Shannon put her hands on my hips. “Turn around,” Shannon said. I turned, and looked out into the living room. Everywhere there were girl couples, sharing couches and floor space. A few girls sat in the corners watching, their hands busy across their bodies. In the Santa line, girls watched us, touching themselves inside skirts and pyjamas. One of the girls whose outfit – the zip-up PJs with feet – I’d coveted earlier was struggling with her zipper. I’d never been so glad to be in a mini-skirt.
Shannon bent me over a bit and pushed the crotch of my underwear to one side, exposing my shaven pussy to the air. Then she positioned me over the dildo, teasing the tip in and out of my lips.
“Please …” I couldn’t help whispering – I wanted her inside me.
“Please what?” she said. She had one hand on my ass, and she pulled the back of my panties down as she spoke.
“Please, Santa,” I said. She slid the dildo in just a little, and I gasped. “Please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good girl,” I said.
When I said girl, Shannon pressed me down on the dildo all the way. I was so wet, it slid up inside me without stopping, and then Shannon had both hands on my bare ass and was forcing me up and down. The slippery rubber inside me combined with the soft fur of her suit were driving me over the edge. The chair was so high up, it was like I was looking down on all these truly girl- and elf-sized people fucking all around us. And with Shannon driving the dildo in and out of me, all I could think was, this must be what it’s like for those angels on top of the tree. Heaven.
Without stopping, Shannon said, “OK, little girl. Let’s make your wish come true.”
At first, I thought she was talking to me. “But you don’t know what –”
But she was talking to the red-head, who had pulled her hands out of her jammies and was stepping up in front of the chair. “Really?” the girl asked. She had her hands behind her back, and her head down, just like when she’d given me the candy cane.
“Ho-ho-ho, baby,” Shannon said. “Really.”
The red-head reached out and lifted my baby doll T. Then she leaned over and put her warm, wet, sticky mouth on my nipple. A spark popped somewhere between my nipple and my clit. Or maybe it was in my head. All I could do was moan and keep riding Santa’s big green dildo.
Then, with the other hand, the red-head gently touched my exposed clit.
“Jesus,” I breathed. My vision was blurred, but all around me, I could see girls with their hands on each other, moving in the same rhythm as me.
As we moved together, the three of us, the red-head got bolder with her fingers, stroking my clit harder and harder. She tugged at my nipple with her teeth, and I gulped air, trying to hold on, but I knew I was getting too close to back down and wait. The room was spinning. From the sounds Shannon was making behind me, I knew she was feeling the same way. She bucked beneath me, sending her dick into me again and again.
Pleasure took over, a three-pronged star of nipple, clit and insides. For a few seconds, I was lost in a whiteout, feeling only my own body as I came.
A few minutes later, I was dripping wet, covered in sweat and my own juices, feeling Shannon sigh against my neck. The red-head in front of me gave me one last smile and hopped away into the crowd of girls. A few of the girls in line yelled, “We want to see Santa too!”
But before she let me up, Shannon whispered in my ear, “Did you get your wish, little girl?”
“No.” I pouted my big lip again. “I wish Santa could come every day.”
“He can,” she said with a smile. “I get to keep the suit.”
The Perfect Meal
by Emily Dubberley
I’ve always loved Christmas; the decorations, the carols, the tree, the cheesy music – something about it makes me feel like a big kid, full of hope and excitement. And, I have to confess, it always makes me feel romantic too. OK, it may be clichéd but I want to make love in front of an open fire, with chestnuts roasting on it for a post-coital snack. And the idea of curling up under the tree, exchanging presents with a hot man – who obviously gives me lingerie which I just have to try out – is one of my favourite fantasies at this time of year.
I definitely believe it’s as good to give as to receive – and this year, there was one person I could give a lot of presents to, given half a chance. I’d met him a few times at various friends’ parties, and we’d flirted on and off for a while but somehow situations had conspired against us and I’d never had a chance to let him know that my flirting was serious. The last thing I expected was a Christmas miracle.
On Christmas morning, I was taking all the food out in preparation for lunch when I realised I’d forgotten to buy a Christmas pudding. Now, the Christmas meal has to be perfect as far as I’m concerned so the idea of the traditional meal without its pudding punctuation mark was horrific. Putting the turkey back in the fridge, I resigned myself to a trip to the shops, grateful that London was diverse enough to ensure that somewhere would be open relatively nearby. I’d seen Christmas puddings on the counter of numerous local newsagents – probably in the same dusty wrapping as last year but beggars can’t be choosers – and just hoped they hadn’t all sold out.
After half an hour I was beginning to despair, having found nowhere within a five mile radius that was both open and had any puddings left. Trying to explain Christmas pudding to a confused guy with a limited grasp of English hadn’t made my mood any better. It was freezing cold and I regretted leaving my hat at home – this was not my idea of a perfect Christmas. I covered my ears with my scarf and decided to give it ten more minutes before heading back: there was no point missing Christmas day for the sake of a pudding!
