Sexy Holiday Delights

by Shara Azod

  Fiona’s mellow hum was interrupted sharply by two firm slaps to her backside. Grasping a cheek in each hand, Max massaged the globes until they warmed like hot, buttery rolls. After one last slap, he dropped to his knees and, keeping her spread like the feast she was, he lapped at her pussy from behind. His five o’clock shadow scraped her sensitive flesh like a million little stings. Her clit had swollen, begging for attention from his talented tongue.

  Gripping the edge of the sink like a life preserver, Fiona felt her thighs shake every time Max’s tongue, lips, and chin grazed the sides of her clit. She knew if he decided to pay direct attention to that one spot for more than a second, she would come with a flood that would fulfill even his insatiable appetite for her. He reached underneath her and cupped her hanging breasts, and then he tightly pinched each nipple and tugged repeatedly. The fire that ran from her nipples to her core made her clench tight around his searching tongue.

  “Fuck, Max, make me come. God, oh God, please let me come,” she panted, her voice rough and broken.

  “Shut up, Fiona,” scolded Max. “I’m tired of your mouth today. You’ll come when I’m ready to finish eating.”

  With that, Max returned to circling her clit until a maelstrom of sensations all aligned in that one area and Fiona had backed herself hard against his nose and face. All it took was one firm swipe of his rough-hewn chin against her tender bundle of nerves to make her fall apart on his tongue. The rhythmic squeals of her pleasure, enhanced by the lovely acoustics in the bathroom, seemed to spur Max on, even though Fiona didn’t know if she would be able to continue standing.

  With animalistic grunts of satisfaction, he devoured all evidence of her release until she sagged against the counter, replete. She opened her eyes and noticed he was stroking his cock in a slow rhythm, wearing only a satisfied smirk.

  Pulling her close to his body with a quick tug, he guided her to their bedroom where he sat on the on the end of the bed and slid back, so his feet rested on the gold-tufted bedroom bench at the foot of their California king. Crawling over his body, Fiona let her breasts, stomach and warm, damp pussy slide languidly over his torso. Straddling his chest she looked down at him in questions, one brow raised. This was her way of asking for direction, without really asking.

  “Ask me...” He demanded. “You’ll stay here dripping heat on my chest until you do.”

  “How can I please you?”

  “Come up further.”

  Fiona scooted up further, her knees resting on his shoulders. She was looking down on his dark curls, absently running her fingers through them, smirking devilishly.

  “Fiona, you know what I want. Sit on my fucking face or I’ll put you there.”

  “I almost want to make you put me there… but I don’t think you can.” She teased, feigning a sigh of exasperation

  “You don’t think I can?” he barked. “Come here?”

  Fiona shrieked when he wrapped his muscled arms around her thighs and dragged her pussy lips roughly towards his mouth and tongue. Growling low and long, Max sent goosebumps up her thighs and over her ass cheeks. It was as if he knew exactly how he was affecting her. As a matter of fact, she knew he did. He was quick to give her several hard quick swats to her generous backside and then sink his fingers deep into the stinging tissue there. Fiona fell forward, clutching the elaborate curves of their hand-carved headboard. Writhing over Max’s tongue and lips, she pulled and clutched at her nipples, making streaks of fire run towards her clit. Rocking slowly back and forth, she mewled in pleasure when Max slid first one then two fingers into her soaked channel from behind. The combination of his rhythmic finger fucking and his flickering tongue kept a steady stream of pleasure running through her veins. Panting like a racehorse Fiona pushed down hard on Max’s nose and chin, her juices soaking his face and neck. She pulled hard on the dark curls in her hand and was riding straight towards her pleasure when Max inserted a third finger into the tight bud above her sheath and began to tap on her g-spot from both sides. Thunder rolled, and so did Fiona. Screaming her release she let loose a torrent of nectar for Maxwell’s enjoyment and then she slumped against his mouth for the second time that night.

  Fiona curled against Max’s shoulder like an exhausted kitten and watched him from under her hooded gaze. Raising on his elbows, he slowly licked the lower half of his face like a satisfied beast he was, then massaged the length of his cock until grew taught against his tanned stomach. God, he was sexy. Big bastard. Fiona knew he was silently asking for reciprocation for a job well done. She also knew her mouth was magic on her man’s shaft.

