’Twas the night before Christmas, and unlike in the old poem, there was one creature stirring. Namely, me.

I didn’t know what woke me, exactly - maybe I heard a noise nearby. I lay in bed staring up at the dark ceiling, barely able to recall where I was or even who I was (which was far from unusual for me at this point). As my sleepy mind pieced itself together, I remembered something that had me fully awake and alert all of a sudden - it was Christmas Eve! In fact, glancing at my clock, I could see it was actually 1.05 AM on Christmas Day by now...

My stomach fluttered, a broad smile spreading across my face. God, I loved Christmas. Even now, as a grown woman, I still got childishly excited. That ‘yay, presents’ feeling never quite goes away, does it?

There was a small clatter in the distance, making me sit bolt upright. What was that? Was there someone downstairs? Had someone broken into my house, on Christmas Eve...?

I groaned inwardly. Of all the rotten luck! Now I had to go and deal with a burglar. They’d better not be nicking my presents.

Slipping out of bed, I padded softly across my room and out onto the landing, my slippers muffling my footsteps enough that I felt sure I wouldn’t be heard. I crept down the stairs, tentatively peering ahead to try to see into the living room, to get a glimpse of the mysterious trespasser. What I saw made me stop in my tracks, my eyes going wide with shock.

A lamp on a corner table was switched on, barely illuminating the rest of the lounge. Standing in the middle of the room was a man dressed in a red velvety-looking jacket with thick, fluffy white trim along its edges and around the sleeves, and matching trousers. He wore white gloves on his hands, while his feet were clad in black leather boots. A hat, also made from red cloth with white around the edges, hung down the back of his head, a white bobble attached to its peak. He wore glasses with a glinting golden frame, and had a long, thick white beard that completely covered the lower half of his face. In one hand he held a quill pen, while in the other was a long parchment scroll. Propped up against his leg was a bulging scarlet sack, a package covered in shiny Christmas wrapping paper visibly sticking out of the top.

My mind was reeling, my jaw hanging open. Could it be...?

I spent so long gawping at him from the bottom step, the crimson-coated intruder caught sight of me. Far from being startled or panicked, he seemed overjoyed. Spinning on his heel, he let out a booming, delighted laugh.

“Why, hello there, young lady!” he rumbled in a comically low voice. “I’m so sorry, did I wake you? I’m not as stealthy as I once was... Age makes us loud as well as wise, I suppose!”

“F-Father Christmas...?” I whispered disbelievingly, my voice trembling.

“Who else?” he chortled, gesturing towards me with a gloved hand. “Please, please, come on down! You may as well come and meet me properly now.”

As if compelled by his beckoning wave, I stepped down from the last stair and drifted into the lounge like a sleepwalker, my eyes fixed on the fantastical sight before me. The man claiming to be Father Christmas put his hands on his hips and appraised me, his eyes twinkling in such a way that I knew he was beaming beneath his beard.

“This can’t be real,” I murmured. “You - you can’t actually be him...”

He arched an eyebrow, his expression no less jocular for my scepticism. “Oh-ho-ho, really? And why’s that?”

“W-well, you’re too skinny!” I gestured at his slender frame. “I thought Santa was meant to be -” I caught myself, blushing. “Um...”

“Fat?” he chuckled. “I’ve been on a strict diet and exercise routine lately, I’ve lost a lot of weight. But I suppose not a lot of mortals have seen me in person since then, so everyone still knows me as ‘the Big Guy’!”

I blinked in bewilderment. “You went on a diet?”

“My wife’s idea,” he said without malice. “I was always very comfortable with my size! But I suppose I was getting a little too big.” He patted his stomach. “Around the early 90s, my wife noticed I’d worked up more of a sweat than usual, visiting every house in the world in one night. I used to do it easily, but there I was huffing and puffing like a steam train. And she said to me, ‘Nick, you’re not a young immortal any more. You’re seventeen hundred now. You’ve got to start taking better care of yourself! I’m not running this place all by myself if you have a heart attack somewhere in Venezuela.’ I dodged and bluffed for a couple of years, but finally I had to admit she had a point.”

“The early 90s?” I said faintly. “You’ve been on a diet for... thirty years?”

