Savage Urges

by Poppy Deveaux

  “Don't you think we should be going home soon?” I prompted him in a whisper for some reason.

  “What? Well, why don't we wait until they put the star on top first?”

  “It's just... My feet are starting to get really tired...” He didn't seem to really pick up on or care about my desire to go, and I knew it would be useless to try and redirect his attention. He was just so dense these days, I thought...

  When he said nothing for a while longer, I then tried again with, “Well, could you just give me the keys and I'll go wait in the car?”

  “Yeah, here you go,” he said absently, jangling the keys my way, and I took him without thanking him and headed off for the safety of the car, feeling like my skin was crawling as though I might be sick to my stomach.

  “You alright?” Bryan asked some time later, when at last he'd made his way back to the car and found me slumped over on the seat.

  “Yeah, just a little bit tired,” I lied, “It's been a long day.” It had, actually, but that wasn't really the reason for why I was feeling the way that I was.

  Bryan pulled out onto the road, tires crunching lightly through the snow, as we set off in the direction of home. Frosty the Snowman was playing on the radio, and I was staring out the window at the sweeping flashes of Christmas lights as we passed, trying to let them numb my disquieting thoughts, but all they really did was work up a cynicism in me that people spent so much damn money on Christmas lights every year.

  But again, that wasn't the real source of my frustration.

  Deep down, it was because the young man I'd just seen with his cute little girlfriend at the Christmas tree lighting was from my church, and for weeks, maybe even months now, I had been harboring a secret crush on him. Zach was the kid's name, and there was so much wrong with the way I was feeling about all of this that I'm almost ashamed to admit all of it.

  For one thing, there was the fact that he was only nineteen years old- an entire decade younger than myself, the age at which Bryan and I had first met for the first time. It was almost insane, I knew, for a married woman to be falling for someone like that, and someone from my damn church no less.

  But God, how I wanted him, more than I wanted any of the other men I saw pass in and out of my life every day, tempting me, but never luring me in quite as thoroughly as this young stud. Christ, he was wonderful... To me he seemed tall for his age, and extremely well built, with muscles that could compete with my husband's and such a sexy manner about him that he seemed like the type of guy you would hang a naked poster of up on your wall. He had tattoos, I could tell, on at least his forearms and back which led me to fantasizing about just where else he might happen to have a few of them stashed. And every so often, during Sunday services, I would catch the little twerp looking back at me, staring with unmistakably seedy intentions in his eyes, and taking my breath away.

  Or at least I thought that was what it was...

  To even indulge this fantasy seemed perverse, to be so certain that this young buff hunk spent what was supposed to be his time with God gawking back at me across the pews, lusting after my forbidden fruits... I almost had to be imagining all of it, hadn't I? Was I really that desperate, that self obsessed, that I would believe that sort of lie to myself? And anyway, I knew it was wrong. It was wrong, it was wrong, it was wrong... If it wasn't a sin against the God that I wasn't all that sure about anymore, then I knew for certain it was a sin against my husband, and I felt terrible for allowing myself to fall so far down into my own cravings that I could consider breaking apart my marriage and my life for a damn twenty year old.

  But still, somehow, these glances exchanged in the most taboo of places, church, for crying out loud, they gave me hope, they invigorated me, they let me believe that I could still find the sort of excitement and fulfillment in my life that it seemed like I'd somehow lost in my marriage with Bryan.

  But then, to see him there in the town square... With that blonde little bimbo...

  It felt like a betrayal, a stab in the back, and I felt myself bubbling up with jealousy despite the fact that I had no rational reason for doing so in the least.

  I needed to get a damn hold over myself, to exercise even an ounce of self restraint, for Christ's sake.

  I didn't need to be mourning the loss of some imagined rendezvous with a damn teenager right now, I needed to focus on getting what Bryan and I had once shared together back on the track where it should have been. I wasn't going to let everything I'd built up with Bryan collapse so easily, and I would do everything in my power to make sure that what we had together remained intact and well for as long as humanly possible.

