Meanwhile, Zara, watching, fingered her own wet pussy, content in the knowledge that David and Trudy would never know, because after all, she was in her own home, watching it on her laptop.
Trudy moaned and sobbed with pleasure, before her body spasmed in a shattering orgasm.
“Now you suck his cock,” Zara said, almost as if they could hear her direction.
David stood up, and licked his lips, before leading Trudy to the bed, throwing off his own clothes as they went. Trudy pulled her dress off to reveal firm breasts, with rock hard nipples. David lay back on the bed, naked, looking up at her. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he said, reaching up to cup one of her breasts, as she knelt on the edge of the bed. His erect cock pointed to the ceiling.
“You lucky girl, Tanya,” said Zara.
Trudy leaned over him and took him into her mouth, using her lips and her hand to pleasure him.
“You taste so good, darling,” said Trudy, stopping her oral ministrations for a moment to pleasure him with her hand. “I love how you feel in my mouth.” With that, she wrapped her lips around him again. David groaned, grabbing a fistful of her hair, but holding back from being too rough with her. Suddenly, he flipped Trudy over onto her back, pulling her legs apart.
“My cock is about ready to explode,” he groaned. “I’ve got to get inside you.”
Zara was rubbing her clit furiously, aroused both by David, and Trudy, whose damp pussy shone up at the screen.
David thrust into Trudy, his pert butt moving up and down, first slowly, then picking up speed and intensity as they both went wild with pleasure. After a while, he stood up, pulling Trudy up towards him, and turning her around, so that she had her back to him. She bent over, resting her hands on the bed, and he entered her from behind, holding both her breasts in his hands, while he bucked against her, moving faster and harder, completely in tune with Trudy’s needs. Zara noticed how readily Trudy gave herself to him. There was no shame, no embarrassment. Just a woman in love enjoying the pleasure her man gave her.
After what seemed like an age, they came together, and at the same time, Zara felt her own belly tighten, before her clit exploded, trickling warm fluid in her panties. It wasn’t a huge orgasm but it was more than Zara had ever managed before.
David held Trudy in his arms, telling her how much he loved her. It was such a touching moment that it brought tears to Zara’s eyes. She was glad that Trudy had a man who made her that happy. But what it had to do with her, she still didn’t know.
“Now,” said the Ghost of Christmas Present, “I have an appointment. I must be off.”
And she was gone.
The screen went back to the normal desktop setting, and stayed like that for about half an hour. Zara wondered if the show were over, but sure enough, someone appeared. It was an elderly woman, with a dried-up face, and tight, thin lips.
“Come along,” the woman said. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas yet to Come.”
“What are you all trying to tell me? That if I don’t get fucked soon, I’m going to die?” asked Zara. “That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?”
The woman didn’t answer. The screen showed a house in the suburbs, and the sound of three children creating holy hell around a Christmas tree. A woman screamed at them to be quiet. “Is this me?” asked Zara. “Because if the idea was to make me see that sex is wonderful, showing me as a harridan mother with a bunch of screaming brats isn’t gong to do it.”
The woman was Gaynor, some ten years down the line. She’d put on weight and her blonde hair lay lank and greasy around her shoulders. Zara wasn’t sure, but Gaynor’s jumper appeared to be encrusted with baby sick.
The scene switched to a bedroom. In bed lay a man, trying to read a book. Gaynor came into the room, dressed in an old nightie. When he lowered the book to answer something she’d said, Zara saw that it was Jake. He still looked handsome, despite a few grey hairs, but he also had a defeated look about him. Like a man who’d grown used to disappointment in life.
Gaynor got into bed next to him and snuggled up to him. “They’re all quiet at last,” she said.
“Great, we might get some sleep after all,” said Jake.
“Oh,” said Gaynor, looking disappointed. “I just thought, you know, that since they’d settled down for a change and it’s Christmas and all that.”
“What? Oh, I see.” The smile on Jake’s face was strained. He leaned over and gave Gaynor a passionless kiss.
“You still love me, don’t you?” she asked him.
“Course I do.”
“Because I love you. I have since that first night. Do you want me to suck your cock?”
“Yeah, that would be nice.”
Jake lay back, while Gaynor sucked him off. She looked as bored with the process as he did, but she was trying to inject some passion into it. Zara waited to feel aroused, but she actually felt nothing, and she was pretty sure Jake didn’t feel much either. His cock got hard, but it was more like a reflex action than any real pleasure. “Remember that first night?” Gaynor said, stopping. “When I took you in the bogs at work and showed you my deep throat technique?”
“Yes, it was great,” said Jake.
“Best you’d ever had, you said.”
“It was.”
“Then we went back to your place and fucked all night. It was magical.”
Jake sighed. “Are we doing this or just talking about it?”
Gaynor sat up, and slumped back into her place on the bed. “Would it help if I let you think about that cow Zara?”
“Let’s not start all this again, Gay.”
“Well, you always make me feel second fucking best,” said Gaynor. “I mean, it’s not my fault I got pregnant. You were there as well.”
“I know that, and I’ve done the right thing, haven’t I? I married you. I treat you OK.”
