Naughty or Nice?

by Alison Tyler

  Whimpering as the pain sent sparks of pleasure throughout her body, Selene clenched her pussy tight, milking Devin’s cock as she worked up and down, pushing them closer to a shared orgasm.

  With each thrust, Devin tipped his head back, giving a tiny pull to the ribbon. Selene couldn’t have planned it better. Her nipples stretched and tingled with each tiny tug. She could feel the familiar twitching of her core, heralding what was to come. Reaching a hand behind her, she gripped the last remaining ribbon and gently pulled.The first bell slipped from her ass with a well-lubricated pop.

  “Oh,” she gasped. Leaning a bit forward, she tugged again and a second bell slipped free. “Devin, baby, more.”

  The bed creaked as he picked up his pace, thrusting upward as hard as his bonds would allow him. His breath matched hers—fast and hard.They were both almost gasping as they raced to the finish line.

  Another tug and a third bell slipped free. Selene fought the urge to bite her lip at the familiar sting. She clenched her pussy muscles tight as she gave a not so gentle tug and the last bell strained free.Tipping back, even as the bell dropped to the bed, she took up the slack on the ribbon attached to her nipples. Screaming at the triple pleasure, she trembled as she climaxed.

  Beneath her, Devin grunted, his motions tiny jerks as he joined her. Collapsing against his chest, Selene moaned softly as the hot jets of his come flooded her.

  As soon as she could move again, Selene reached up and untied Devin’s arms. Nuzzling against his chest, she cuddled close. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. “I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas present.”

  Snuggling even closer, Selene sighed.

  “Although I do have to wonder,” Devin continued, “are you planning to untie my feet any time soon?”

  Grumbling good naturedly, Selene sat up and stripped off her nightgown, then attended to his remaining bonds. Devin slipped off the robe and tossed it to the other side of the bedroom.

  As they settled back into each other’s arms, Devin asked, “So what’s planned for New Year’s?”

  Selene just grinned, thinking about the bag she had hidden under the kitchen sink.

  Two Gifts

  Michael Hemmingson

  I never thought much about sex during the holidays. It was Christmas Eve, and Erin was supposed to come by after her show. It was closing night of a play she was in, and we were going to meet for a few drinks and talk about our lives. I hadn’t seen her in two years; she had been in a play I had written and directed back when I was doing theater. She was an actress among the many local actresses in the local theater scene. There was something between us once—the back and forth, casually sleeping together, brief discussions of getting together, then silence, then nothing: more collected memories of scenes that could never match.

  We started emailing again. She was still single, a single mother, working a nine-to-five office job and doing theater at night and dreaming the things all hopeful actresses dream of. I found myself greatly looking forward to seeing her. I had visions of us picking up where we’d left off, recreating some sense of hope and love, and waking up together on Christmas morning, each renewed like Ebenezer, with cheerful music playing in the background—“hark the angels sing” and all that—and her daughter, like Tiny Tim, telling us all is well, God bless.

  And then everything would be okay.

  But her daughter wasn’t with her this Christmas; she was in some other state with her father. I knew Erin was depressed and lonely because the only person who mattered to her was away from her on this cold Christmas Eve. It was so chilly I could see my breath form smoke in my apartment and I was wearing gloves. I had presents for her and her kid—last-minute items that I went out and bought and had wrapped because I felt it was something to do, something I had to do. It made me feel good to buy these gifts and, even better, it made me feel something.

  She came by after her show—she said it was a good closing night, with half the house filled, which isn’t bad for a closing—and we walked down the block to a neighborhood bar.

  There were maybe seven people in the bar, some playing pool, some sitting around. We both had White Russians. I got up to go to the bathroom, was gone maybe thirty seconds, and already there was a guy sitting next to her at the counter, acting like he was going to order a drink. Twenty empty seats at the counter and he sits on the one next to hers?

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  He turned to me.

  I nodded at my drink.

  He looked at my drink, then me, his eyes red, angry, like he wanted to hit me. I was ready for anything. He moved away and there was no incident.

