by E. L. Devine
Come For Me For Christmas
By E.L. Devine
Text Copyright © 2012
All Rights Reserved
In the spirit of the giving, and the taking, of the pleasures of the holidays…
At the end of a long, hard day, topped off by more goddamned north city snow, complete with idiot frigging asshole drivers who can't remember from one fucking winter to the next how to drive in a half inch of "the white stuff", about the last frickin thing you need when you walk in the door is to see your ex's number on the caller ID. Friggin' great. It's not enough that she'd crushed my hopes of finally finding a woman I'd want to be with indefinitely; now she has to twist the knife 'round a little more.
I'm in one of those moods where it'd be so easy to just ignore that she's even left her trace here and deal with it later. But then I figure, what the hell? My mood is shot anyway, better not to risk ruining a perfectly good day tomorrow by dealing with it when I'm in better spirits. So I hit the button, dial voicemail, go through the hoops that somehow with all this technology have yet to be simplified, and finally hear her voice speak out quietly from the technological abyss:
"Come to me for Christmas? Come to me for Christmas."
I'm already pissy so I don't really get it at first. And then I catch something in the voice. A timidity; a shyness; a coyness. It's not a question, it's an invitation.
"Come to me for Christmas…?"
It's really, "[Will you] come to me for Christmas….?"
And then, remembering her insatiable appetite, I get the rest of it. That second half isn't a demand; it's not a statement. It's an invitation, too:
"Come to me for Christmas."
No! Not come: "Cum."
I hit the button again, my mood lifting just slightly, just barely perceptibly improving, and I hear what I really didn't hear right the first time—the slightly seductive, invitational pouty whimper:
"Come to me for Christmas? Cum FOR me for Christmas."
Come to her? Do I? Open that whole mess up again?
Cum for her? Cum for her!?
So you want a little present from your good Ol' Nick, do you? Well Christ's alive and even Santa deserves his day. Maybe I'll just have to take this under consideration….
Well shit I'm a man and there's only so much reasoning a man is capable of doing when presented with an opportunity like that. I'm single with no real prospects for the holiday save for a few stops and egg nogs at my sister's house. Heck even the parents are out of the picture this year and Sissy's dinner invitation isn't an obligation, just something to do. Of course a roll in the manger hay doesn't negate any of those things, anyway. It's certainly not an obligation; it's just a lay. What promises to be a goddamned good lay all things considered and judging from past experience.
But what about my heart? My head?
What the fuck about it? She stomped on it and it took long enough to get over it, but I've finally reached that level of complacency and resignation, and I do believe I can honestly say that I could chance the call-back. Besides; my prospects for sex as of late, with the exception of a few cheap bar room thrills, hasn't been so jolly. A man needs to let off his steam.
In a lot of ways this actually seems the perfect middle ground. Someone known but that I'm not obliged to; one of the best fucks of my life bar-none so I know it's going to be good and I don't give a rat's ass about her maintenance, and not too much about her feelings. I'm not heartless but I'm realistic and the way I see it is that she sailed that ship. And let's not forget that she called me. That definitely lets me off the hook a little more.
I almost have myself convinced and then my mind wanders off a little further, remembering the look of her. Fucking gorgeous. And I know she hasn't lost it because all the do-gooders feel inclined to keep me updated on the evolution and continuity of her sexy good looks over the course of the past year or so.
And then I think of her scent. The real scent of a woman. The soft, light, powdery musk with a slight overtone of flowers and a hint of something edible…like, vanilla, maybe. Heh. Sounds like some snobby description of a fine wine but that's actually a good comparison for her….vintage sex and womanliness that you could just inhale, and drink it all in, with an overtone of modern class. A woman to fill all your senses.
I still remember everything about her…her willingness; her hunger; the curve of her hip rising from her smooth line as she lay naked on her side…the tumble of brown hair down her back to just below her shoulders…the clean, neat lines of her nicely trimmed 'other' hair.