“Yes, but you don’t love me.” Gaynor began to cry. Zara felt a bit sorry for her, despite the fact that she despised everything Gaynor stood for. Like all women she just wanted to be loved. She was just looking for it in the wrong places.
“Of course I love you,” said Jake, reaching across and pulling Gaynor into his arms.
The way he fucked her was all about duty and nothing about love. At one point, Zara saw his face close up, while he was grinding into his wife. It was grim with determination, as though he had to force himself to feel anything. Their orgasms when they came were soulless. Just a quick, but not permanent, release of the tension that had built up between them. Five minutes later they were lying on their sides, facing away from each other, the tension building again.
“Did you think about her?” asked Gaynor.
“No,” said Jake, sighing. “I didn’t think about her at all.” Zara believed him, even if Gaynor didn’t. He hadn’t been thinking of anything except getting to the end of the fuck in the hopes that it would get Gaynor off his back for a while.
“It’s time for me to go,” said the Ghost of Christmas yet to Come. “Time you left too, if you don’t want it to be too late.” The screen went blank. Zara stared at it for a long time, thinking about Jake and how unhappy he’d been.
She looked at the clock. It was five in the morning. Standing up, she paced the room for a while, trying to come to a decision. Had Jake had sex with Gaynor at the office party? Or was that something that might happen if Zara didn’t take action, hence the ghost’s suggestion of her hurrying before it was too late?
It took her half an hour to pluck up the courage to call a taxi. Twenty minutes after that, she was outside Jake’s house. She stood outside for five minutes, walking up and down the path, wondering if she dared knock on the door.
“Zara?”
She looked up to see Jake leaning out of his bedroom window. His toned chest was bare, and Zara wondered if the rest
of him was naked too.
“Oh, sorry, I just …”
“Is this about the spreadsheet? Because if it is …”
“No. No. I sorted that. Trudy forgot to give me the receipts for the Christmas party. I don’t know why I got so worked up about it. Er … are you alone? If not, then I’ll just go away.”
He drew back into the house, and shut the window. Zara was about to walk away when the front door opened. He stood there, looking utterly edible, in a pair of black silk boxers, with his dark hair tousled around his gorgeous face.
“I’m alone,” he said, “despite Gaynor’s best efforts to add me to her list. What do you want, Zara?” His voice was silky smooth, as if he’d already guessed.
“You,” said Zara, swallowing hard. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for ages, only … shit. I’m not very good at this seduction stuff, so if I’m on the wrong track, just say so. Only, well it seems stupid that you have to end up unhappy, when maybe you could be … you know … having a wild, wonderful shagfest with me instead of duty sex with someone you don’t really love.”
“And God bless us, one and all,” he said, pulling her into the house and into his arms, before shutting the door on the world outside.
Filling her Stockings
by Elizabeth Coldwell
When Mickey showed me the sexy Santa outfits he wanted us to wear for the Christmas Eve party, I almost told him where he could stick his job. I hadn’t wanted to work that night anyway, but Tracey and Marlene, who both had young families, had been given the time off. So I wouldn’t just be facing the madness that was Dawson’s on a special occasion, I would be doing so dressed as an adolescent wet dream: red crushed velvet minidress with a halter top and a flared skirt cut indecently short; matching red panties, stockings, suspenders and, of course, the obligatory Santa hat. It was as far from my normal work attire of black teeshirt with “Dawson’s” emblazoned across the front and jeans as it was possible to get. Only the promise of double pay for the night prevented me from walking out.
“Do you seriously think this is a good idea, Mickey?” I said, holding the dress up to my body and wincing inside when I realised just how short the skirt was. Whenever I bent over, even slightly, everyone in the place would get a glimpse of my garish panties. “If the punters want to look at girls in saucy outfits, they can go to that lapdancing place off the High Street.”
“Oh, come on, Ellie, I’m just trying to get everyone in the Christmas spirit. It’s just a bit of fun. Janice hasn’t objected.”
Janice wouldn’t, I thought. There had been rumours flying round for ages that she and Mickey were having a fling behind her husband’s back – and I suspected he was slipping her more than just extra money to persuade her to squeeze into the Santa dress. But unlike Janice, I had always been resistant to Mickey’s twinkly Irish charm. He might have been a good-looking bastard, with his black, shoulder-length hair, wide blue eyes and permanent five o’clock shadow, but he knew it, and I had always kept him at arm’s length. Perhaps making me wear such a provocative outfit was his perverse way of getting his own back.
When I still hesitated, he started wheedling. “If you don’t do it, who will? You know there’s no way I’m going to find anyone else at such short notice.” Almost in desperation, he added, “How does another tenner in your pay packet sound?”
“OK,” I said, “but you still owe me one for this. Next time I fancy a night off, I get it – no questions asked.”
“It’s a deal,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be the one with the mistletoe.”
I thought he was joking, but when I arrived at Dawson’s the following evening, feeling extremely self-conscious in my skimpy Santa outfit despite the long coat I was wearing over it, I couldn’t help but notice the big bunch of mistletoe which had been attached to the row of optics behind the bar. I dumped my coat and bag in Mickey’s little back office, tugged the hem of the dress as far down as it would go – which was only fractionally over the tops of my stockings – and walked out into the bar room. Janice was already there, trotting around in glittery red high heels and looking perfectly at home in her ridiculous get-up.
