by Various
Christmas Carol
Heather Towne
‘Please, sir, can you spare something for a poor, hungry woman on this Christmas Eve?’
The man stopped on the sidewalk and looked down at the woman huddled up in her coat in the alleyway. The snow was coming down heavily in London town, the temperature plummeting with the fall of darkness. ‘I can give you nothing, madam,’ he replied coldly, bundling his muffler tighter about his neck. ‘On this eve or any other.’
Carol Christian smiled shyly in the gloom, then lifted her skirts to reveal a slender, well-turned ankle. The creamy-white smooth skin glowed in the night.
The man’s dark eyes widened, and he licked his lips. ‘Weelll …’
Carol lifted the other side of her skirts and put that foot forward, revealing another young, slim, shapely ankle that gleamed up at the man.
His eyes flicked back and forth along the snow-encrusted sidewalk. There were still some shoppers about, store windows lit up with festive displays of toys and goodies and geese. The man touched the brim of his top hat and said, ‘You can come along home with me, if you like. I may have something for you there.’
‘At least we’ll warm up, eh?’ Carol responded, grinning shrewdly.
*
She knew all about Lord Pickwuzzit from her time as a scullery maid at the Fitzgully household, where she’d befriended the charwoman who had once scrubbed Pickwuzzit’s floors, until the woman had made off with his bed curtains one haunting night. Martin Pickwuzzit was a tall, hard-featured man of forty and five years, director of a mercantile business that had prospered mightily with the opening up of trade overseas. He lived an outwardly frugal life in a two-storey stone side-by-side on Grub Street, all by himself. He’d had a partner once, and a wife, but they were both gone. It was rumoured that the man kept a fortune in gold in his humble abode. It was also widely rumoured that his one and only vice, to go along with no discernible virtues, was that he regularly enjoyed ladies of the evening.
Carol hurried to follow after him as he strode resolutely through the thickening snow, elbowing his way past singing street urchins and stepping over blind men’s dogs. He didn’t slacken his pace until he reached the door of 227, and then he drew a large brass key out of his waistcoat pocket and inserted it into the lock.
He glanced briefly but intently for a moment at the rather ornate door knocker before turning the key and opening the heavy wooden portal. Carol stepped lively to follow after him, out of the cold gloom of the night and into the cool gloom of the house. Martin slammed the door behind them and locked it.
‘What say we shed some light on the subject, eh?’ Carol remarked, trailing Martin into the darkened living room.
He grunted, struck a match and lit the single candle standing on the mantelpiece.
‘And a fire, sir?’ she asked politely. Then, when the man grumbled but did nothing more, added, ‘You’ll be able to see me that much better, sir. It’ll do my body good to be nice and warm.’
He glanced at her, then bent down and picked up a tin coal scuttle, dropped a few fragments of coal into the fireplace and lit them. A dim glow shed but a little heat and light on the room. ‘Now, let’s see the merchandise.’
Carol grimaced at the calculating thrust of the comment. But she began to slowly disrobe, stripping off her coat and bodice and skirt and petticoats and corset and pantaloons and stockings and shoes. And while Martin stared transfixed at what she was doing, her own sapphire-blue eyes darted about the room, searching for anything that looked valuable, or looked like it might hide something golden.
A few minutes later, she was stark naked, her clothing strewn about her bare feet. Martin’s eyes blazed with excitement. Hers were dulled with disappointment. ‘Think I’ll be worth your while, sir?’ she enquired listlessly, having discovered nothing but the sheer dreariness of the sparsely furnished room.
Martin regarded Carol’s lush body, her pink-cheeked, pretty face and rounded shoulders and full breasts and narrow waist and flared hips, her shapely legs that culminated at the apex in a triangle of dark fur that hid her sex. His trousers bulged with approval, his tall brow beaded with moisture. ‘You’ll do,’ he stated bluntly.
Carol smiled. She cupped her breasts, hefting the pale, blue-veined masses and fingering the pointing pink tips, and spread her legs to more fully reveal her sex. Her curvaceous body shone in the candle-and firelight.
‘I’m convinced. You don’t have to make a show of it,’ Martin commented dryly.