I turned left down an unfamiliar road, figuring I had nothing to lose. With relief, I saw an open corner-shop ahead in the distance – surely this had to have the dessert I craved? As I neared the shop I realised it certainly had something I craved. He was there, heading to the same shop as me. The object of my affection (OK, lust) looking sexier than ever in a chunky jumper and soft denim jeans that clung to his manly thighs.
Putting my scarf back round my neck so that I could fluff my hair, despite the bitter wind, I sped up and managed to walk into the shop just behind him. A bell rang as I walked through the door, and he turned round on instinct. I smiled.
“Fancy seeing you here …”
“Mmm …” he said, “A very nice surprise. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you too.” I replied, a dirty smile flickering across my lips. “Forgot something?”
“Milk. You?”
“Christmas pudding. And as I’m having friends over for dinner it would be a bit off not to get some.”
“And you didn’t invite me …” he teased.
I bit back my initial response to invite him there and then, realising this was my chance to let him know how I felt.
“Well … to be honest, I don’t know if I’d want anyone else around the first time you came back to mine …”
I felt a blush rising on my cheeks at the brazen line – I had no idea how I’d summoned up the guts to be so overt – but forced myself to hold his gaze, and was rewarded by a wonderfully naughty smile.
“Really? See, I’ve been thinking about getting you alone a fair bit myself. So are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? Is that a proposition, young lady?”
“Like you don’t already know …”
I was gratified that my target was clearly as keen on me as I was on him – and even happier when he asked, “Well … what time are your friends coming over?”
“Not till late. Why?”
“Fancy a Christmas drink round at mine? I only live round the corner. My folks are coming over later but I was just planning to chill out this morning.”
How could I refuse an offer like that? I paid for my Christmas pudding
and we headed off to his flat. It only took a couple of minutes to get there, but that was still plenty of time for me to start thinking about what I wanted to do to him. I was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying because my imagination was having far too much fun.
As we got to his flat I was already tingling with anticipation.
“Drink?” he asked, once we’d got inside.
“That’d be lovely.” I needed something to steady my nerves, hardly able to believe that I was here – and that things were clearly heading in one very entertaining direction. When he handed me a glass of Bailey’s and our fingers touched, I had to concentrate hard to stop my hand from leaping back at the shock of contact. I’d made the first move. From here on in it was up to him.
“So, had a good Christmas so far?” he asked. Hardly the seductive line I was hoping for – but maybe he was as nervous as I was – and to be honest, the small talk helped settled my nerves.
“Not too bad. You?”
“Same old stuff really. Too many parties. Feeling a bit the worse for wear after a month of excess.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I can’t believe I went out last night – midnight mass followed by the pub is not a good idea. My head’s killing me.”
“I do a killer massage if that would help?”
“That would be bliss. You sure?”
“No probs – I like giving them.”
OK, maybe I wasn’t going to leave all the moves to him …
He sat on the floor in front of me, moving back so that he was between my thighs and I began to rub his shoulders. If I say so myself, massage has always been a particular skill of mine and soon he was groaning with pleasure.
“That’s amazing.”
“Got any oil?” I asked. “It will make it far better.”
He moved reluctantly away from me, vanishing off into another room and returning with a bottle of baby oil.
“This do you?”
“That’s great – although I think you’ll need to remove your shirt. I wouldn’t want to stain it.”
I couldn’t help licking my lips at the thought of seeing him naked from the waist up, and looked away, embarrassed when I realised he’d noticed.
“Shirt off it is. Good thing the central heating’s on.”
He pulled off his shirt revealing a taut stomach and toned chest, then resumed his position between my thighs. I warmed the oil between my hands then started working it into his neck, smoothing the tight tendons and rubbing deeply into his shoulder blades.
“That’s incredible” he moaned, pushing back into my lap and I felt his body rubbing against my already engorged clit.
Hoping he wouldn’t feel the wetness through my knickers, I continued my trail down his body, thumbs moving in circular sweeps along either side of his backbone, fingers trailing teasingly down his back.
“I could get more power behind it if you lay on your front …”
“Mmmmm”. He moved on to his front and I sat astride his gorgeous arse, pushing my hands from the base of his spine up to his neck and back again. As he began to relax further, unable to hold back his moans, I leaned forward, my hair brushing against his back, and whispered in his ear.
“You’ve probably got a lot of tension stored in your chest and collar-bone. Would you like me to massage your front?”
“Why not?” he said. I stood up and he turned over, attempting to rearrange his jeans without me noticing, so that his cock, which was clearly engorged, didn’t show.
I sat across his lap, picked up the bottle of baby oil and poured a slow trickle from his chest to his stomach. It started to slide towards his jeans so I let it get almost all the way there before putting my hands on his stomach and rubbing the oil slowly all the way up his torso. I started underneath his collarbone, pushing my thumbs all the way along to release the tension, then moved down his chest, massaging his pecs firmly, ‘accidentally’ trailing my thumbs over his nipples which stiffened at my touch. I could feel his cock harden beneath me and my cunt got wetter in response.