“Oh, Ellie, you look so cute!” she exclaimed.
“Well, I don’t feel it,” I told her. “I just want to get this shift over and go home.”
“Don’t be like that,” she said. “We’re going to have a real laugh tonight.”
And Janice did indeed appear to be having a good time as she made her way between the tables with a tray of drinks, laughing and flirting with customers, seemingly indifferent to the odd finger trailing its way up the back of her stocking-clad leg or a hand cupping her arse cheek. Once I saw her sitting on someone’s lap. She had broken off a sprig of the mistletoe from behind the bar and was holding it over the punter’s head as he kissed her enthusiastically, his hand so far up her dress it was on the pale strip of flesh above her stocking.
I was much less comfortable with all the attention, but much as I wanted to slap any wandering hands, or stamp on the foot of the man who tried to fondle my bum as I passed, I behaved myself. I smiled and accepted all the compliments I received – some polite and genuine, others much cruder – with good grace. Inside, I was fuming at Mickey, who would wink and gesture towards the mistletoe whenever I went up to the bar to collect an order or take back empties.
Finally, last orders were called and we were able to shovel the last of the customers into waiting cabs or out into the street to stagger home in the frosty December air. When I went into the office to pick up my belongings, I saw Janice sitting on the desk, applying another coat of lipstick and obviously waiting for her Christmas kiss from Mickey. The sight of her planted an idea in my head.
“Sorry, Janice, Mickey said he’s got to flush the pipes out and it’s going to take him a while.” I was surprised at how plausible the lie sounded. “He asked me to tell you he’s sorry, but he’ll make it up to you next time. He said you’d know what that meant.”
“Bloody typical,” Janice snorted, snatching up her coat and tottering out of the office. “See you later, Ellie. Oh, and have a good Christmas.”
“I will,” I assured her. If the next few minutes went the way I hoped, Christmas would be the most memorable ever. It all depended on Mickey.
Moments later, he sauntered in, the grin on his face fading slightly as he glanced round the room and realised Janice was nowhere to be seen. “Sorry, Mickey, Janice got a migraine and had to go home,” I told him.
“Well, you’ll stay, won’t you?” he asked, reaching into the desk drawer to pull out the half-bottle of brandy he always kept there. “Have a little drink with me.”
Mickey found glasses, poured two generous measures of brandy and handed one to me. I downed most of it in one gulp, barely registering the taste but quickly becoming aware of its warmth in my belly. Normally I wasn’t a great drinker, but I knew I needed a little Dutch courage to help me in what I was about to do.
“I knew those sexy Santa costumes were a great idea,” Mickey said, pouring another tot into my glass. “We took an absolute fucking fortune tonight.” He put an arm round my shoulder, pulling me close to him. I was fairly sure that he was taking the opportunity to get a good look down the front of my dress. “I think you deserve a Christmas bonus for that, Ellie.”
‘Well, didn’t you already promise me something extra in my pay packet?” I said, deliberately misunderstanding him.
“I think you know what I’m talking about …” His hand was on my leg, trying to work its way under the hem of my dress. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and I shivered with pleasure.
“OK,” I said, as his fingers hovered dangerously close to my panty-covered pussy. He glanced at me, clearly expecting me to put up some kind of resistance. After all, I’d spent the whole time I’d been working for him fighting off his advances, and now I was giv
ing in easily. A man who didn’t spend his whole life thinking with his cock might have been suspicious, but not Mickey. He didn’t even object when my next command was, “Strip for me. Show me what you’ve got.”
Mickey peeled out of his clothes with almost improbable haste, throwing them to the floor. In moments he was standing in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting grey briefs, which were discarded as quickly as everything else had been. I had to admit he looked good naked. Hefting barrels in the cellar on a regular basis clearly kept him in good shape, and a thin line of dark hair tapered down enticingly from the mat on his nicely defined chest to the bush surrounding his already swelling cock.
“Nice,” I said, meaning it sincerely. “Very nice.”
“And now you.” Mickey’s eyes burned into me as I slowly, deliberately took off my skimpy panties, making sure not to give him any more than the merest flash of what was hidden beneath them. My stockings and suspender belt followed. And that’s where my striptease stopped.
“How much do you want me, Mickey?” I asked as he stood there, clearly impatient for me to get as naked as he was. “Enough to do one small thing for me?” He just nodded, and I knew I had him exactly where I wanted him. “Right then.” I handed him my discarded underwear. “Put these on.”
“Is this some kind of joke, Ellie?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I assured him. “Put them on, or this little Christmas party ends here.”
His face flushing crimson, Mickey obediently began to do as I’d asked. He’d clearly been with enough women to know that the suspender straps needed to go underneath the panties, so the lacy belt went on first. He rolled the stockings up his legs, doing his best not to ladder them, and secured them in place. Finally, he climbed into the panties, trying to fit his cock and balls into a garment which was clearly inadequate for the task.
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