He frowned momentarily, and then burst into another booming laugh, making me jump. “Oh goodness, yes! Why, it feels like only a month or two ago - I always forget how different mortal timescales are. I suppose you wouldn’t have even been born yet, would you, young lady?”

“N-no,” I mumbled, chewing my lip and staring meekly at the floor. I was starting to feel more and more convinced this really was Father Christmas in front of me, and it was making me come over all shy. I defy anyone else to react any differently to meeting one of their childhood heroes - and this was every child’s very first hero...

“My word, that does make me feel old!” he chortled, stepping to one side and easing himself down onto my sofa with a small groan. “Please, come and sit!” he encouraged me, patting his thigh.

My eyebrows shot up. “Uh -”

“I may have lost some padding, but I’m still as comfy as ever,” he assured me, his eyes gleaming up at me. “Not too old to sit on Santa’s lap, are you, dear...?”

I gave his leg a dubious look. I thought I might be too old, actually, and certainly too big. However starstruck I was, I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that I was a fully-grown adult who, now I thought about it, more or less matched him in shape and size. I wasn’t sure this would be comfortable for either of us...

But as my eyes met his twinkling gaze again, I felt my protests and excuses drown beneath timid compliance. How could I say no to Father Christmas?

So, feeling deeply silly even as I did so, I lowered myself down to perch on his thighs, my legs draped over his. He wrapped one arm around my back and the other across my legs, holding me steady. At once I felt safer and more comfortable, and oddly smaller - as if I was shrinking to child size from proximity to him. My arms encircled him almost against my own volition, clinging to him like a limpet.

From this distance, I could see his warm smile through his beard. The sight of it filled me with warmth, and I instinctively smiled back.

“Am I going to remember this?” I asked softly.

“Only as a wonderful dream,” he replied. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can manage. Mortal minds aren’t meant to remember magical beings such as myself.”

I pouted disappointedly. I wanted to remember this properly. Father Christmas was my hero. I wanted to know he was real, to have confirmation of my lifelong belief in him...

“Now, remind me of your name, dear,” he said, loosening one of the arms embracing me to raise the parchment still clutched in his hand. “I’m afraid with all these billions of homes to visit in one night, I rather lose track...”

“R-Rain,” I replied. “Rain Jones.”

“Rain Jo-” His eyes widened as they scanned the scroll. “Oh my, yes... How could I forget? Yes, here we are - there’s a big star next to your name...”

I swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Wh-what does that mean?”

He smiled wryly at her. “Why, it means you wrote me a letter once, young lady! I do read them all, you know. And in your letter, you expressed your fervent wish to come and work for me.”

Our eyes seemed to be taking it in turn to go wide, and this was definitely my turn. I remembered the letter clearly. I’d written to Father Christmas and pleaded to come and be one of his elves, to be with him forever and help him make toys for all the children of the world. It was one of my greatest fantasies.

“Well, my dear Rain,” Santa smiled, “I’m pleased to inform you that your application is hereby accepted! You can become an elf, and join my team at the North Pole Workshop. Congratulations!”

My mouth opened and closed in astonishment. I swallowed hard. Part of me wanted to get up, but it didn’t feel like I could with one of his arms still around my back.

“I, um - I’m flattered, F-Father Christmas, honestly,” I stammered, “hon-honoured, even - b-but I can’t just go with you. I can’t give up my life here, I’ve got a j-job, a partner -”

He frowned, more from confusion than annoyance. “But I thought you wanted to be one of my elves more than anything? That is what you wrote in your letter...”

“I - I was s-six!” I spluttered. “I’ve grown up now, I don’t - I don’t want that any more! I’ve got a career! I’m a teacher...!”

Father Christmas was shaking his head, his expression mournful all of a sudden. “Oh dear, oh dear. That’s a great shame. I couldn’t have recruited you when you were six - child labour laws. Regrettably I had to wait until you were an adult. I suppose I assumed you’d still want to work for me - I didn’t expect you to have changed your mind so much. After all, I haven’t changed mine in that time...”