  With a supremely confident smirk, similar to the one she’d observed on him in the bathroom, she shifted down to kneel on the bedroom bench and leaned forward, so she came face-to-face with his sculpted abs. Tempted by the trail of hair that ran a path over the unforgiving ridges, she ran her warm tongue down over his belly button and felt his hardness twitch against her breasts. She firmly scraped her nails back and forth over his heavily muscled thighs while she teased the tip of his already leaking, swollen cock with her talented tongue. Then, massaging his warm sacs, she avoided his shaft completely and rolled his sensitive balls tenderly in her mouth until he moaned. Shifting her attention, she firmly grasped the base of his shaft and deep-throated her husband, massaging his cock until he curved, at full mast, past his navel, and she finally released him with a pop.

  While he was in a temporary euphoria, Fiona straddled him instead of sucking him to completion, as she knew he would expect. Grasping the base, she seated herself heavily, claiming purchase on his chest with her short, manicured nails.

  She leaned over to look her husband in the eye. “Buck,” she commanded before she rose in a slow roll and then massaged his massive length all the way back down to the base.

  “Christ!” shouted Max as his hands shot up to grasp her hips. She was milking him without reprieve, with the passion that perpetually simmered under the surface of their day-to-day interactions. There was never a time where they didn’t crave this closeness. She was disappointed, and her feelings were hurt, but she was still was going to ride it out on him. And he would let her. Eventually, they would work out what his actions truly meant at work, but for now she was going to let him know with her body what her heart always felt for him.

  As she sped up her tempo, the rhythmic sound of her tight canal massaging his length was punctuated only by an occasional grunt of a stallion and the heavy breathing of its rider.

  ****

  Max met her thrust for thrust, his teeth clenched, panting wildly, trying to hold off his release. He reached up to bring her face down to his in a wet, almost painful mix of kisses and nips. He ran his hands over her body urgently, trying to get to her clit and help her finish with him. Furiously massaging the swollen tissue of her pussy, he tapped her sensitive nubbin and began a rocking climax that had Fiona grinding her body on him in desperation.

  Reaching the edge of pleasure Max clenched his teeth; grasped one of her hips and the nape of her neck, and brought her lips crashing down on his. He poured all his love and passion for this one woman into one kiss and after bracing his feet on the bed he finally bucked like the wild stallion she wanted him to be. They were guttural and primal, and she rode him with a vengeance. Still clutching his shaft in the depths of her body, it felt like she was trying to empty him of all of the essence he could give her.

  And empty into her he did. His warmth bathed her insides for long moments, and he could feel her body relax like he had been given a reprieve and tomorrow would be another day.

  * * *

  Well, Tuesday is going to be one big shit show, thought Max, as he watched his wife have an animated discussion with Bill Macy in the conference room regarding CompuFire. Her conservative, stark white suit successfully emphasized that her legs, clad in the Swarovski crystal-studded thigh-high stockings, glittered like new-fallen snow. Her brown eyes sparkled with merriment as she explained some amusing point to Bill while cros
sing and uncrossing her legs.

  Maxwell wasn’t sure if she knew this, but she could have been reciting Hamlet to Bill, and Macy would’ve continued to nod and smile while he stared at the mile of leg she was showing off to her best advantage. Max was tempted to barge in and tell him to keep his gaze above her neck, or he could find another company to do marketing for, but he knew that would only make it worse with Fiona. He’d asked her to get Bill up to speed, and she was doing as he asked.

  Despite the fact that she thought his decision was a personal affront, despite the fact that she believed her integrity was in question, he knew that she was still trusting her husband wouldn’t be a complete jackass and would hopefully come to his senses. His heart swelled for her a little more, knowing she was still trying to have a little faith in him.

