Sleigh Hells
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, three sisters slept deep, quiet as a mouse.
They’d come home from college, these sisters so sweet,
With duffels of laundry and hugs for Mom’s weary feet.
Their mother, alone since the day their dad fled,
Had tucked them in early and stumbled to bed.
The girls, Eleanor, Beatrice, and the quiet one, Ruth
Were plain, kind, and bookish, the honest simple truth.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
Though money was tight, and the wool had seen wear.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
But the sisters slept soundly, no one looked at the matter.
A red figured man and the sounds of hoofs landing,
Echoed down the street, though no one was still standing.
He slipped down the chimney without soot or fuss,
And stepped into moonlight that bathed him in gloss.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Placing three wicked gifts where sweet dreams would lurk.
To Eleanor’s bedside he came with a box,
Inside lay a necklace of rubies like drops.
She woke with a gasp, but he hushed her with charm,
“Merry Christmas, my dear,” and she felt no alarm.
She clasped it around her pale throat with delight,
And transformation ignited, fierce, cruel as the night.
Her modest chest swelled, breasts blooming full and proud,
Straining her old flannel nightgown till seams cried out loud.
The fabric shimmered, darkened, reshaped in a trance
To sleek crimson silk that hugged every new curve and expanse.
Her features grew sharp, her lips full and red,
Her eyes turned to ice as kind thoughts swiftly fled.
A smirk curled her mouth as she looked in the mirror,
“Gorgeous,” she whispered, voice dripping with sneer.
To Beatrice next, with a perfume so rare,
One spritz on her wrists and it hung in the air.
She inhaled, and her body reshaped in a flash,
Breasts rising high, causing her to gasp.
Her baggy old T-shirt dissolved into smoke,
Replaced by black leather that gleamed as she woke.
Curves lethal and flawless, designed to entice,
But the sweetness inside her curdled to ice.
She laughed at her old self with cruel vainful pride.
“I am a goddess now, not some invisible worthless child”
And last came sweet Ruth, who was still out like a light,
Only awoke when when the red man took his flight.
He left her a lipstick, a shade called ‘Crimson Bomb’.
She stirred, applied it, half thinking it was lip balm,
Her small frame expanded, breasts heavy, divine.
Her cotton pajamas turned glossy, like vinyl’s dark shine.
Her shy little smile became wicked and sly,
Her gaze now could wound with a flick of an eye.
By morning the house felt decidedly chill.
Three gorgeous young women descended with steel in their will.
Eleanor stretched, admiring her reflection with scorn.
“God, what a pathetic little creature I was before this new me was born,”
She sneered at the mirror, voice dripping disdain.
“From now on, the world bends, or it breaks under pain.”
Beatrice laughed, running hands down her leather clad frame.
“Look at these curves, men will beg, women will blame.
I used to be ‘nice’? How utterly quaint.
Now I’ll take what I want, and never show restraint.”
Ruth descended the stairs, hips swaying with menace,
Her vinyl sheen catching the light like a venomous promise.
Her once timid voice now a silky sharp blade,“Sweet little Ruthie? She had to die.
I’ll smile while I ruin men, and cum as they cry.”
Beatrice smirked, tossing her glorious hair.
“We’re flawless, we’re vicious, beyond all compare.”
Eleanor added softly, eyes glittering cold,
“And anyone crossing us won’t live to grow old.”
They swept toward the doorway with arrogant tact,
But paused when a laugh echoed from behind their back.
Footsteps descended, confident and slow
And there stood their mother, transformed head to toe.
Her faded old nightgown had turned into lace,
Black as midnight and clinging to every new place.
Her figure was stunning, her breasts full and high,
Her face sharp and cruel with a glittering eye.
Hair once grey streaked now cascaded like flame,
Lips painted blood red, and her smile was the same
“My darlings,” she purred, voice velvet and low,
“I made him a bargain you never need know
Except for the part that concerns you, my kin,
A husband for me, and new daughters for him”
The air grew thick, sulfurous, hot as a pyre,
And He stepped from the shadows, consumed by dark fire.
No jolly disguise, just tall, horned, and handsome,
The Devil himself, with a smile sharp and winsome.
His eyes burned with pleasure, his smile sharp as sin,
As he wrapped an arm round their mother, caressing her skin.
“Call me your father now, daughters so fair,”
He rumbled, voice smooth as a serpent’s dark prayer.
“You’re mine by the bargain, my wicked new brood,
Beautiful, ruthless, and gloriously crude.”
Eleanor’s cruel lips curved into delight.
“Well, Father dear,” she drawled, “you’ve given excellent gifts tonight.”
Beatrice laughed, stepping close with a sway.
“I always wanted a dad who knew how to play.”
Ruth inclined her head, eyes gleaming with sin.
“Family forever, let the real fun begin.”
And down in the depths, where the damned scream and flame,
The devil kissed his new bride, sealing his claim.
“Merry Christmas, my wife and my cruel wicked three,
My daughters forever, are now Hell’s royalty.”
