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Story Notes:
Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals. But especially to AG, who literally attempted to pay me to write this story that lovingly has been referred to as “Rope Daddy.” Here it is, unedited and a bit rushed so that I could give you all a Christmas gift in the form of a steamy little one shot. Please, enjoy.
The whole thing started out as a joke, really.

They’d been driving somewhere: across town? her parent’s house? to work? The where didn’t really matter, but the when was important. It was their first Christmas together and they were still in the process of discovering every little thing about each other. Pam’s favorite Christmas movie was The Santa Clause, and she always insisted on following it up with the sequel but never the third. Jim preferred mulled wine to eggnog and made them a big batch in the crockpot he borrowed from his mom, and Pam was so tickled by his excitement that she went out and got him a slow cooker of his very own. It was wrapped and under her tree, patiently waiting for their first Christmas morning.

So when he said what he said, she could be excused for not knowing whether or not he really meant it.

The radio had been on the 24 hour Christmas station and Andy Williams was softly crooning his rendition of My Favorite Things. Pam was scowling in the passenger seat.

“What’s the matter over there, Scrooge?”

“I’m not a Scrooge,” she huffed, then crossed her puffy-coated arms with a swishing sound. “I just don’t think this is a Christmas song.”

“Sounds like one to me. Snowflakes, sleighbells. Wild geese. According to Dwight, a wild goose is the true meaning of Christmas.” She glared at him, her squinty eyes doing little to hide the way she had her lips rolled together so that she didn’t laugh. He reached over and squeezed her knee, making her break and let loose the cutest giggle he’d ever heard. His hand stayed there, curved around her leg, and he marveled that he was in any type of position to do such a thing

“It’s a winter song. Those are winter things.”

“What about the presents?”

She wrinkled her nose. “There aren’t any presents in that song.”

“Brown paper packages tied up with string? It’s one of the favorite things!”

“Gross. Nobody wraps gifts like that. It would look horrible.”

“Pam, the song was sung by a nanny in World War II Austria. She didn’t have the kind of wrapping paper we have now.”

“She was a governess, not a nanny. And I stand by it. Nothing looks good wrapped like that.”

He smirked at her and squeezed her leg again, a little higher this time. “I don’t know. You might look nice like that.”

“You wanna wrap me in butcher paper and tie me up with twine? Like a ham?”

He was lucky he didn’t swerve off the road, considering how quickly he whipped his head towards her. “No, not like a ham, Jesus. I just meant—”

“Is this where you tell me you have a bondage kink, Jim?”

No—

“You’re blushing, you totally do. I bet you want to tie me up and make me call you daddy or something,” she teased, then burst into giggles that had just the tiniest hint of nervous excitement to them.

God no, do not call me daddy in bed, absolutely not—”

“Okay, okay, I won’t.” She took a breath around the laughter still bubbling up and tried to calm herself down. They were almost to wherever it was they’d been going, anyway.

When they got out of the car and headed to the location neither one of them would be able to recall when they thought back to how the whole thing had started, she reached out and laced her fingers with his. He smiled down at her, his cheeks red from his earlier flush and the biting wind, and her heart stopped the way it so often did when she was reminded of the fact that he was really and truly hers.

But she couldn’t help it.

Rope daddy,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she tried to tamp down her glee.

“Dammit, Pam.” He pulled his hand out of hers with a huff and stalked off. She chased after him and he was laughing when she caught up, but she decided she’d had enough fun at his expense for one day.