The smile trembled to stay upright on Carol’s plush cherry lips, anger flashing in her eyes. She walked towards the man, jiggling in all the right places and in all the right ways that make a male’s blood boil like pudding singing in the copper.
And despite her repugnance at Martin’s brusque, businesslike manner, and his reputation, she had to admire his brutally handsome face and striking eyes, the thick, curly black hair that covered his well-shaped head. So that despite the coolness of the room and his attitude, her loins warmed and moistened and her nipples distended. And the sight of the huge, hard cock he pulled out of his unbuttoned trousers made her just a little weak in the knees.
She strolled up to him and grasped his tremendous erection. The thing pulsed with heat and power in her soft, warm hand, a slight flush spreading over the man’s high cheeks. ‘How do you fancy it, sir?’ she breathed in his face, stroking his cock.
‘Our transaction shall be a mutual, though limited, partnership. For I’m hungry, as well as aroused.’
She didn’t understand the meaning of his words – until he suddenly dropped onto the threadbare carpet before the fireplace, on his back, and pulled her down on top of him, faces to genitals, in the rather risqué sixty-nine position. Carol yelped when she felt his cold, strong fingers dig into the ripe flesh of her buttocks; then she screamed when his hot, wet tongue speared through her downy fur and pouted petals and into her pussy proper.
‘My, but you are the hungry one!’ she exclaimed, the man licking urgently at her slit, bathing her pussy up and down with his taste buds and saliva, his hard-lapping tongue.
She gripped and lifted his mighty erection, stuck out her glistening red tongue and swirled it around his meaty hood. He tremored beneath her, betraying his emotion. His tongue jumped onto her clit and teased even more engorgement out of the already blossomed bud. Meanwhile she poured her lips over his cockhead and sank her head down, consuming almost three-quarters of the pulsating pole in her wanton wet mouth.
But it was she that moaned again, her pleasured voice vibrating all along his cock, as he knifed his entire long, bladed tongue into her pussy and writhed it around, thrusting it back and forth. The man ate her out, his appetite not exaggerated, sucking and chewing on her flaps, penetrating and pumping her to the sexual core, mouthing her swollen hard button. She sucked on his cock with equal vigour, just to keep up.
It was no easy task – his cock bulging her cheeks and bumping up against the back of her throat – but it was a pleasant one, made all the more joyous by the man lapping at her pussy again, hard-stroking her slit with a voracious passion that flattened her fur to her flaps. She bobbed her head up and down, her lips sealed tight to the thick shaft, mouth pulling right up to the bloated cap and then biting in and plunging back down again. Here was meat enough for any half-starved woman, to be sure.
Then Carol suddenly halted in her sucking, her teeth sinking into Martin’s cock halfway down. Because she suddenly felt Martin shift backwards beneath her, felt the man’s strong tongue surge between her buttocks to stroke her bum crack sure and sound. She shuddered, surprised and even further delighted by the man’s wanton appetite.
His fingers spread her cheeks and his tongue glided up and down between. Carol quivered with delight, her smooth, sensitive bum cleft shimmering with the stroke of Martin’s bold tongue, the man fanning fire in her backside like he’d already done in her frontside with his bawdy licker.
She’d never had her butt cleavage so
lapped before. The sensations were strange yet exquisite. She slid her lips off Martin’s cock and tilted her head up, her mouth hanging open, basking in the breathtakingly intimate ass petting.
She knew she had to reciprocate – just as dirtily. She knew she had to, and she knew she wanted to. So she dropped his slickened cock, grabbed his hairy sack, darted her head forward and down and swallowed Martin’s balls in one lusty gulp.
He quivered, his cock smacking her in the chin, his tongue lodging between her cheeks. Carol mouthed the man’s testicles around in her maw, pleased with her action and his reaction, pleasured by the feel of the great nuts in her mouth. She hollowed out her cheeks and flared her nostrils, sucking on the sperm-laden pouch, eliciting a grunt against her wettened crack, a tongue rimming round her rosebud.
Martin was swirling the wet, flexible tip of his tongue around and around her tiny pink pucker, erotically answering back for her ball-basting. Carol closed her eyes, her bum and body buzzing with the wicked sensations, her tongue juggling the meaty marbles in her mouth. And then her eyes burst open, as Martin’s hands pulled her buttocks far apart, blooming her rosebud, and his ruddy licker actually penetrated her anus to a head-spinning depth of two inches or more.