I grimaced. It seemed his lack of understanding of mortal timescales had caught him out again. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Oh no, no, I should be the one apologising, my dear,” he rumbled, setting his scroll down on the sofa and reaching into his jacket pocket. “You see, a great many of my elves have gone to work in the private sector lately, and my Workshop’s down to a skeleton crew. So I’m afraid I’ve had to adapt my recruitment methods. I’ve been sorting through letters from children who’ve now grown up, like yourself, looking for new staff. I’m accepting any and all past applications.”

Fishing a glinting green Christmas tree bauble out of his pocket, he held it up with his finger hooked through its string, dangling it in mid-air. “So you see, young lady,” he continued, sounding genuinely apologetic, “you are going to come and work for me, whether it is still your wish or not.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but all I could manage was a weak, “Nngh,” as I instantly fixated on the bauble, its shining surface instantly captivating me. Caught off guard, and as used to being entranced with a pretty pendulum as I was, I couldn’t resist its magnetic pull. My eyes followed it as it swung back and forth, instinctively, automatically, naturally.

“That’s right, my dear,” Santa soothed me, “just look at the pretty bauble. Just watch the shiny decoration, swinging from side to side...” He paused for a moment, perhaps noticing that I hadn’t waited for an invitation - that his hypnotic tool had already easily entrapped me, that my face had gone slack and vacant as my eyes locked onto the trinket, and that I was starting to squirm on his lap, pawing at my pyjamas.

“Ah, I see... You’re a hypnokinkster, aren’t you?” Whimpering softly, I nodded, my transfixed stare never wavering. “Well, that should make this much easier. What a stroke of luck!”

“Ooh,” I sighed softly, as his arm around my back gently pulled me down until my head came to rest on his shoulder, his other hand moving to keep the bauble in my sightline, cuddling me close as he settled my brain for a long winter’s nap. I tried my best to hold onto self-awareness, to my mind and my willpower, but it all quickly melted like ice in the warmth of his embrace, draining away into the mesmerising decoration. Pretty soon I was entirely mindless and helpless, held in his arms, under his spell, my body entirely motionless except for my eyes following the bauble back and forth, and the hand between my legs lazily rubbing my crotch through my pyjama bottoms.

“Now, young lady,” Father Christmas said, his deep, warm voice pouring into my ears like melted chocolate. “I want you to imagine a box. Just an ordinary cardboard box, the kind you would use for a Christmas present.”

I couldn’t do anything but picture exactly what he told me to, the box appearing vividly in my blank mind.

“I want you to put everything about yourself into the box. Every detail about you. And when you do, you’ll no longer be able to remember those details. Start with your name. Put that into the box, and then try to tell me what it is.”

I put my name into the box. Then my mouth opened to tell him my name, but all that came out was a faint, confused croak, as I found I couldn’t recall it.

“Very good. Now put your age into the box. Next, where you live. Where you’ve lived in the past. What you do for work. Where you went to school. Any pets you’ve had. Precious memories, like birthdays and holidays and nights out. Your friends. Your family. Put it all into the box, my dear.”

I couldn’t stop myself. In my mind’s eye, I saw my hand dropping word after word, image after image, fact after fact, memory after memory into the box. As I did so, I felt more and more of myself vanishing, my identity evaporating like mist, lost and forgotten. I barely even knew I existed any more.

“Lastly, just pop your humanity in there. Forget being a human.”

I did, and with that, I no longer knew what I was, let alone who. There wasn’t enough of me left to care or wonder.

“Very good girl,” he praised me, giving me a little squeeze as he lowered the swinging bauble out of sight, confident in his correct assumption that I was completely under his control. “You’ve done such a good job for me. Now close the box, and wrap it up in pretty Christmas wrapping paper, and tie it with a bow.”

I saw myself shut the lid on the full box of memories, and cover it in shiny dark green wrapping paper, before securing it tightly with a rich red velvet bow.

“Excellent. You’ve prepared such a pretty present for me. For you, in fact - this is going to be my gift to you. But not yet! I haven’t given it to you yet, and you’re not allowed to unwrap it, or even know about it, until I do. I’m going to take it away now, and you’re going to forget all about it until I give it back to you.”