I remember so well the swell of those beautifully mounded tits and the nicely-shaped nipples that were just always so happy to see me and my big dick coming towards them. Oh fuck how I remember her pushing them together and burying my cock between them, then dipping her chin and giving my cleft a little flick of her tongue. Fucking God how sexy that was, and how incredibly good that little act would feel.
Self-preservation check; am I falling too much into the idea of her? Think about iiit…nope. Safe. Just a trip down sex's memory lane; an appreciation of the offer on the table. Emotional attachment is in check; ability to see and appreciate the situation for what it is, check.
An already oncoming erection in my pants seals the deal. Let's do this. Let's make it a Merry homecuming of a Christmas!
I crack a beer, click over to Sports Center and decide to let her sweat it out a little. I'm sure she probably knows that I've remained unattached as well; less attached than she has and since she's stopped seeing that pain in the ass Rick the Dick this situation will also lend the added advantage of topping his holiday with the knowledge that he ain't got her. A little satisfaction is due me for listening to his gloating, I think.
So yeah the call back can wait. Sleep in nice and late tomorrow morning since it's Saturday. Let her chew her nails overnight and sweat out the step she's taken (dirty little habit of her, that—the chewing of the nails…which brings to mind a few other fun little dirty habits of hers….) and then when I get damn good and ready I'll inform her of my decision. It might not be an entirely warm and loving Christmas, but it sure is going to be an exciting one.
***
Late afternoon Saturday and apparently my little scheme is working out just about as predicted, with the exception of the fact that I didn't properly account for her level of want. There are no more messages but I have noticed a couple of calls and clicks when the voicemail picks up. Testing the line, are we, love?
Speaking of tests, before I take the plunge let's double-check our own state of well-being. Think about it….yep, no true emotion. I mean yeah I care about her somewhat, but no more than I care about a number of other old friends, lovers, and acquaintances.
I'm not a heartless bastard, just a jilted one and I am still capable of giving a care about a person without diving back into the depths of relationship despair. No, it was good while it lasted but I've worked through all that and it's really just a memory, not something I'm desperate to revive. I can't speak for her end of things; maybe she's hoping to lure me back in with the spirit of the season and some evergreen-scented Christmas Eve sex. Not my problem. I'm just the guest accepting my invitation to the party.
Nevertheless I am ready for a sweaty lay and a woman at my command. And rest assured that this time I won't be quite so concerned with the "giving" as I am the taking. You dotted that "i", honey; I just want to fuck.
So then let's get on with it. I've left her hanging long enough. Anything else is just a waste of a good weekend when I could be getting my rocks off and my head blown. Literally, I think….oh yeah she always gave good head.
I chuckle to myself and pick up the phone, full of hot sex memories and the imagined smell of he
r in my nose, click back through the call log, then let the number dial. I hold on for a few rings as the call connects and she finally picks up on her end. I know she knows it's me, and I hear her answer with slightly baited breath, no doubt wondering which way this is going to go. Being that it's only been a few minutes since her last hang-up, I imagine she takes that as a sign that I've been sitting here ignoring her calls.
That gives me an idea. Why let the little bitch off that easily? Why give it all up entirely right now? Why not play this out a little longer, and let her squirm a little more? I do so love it when she squirms….
"Hello," she says, not too loudly. It's a statement; a greeting, not a query. It's warm and inviting, but hesitant still. Clearly she's affirming her invitation and waiting for my answer.
"Hey." I say, nonchalantly; neutrally. "I got your message. Sounds like you'd like to see me again." I make it a statement, too. A fact. Not a question. Not pleading. Not looking for her validation.
She pauses, sounding a little unsure of how to reply. "Yeah," she says, "yeah, I really would."
Well that's not exactly insightful. I'll be goddamned if I'm about to beg her, though. I keep right at the front of my mind the fact that she called me. "What did you have in mind? You sounded a little….frustrated." I smile to myself at the thought of leading her on, and also at the thought of her being so hot and bothered that she needed to call up for a good dose of Christmas cheer.