  Erin grinned. “I haven’t been inside a bar in a year. I forget what it can be like.”

  “Has he been waiting for me to go take a piss to make his move?”

  “I’ve been on dinner dates when my date gets up for the restroom, men sitting at other tables immediately introduce themselves with flattering words. ‘Oh, I just want to say, what a nice dress…your hair is very nice, I like your shoes.’”

  “Jerks.”

  “People are lonely everywhere,” she said.

  We had a second drink and left the bar. Outside, a girl in a thick jacket, with straight black hair and heavy eyeliner, asked if we had any spare change.

  “No,” said Erin.

  I gave the girl a dollar.

  “Thanks, man!” said the girl.

  “I never give anyone change,” Erin said.

  “It’s Christmas,” I said.

  “Yeah. Ho-ho.”

  Back at my apartment, she didn’t want to come inside, she wanted to go home, so I tried to kiss her and she kissed me back but said softly, “Did you think something was going to happen?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that.

  “I just wanted to drop by, say hi, have a drink,” she said.

  “Of course,” I said.

  She left. I went inside and looked at the gifts. She called from her cell. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay.”

  “You could come back.”

  “Some things have happened,” she said. “I’m just not into that right now…”

  I didn’t have any booze at home. I went back to the bar. There was still an hour before last call.

  The girl with the black hair and thick jacket was still outside, asking for change.

  “Hey,” she said, “thanks for the dollar again!”

  “Want a drink?”

  “What?”

  “Do you drink?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Are you old enough?”

  She laughed. “Funny. I’m twenty-five!”

  I had another White Russian, and she had a Long Island iced tea, and then we had two more. She said her name was Taylor and I didn’t believe her. She said she was sleeping in her car tonight, as she had been all week. She didn’t go into details and I didn’t need them.

  “I live a block away,” I said.

  “I can’t give it to you for free,” she said after a pause.

  “I know.”

  “Just to get that out of the way.”

  Back at my apartment, I asked her how much.

  “Let’s see,” Taylor said, rolling her eyes. She was nervous. “Okay, look, I don’t really do this, so I’m not sure what the going rate is, you know, for a blow job or a fuck or if you want to stick it in my ass.”

  “How about everything?”

  “How about a hundred?”

  “Deal.”

  “That was easy.”

  “I like it when it’s easy.”

  I got out my wallet and handed her five twenties. She rolled them up and the money disappeared in her jacket like she was a magician.

  She used my shower and then met me in the bed. Her body was taut and slender from too many missed meals—that thick jacket hid how skinny she really was. Her skin was pale and goose-bumped. I held her
close to me, under the blankets, until she warmed up.

  We kissed.

  “This is nice,” she said, like she was surprised.

  “Yeah.”

  “Condoms?”

  “Plenty,” I said, reaching for the nightstand drawer, where I had a dozen assorted brands.

  “Always prepared,” she said.

  “Always hopeful,” I said.

  We fucked for a while, this position and that. She was responsive and moaning. While I had her on her stomach, she said softly, “Okay, now, stick it in my asshole.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You paid for it, boy.”

  “Do you want that?”

  “It’s what I want, now,” she said, her voice changing, deeper. “Now, stick it in, motherfucker, just do it.”

  I did and she went limp and purred.

  She started to get dressed.

  “Where you going?”

  “A question filled with mystery and no answers,” she said.

  “Don’t sleep in your car. You can stay here.”

  It was 7:00 a.m. and I woke up to a blow job. It was nice to open my eyes and see a woman with my cock in her mouth. She grabbed a condom from the nightstand and moved on top of me. “Ho-ho-ho,” she said.

  This time, she said she really had to go when she put her clothes on. I was going to suggest breakfast, but she looked a lot different in the morning light. She appeared scared and confused, and I knew she didn’t do this much, if ever at all. I knew she felt ashamed and I wanted to tell her not to be.

  I walked her to the door.

  “Wait,” I said.

  I picked up the two wrapped presents and handed them to her.

  “Happy holidays,” I said.