  Too bad she hadn’t spoken one word to him on the ride to work and had made it a point to march her sexy ass in front of him multiple times this morning wearing the white garter with crystal accents, lace bustier, and matching stockings. After last night, he would have bet his 401K that Fiona was going to go along with his plan quietly. What was the big deal? He would spring his surprise on her in a couple of days, they would laugh, and all would be well. To his complete and utter ire, no, not so much. She had woken up and prepared for work without a word or smile. But she took her damn time standing in his full-length dressing mirror, smelling like honey and almonds and making sure her stockings were straight. That was no coincidence. He was no idiot. He was going on three hours with a semi-hard cock, and he was going to be forced to take care of business in his office bathroom if his beloved wasn’t going to stay out of his field of vision. Working with your wife definitely wasn’t the picnic he thought it was going to be.

  With that thought, he returned to his office and, with a resounding click, shut his door.

  Wednesday – Morning

  This Again?

  Max walked out of the walk-in closet and stopped to watch his wife roll silk stockings up her thighs while sitting on their freshly made bed. She still wasn’t talking to him unless it was about Bella, and he hadn’t even had to discuss sex last night. The minute he’d rolled over and came into contact with her shirt covered body he’d come undone.

  “Oh, Hell No!” he’d exclaimed.

  Rolling out of bed, he stalked over to her side and glared down at her.

  “Stand up!” he ordered.

  Covered from neck to foot Fi crossed her arms under her breasts, refusing to budge.

  “Fi, I understand you’re angry but this our bed: nothing comes between us. Nothing! I can’t make you respect that promise, but I can sure as hell make it difficult.”

  Clutching the blankets in his fist he tore them off the bed, leaving her luscious brown legs exposed. Fi curled to her side, her face still set and purposeful. That was her downfall. When she turned to her side the shirt rode up, and her bare bottom was in full view, apparently she didn’t think panties were necessary. Max ran his calloused palms over her softly rounded flesh and felt the goose bumps rise. He ran his fingertips under the curve of one dusky cheek and then the other before leaning down and tracing the seam with his tongue. When he heard her whimper and felt her thighs shift in anticipation, he brought a heavy hand down hard on the exposed cheek.

  CRACK!

  He massaged the area he had punished and laid his naked form directly behind her and whispered in her ear,

  “Are you going to take off the shirt?”

  “Nope.”

  Grazing his lips down her exposed neck, he nipped on the juncture of her throat and shoulder. Hearing her slight inhale, he slowly traced her hip with palm until he reached her waist and gripped the offending shirt, pulling it taught against her heavy breasts. Without a hair’s breadth between them he could see the pebbled nubbins through the flimsy cotton and he tugged one, hard.

  “Are you going to be a good girl, Mrs. Santino?”

  “I have my principles.”

  “I see,” he continued as he slowly tugging the t-shirt up to expose her back so he could trace her spine. Reaching as far as her shoulder he pushed away from him essentially pushing her off-balance and onto her stomach. Crowding her body with his and using his weight to keep her still as he licked up her spine and finally nestled his hardening cock in the seam of her ass. In this position it was simple to slip his hands under her and begin to knead her normally sensitive breasts without mercy; pulling, twisting, tugging as he whispered in her ear.

  “I would give my life to protect this body. I want to feel these breasts pressing against me every night forever. I know you want that too. To have me cover you, worship you and fuck you till you cry. Will your principles do that for you?”

  Only by being so close could Max hear Fiona’s whisper.

  “No.”

  And he tore the shirt right out from under her.

  They didn’t make love that night. They didn’t have to. Max did fall asleep with the taste of his wife’s sweet honey on his lips and a promise to never bring any weapon against each other into the bedroom; even a piece of material. It was all the same thing. He dozed off, just as the sun began to creep through the window sheers; with his naked wife in his arms and the offending t-shirt balled up in the trash.

