy New Year

Phone calls to family members had been a mixed bag. Some were just glad Sophia had found someone she liked enough to spend Christmas with, while Owen was pretty sure others, such as her sister, had decided that the two had eloped together.

That was absurd of course – they had only known each other a few hours at that point. But in the days since the two had been growing closer, getting to know one another. They had already seen one another’s surface, and the exposed depths of their fantasies, but it was that middle, where all the richness of a person was found, that they were delighting in learning about.

Owen hadn’t expected Sophia to care about retro computers, and nor did she, but his breathtaking Christmas present had amazed him when, that same evening, she’d launched into a long conversation about her love of Tolkien – not just the movies, but the books, even the maps and the histories. It was a totally unexpected point of common ground, but it had led to so much more, and the two had stayed up all night long talking, discussing everything, from fantasy to calligraphy to games and more.

He had entirely forgotten Sophia’s limblessness until it came time for them to rest, and it was a fresh new thrill as he looked upon this person, this charming, delightful woman he’d been getting to know, and realized she was helpless, and eagerly asking him to carry her… to take her to bed with him.

He had done that, and nothing more, neither of them wanting to push things too fast, still both growing accustomed to many things, not least of all what her new body meant for Sophia, and for Owen.

A week later on New Year’s Eve, Owen at least was certain he knew.

He had done everything, faced every challenge and all the worst moments of caring for a housemate who couldn’t do anything for herself, and while he was glad of the bidet in his bathroom, none of it had been a deal-breaker. Most had been a pleasure.

But what mattered now was what Sophia wanted.

Left alone on his bed for the afternoon, beneath a newly installed full-length mirror, she’d had ample time to consider what it would really mean for them to be lovers, and to experience a taste of the games Owen already longed to play with her.

“You’re really sure?” Owen asked nervously, as he climbed atop the bed.

She looked up at him with those wide, spirited eyes, chest gently rising and falling, her sex glistening in the moonlight.

It was clear the teasing, tortuous wait had done nothing to dissuade her.

“I’m certain. Santa was right, Owen, we’re perfect for each other.”

“You’re certainly the first woman I’ve ever met who’s so perverse that she gets horny at her own helplessness,” he said, grinning. “When I untied your ribbons and took you into the shower, I thought you were going to cum just from the water and my hands soaping you up.”

“I almost did,” she admitted, blushing harder but grinning back at him. “The way you hold me, the way you touch me… it makes me so horny… but….”

Lying before him on the bed she was totally naked, as he had left her… save for one thing, the ribbon around her neck. It was too cute on her not to keep it. At least until he could buy her something finer.

“Just think, Sophia… you’re never going to touch your body again,” he whispered, as he knelt over her.

“You’ll never walk again… never stand… never feed yourself… never wash yourself…. You’ll never stroke your breasts….”

His fingers brushed those aching, pert nipples, and she breathed harder.

“You’ll never hold your lover in your arms.”

Her brow rose, eyes widening and her mouth opening in a whimper of pure, burning need as his hands trailed around the smoothness of her shoulders, then gripped them both, using her armless joints to lift her up towards him.

“You can’t even sit up without help… is this really what you want?”

“Yes!” she cried, voice breaking at the intense passion that made her chest heave, “Yes!” she cried, voice breaking at the intense passion that made her chest heave, “Yes, it’s bliss! It’s heaven to be like this, your helpless limbless lover! I treasure this impotent frustration, all of it! S-so please, stop being a gentleman and play with me already!”

Her eyes told him how much she loved this even louder than her voice could, and his fingers sank into the delicate flesh of her corners, making her quiver in delight as her lover touched her body for her, felt her stumps in the ways she so longed to but never would.

“I’ll have to hold you for the both of us from now on,” he whispered.

His lips found hers, and they met in a kiss, her mouth opening with a low, needy rumble from her throat, her tongue, her last remaining appendage, dragging his into her in urgent insistence.

As they kissed he lay her back again, and his fingers slid slowly down over her sides, until they found and squeezed the defenseless expanse where her butt had replaced all trace of legs.

There was really nothing left of her limbs now, not even that initial pinkness. It was as if she really were created without them. He was very glad indeed of that, as he felt his girlfriend writhing against him, pressing her chest into his own and greedily sucking at his mouth, grinding her hips into his legs.

She couldn’t even reach those few inches to spear herself on his twitching dick, and Owen smiled down at her as he watched her try and fail, seconds stretching into minutes as he played with his Christmas present.

“Please,” she whispered, “if you don’t fuck me senseless, I’ll explode….”

That might be interesting too, Owen thought.

Sophia saw the perverse gleam in his eye at the prospect and shuddered as she too imagined it… but this time at least, her boyfriend took mercy.

He took her in his hands, her tiny figure trembling in his grip as he raised her up, moving her whole body to his cock, instead of thrusting himself inside her.

As he finally entered her Sophia felt every inch of her body come alive, pleasure beyond words flooding through her, guided, shaped by the hands that held her against her lover, and which slid her helpless body all the way down him.

She rested there on his shaft, chests pressed together, her tender, soaking folds gripping and pulling his manhood as all her weight was held on his crotch, her netherlips clenched tight about him in the only embrace she would ever give him again.

Their kisses deepened, and his hands massaged at her tender, soft body as he started to move her, working her limbless torso up and down as if masturbating himself with her. This was how they would make love now, she thought, amidst her euphoria. The two were exploring together the body she couldn’t alone, while she could only imagine what Owen’s would feel like.

She had never even held his hand, but of course now she never would. That denial, that unending, tortuous struggle she faced, to live a life without limbs, was the most erotic thing she had ever conceived of.

Thank god, no, thank Santa, that she had Owen to live it with her.

She writhed in his arms at the thought, arching and pushing herself down and into his chest and cock, and yet she was so light and small she could barely do more than tease him, and gasp out her pleas for more.

Each movement, each thrust into her was totally outside her control; her body was incapable of lovemaking alone, but she moved by Owen’s hands now. She begged him to go faster, to push deeper, every part of her perfectly powerless body on fire with desire and erotic completion.

Her partner responded with perfect understanding, as she guided them together towards a shared climax.

Her limbs were a small price to pay for this, she realized. Her whole life had been wasted until this moment. This was how she was meant to be, a helpless limbless torso in her lover’s arms. She was in heaven.

Neither of them were looking towards the window as the clock struck twelve, but both saw fireworks, more breathtaking and moving than any that burnt in the sky outside.

Collapsing together onto his bed, Owen held his lover close, his cock still resting in the burning heat of her womanhood, his hands keeping her secure atop him as they kissed.

It was going to be a very happy new year indeed.