She almost choked on his sack, rotating her bum on that warm, writhing pink snake inside her ass. It only lasted a half-minute or so, but it was worth every second.
Martin’s tongue evacuated her chute almost as quickly as it had entered, leaving glistening gape behind. Carol disgorged his balls, grabbed his cock again and sucked on the surging length as he lapped her sodden pussy once more, both of them realising that release was all but imminent.
The candle had burned down not a tenth of an inch and the coals were still red when Carol quivered and gasped amidst her ardent cocksucking, Martin’s manly bum and muff-work bringing orgasm brimming to her sensitised pussy. She scraped his shaft with her teeth, bobbing her head wildly, body and brain shimmering with sensual delight. She hardly felt his slight buck, the spurt of hot salty semen against the back of her throat. She shuddered and swallowed with sheer joy, the street lady and business lord united as one.
For all of the man’s legendary thriftiness, he gave generously of ecstasy, as good as he got.
Martin tossed a half-crown at Carol as she was dressing and handed her a frozen joint of mutton. ‘Something to feed your purse and your stomach,’ he said. Then he ushered her to the front door of his house and opened it.
‘Oh, my, I’ve got a run in my stocking!’ she said, lifting her skirts like the first time.
He looked down, and she clubbed him over the head with the mutton.
*
‘I couldn’t get nothing out of him. Well, information, I mean. Couldn’t even get a good look around the place. He was all business.’
‘Aye,’ Bill Chizzlewick grunted, glancing suspiciously up at Carol, as he dragged the unconscious body of Martin Pickwuzzit down the hallway and into the living room. He left it to lie on the carpet in front of the fireplace.
The big man straightened and brushed snow off his broad shoulders. ‘Too busy to do much poking around, I bet. Well, now that I’m in, I’ll just have to ransack the place. I’ll find his gold, you can be sure of that. I’ve got a nose for it.’ He picked up the candlestick and swatted Carol on the bum as he walked by. ‘Didn’t I find you then, girl?’
As her confederate tumbled the house, Carol sat in the one comfortable chair in the living room watching Martin repose on the floor. She’d hoped to spend the night and pump the man thoroughly for his hiding place, or find it on her own while he slept. That way, she could’ve cut Bill out of his share of the loot he’d done nothing to earn other than put her up to it. But she’d had to change plans and take action when Martin had concluded his ‘business’ with her so quickly, and bring Bill into the picture.
She heard the big clumsy man curse upstairs, and something thump upon the floor. What a way to spend Christmas, she thought, folding her hands in her lap and sighing.
Soon, Carol was furtively rubbing her pussy with one hand, fondling a breast with the other, reliving the brief but intense interlude with the now unconscious man on the floor. She was just getting good and warm again, full of Christmas cheer, when Bill stormed down the stairs and into the living room.
‘Damn it all anyway! I can’t find a bloody thing worth so much as a farthing in this dreary lot!’ he bellowed, stomping across the carpet and kicking at Martin.
Carol’s hands flew off her intimates and she jumped to her feet. ‘Maybe he doesn’t actually have any gold.’
‘Him, with a thriving business for so many years!? Come off it!’ Bill kicked Martin again, and the man stirred. ‘I’ll just have to get him to spill his secret the hard-knuckled way, I will.’ He clenched his thick fingers into two huge fists, as Martin’s eyes blinked open.
‘All right, you,’ Bill snarled, dragging the dazed man up off the floor by his lapels. ‘Time to spin old Bill a yarn made of golden thread. Otherwise, you won’t have the brains left to count up to –’
Carol thudded the mutton joint against the back of Bill’s head. The man dropped like a poleaxed ox.
She helped Martin to his feet and assisted him in dusting off his well-used clothing. ‘The big brute attacked you when I opened the front door. He claimed you had some gold hidden hereabout in your home. Made me stay quiet as he ransacked the place.’ She fluttered her long lashes, blue eyes glittering with brine.
‘Mmm. I thank you, I’m sure,’ Martin replied. Then he bent down, rolled Bill over, hooked his hands under the snoring man’s beefy arms and dragged him out to the front door.