  ****

  Fiona rolled up her stockings in silence. She truly didn’t want to fight. But she did want to Max to accept that her livelihood was part of her, and it was important; just like IWorks was part of him. To manipulate her accounts without discussing his concerns with her and for such a flimsy reason; it was wrong. This was so out of character for him she knew it had to part and parcel to some larger issue. She just didn’t know what it was because he was keeping her in the dark. That hurt her heart. Not her pride; but her heart. She’d decided she was going to give out presents to the employees today since tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and the offices would be closed. She was hoping that would pick up her spirits a bit and maybe distract her from her troubles. Snapping garters to her stockings, she smoothed her hands down her legs and rose from the bed. Passing Max in silence she pulled out her black satin, pencil skirt with the kick pleat and simple white ruffled blouse. After tightening a black patent leather belt around her waist and adding her pearls, she stepped into her pumps.

  “I’ll be waiting downstairs with Bella to go to the sitter.” she said stiffly before leaving the bedroom. She could distinctly hear Max punch the wall.

  St. Joseph’s Cathedral

  Wednesday Evening – After Work

  “Ok, why and when did you agree to go to evening Mass with my mother, Fi?” Max questioned while adjusting his tie and collar in the rear view mirror.

  “Why, because God works miracles…and we need one if I’m going to get the real reason behind this slap in the face you gave me at work. Besides, your mother is going to be with us Christmas Eve so she won’t be able to go to midnight Mass. She called you this morning to see if you could take her but you were busy doing whatever secret things you do and she couldn’t get in touch, so she called me. ”

  “I told you this was not some personal insult, wife. What else do I need to tell you? Aren’t I the head of the household? If I say I’m protecting mine, then that’s what I’m doing. Now come on, you know how my mother gets when we make a scene and come in late.” Turning to the child in the back of car Max smiled at the golden cherub with bouncy curls, staring back at him. “Is daddy’s angel ready to see Nona and Jesus?”

  Smiling back at her father, Arabella Santino, tapped her pink booted feet excitedly against her car seat.

  “ ’Ona play. ‘Sus play.’

  “What’d she say?” Max asked Fiona, as she entered the back seat to take out the baby.

  “She wants to know if Nona and Jesus want to play.”

  “You know you can speak to me before I ask you something. We can have conversations and act like adults about this.” He snapped, sliding out of the luxury sedan and retrieving Bella from her mother’s arms.

 
“Thank you for giving me permission to speak to you and implying I am being childish. I suggest you keep your thoughts for the Lord, Max. I don’t want to hear them anymore.” She volleyed back, sliding her clutch under her arm and adjusting her wrap. “I see Nona’s neighbor, Ms. Rafferty, she gave her a ride. Nona must be around here somewhere...Oh, I see her now.”

  Standing in the church foyer, speaking to the priest was Angelina Santino. Dressed in a charcoal gray suit with matching pumps and a veiled felt hat jauntily angled on her coiffed silver tresses; the five foot-two Sicilian powerhouse was a font of wisdom with decidedly little filter.

  Turning to her children as they approached, Angelina clapped her hands together in happiness. “My sweetest lil girl, come to Nona.” Reaching her hands out Max gave his mother the baby in a smooth transition that was very much habit. He and Fi had long since decided that their lives had dropped drastically low on his mother’s totem pole of importance since the birth of their daughter, and he found it highly amusing. She’d spent years hounding him for grandchildren: interfering in his personal life, incessantly calling to get tabs on his latest girlfriends and being an all-around nudge. When his first engagement had fallen through she was a wonderful support system but didn’t hesitate to inform him that this would delay her grandmotherhood and she was disappointed.

  “Hi Ma, How are you? We’re fine. Thanks for asking.” Max teased while adjusting Bella’s dress over her diapered bottom.

  “Oh hush, Maxwell, don’t show out in front of Father Antonio, it’s ignorant.” She chided, kissing both he and Fiona’s cheeks.

  “Yes, Ma.” He said, smiling down at her indulgently. “Meet you in the normal, pew?”

  “Of course,” Angelina said before stopping at the main aisle running down the center of the church. She looked up at Fiona and Max, glancing from one face to another while jostling Bella in her arms. “Hmm, I don’t know what has you so constipated- looking Fiona, but I suggest you work out that animosity before Bella starts to feel your discomfort with my son. And you, Max, whatever it is you’ve botched up, handle it. It’s days before the birth of Christ and if you can’t explain it away or forgive it you need to eliminate it from your life posthaste, capisce?”