And besides, it was just a joke.

~~~


It didn’t come up again until a few Christmases later. Pam was experiencing a burst of energy—an early stage of nesting, she’d realize later—and was using it to wrap every gift in the house and arrange them neatly under the tree.

Well, as neatly as her rapidly growing belly would allow her to. And when it didn’t, Jim was both willing and somewhat gangly and therefore both happy and able to slide around on his stomach so that the gifts could be positioned in order to obtain the maximum aesthetic effect. To that end, she was also trying her hand at some elaborately tied bows and ribbons. She’d managed all of three before the spool was empty, so she sent Jim in search of something else she could use.

He came back with a bundle of red wire, neatly folded around itself and tied around the middle. The look on his face said this isn’t what you need, is it? and she gave him one back that read no, it isn’t. Jim tossed it on the coffee table and resumed his search. It eventually led him down the street to the grocery store, where he found not only ribbon (and a lot of it) but a package of Reese’s peanut butter trees and a jar of grape jelly as well. He watched in equal parts awe and concern for her blood sugar levels while she made a sandwich out of two trees and the jam.

“What? The baby likes it,” she explained with a shrug. She flicked a bit of jelly off of a gift for her sister and got back to work. “Where did that red wire come from, anyway?”

He glanced over his shoulder from where he’d been busy straightening a strand of lights on the tree. “Oh, it’s from that prank I pulled on Dwight a while back. Remember when I climbed up that power pole?”

“Do you honestly think I’d forget?” He didn’t tell her that he’d climbed up a utility pole until well after the fact, but it had still scared her to death. “Need I remind you of our agreement?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “No, I know it. No more life threatening pranks.”

“Good. Better throw that wire away so you don’t get any funny ideas.”

“I don’t know, it might come in handy for something down the line.”

They’d been together long enough that they’d settled into several comfortable routines, including in the bedroom. They’d experimented a little—he’d blindfolded her and teased her with toys, she had quite the collection of teeny tiny outfits—but they’d found what the other most liked and needed pretty early on, so that’s generally what they stuck to. They hadn’t tried everything, though, which meant she could still give him a bit of good natured ribbing over a certain, still unexplored topic.

“I don’t think that’s the right type of material for your kinky bondage play.”

He gave her a look. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, sicko. And watch your mouth in front of the baby.”

“You’re one to talk, rope daddy.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he replied stoically.

Pam grinned at him, tongue poking out between her teeth. “I’m just saying, if you wanted to tie me up, that’s not the right thing to do it with. We’d need something softer and more flexible.”

“Think about this a lot, do you?”

“Not as much as you.”

And then the baby decided to practice cartwheels on her bladder. He had to help her up from her cross legged position on the floor and by the time she’d waddled back from the bathroom, the wire was gone and he’d put a plate of Christmas cookies in its place. That was a sufficient enough distraction, so she forgot all about ropes and kinks and wrapping gifts in favor of sampling each variety of treat.

And anyway, it was still just a joke.

~~~


It didn’t come up again until much much later; like two kids and a new job and a move halfway across the country later. It was Christmas again, their first one in Austin, and their first semi-fancy Christmas party at Athlead—no, Athleap. Pam felt happy and more secure than ever in her relationship with Jim and like they truly had found where they belonged.

Plus, the Athleap party had bottomless champagne.

Pam was three glasses in and feeling as effervescent as the champagne itself, and more than a little bit frisky. Which was maybe not ideal, considering that Jim was trying very hard to be impressive and businesslike and authoritative and god, those things were hot.

She couldn’t keep her hands off of him. They slid underneath his blazer and tried to work their way underneath the waistband of his slacks so she could curl her fingers around his hip, but he angled his body away from her and shot her a reproachful look. A little while later she attempted to cop a feel through the back pocket of his pants, but he shut her down before she could even get her arm around his waist.

He dragged her off to the corner after she got in a good thigh squeeze (in her defense, his pants were kind of tight and his legs looked so good). “You’re driving me crazy. I can’t leave until after we give out the bonus checks so if you could keep your hands to yourself so I don’t have to hide a semi for the rest of the night, that’d be great.”

“Sorry. I can’t help it! It’s all that champagne I had before, it’s a problem.” She ran her hands up his torso and to the knot of his cheesy Christmas tie, straightening it just so she had an excuse to keep touching him. “Plus you just look so good. I like watching you be the boss. It’s sexy.”

He groaned and dropped his forehead against hers. “Pam, I swear to god. Keep up this energy when we get home but if you don’t stop I’ll have to tie you to my office chair.”

She cupped one hand against the back of his neck. “Ooh, yes. Tie me up, rope daddy.”

“Oh for fu—I really thought we’d gotten over that.”

She pressed herself against him, not caring about where they were or who might see. “Nope. Never gonna forget rope daddy.”

He fixed her with a look that was steel and smoke and flame and a thousand burning things, and it stopped her cold. “Keep it up. See what happens.”

“Is that a threat?”

He bracketed her waist with his hands and gave her the gentlest peck on the lips. “It’s a promise.” He was backing away before she could fist the lapels of his jacket and haul him off to some supply closet somewhere, a smirk on his face and fire in his eyes.

She went back for a fourth glass of champagne.