A breath; a pause; "You know," she says, "I guess I am feeling kind of frustrated. 'Spirit of the Season' and all that…it has a way of tying you up in knots….Especially when I think about the things we were doing this time last year…"
She leaves the thought hanging in the air. The memory of us both naked on the floor in front of the fireplace at her place, where we all but lived together. My recollection of cranking up the heat a while before to make sure it was good and warm in there, practically a frigging sauna. The beauty of my plan working, her stripping and glistening with just a sexy shimmer of sweat. The mental picture of her arching her back, bare-ass naked from tip to toe, one leg outstretched and the other bent, just the way the models do, hair falling down her back…and the marathon of kinky sex on the plush living room rug off and on all night long, ending only with the morning and a need to regenerate with a hearty breakfast.
Snapping to, I realize what she's doing. I realize, too, that it is working. I snicker to myself, thinking what a crafty little wench she can be. But that is just the left-of-center behavior that has always made her such a good lover. And then I remind myself once more that two can play this game.
With a deep-throated chuckle into the mouthpiece, I ask her, "So what does that mean? That you want to see if we can relive those heady holidays?"
"Well," she purrs, "if you're not otherwise engaged, or you don't have other plans…."
Not wanting to let her think I'm desperate (and reminding myself that really I'm not), I tell her, "I do have other plans." And then I pause and let her hang. "But it's nothing I couldn't rearrange if I wanted." There. Let her figure out what that means. I'm under no obligation to explain myself to her.
"I just thought," she starts, "that….you know….we're two consulting adults…and we always had such a good time together…maybe you'd like to bring me a little of my favorite Christmas Cheer. Maybe we could cheer each other for Christmas." Then hesitatingly she adds, like an afterthought, but like one that's hung around in the back of her head, "And then, if you want, we can see where that takes us. But mostly, I'd just really like some of your style of company…you know the kind I like."
Yeah. I know what you like. Cock. And lots of it. In so many different ways. I start to smile as I renew my appreciation for that fact. Lonely little nymph; some things never change. Thank God some things never change.
Maintaining the cool vaguery that I've kept with her all along, I say, "well. If it's reliving the good old days of hot and horny sex, I guess I could make some time for you over the holidays. I owe myself a present."
"Mmmmm," she starts, "let me be your present. I'll say please if you want me to."
"Then say it. Use your manners. Be a good girl, and convince me that you really want me for Christmas this year."
"Oh yes, please. Pleeeaase, Nick. Let me have you for Christmas."
"Hm. Not good enough. There are a lot of needy little girls out there, and I'm just not sure you're needy enough. Maybe someone else deserves to have your present more than you. You did, after all, send your present back last year."
"Oh no! NO I've always loved THAT present! I mean…it's true I did give it up for quite a while, but I've never had a present as good as you, Nick! And I've been such a good girl not taking smaller presents from other guys, all because I wanted the real thing. Not some cheap imitation. The BIG gift only you have ever been able to give to me!"
"I don't know….I hope you haven't turned too good. Do you still know how to be a bad little good girl?"
"Oh yes. I still know all the ways you like me to be bad. I can be as bad as you want me to be."
"And can you be good enough to give me what I want for Christmas? Can you be good enough to do what you're told?" If we're going to do this, I figure, it's going to be on my terms. And there is nothing better than knowing ahead of time that I'm Christmas King and I'll be getting exactly what I want under the tree….or anywhere else I want it.
"I can be good. I can do anything you want me to. Why don't you just come on over and find out?"
As tempting as it is to drive my erection across town right now, I decide that no, I'm going to make a real game of this. I'll have my rock-hard rod inside her exquisite wet pussy soon enough; but right now I've got her just about where I want her, and I'm going to make sure she's really in this for me.