The present vanished from my mind and my memories. I lay there, curled up in the arms of Father Christmas, staring ahead sightlessly, thinking of nothing, remembering nothing, not moving at all, even the hand on my crotch slowing to a stop. I was an empty shell, waiting to be filled. A toy, waiting to be played with. A lump of clay, waiting for Santa to make me into something useful.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“What are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, good girl,” Father Christmas purred, bouncing me gently on his knee as I drooled on his shoulder. “Now listen closely, and I’ll explain what you are.”

I listened. Listening was all I could do. I had nothing in my head except for his instruction to listen, and the fact that he was about to explain what I was.

“You are an elf. You work in the North Pole Workshop. You are an employee of Father Christmas.”

This information took root inside my mind, becoming crucial facts that formed the foundation of my new identity. I was an elf, an employee of Father Christmas at the North Pole Workshop. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was more than I had before.

“Your name is Snow.”

My name was Snow. I was Snow the elf, and I worked for Father Christmas at the North Pole Workshop.

“Now then, Snow, go to sleep for a little bit, while I work my magic and complete your transformation, and tell you more about yourself.”

My eyes rolled back, their lids drooping shut, and I sank into a deep, warm trance as my new boss continued to craft my new elf self.

***

I woke up in front of a mirror, standing still and staring at my own reflection. I wore a fixed, artificial-looking smile which I vaguely sensed I’d been holding for some time, and my eyes were wide and glassy. My bedraggled hair had been combed into smooth flowing waves and tucked neatly behind my ears, which were now visibly pointed. My pyjamas had been replaced by a classic elf’s outfit - a bright green dress with a red trim around the hem of the skirt, with big round buttons down the front decorated with black-and-white spirals; red and white stripy tights, like candy canes; and a red hat with a green crown sewn around its brim. There were little golden bells dotted around the costume, adorning each point on my hat, the collar of my dress, my sleeves, and the folds of my skirt.

Rain would’ve been mortally embarrassed by the ridiculous outfit. But I wasn’t Rain any more, and I didn’t remember her in the slightest. I was Snow the elf, and I loved my uniform wholeheartedly. There wasn’t any room for embarrassment inside me - just ecstatic joy, keen generosity, and all-consuming obedience.

I was a happy, dutiful employee of Father Christmas, and I was ready to do my job. As far as I knew, I always had been. I knew nothing else.

I didn’t know why I was standing in front of a mirror, randomly staring at my reflection. But the question became unimportant as soon as I saw the image of my beloved boss moving behind me, hefting his sack into the middle of the room. I spun around at once, eager to serve, forgetting all about the mirror - though my absurd, adorable image lingered in the back of my mind.

“There you are, Sir! Feel no dismay!” I squeaked, my voice higher than normal and excessively cheerful. “Snow is here, ready to obey!”

Father Christmas chuckled. “Ah, Snow, I’m glad you’re ready. We still have so many presents to deliver, and the night is slipping by...”

“Say no more, Big Guy!” I gave a steep, swift bow, before springing towards him and the sack of presents. “Snow’s ready to fly...!”

He held up one gloved hand, his index finger outstretched. I came to a halt at once, standing at attention before him, showing him my goofy grin. “Before we get started, I’d like to hear your song, Snow. Would you kindly perform it for me?”

I beamed even more broadly. “Oh, boy! That’ll be a joy!”

Just as every Polar elf speaks in rhyme, and usually talks in the third person, we all have our own personal introductory songs. It gives us great pleasure to perform them, even to people who already know us well - like Chief Christmas, for instance - so we can’t resist singing them whenever we’re asked. (I didn’t actually sing my song - it was more of a recital with a rhythm - but I’m splitting hairs.)

I took a deep breath, puffing up my chest, and stood as straight and tall as I could. Then I began marching in place, my feet rising up and down and my arms swinging mechanically at my sides, and chanted my song, loud and clear for my employer to hear:

“I’m Snow the happy elf, and I’m

Chock full of Christmas cheer!

I live to help bring joy to kids,

To last them round the year!

“I work for Father Christmas,

All the live-long day!

He gives me instructions,

And I serve and I obey!”