  The two of us got home, and he kissed me on the lips before getting out of the car. I smiled at him, thinking this might be a hopeful sign, and I sat in the car for a moment as he went inside, thinking about how I was going to go about fixing all of this.

  And God, was I horny...

  Sex, I thought, was surely one of the most direct ways of rekindling the spark in a marriage, and I shuddered at the realization that it had been almost two weeks since the two of us had had the opportunity to engage in intimacy together.

  This might be just what was needed in order to turn the heat back up on the oven of our lovin'...

  I stepped out of the car finally, pausing for a moment to scowl at the inflatable holiday decorations set up down the road, which I honestly hated with a passion. Then I continued into the apartment, heading for the kitchen pantry, reaching back to the top shelf to retrieve a shopping bag I'd been stashing up there to be whipped out just a little bit later on in the season, but which I figured might come in handier at this particular point in time...

  Pretty much as I'd predicted, Bryan had gone straight for the bedroom after kicking his shoes off, and was laying on the bed in his sweatpants, remote control on his crotch and his eyes transfixed on a football game unfolding on the big screen. “No, no, no!” he was yelling at someone or other doing the opposite of what he wanted them to, but then apparently the trajectory changed, and he began to pump his fist, “Oh, oh- Yes, yes!”

  I walked right past him with the bag in my hand, slipping into our bathroom, and closing the door behind me. I pulled my new outfit out of the bag, grinning at the thought alone of what it might look like on my body, and then I began to strip, eager to make the fantasy a reality in as timely a manner as possible.

  Through the thin walls of the bathroom, I could hear the sound of bells jingling, a Christmas commercial, I could tell, and it apparently set the gears into motion in my unsuspecting husband's brain. “Hey, honey,” he called to me, a little bit absentmindedly, “What do you want for Christmas, do you think? You still haven't mentioned anything you'd like?”

  And at just that moment, I emerged from the privacy of the bathroom, eyes blazing with lust, as I sauntered up toward him, immediately seizing his undivided attention.

  “I want you to climb deep into my chimney, and cram my tight stocking full of presents...”

  I savored the expression on his face as I sauntered over in his direction, his eyes sweeping from head to toe, seemingly unable to take it all in. I literally wore nothing but a ribbon for him- or, well, that and a santa hat. The ribbon was a single piece of lingerie, with straps wrapping around my shoulders and one running between my legs, with the main bow in the center to cover up my breasts, and the rest of my body fully bared for him to ogle and and to take in as he please.

  “Oh... Jesus...” he said, wide-eyed, but his voice just slightly lacking the intense degree of enthusiasm I might have hoped for. And then, disappointingly, he added, “I thought you were tired?”

  “I was... But now I just want some fluffy white marshmallows in my cocoa...” I leaned in, and began to plant wet, smearing kisses across the side of his face and neck, sweeping my hand along his body, and tenderizing up to just the point where I wanted him.

  “Oh, well uh... You know, the game's on and everything, and... Like you said, it has been kind of a lon
g day...”

  “Oh, come on now... I just want to suck on your candy cane for a little bit... Is that too much to ask?” He had better get on board with me this time, because I was running out of Christmas-themed innuendos. Luckily, though, I brought my hand down to his sweatpants, and could feel him hardening up nice and plump for me, indicating his willingness to participate in my reindeer games.

  I looked up at him, and smiled lusciously, and his expression told me loud and clear that I'd convinced him to let me have my way with him.

  I climbed down along the bed, peeling his sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs, and letting his cock spring up into the air, swollen and ready to be serviced. I brought my face into him, and slowly let my tongue drip along his shaft, licking him from tip to taint, and then bringing my mouth to his scrotum, nibbling on him a while, loving the expression on his face as I did so.