"Hm. No, no I can't do that just yet. You can have my dick soon enough, as long as you can prove that you're worthy of my gifts. Now let's take a little test. It's called, 'Just How Bad Do You Need Me?'"
"Oh that's easy, Nick. I know alllll the answers to that one! I need you so bad I can almost feel you now," she says, her breathing picking up weight and her voice getting more teasing, more fervent. But I don't want a tease. I want a beggar. Who ever said beggars were bad?
"Not good enough. I haven't been down your chimney in a long time. And you said you've behaved and haven't taken every little lay that comes your way. So what have you been doing to keep yourself in line? You must have had some satisfaction in all these months."
"Well yes, I have. I think you know that. I've had a few fucks here and there. But mostly I've been doing a lot of the work myself." And now she's putting on her pouty voice.
"Hmmm, sounds hard on a girl. But I know you're good at it. I've seen you. So what's the problem? What makes you more deserving than the next girl?"
"You're right; I can get myself off. But it's just never the same. I mean, it's okay, and it's even fun for in-between, or to get me warmed up. But there is nothing. Nothing. NO THING like fucking your dick. Like being fucked by your dick. You are so goddamned good and I need you so bad I can feel it right to the tips of my nipples!"
Ha ha! I think to myself. Now this begging is getting somewhere.
"In fact," she starts again, "you've got me so frustrated right now I don't even know what I'm going to do! My panties are getting so wet. God! I need something. Are you sure you can't come right now!?"
"I'll tell you what your good Old Nick is going to do. I think you've convinced me that you've been both good and bad enough to have earned my gift this year. I'm gonna give it to you, baby. I'm gonna give it to you hard. But first you're going to do something for me."
"Anything! I'll do anything for you if you'll just get here now and help me out! Oh do come FUCK me! I'll make it worth your trip!"
"I know you will. But I'm a little indisposed at the moment." I tell her, delighting in the fact that my "indisposition" consists only of my commando hard dick tenting my loose sweats as I sit back here on my couch,
teasing her…and thoroughly enjoying it.
Taking care not to totally give away my cool, I reach down and grab my cock, stroking it, and begin giving her my commands. I've never had phone sex with her before, but let's see just how far she'll go.
"I'm going to help you out of this little bind right now, and then I'll be over to see you later and really take care of business. So what you are going to do right now, is take that beautiful, manicured finger of yours, and reach down into those sopping wet panties."
"Oh, oooh. Okay. I'm doing it."
"Now, I want you to dip your middle finger into your wet, hungry cunt. Not too far, just a little way. How does that feel?"
"Ooh! It…it feels good," she says, panting. "Uh…but it's not enough. It's just a tease! I need more!"
"You can have more," I chide. "Take that wet finger now and work it around your clit. You can use two fingers if you want. I know you like it like that. Are you working your pearl, baby?" I'm barely able to keep control in my voice as I continue to jerk myself off to her heavy breathing and self-manipulation; but it's important that she knows who is calling the shots this go-round.
"Yes." Breath. Breath. Breath. "Ah yes I am. It feels really good. Oh but it just makes me so hot!"
"That's okay. That's good. You're going to get yours, you slutty little thing. Now, I want you to tell me: is it wet there? Are those pearly gates good and wet?"
"Uuuuuhhh ahhh. Yes. Yes, it's so wet. I've just been thinking about you too much. I'm so hot. So wet!"
"Good. Now I want you to keep working your clit with your thumb and put two fingers inside you. Just as far as you want to go. Feel how close and hot it is. You can tickle your touch hole if you want. I know a little attention to your ass can get you going, too. Now—fuck it, baby. Fuck it."
"Oh I'm fucking it! It feels good. Not like you, but good," she says, her breathing coming harder by the minute. "But what about you? Don't you want to play? Don't you want some of this? It's so warm and wet and good in here! I know your dick would just love it! And I would sooo love your dick!"