Carol opened the door for him, and Martin dumped Bill back into the snow-drifted gutter whence he’d come. ‘You shall be rewarded for your good deed,’ Martin commented wryly to Carol.
The reward consisted of a hunk of stale bread, a chunk of hard cheese and a glass of rum punch. Carol consumed all three voraciously, gazing across the rickety dining-room table at Martin and forcing a smile onto her lips.
‘And now, dessert,’ the man announced, taking Carol’s hand and pulling her to her feet.
He led her up the creaking stairs, along a chilly corridor, into his slumber chamber. This room was as spartan as the rest of the house; the bed, when he whisked back the green bed curtains, small, lumpy and iron-framed. Martin rapidly disrobed, and Carol quickly followed suit.
She stared briefly at the man’s naked body. Wiry muscles stood out on his arms and legs, his waist trim, chest matted with dark curly hair like his head and groin. His skin was pale and unblemished, luminescent, like hers, nipples just as pink. She reached out to touch his chest, bury her fingers in the whorls of hair, but he roughly pushed her down on the bed and mounted her.
Such a man wasn’t given to cooing and coddling, or fondling beforehand, Carol reflected ruefully, feeling him spear his cock into her pussy. He was a hard man, his erection now fully re-formed as it stuffed inside her and sank all the way home.
‘Yes!’ Carol murmured, revelling in the overfull sensation. She grabbed Martin’s curly head and brought his full red lips mashing down upon hers, kissing him, darting her tongue into his mouth.
His large hands found her large breasts and mauled them, as his pumping hips sent his cock churning within her, stretching and stoking her. She moaned into his face, twirled her tongue around his, hooked her legs around his waist and dug her heels into his clenching buttocks.
He shoved her breasts up and his head down and mouthed first one of Carol’s stiffened nipples, then the other. Ardently if awkwardly, he kissed, licked and sucked her jutting, buzzing breast-tips, pistoning her cunt with his cock. She twisted her head about on the flimsy pillow, her dark hair flying, breath coming in gasps, feeling the man’s mouth and hands and cock with her very being.
The bed violently creaked, the iron bedstead grating against the wall. Martin’s buttocks clenched faster and faster under Carol’s spurring heels, his cock pounding into
her pussy. He slammed her heaving tits together and bit into both of her rubbery nipples at once.
Then, abruptly, he pulled back out. ‘You won’t deny me some rear-door pleasure as well, will you?’ he gasped in Carol’s face.
She stared at the man, uncertain exactly what he desired. He quickly showed her in no uncertain terms, digging his fingers into a tin of grease that stood on the bare wooden bedstand, then slathering his cock with the concoction, plunging his slickened digits in between Carol’s buttocks and scrubbing. She jumped and yelped, the grease cool, the bloated hood of Martin’s cock squishing up against her bum pucker hot.
She had neither voice nor time to protest. Martin’s huge cap burst through her ring and bulged her anus, followed breathtakingly quickly by inches and inches and inches of the man’s hardened shaft. Carol’s eyes almost popped out of her head with the fearsome anal pressure, her pretty face flushing red. There was so much, stuffing her in a sexhole unused to stuffing. Martin was stretching her like never before.
He grasped and sucked on her breasts again, pumping his hips and cock just as vigorously as earlier, only up her ass now rather than her pussy. Carol clung to his neck with her arms and to his waist with her legs, rocking to the thrusting beat of his dong in her bung. She felt like she’d split right open, right down the crackline, the powerful plugging sounding deep in her soul. It was wickedly weird, unwholesomely wanton, yet really and truly wonderful once she got used to it.
Carol’s bum and pussy and body burned. She clutched Martin’s curls and dug her heels into his thumping buttocks, urging him to drill her violated anus harder and faster. But the awesome pressure and intensity were obviously even more onerous for him than for her, and he couldn’t maintain them long. He had to abruptly pull out of the vice-tight, oven-hot pink tunnel of her bum and plow back into the silken pink sleeve of her pussy.
He hardly missed a stroke, thrusting into Carol’s sex again at a furious pace with his battering-ram cock. She was dizzied, dazzled by it all, the searing of her chute, the sudden shift from back to front. They pounded together at a fever pitch, both primed for raucous explosion.