by S. E. Law
Once I was nude, I did a little jiggle, making my breasts bounce.
“What now, Daddy?” I cooed. “What do we do?”
With gentle hands, he guided me into the swing, strapping me into place. That was foreseeable. But then he lifted my legs and fastened cuffs around knees, tying them up so that my pulsing kitty was pulled forwards and into view.
“Goodness!” I exclaimed. “Are we really doing this?”
“Yes, baby. This is the best way for us to have deep penetration,” he growled. “You’ll see.”
Pretty soon, I was tied up in a ball of sorts except that my sweetest spots were exposed and totally at his pleasure. To my shame, my kitty juiced and pulsed with anticipation, the scent of female honey wafting through the air.
“That’s my pretty girl,” Patrick growled, staring at my sopping slit with satisfaction before running a finger through my folds. I almost howled with the sensation because it felt so amazing. He grunted and chuckled, ready to do it again.
But I became a wanton woman. I began to beg him for it.
“Please,” I panted. “I want it so bad. I need it. Give it to me.”
He chuckled again, revealing that massive iron rod, and then he pulled me back on the swing before letting it sway forward, and spearing me with the huge stick in one swift motion.
“Unnnnh!” I screamed as electricity wracked my frame. I was stuck on the huge candy cane, unable to move, and my body pulsed with desire.
“Shhh,” he hushed. “It’s going to be fine.”
With the next sway of the swing, I was pulled off his rod before being slammed onto it again, the heat piercing deep inside.
“Ohhhhh!” I wailed. “Oh my god!”
And on and on it went, until we were both dizzy with pleasure, enjoying one another’s bodies intimately. I almost passed out, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as my body soared to ecstatic heights of pleasure.
It’s been like this again and again too. Patrick knows so many ways to please me, and I love being with him, whether doing something cuddly and fun like watching TV together, or practicing all the different positions of the Kama Sutra.
But now, Patrick has promised to take me to the Festival of Lights and I’m really excited because it’s a wonderful sight to see. There’s a street in our town where all the houses go crazy before Christmas with holiday decorations. The neighbors don’t just string a couple windows with lights. Instead, they go all out, meaning that entire houses are wrapped in blinking Christmas lights, with Santa on the roof in his sleigh and mechanical reindeer pawing at the air with their hooves. I feel a little bad because their electricity bills must be horrendous during the months of November and December. Plus, I heard that the neighborhood is really strict about participation. When a potential new person is about to move in, they ask that the new neighbor sign a contract promising to do up their house in thousands of watts of Christmas decorations.
But I like it. Even though I’ve lived in this town my whole life, I like to go every year to see, and it always makes me feel excited and happy for Christmas. Happiness floods my frame, and I fluff my curls in the mirror, smiling widely. I look happy, sated, and like a woman in love.
There’s a ding-dong on my parents’ door, and I skip down the stairs while pulling on my ski jacket, hat and mittens.
“Hi,” I say, flinging the door open before stepping outside. “It’s cold isn’t it?”
Patrick looks so handsome. He’s wearing a navy puffer jacket that highlights the blue of his eyes, and jeans that sit just so on his hips. The tail of a plaid shirt peeks out from beneath the hem of his jacket and I giggle.
“Are you going for the lumberjack look?” I ask. “Or how about a mountain man?”
He chuckles, slinging an arm around my shoulder as we head to his car.
“Lumberjack, definitely,” he growls. “How’d you like to see my big axe, pretty girl?”
I giggle as he opens the car door for me, and slip in. When he’s set on his side of the car, I turn to him.
“I’d love to see your axe, Mr. Lumberjack. Care to show it to me?” I coo with sparkles in my eyes.
And to my delight, despite the fact that we’re parked in front of my parents’ house, Patrick unzips his fly with a sly grin and pulls it out. Of course, my mouth goes dry because he’s absolutely huge, even in the cold. That enormous ten incher is thick around the base and as I watch, it straightens in his lap, begging to be licked.
“Oh I want it,” I breathe, already leaning forward and ducking my head. But Patrick is quick. He slips it back in and zips up within seconds, shooting me a knowing look.
“I know my little girl likes Daddy’s candy cane, but you’re not getting it right now. We can’t do it in front of your parents’ house because that would be asking for it. Plus, have you been a good girl for Santa this year? I hope so because we’re going to see St. Nick now.”