When they got home a few hours later, she was still on a high from their heated, teasing little exchange in the corner. She could feel the after effects lingering behind her navel, a pleasant little curl that sent a tiny electric shock between her thighs every time he cut his eyes towards her. He was getting lucky tonight, for sure. It was the very least she could do after bringing up a nickname he loved to pretend to hate.

So when he grabbed her wrist and yanked her body flush against his as soon as they walked in from the garage, she figured they were just getting a head start on things. She leaned in for her kiss, a satisfied hum in her throat.

“Nope. Not doing that, not yet,” he told her, voice all low and like sandpaper, sending a chill up her spine and making that curl in her belly jerk, hard. One of his hands was busy at his throat—at the knot of his tie—and she was impressed to see him undo it with just his nimble fingers. Of course, she had plenty of first hand knowledge of everything those nimble fingers were capable of, so she shouldn’t have been surprised—

And then he was giving one end of his tie a firm pull, whipping it out from around his collar with a swishing sound that gave her chills.

He loosened his grip on her wrists just enough to begin wrapping the skinny end of his tie around them. Her heart skipped a beat or two or a hundred. “You know, Pam, I think you’re the one that has a kinky bondage fetish. You bring it up often enough, don’t you?”

All she could manage was a weak “uh huh,” too transfixed on the way his big hands looked as he tied a knot in the tie.

He tugged at the thick end of the tie, tightening it just enough to make Pam notice but not tight enough to hurt. It made her knees weak and she stumbled towards him. He caught her against his chest and she felt a dark chuckle rumble through him.

“You like that, huh? Or no, sorry, maybe it’s all that champagne.”

Her voice was breathless when she replied. “No, I like it,” she said too quickly, not wanting him to stop.

He smiled at her, a dangerous grin that held promise and desire and something unyielding that made her whimper with want. When he turned and pulled on the tie, bringing her along, she went all too willingly. When they got to the bedroom he turned back towards her and gave the tie a hard tug, pulling her body flush against his with her hands trapped between them. Finally, finally he kissed her.

She melted into it, opening her mouth beneath his lips without him having to coax at all. His tongue undulated across hers and she tried her best to return each movement, but she was drunk on him and on the way it made her feel to be so at his mercy and he seemed insatiable, just as turned on as she was. Soon she just let him take, which was apparently exactly what he wanted. He growled, or something close to it, and deepened his kiss until she thought she’d combust.

He pulled away only to affix his lips to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She couldn’t find it in herself to care about having a hickey later, she just angled her head so that he had better access to the place where her pulse was racing beneath her skin. She ached to touch him and tried to, tried to tug at his belt or get her hands beneath his shirt or something, but as soon as he felt her move he pulled away in earnest.

“Sorry, but no. You wanna joke about being tied up so much? Let’s find out what it really feels like. Get on the bed.” His voice was low and rough and hot as hell and hurried to do what he said or risk prolonging the amount of time that she had to go without his hands on her.

But she got distracted by the rough way he shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his shirt free from his waistband before pulling it over his head in one fluid movement. She sat on the edge of the bed instead of crawling towards the middle of it, too drugged by her arousal to do much more than watch.

He noticed that she wasn’t following orders right around the time he got his belt unbuckled. He put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow at her and she couldn’t decide which part of him to look at first. Her eyes roamed over his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his waist, then finally settled on his fingers and the way they put little dents into his bare skin. She had to bite back the urge to tell him to grab her that way. He didn’t seem like he’d appreciate being bossed around, not tonight.

“Why aren’t you on the bed?” he asked with a soft whisper.

“I was just looking,” she replied, her own voice thick with want.

“Do I need to put you where I want you?”

The sound she made was a product of pure lust. In all their years together, she’d rarely seen this side of him. Whenever he came out to play, she loved it. Couple that with the tie around her wrists and she putty in his very large, very capable hands.

He must have taken her wordless moan as an agreement, because the next thing she knew he was all but tossing her onto the center of the bed. She landed with a gasp, surprised and electrified by his manhandling, but before she could process just how much she enjoyed being tossed around he was leaning over her, the curve of his clavicle close enough for her to lean up and trace it with her tongue, which is exactly what she did. It earned her a hiss and a buck of his hips against her thigh and put a catlike smile on her lips.