Most Christmas elves’ songs run along similar themes for the first couple of verses - working for Santa is a core part of our personalities, after all. It’s in the later verses that we get to distinguish ourselves a little more, and put in more of our individual identity.

“I’m Snow the slutty Christmas elf,

My body’s just a toy!

I was made for playing with,

By horny girls and boys!

“My brain is made of candy floss,

I’m easily confused,

But I don’t need to think at all -

I’m just here to be used!”

Every word was proclaimed in the same bright, jovial tone, belying the lewd lyrics. Father Christmas smiled indulgently at my performance, nodding his head to the beat as I moved into the final verses.

“I’m Snow the stupid cocksleeve,

And I’ve got more boobs than brain,

I’ll deepthroat your cock like it’s

A tasty candy cane!

“All the elves and reindeer know

That silly little Snow

Is the biggest slut in Lapland -

I’m such a ho, ho, ho!”

With that, my marching feet and swinging arms halted, and I bent at the waist and bowed steeply. Santa’s gloved hands made a succession of soft thuds as he applauded me. “Well done, my silly, slutty little elf,” he congratulated me. “A marvellous performance.”

I smiled as widely as ever as I straightened up, invigorated by his praise. But now that my song was over, my mind was already returning to our duties. We couldn’t afford to delay any longer - we had presents to deliver to the residents of this house, and to every other house in the world!

“Now, let’s give these folks their gifts,” I urged the Big Guy, gesturing to the sack. “They’ll give their spirits such a lift!”

“Oh, indeed, Snow, indeed.” Opening the bag, he handed me the first present off the top. I trotted over to place it under the Christmas tree, my skirt bouncing up around my buttocks and the bells covering my costume jingling with every springy step I took.

Glancing at the label, I remarked, “This present is for ‘Rain’. That’s such a pretty name!”

“Does that name mean anything to you, Snow?” Santa asked, a note of amusement in his voice as he marched after me to deposit another present under the tree.

I thought for a moment, which was always a hard task for my dim brain. “No, not that I recall... I don’t know a Rain at all.” I gazed at him in innocent curiosity. “Does it matter, boss? Because Snow’s at a loss.”

“No, no, it doesn’t matter,” he chuckled fondly. “Put it out of your mind.”

I obediently forgot what we’d been talking about, and set my package down next to my employer’s on the soft carpet. A couple more trips back and forth, and there was a modest mound stacked beneath the tree. I tingled with ecstasy on the behalf of whoever lived in this house - they had a lovely load of presents waiting for them in the morning!

Darting back over to the sack, I bent steeply to check it was empty, my skirt riding up at the back and exposing my candy-striped bum. Straightening up with the empty cloth bag clutched in one hand, I spun around to face Father Christmas. “Come on boss, we’ve got to run!” I told him in my perpetually chirpy voice. “There’s a lot more work to be done!”

He grinned beneath his bushy white beard. “That’s why I brought you along, Snow. Your boundless enthusiasm warms my ageing heart. And you’re quite right - there are many more houses to visit before daybreak, and many more gifts to deliver...!”

Pressing the hand that held the sack to my hip, I extended my other arm with my palm flat and directed to the ceiling, gesturing above me. “Then please, Sir, lead the way, up to your famous magical sleigh!”

He strode past me and marched up the stairs purposefully, with his loyal elf following closely, a spring in my every step. Pushing open a door on the landing, he led me through. For a moment my brain jarred slightly, expecting to find the master bedroom for some reason - but we were instead on the snow-covered roof, Santa’s sleigh set down on the tiles before me, two reindeer bound to the front of the carriage, waiting patiently for our return. This was, of course, exactly what I was meant to see when the boss opened the door, and so I quickly forgot that I thought I’d see anything different.

Giggling gleefully, I leapt into the magical vehicle and settled into my usual position, crouched on the floor right in front of the driver’s seat. Father Christmas followed, sitting down on the bench before me, his legs either side of my knelt form.

“Now Dasher, now Dancer,” he boomed above me, and seemed about to continue before pausing. “Damn cutbacks,” he grumbled. “Alright you two, away we go, if you please!” There was a jolt all around me, and then the feeling of motion, as my master’s two remaining reindeer drew the sleigh up into the night sky.