  She didn’t know what to make of this. “For me?”

  “Of course.”

  “How…”

  “I just knew.”

  “Thank you,” she said and left.

  I felt ashamed, but I was glad the presents were gone.

  Flirting with Santa

  Rachel Kramer Bussel

  I wasn’t even planning on going to my company holiday party this year—day in and day out I crunch numbers for this small-minded office, so why should I spend my free time pretending to be frivolous with my coworkers? And yet it’s what’s expected. Dragging my feet as I do every year, I find myself in the midst of over-baked cookies, half-warm eggnog, and fake friendly greetings from those who barely give me the time of day throughout the year.

  I make my way over to the drinks table to look for stronger fare than eggnog, and as I do I spy Santa out of the corner of my eye. His head is thrown back as he laughs in delight at something my one friend at the company, Chelsea, is saying. The thing is, I’ve been here for over an hour now and have seen almost everyone I know from work. I don’t know who this Santa could be, because any guy who remotely fits his body type I’d have noticed by now. Even though I am pretty slim, I prefer my men big and solid. Hefty, hunky teddy bears that I can hold onto when I need to, whose weight I can truly feel when they pound into me, who I can cuddle up next to on cold winter nights.

  I snag another glass of champagne and wrack my brain trying to figure out which of our many employees could have shape-shifted into such a holiday hottie. Santa looks a little lonely now, tucked away in the corner, making conversation but scanning the crowd as if looking for something, or someone. I look up and meet his eyes straight on and feel a flush of pleasure run through me, the likes of which I rarely, if ever, feel at work.

  I’m the first to look away—I have to be or else I may spill my drink down the front of my dress. I go seek out my comrade-in-office-arms Chelsea to see if she knows who Santa is. “I don’t know, but I know why you’re asking,” she smirks. She’s aware of most of my sexual peccadilloes and loves to tease me from the safety of her warm and cozy marriage, but I know she still gets a thrill out of my stories and adventures.

  I try to kill time, making the obligatory rounds, tasting all the sweet offerings being passed around until I can stand it no longer. I inch closer toward Santa, checking out not so much the outfit, which I’m already quite familiar with—padded red velvet suit trimmed in white, fluffy beard, jaunty hat—but the body underneath it. The way he is sitting—calm and almost expectant, with perhaps a twinkle in his eye—sends goose bumps up and down my body. Normally, I’d be getting ready to go at about this time, having made the obligatory small talk, but tonight there’s nothing I’d rather do than get to know Santa just a little bit better.

  I drain my glass, holding it close to my lips to let every last drop of glistening liquid slide into my mouth, knowing for sure that he is watching. My tongue darts out to lick the edges of the glass, treating the champagne as if it were cotton candy, savoring every little bit, and getting my tongue ready for action. Then I stroll toward him with an aggressive, business-like stride; it’s too late to pretend that I’m not interested. I march over until I’m standing right in front of him. Then my mind stops and I realize I have nothing to say, no well-thought-out opening line. How exactly do you chat up Santa Claus?

  Thankfully, he sees my distress and rescues me, his crackling blue eyes boring into mine. “Ho-ho-ho, young lady, how are you this evening?” he flings at me with all the deep warmth one would expect from Santa. I’m torn between wanting to throw myself at him and wanting to sit on his lap like a demure little girl, telling him everything—and I mean everything—I want for Christmas.

  He takes my hand and, like a true gentleman, raises it to his lips for a kiss. But then he takes my index finger and, gentlemanliness be damned, slides it into his mouth, his tongue tickling the pad of my finger and sending waves of warmth throughout my body. I lean my other hand on the table as I feel myself trembling. He lets go of my hand and pulls me so that I’m flush against him, my own flat stomach pressed against his belt buckle, my breasts flush against his ample chest.

  I have no idea who this man is, but at this moment I don’t care, I just know that I want him, and I don’t care who knows. He pulls me tight and hugs me, then rocks me gently in a mating dance so seductive I know that he’ll have me begging him to fuck me before the night is out. I already am, silently, as I press my fingertips into his furry red back, rocking against him and reveling in his strength. He is calm and relaxed, as if he has all the time in the world to slow dance with me, even though I can feel his erection straining through his pants.

