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Chapter One
Parking up outside the cottage, Rubie took a deep breath. She loved her job, and she was damn good at it, but there was something about leaving the world behind her for one week every year, that felt truly decadent. And besides, this was the one week when she got to indulge ineverythingher Little-self dreamed of.
Christmas.
She'd always loved Christmas. The magic of the decorations, the bracing touch of a cold winter's night, mince pies by the fire. Her favourite time of year from before she was a she.But since Rubie had transitioned, going to spend Christmas with her family was no longer the attractive proposition it once had been. And so, instead she made her annual trip to a remote cottage: in Scotland, in Wales, in Cornwall, in the Peak District—somewhere out in the countryside, in the middle of nowhere, with a high likelihood of snow. Because if there was something that Rubie loved almost more than Christmas, it was lying on the floor, gazing up at the sky outside and watching whirling flakes of snow tumble down.
She'd been doing this for about seven years now, making her own Christmas traditions, her own Christmas memories. Rubie went on other holidays, of course, but none ever quite captured the frisson of excitement that the final week of December brought with it. And besides, this washerweek. In this week she got to do anything she wanted.
Admittedly, when she looked at the boot of her car and saw the bags and bags of food and decorations that she was going to have to haul into the cottage, she realised that perhaps what she chose to do each year was a little over the top. Most people she knew didn't have four bags of Christmas decorations for decorating their own home—let alone for decorating a holiday rental for a week! But Rubie's Little was a Christmas fiend, and she only allowed herself to fully indulge in this aspect of her Little side once a year.
She got to have the magic of Christmas as the Little girl she’d never gotten to be.
As she played the Tetris game of balancing every bag she possibly could on top of her, she thought about her colleagues at Stuffie Hospital London. Most of the time she loved the fact that she got to do this, that she got to spend Christmas exactly how she wanted. But recently her colleagues had been pairing up, with her best friend Mossie falling in love with Daniel from the Restoration team. Rubie was genuinely happy for Mossie and Daniel, the same way she was for Tillie and Alex, and Billie with her Daddy doctor, but there was a small part of her that felt sad that she didn't have anyone to share this delight with.
Being Little was amazing, being Little and being on your own was less so.
Rubie's Little had never been dependent on someone else, or a Caregiver, but that didn't mean that she didn't want one. What Rubie wanted more than almost anything else was a Mommy Domme of her own. She wanted a woman to curl up with, to kiss her and read her stories, to fuck her until she cried. (Because crying after sex always felt like the best kind of release for Rubie). But instead she just continued on, being an excellent accountant, an excellent friend, and an all-round excellent member of society. Excelling at being excellent. On her own.
Sex hadn't been on the cards for quite some time, which is more than a little frustrating.That was okay though; she'd packed some toys for this week. A flogger, some dildos, and plenty of lube. She'd even included some pinwheels in her luggage. Yes, she might be on her own this Christmas, but that didn't mean that Rubie had to have a sexless Christmas. Oh no, Rubie was very good at making sure that her December was filled with oh so much fun. In fact, last Christmas, she'd set a personal best record for most orgasms in an hour. And the year before, she'd manage to edge for so long that when she finally took a break, she almost passed out, because she hadn't hydrated properly.
Yes, Rubie had a very kinky Christmas planned out indeed. And never ever did she ever think about how much more fulfilling itcouldbe, if only she was able to sink into submission for someone else.
She'd picked the Isle of Skye for her retreat this year, and the drive up to Scotland from London had been long, but the perfect way for her to switch from a working headspace into her Christmas headspace. The cottage itself was super cosy, exposed wooden beams and simple décor adding a rustic feel to the place.
And now she was here, there was only one thing on her mind: decorating time!
The tinsel was the first thing to come out. Rubie hung it up round the fireplace, above the mantle, and then around and around the Christmas tree that the owner had ever so helpfully placed by the kitchen door—just as promised. Then it was time to decant all of her food from cool bags into the fridge. She'd done a supermarket run earlier that week, picking up everything that someone might need for a Christmas dinner: turkey crown, potatoes, parsnips and carrots, stuffing and gravy, tenderstem broccoli—her favourite—and cream and Christmas pudding for dessert. There was the rest of her shop as well, including ready meals, so she didn't have to cook from scratch every day, and some bubbly to toast the winter season with.
She’d learned the hard way that first year, that staying in a remote cottage for a week was no good, if you didn’t have enough provisions, and soon the fridge and freezer were filled to bursting, the food that the owner had left moved onto the top shelf, so as not to get all mixed up.
Rubie had just put away all of the food when there was a noise coming from the living room. She stopped, listened again. What the hell was that? The noise came again. And then a voice that said, “What the fuck is going on here?”
Completely confused, Rubie grabbed a wooden spoon from the kitchen side, and stormed into the living room to see who was encroaching on her Christmas retreat.
The woman in the living room took her breath away.
She was tall, with long dark hair tied up in a ponytail, a shaved undercut decorating the sides of her head. Her clothes were masc; a sharp blazer outlining a muscular build. Slightly bleary eyed, Rubie was startled to realise that she’d clearly just woken up and, from the look of the open door behind the woman, she’d been sleeping in the bedroom.
But even bleary eyed, and with her ponytail slightly mussed up, Rubie couldn't stop staring.
“Who the fuck are you?” asked the woman, looking in confusion towards Rubie.
“Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you?” retorted Rubie.
That made the woman laugh, briefly, before she looked disparagingly at the decorations. “I thought I said that you didn't need to decorate the place? This is my escape from Christmas, not an escapeforChristmas.”
Rubie looked at her in confusion. “Sorry, but who is it that you think I am?”
“The owner?”
“Nope, not me.”
That gave the other woman pause. “Well in that case, I repeat my original question: who the fuck are you?”
“I'm the person who's booked this cottage for the week,” said Rubie.
“I don't think so,” said the other woman, who got out her phone and started scrolling through it vigorously. Rubie grabbed hers out of her back pocket and did the same. But when they both compared confirmation emails, they both had the same information.