“The ride’s going to be a good few minutes without a full compliment pulling us,” he remarked, beaming down at me as he eased his woollen red trousers down around his waist. “I’d very much like it if you could entertain me a little in the meantime, my dumb little ho-ho-ho...”

I was only too happy to oblige, shuffling forwards and placing my hands on his thighs. “There’s no need to be so pushy,” I giggled up at him as I brought my face towards his crotch. “You know Snow’s powerless for pussy!”

The cold winter’s night couldn’t reach us in the magic sleigh, warmth permeating our bodies throughout our airborne journey. Chortling softly and sighing contentedly, my boss cradled my head, ran his gloved fingers through my hair, and rubbed my pointy, sensitive ears as I merrily licked his cunt, my own throbbing from the pleasure of service.

“Good elf,” he rumbled. “Such a good worker, such a good slave...”

I redoubled my efforts with bit of praise I heard, eager to show my gratitude. It meant the world that he noticed, and appreciated, my work. After all, obeying and pleasing him was all I existed for.

“Ah, what a beautiful night,” he remarked breathlessly. “A winter wonderland if ever I saw one. I’ve always loved watching the way the snow falls...”

Something about those words struck a deep chord within me. Snow falls. Snow falls. Snow falls...

“S-Snow falls,” I mumbled helplessly, “Snow faaalls...”

And fall I did, my body slouching, my arms going limp at my sides, my head nodding forwards, my face resting on Santa’s bare crotch, murmuring mantras into his mound as my tiny mind filled with an endless white blizzard.

***

I awoke with a deep inward breath, yawning heavily as I shifted in my soft, comfortable surroundings. My eyes flicked open, seeing the ceiling of my bedroom above me. I was lying in bed, nestled in Sir’s arms, his head on my shoulder.

I inhaled again as memories flooded back to me, biting my lip and pawing at myself beneath the duvet. Fuck, that had been an intense dream... More vivid than usual. And surprisingly detailed. I was honestly kind of astonished how my subconscious had taken my childlike excitement for Christmas - not to mention the fact that I genuinely did once write to Santa asking to be an elf - and combined it with my newfound submissive sensibilities to create the perfect hot, hypnotic scenario...

Wow, I thought with a grin. I guess I have a really dirty mind! Or, it occurred to me, nearly a year under Sir’s thumb had made my mind dirty...

Speaking of whom, my squirming soon woke him up. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he beamed at me from close quarters. “Morning, love. What’s got you so excited first thing...?”

I blushed, trying to compose myself. “Mm - had a sexy dream.”

“Oh, yeah?” He arched an eyebrow. “Wanna tell me about it?”

I grinned bashfully. I actually kinda wanted to keep it to myself for the time being, and enjoy it privately. But there was one detail I would happily reveal. “Well, uh, first of all, Santa’s trans.”

Both Sir’s eyebrows shot up now, and he thrust his fist into the air triumphantly. “Yesss! The trans agenda really is taking over!”

“It’s taking over up here, anyway,” I sniggered, tapping my temple.

He winked at me. “Well, that’s for damn sure. So you had a Santa-themed sex dream? Your subconscious is giving you seasonal smut now, I love that for you...”

“Oh yeah - it’s Christmas!” I squealed, his words reminding me all of a sudden. Disentangling myself from his arms, I sat bolt upright and beamed down at him. “Presents presents presents presents,” I chanted giddily, pounding the bedclothes with my fists.

“Wow,” Sir laughed fondly, straightening up beside me. “I’m guessing you want... presents?”

“Yesss!” I was shaking like a bomb about to go off.

“Well, don’t wait around on my account,” he smiled, gesturing towards our bedroom door. Without further ado, I jumped out of bed and scurried across the room.

It’s worth noting that none of this behaviour was hypnotically-induced - this is how I’ve always acted on Christmas mornings. I wasn’t kidding about the childish delirium it brings me. YAY PRESENTS was pretty much the only thought in my head, and for once, that had nothing to do with Sir.

But he was probably the reason I didn’t notice what I was wearing instead of my pyjamas - or the way I jingled with every hurried step.