  Suddenly, he takes my hand and leads me out the back exit, down the hallway, and into an office I never even knew existed. He locks the door behind us and then presses me up against it, his hand reaching under my skirt to find me soaking wet. He shoves two fat fingers into me and I buckle against him, biting my lips so as not to scream.After that foreplay, that intense teasing, I come quick as lightning, any semblance of control or rational thought forgotten.

  And then all of a sudden, I find myself sucking Santa’s cock. Now, he is leaning against the door and I am on the floor, my knees pressing into the hard wooden floor as I kneel before him. His cock is large and meaty, and I can’t get enough of it. He doesn’t need to urge me forward, as I’ve already positioned myself to take him inside me to maximum capacity. I look up into his eyes, and their bold blueness sparkles back at me, and I have to look away, close my eyes, and savor the heat of his cock as it slides in and out of my mouth.

  I’ve been so caught up in all the holiday shopping and end-of-year calculations that I’ve forgotten that there are truly more important things to celebrate at Christmastime, like having someone make my heart beat that much faster, having someone whose cock gives me a reason to keep on going every day. I start to rock back and forth, moving my hips in rhythm with my lips as I slide up and down his cock, delighting when I have it all the way inside me. I start to speed up, caught up in the beauty of his hardness in my mouth, when he grabs me by the hair, stopping me. He pulls me up and drags me over to the majestic chair behind the desk, plunging into it and laying me across his lap. />
  His hand finds its way to my ass, and even through the layers of my leather skirt and tights I can feel the sting as he spanks me. He doesn’t bother to lift my skirt even as I squirm and wiggle, wanting more contact. My juices flood my panties as I take in this deliciously forbidden sensation. It’s maddening but wonderful as I wait and take every stroke.

  “Do you know what I really want for Christmas, my dear? You probably don’t—nobody ever asks me, they just assume that I want nothing more than to make all their dreams come true. But I have wishes, too,” he exclaims, putting an extra oomph into his smacks. “I want a girl who will do my bidding, who will be there to let me tease and play with and fondle and spank and fuck whenever I want her—a pretty girl like you who is just aching to have my cock inside her. How does that sound to you?”

  I can barely reply. His words have transported me to somewhere else entirely, a world where the only thing that matters is the absolutely urgent ache between my legs, where I’ll say yes to anything as long as he promises to fuck me good and hard. I twist and try to nod my head silently, but he grabs my hair by the nape of my neck.

  That response isn’t good enough for him.

  “Answer me,” he commands, his fingers finally lifting up my skirt and ripping my tights, pushing against the flimsy cotton of my panties. I inhale deeply, still unable to speak. I can feel his cock pressing even more urgently against me. He lifts me up and throws me onto the desk. I feel papers and a stapler underneath me but I don’t care. “So that’s what you want, huh, for me to just figure out what you’re thinking? Okay, then, darling, you had your chance to speak and now you’ll just have to take what I’m going to give you.”

  He smacks me across the face, sending the most amazing chills up and down my body. I want to ask him to do it again, but it’s not the kind of thing you can demand; it only really works as a surprise.

  I close my eyes in ecstatic agony, and he pulls me toward the edge of the desk. He takes out his magnificent cock again, pulls aside my panties, and plunges into me. I take a peek and see Santa before me, the large, jolly, white-bearded man I think I’ve known all my life. But this time he is different, this time he is slamming into me with none of the gentle wisdom or holiday cheer he is known for. He is fucking me like any real man would, hard and deep, my legs up on his shoulders, his cock hitting all the right places inside me. I squeeze his cock, loving the way I can feel each and every movement, his and mine, as we lose ourselves in this most intimate of rituals. I come, shuddering, slamming my hands against the desk as I feel my orgasm wrack my entire body. He follows soon after, letting loose a flood of heat that shoots into me.