That catlike smile turned into a sharp gasp when he pulled on the tie and positioned her hands above her head. He busied himself at the top of the bed and when he pulled away again, she found that he had tied her place using the central decorative bed knob on their headboard as an anchor. He looked down to survey his work and she was surprised to find the wrinkle of a frown across his forehead.

“What is it?” she panted, already desperate to touch him.

“Your dress. We can’t get it off now.”

She looked down at the dark green dress she’d worn to the party, fitted in the bodice until it flared out prettily at her hips. She adored the dress and loved how she looked in it, but at the present moment it was the most offending garment she’d ever put on her body. She sighed, resigning herself to having to be untied so she could get naked, but then Jim slid to settle himself between her legs and flipped her skirt up. “We’ll just have to make do,” he told her, then hooked his fingers around the top of her hose and pulled them off of her body. She thought for a moment he might tie one of her legs down, too—she wouldn’t have been mad about it, not at all—but he tossed them over his shoulder and focused on removing her underwear instead.

Turns out, he didn’t need to tie her legs down. His hands did all the work, grabbing the inside of each thigh and pushing them apart before she had enough time to be embarrassed about it. She felt the tiniest breath of the cold air against her skin before his face was buried between her legs, the flat of his tongue pressed against her and doing those same undulations it had been doing when he’d been kissing her somewhere else.

She pulled against the tie around her wrists, aching to thread her fingers through his hair and pull it the way he liked. Her restraint held though, and his hands were strong against her skin, keeping her completely at his mercy. Within seconds his ministrations brought her close and he knew it, knew he’d worked her right up to the edge with his kisses and teasing and tying and tossing her around and not even bothering to get her fully undressed. It felt wanton and hedonistic and so fucking good that she was liable to fly apart at the seams. Jim’s stupid cheesy Christmas tie was the only thing keeping her grounded.

When he slid two fingers inside of her at the same time his tongue did something sinful, she really did fly apart. Later on she’d marvel at the fact that she didn’t snap the bedknob off of the headboard with how hard she pulled against the tie. Jim had to let go of the leg he was still pushing against so that he could bar his arm across her hips and keep her still, and both of her thighs snapped together to keep his face exactly where she needed it until the stars stopped exploding behind her eyes.

Before she was able to come all the way down he was there, thrusting to the hilt with a hard snap of his hips. One of his hands wrapped around her still tied wrist and held it against the mattress, using it for leverage as he ratcheted his hips against hers. It didn’t take long before his speed and the depths he hit became more and more erratic, and then he was collapsing against her with a groan his own climax rushed through his body.

She wanted to run her hands through his hair, scratch the sensitive skin at his scalp, press her palms against his shoulder blades and hold him to her as long as he’d allow. She was still tied, though, and starting to get uncomfortable, so she shifted to get Jim’s attention. He looked up at her, eyes hooded in post-coital bliss before they widened in recognition. “Oh shit, Pam, I’m so sorry. Do you hurt? You should have said something.”

She laughed softly as his fingers worked at the knot around her wrist. “I’m fine. I liked it. I liked it a lot.” He was being so sweet, lips soft and soothing against her slightly aching wrists, but she just couldn’t help it. “Definitely have a little bondage kink now, don’t you?”

He bit down gently on her wrist, eliciting a gasp and a body bowed towards him, then laved the spot with his tongue. When he looked up at her, his eyes were dark. “You’re fucking right I do.”

A few days later, as the kids made a mess of the living room with wrapping paper and ripped boxes and all the tiny accoutrements that come with children’s toys, Pam pulled a small wrapped gift from the far side of the tree. She handed it to Jim with a knowing smirk on her face and sauntered away to the kitchen to refill her coffee while he opened it.

Inside was a considerable length of braided cotton rope with a note attached. It (predictably) read “Merry Christmas, Rope Daddy!” He rolled his eyes and gave her a look when she came back in from the kitchen, barely able to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Next time you call me that, don’t be surprised if I tie you down and find something to gag you with.”

“Don’t you threaten me with a good time.”

“Laugh it up while you can. Keep pushing and see what happens.”

Pam settled further into the couch and into Jim’s side, smiling at their banter and Christmas and the anticipation of putting that rope to good use later.

And the gag thing? Well. Obviously, that was just a joke.

But hopefully not for too much longer.
Chapter End Notes:
Sorry to the baby Jesus for posting this on his birthday.


BigTuna is the author of 24 other stories.
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