  Now that I had him warmed up, I brought my face back up over him, and spat onto his engorged purple tip. My saliva dribbled down along him, and was promptly followed by the melting of my lips around his erection, fully encasing him, and swallowing him all the way downto his base. I felt him touch down against the back of my neck, and slowly I pulled my face back up, up, up along him, building up what must have been an ungodly suction for him. Then I snapped my lips away, and he shuddered, as I slowly brought my face back down into his lap.

  He sighed heavily, leaning his head back on the pillow, and closing his eyes with satisfaction. I began to bob my head rhythmically against him, my cheeks compressed and my eyes sparkling up at him as I sucked and sucked, twisting my tongue expertly around his shaft, and the white cottonball of my Santa hat jumping around with every pumping movement I made. I began to gag myself slightly on him, knowing he would love the sound of it, and my sucks on him getting more and more enthusiastic as I considered the notion that this might actually be working.

  But then, after no time at all, he came. In my mouth.

  This, in itself, wasn't a problem- I actually enjoyed this on certain occasions, thought it an especially intimate act, and therefore felt no reservations in the least about swallowing him when the occasion demanded it.

  The issue was the fact that I had intended oral sex as merely a precursor to full on intercourse, and the fact that he'd unleashed himself so soon inside me indicated, on no uncertain terms, that he had no intentions of putting any more effort than simply lying there and allowing me to suck on his cock.

  Once he was drained, he sighed contentedly, and sat back up against the headboard of the bed. “Oh God, that was wonderful. Thanks babe, you're the best...” And then, looking back up, he caught sight of the TV once again, and added quickly, “Ooh the game's back on,” then tucked his cock back into his sweatpants, and carried on with his viewing as though he'd never been interrupted in the first place.

  In a brief surge of anger, I toyed with the notion of spitting his load back on him, but decided better of it, and downed it instead, then slipped defeatedly into the bathroom once again to gargle some mouthwash, and change out of my ridiculous ribbon outfit.

  As far as I could tell, our marriage was as good as unsalvageable...

  Chapter 3

  Suffice it to say, I was hardly in the holiday spirit over the course of the next few days. My life and my marriage both felt as though they were at a dead end, with dense Bryan scarcely batting an eye at my efforts at rekindling our spark, and the already taboo and unrealistic goal of bedding Zach seeming more impossible than ever.

  I didn't know why I was putting so much stock in him, anyway, really... What the hell would a fling with a nineteen year old amount to for me, anyway, beyond just quick and dirty sex? It wasn't like the two of us would have anything in common or be able to discuss any sort of shared interests, being in entirely different phases of our lives as we were.

  I just needed something to get me through the day, and it didn't seem like much of anything was presenting itself. Hearing all those upbeat Christmas songs all the time didn't especially help matters either, out of touch as they were with my blue and unwavering mood, but I knew I couldn't reasonably expect the whole world to stop and change its plans just because I wasn't feeling in the holiday spirit.

  I found myself thinking a lot about what my life might have been like if I'd pursued my modeling career like I'd wanted to at eighteen, instead of letting myself be turned off from it like I'd allowed my mother to convince me of. Maybe I would have discovered my own sexual maturity at an earlier stage instead of tying myself down to this one individual man so early on, and having everything thereafter just become a slow, sad progression into a failed marriage. And, who the hell knew, maybe it would be like my mother said, maybe I would have even turned out a lesbian. I could imagine it.

  Seeing all those models in department store Christmas circulars began to make me sick after a while, as I kept sadly imagining myself among their ranks, posing on the page and getting paid big bucks for doing so, instead of going about a dull, day-to-day life with nothing to look forward to, really, and things just getting less and less fulfilling all the time.

  And then, Sunday rolled around, the day I'd been dreading since the Monday that Bryan and I had gone out to look at the lighting of the Christmas tree. Bryan couldn't be with me at services today because of work, a fairly regular occurrence these days, and I was left to sit there alone, to stare at the back of Zach's head several rows ahead of me, and waiting for him to look back, to acknowledge me as he always used to, or at least give some semblance of a clue as to what the hell he thought the dynamic between the two of us was now.