As I moved my hands further down his body, I looked into his eyes and we gave up the pretence of innocence.
“Come here,” he said, throatily, and pulled me towards him.
I pulled back.
“I don’t want to get my top covered in oil.”
“So take it off.”
Who was I to ignore him? I pulled my top off slowly, glad that I had my Christmas-best lingerie set on.
“You don’t want to spoil that do you?” he asked, so I stripped off my bra. He pulled me towards him and started kissing me hard. I couldn’t stop myself from grinding against his cock, knowing that when he finally touched me he was going to realise exactly how much he turned me on. But he was determined to take his time.
He buried his head in my neck, always a weak spot, kissing and licking it until my juices were running down my thighs. He sensed my arousal and moved down to my nipples, teasing them gently with his hands and tongue until I was dizzy with pleasure.
“Fuck me …” I begged.
“Take the rest of your clothes off then.”
“You first …”
He took his jeans off with difficulty because his cock was now fully engorged and rather large. I knelt in front of him and took his cock into my mouth, gently teasing his slick head. I moved my lips down the length of his cock, tongue flickering along its length while I worked him right to the back of my throat. He groaned, clearly fighting back the urge to grab me by the back of the head and force it down even deeper. I moved one hand to his balls and began gently stroking them, while the other moved up and down his cock in time with my mouth. I could feel him getting harder, clearly about to come. I sped up, wanking him with my hand. “No, stop … I want to fuck you.”
I stripped off eagerly, desperate to feel him inside me. He pulled on a condom and, pinning my hands above my head, started teasing my clit with his erect cock. I writhed beneath him, arching up to get him inside me but he kept pulling away, enjoying my arousal
“Please …”
The smell of sex was thick in the air and I could think of nothing other than getting him inside me as soon as possible.
“If you’re sure …” he teased.
“God, yes!”
He put the head of his cock inside me, stretching me despite my wetness, giving it to me inch by inch. I could tell from the look on his face that he was as desperate as I was and was fighting off the urge to slam it into me. When I started flexing my muscles around him, he could resist no more and sank into me with a loud groan.
“God, you’re amazing.”
I gripped his buttocks, grinding my clit against him, head spinning, mind unable to focus on anything other than coming against him. I’d been imagining it for so long and he was so good that it seemed to only take seconds before I was screaming out, cunt twitching madly around his cock. He pushed into me deeply, grinding up against me until he was sure I’d ridden the orgasm out fully, before pulling out and slamming in again rapidly, crying out with his own urgent orgasm.
We collapsed in each other’s arms, sweat and oil mingling, clasping each other tight.
“Happy Christmas” I murmured.
“Very much so …” he said.
I took one look at his twinkling eyes and knew that my friends could be waiting for their Christmas dinner for quite some time.
Payment in Kind
by Antonia Adams
The closer it got to Christmas the more Kate worried about what Dave had meant by payment in kind. It had all started as a bit of a joke. Dave was the caretaker at Manning’s Heath Centre where she worked part time as a yoga instructor, and she’d always liked him. Flirted with him a bit too – if she was honest – but it had been pretty harmless flirting because they were
just friends and there was no chance of them ever being anything else. For a start they both had partners.
Except that she didn’t any more. She and Terry had split up a couple of weeks ago. It was all very well flirting with the caretaker when you knew nothing would ever come of it – but it felt different now, somehow. She’d always been quite shy around men, although Dave had made her feel at ease from the moment she’d set eyes on him.
That had been on her first day at the centre six months ago. She’d been as nervous as a kitten and as she’d run up the stairs to the room where she was teaching, she’d dropped her kit bag. Her yoga mat had fallen out, promptly unrolled itself and slid down the stairs, almost tripping up the man who was coming up behind her.
“I’m so sorry,” Kate had said, bending to pick up the various bits and pieces that had fallen out of her bag.
“Don’t mention it.”
She straightened up, very aware that he’d been looking at her bottom when she’d bent over, although he’d swiftly transferred his gaze to her face when he realised she’d caught him.
Not that she’d minded him looking. He had dark hair and black gypsy eyes and was what her best friend, Shelley, would have referred to as sex on a stick. He was also smiling, as if he’d liked what he’d seen.
“Are you the new yoga teacher?” he asked.
“That’s right, I’m Kate. You’re not a student, are you?”
“No, I’m the caretaker. Dave Anderson at your service.” He gave a mock bow. “I’ll give you a hand with that lot if you like?”
She’d accepted gratefully and ended up confessing to first day nerves, and he’d offered to make her a calming cuppa before she started. After that they’d got into the habit of having a mug of tea together before her class.
It wasn’t really allowed. She was supposed to get her tea from the machine in the canteen, not have mugs brewed especially for her by the caretaker in the kitchen.
“I’ll be getting a bill at the end of the year,” she’d said a couple of weeks earlier, and Dave had grinned and said, “I wasn’t going to charge you, well not in money anyway. But I might have to demand payment in kind.”
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