Taylor hates the first eleven months of every year. Every morning, she wakes up as a perfectly ordinary woman, hiding the green streaks in her red hair, pretending she belongs behind a desk at a dull office job. She checks the date obsessively as November drags into December, waiting for the single month she gets to be her true self. The moment her bedroom clock flicks over to December, she feels it, the magic returning, a tingle that vibrates from her toes to the roots of her hair, promising freedom. Before she can even draw a full breath, the mirror in her room ripples with silver light.
With a half-smile and a pounding heart, Taylor steps toward the mirror. The world yanks itself inside out. She staggers, blinking in the stinging air, and finds herself standing in the lamplit streets of the Christmas Village. Snow covers the ground in a thick layer, but there is no one else around. It is only quiet, cold, and a thousand lights glimmering from behind frosted windows. She looks down and sees her office clothes replaced with the unmistakable getup of an elf: green and red tights, fur-trimmed boots, and a soft velvet tunic. Taylor rolls her shoulders and lets herself breathe. “Finally,” she thinks, “I can be me again.”
The snow crunches under her boots as she makes her way to the town square. The annual Snowman Showdown is about to begin. Taylor dreads it every year. The fake cheer, the stiff competition, the way all the other elves eye her like she doesn’t belong. She lines up, forcing herself to smile. The rules are simple: no magic, just skill and speed. But Taylor is tired of playing fair, tired of hiding. As the bell sounds and the contest begins, she mutters a quick, quiet spell. Magic hums through her fingers, guiding the snow to her will. Her snowman rises fast and perfect, stacked tall, eyes and mouth twinkling with a secret sparkle. “Nobody will know,” she tells herself, fighting down the guilt. “Everyone cheats. Why shouldn’t I?”
The judges circle, the crowd cheers, and for a moment, Taylor’s heart soars. But the council’s gaze settles on her, icy and unyielding. The head councilor calls her name. “Taylor, you have broken the rules. There will be consequences.” Taylor’s stomach sinks. She tries to protest, hands open and pleading, but the magic has already taken hold. The ground glows beneath her. Her clothes melt away, leaving her shivering and naked in the moonlit street.
Then the real punishment starts. Her chest tingles, then burns. Before she can scream, her tits begin to swell, skin stretching and nipples tightening in the cold. She stares in shock as her boobs balloon outward, three times their normal size, impossibly round and heavy. Panic claws at her, and she tries to shield herself, but the air shimmers. Slick red latex materializes, snapping tight around her tits, squeezing and lifting them, forcing them up so high she almost can’t see her feet. The latex presses brutally against her pussy, forcing a sharp cameltoe, and the seam wedges tight between her ass cheeks, making her squirm. Black and red thigh-high stockings wind up her legs, elbow-length gloves slide onto her arms, and a velvet bow cinches around her throat. Ropes twist out of nowhere, winding around her wrists and ankles, pulling her arms above her head and splaying her legs until she is bound in the center of the empty street.
“Goddamn it. My tits are huge. What the hell did they do to me?” Taylor glances down, mortified. The latex clings to every curve, showing everything. “My pussy’s outlined for the whole world, my ass is burning, and these tits are ridiculous. I’m going to murder whoever came up with this.”
The first hour crawls by. Taylor’s arms ache in their strained position. Every breath stretches the latex across her massive tits, squeezing and rubbing. The suit chafes her pussy, and every shift grinds the seam deeper into her ass. She grits her teeth. “Twelve hours. That’s all I have to survive. I can do this. I’ve been through worse.”
A bell rings out from the clock tower. Instantly, she goes rigid. Magic floods her muscles, paralyzing her. She can only stare in panic as the ropes untie and reposition her, arms drawn behind her back, legs forced apart until the latex bites into her pussy and ass. The ropes cinch again, tighter, and as the paralysis fades, the ache in her shoulders flares. She groans. “You sons of bitches. This is torture.”
Each hour brings a new position, a new humiliation. Sometimes the ropes pull her arms over her head, stretching her tits higher, making them feel even heavier. Sometimes her arms are forced straight behind her, making her arch her back and push her chest out. Once, the ropes bind her ankles together and force her to her knees, the cold seeping through the latex into her legs. The suit never loosens. The latex presses into her pussy and ass constantly, every seam a reminder of how exposed she is. “This can’t be legal,” she thinks. “This is a damn circus.”
Her thoughts rage. She curses the council, the contest, herself. “If I ever get out of this, I’m burning this suit and leaving the North Pole for good. I don’t care if I’m an elf or not. I’m not doing this again.”
By the eighth hour, Taylor is numb with exhaustion. Her tits throb, nipples raw against the latex, and her pussy is sore from the constant chafing. Her ass burns where the seam rubs her skin. She tries to distract herself, counting the minutes, but each bell brings fresh paralysis, another round of shifting and pain. The humiliation is endless. “They’re going to pay for this. Every last one of them.”
When the twelfth bell finally tolls, the ropes dissolve. Taylor collapses into the snow, every muscle screaming. The latex clings to her like a second skin. Her tits are still massive, jiggling with every breath, and her pussy is still pressed into a painfully tight cameltoe. She’s barely had time to sit up when the head councilor appears, arms folded.
“The punishment is complete,” he says, voice cold. “Let this be a lesson to all who cheat.”
Taylor scowls, trying to tug at the suit. “You going to fix this, or am I stuck with these ridiculous tits?”
The councilor’s mouth twitches in a thin smile. “Your new size is permanent, Taylor. Consider it an extra reminder of what happens to cheaters.”
Fury burns in her chest. “Great. Just great. Now I get to explain these tits every damn day for the rest of my life.” Taylor hauls herself to her feet, shivering and fuming, her enormous tits bouncing with every movement. December may have been her favorite month, but this year, she isn’t so sure.