  “As we enter into the Christmas season, we must remember that every Sunday is the Lord's day, and celebrating Him should not be something that takes place only once every year.” The preacher spoke in his dull monotone, delivering the same Christmas-only-Christian-shaming sermon he did almost every year around this time, and the message not one I thought was particularly relevant to me or my life. Something about adultery, maybe, or covetousness might have hit home a little bit more, as I squirmed with greater and greater discomfort in my seat, transfixed on the back of Zach's head, thinking surely he would at least look back in my direction at some point, and wondering what the hell the absence of the hot little chick I'd seen him with in the pew beside him could possibly mean...

  I was beginning to sweat, to cough, to fidget, to make a scene...

  I couldn't keep sitting here...

  All of the sudden, I found myself stumbling out into the aisle, and fleeing the auditorium as quickly as I could, making a run for the foyer, and keeping my eyes on the back of Zach's head as I left- still not a single sing of interest on his part.

  I made my way swiftly down the hall past a Christmas tree and a bulletin board decorated with paper plate snowflakes, to the church's unisex bathroom, and closed the door behind me. I filled my hands up with water until it spilled through my fingers, then leaned in, and splashed the cool stuff all over my face, trying to cool off, trying to get my thoughts in order, and shaking as I gazed at my reflection, wondering what the hell it was that was wrong with me?

  I'd never before had anything that I would quite consider a nervous breakdown in the past, but I was pretty sure that whatever the hell this was more or less fit the bill. I dabbed my face off with a paper towel, and began to take deep breaths, telling myself that I was behaving ridiculously, and that I needed to get a hold of myself.

  I stared long and hard into my eyes, focusing as hard as I could, thinking I could surely get a handle on all of this if I gave it my all, until at last I found myself being reassured by my own calm visage, and a smile swept wide across my lips.

  I really believed it now. I could get through this. I would get through this. I had to...

  And then I opened the bathroom door.

  And there was Zach... And God that look in his eyes...

  My breath caught in my throat, and I tried to convince myself that this was anything in the world other than precisely what i
t was. “Oh... Um... Hi... Zach...” I stammered, my composure lost once again, and I looked just slightly past him, as though indicating a false desire to get past him.

  Instead of stepping back, though, he moved forward, stepping just into the bathroom with me, and completely obstructing my way. I paused for a moment, breathless, unblinking, and then, throwing caution to the wind, I stepped back, so that he could step all the way inside.

  He smiled at me.

  I just continued to gape, dumbfounded.

  He closed the door, and locked it shut, sealing the two of us in together.

  He was on me.

  I could scarcely believe this was happening, and a large part of me still believed it was fantasy, visions of his sugar plums dancing inappropriately in my head. But as I felt his touch, and tasted his young lips, and felt my body practically crushed in his strong embrace, the doubt began to drain away, and I was left stunned, mesmerized, and absolutely ecstatic at what the two of us were doing.

  God I wanted him, and my every movement showcased this as clear as day as we made out like newlyweds. My tongue pushed deep into his mouth, and though he tried with some success to keep up, I was somewhat proud of the fact that I was just slightly overpowering him, showing him the ropes with my few extra years of experience, and enjoying the fruits of his young, juicy flesh to the fullest.

  That isn't at all to say he didn't know what he was doing, though. He sure as hell did, and he loved me like a woman should be loved in that bathroom, from my head to my toes. His hands slid all across my body, feeling, clutching, grasping, clinging for dear life, and filling me up with such intense sensations that I could hardly stand it. I loved feeling his tremendous cock pressing up against me in my Sunday dress, which, then, he promptly slipped off of me, yanking the fabric away with a tremendous ease, as even I had difficulty in fumbling out of it from time to time myself.