With that, he revs the car and we’re off to the neighborhood where the Festival of Lights takes place. I’m disappointed but happy too because I know Patrick will share his huge tool with me later tonight. With another smile, I seize my lovers’ hand as we drive, and he turns to smile at me in turn. My heart flowers and bursts open because never have I been so elated. I’m with the man I love, and this date is going to be wonderful.
20
Patrick
Maisie is so innocent that I have to be careful because I don’t want to get her in trouble. She’s sweet and true, and while I love that about her, there’s also an air of girlish naivete to her. For example, I thought she was going to go down on me right there while we were parked in front of her parents’ home. Sure, it was already 8 p.m., but it wasn’t dark yet. As a result, anyone could have seen us, potentially creating a sticky situation
Plus, I don’t think that Maisie realizes this, but most parents don’t want their daughters to marry a personal trainer. It’s for good reason because we don’t have stable jobs. We’re essentially freelancers, working on an “as needed” basis most of the time. As a result, our income is uncertain, and most of my compatriots aren’t saving for retirement or putting money aside for their kids’ college expenses. We’re lucky just to be living paycheck to paycheck most of the time.
But my situation is a little different because I own Mr. P’s CrossFit. As a small business owner, I’m able to purchase regular health insurance, and I also have a recurring stream of revenue from the gym memberships I sell, and from the trainers who pay me a percentage of their fees to see clients at my gym. Not only that, but the entrepreneurial bug has gotten me and I’m looking into starting my own health supplements brand. Why not? Nutrition is very much a part of my work, and supplements are a way to make sure you’re getting the right vitamins, minerals, and other compounds needed in order to lead a healthy life.
But for now, from the outside it probably looks like I’m a small business owner hanging by a thread economically. I still see clients one-on-one, so people don’t realize that I’ve moved onto becoming a business mogul. Women that I’ve dated don’t mind, but their parents are generally wary, and I can understand why. Moms and dads want their daughters to marry well, and a guy who’s in the process of building a business doesn’t have a lot of spare cash around.
But that’s one of the things that I adore about Maisie. She doesn’t care about money, which is obvious because she works as a vet tech, which pays a pittance. On top of that, my woman is saving money to donate to the ASPCA because she loves animals and cares about their welfare. Plus, she’s okay with doing cheap things like seeing the Festival of Lights, which is essentially free. There are no fancy dinners or Broadway shows in our simple life together; there’s only love, happiness, and mutual adoration.
Which is why when I pull up to the corners of Tremont and Edgeworth, I have a special smile for her.
“Ready?” I ask.
Maisie is staring out the car window, her mouth agape in awe of the flashing lights up and down Tremont.
I smile and get out to help her out of the car. She grabs my hand before stepping onto the slippery sidewalk, and I let my gaze graze her figure with appreciation. She’s put on weight since we began our personal training sessions, and it looks amazing. She’s full-figured and sassy, and her tight jeans hug those wide hips. Her generous breasts are concealed beneath a heavy woolen peacoat, but that’s okay. I know I’ll see them later tonight.
But then she wobbles on the ice and grabs my arm.
“Steady there,” I chuckle. “You okay?”
Her face is flushed and the tip of her nose a bit red.
“Yeah, I guess I’m just a little off balance, that’s all. Plus, I felt a little sick last night. I hate to say it, but I think it was Mom’s stew. There was something about those beef cubes that didn’t agree with me.”
I chuckle and tuck her hand safely into my elbow.
“Stick with me, pretty girl, and you’ll be fine.”
She giggles and hugs my arm tightly.
“I know, because you’re my hero, Patrick.”
My heart expands. I love being this woman’s hero, and I’d ride through a desert to conquer dragons if that’s what it takes to keep Maisie by my side. We wander towards the lights and my love gasps again, her eyes shining with awe.
“Oh my gosh, look at that!” she squeals. One neighbor has done up their lawn like a Mad Teacups ride except that the teacups are Christmas-themed as they rotate around the lawn. Santa’s in one of the teacups, as well as a reindeer, an elf, a snowman, and Mrs. Klaus.
“That’s so imaginative!” she cries. “I wonder where they got the Mad Teacups ride from? Do you think they bought it from Six Flags or Great Adventure?”
I shrug as we continue strolling along the sidewalk.
“I have no idea but a lot of these folks are very handy, sweetheart. I bet they could build something like that themselves from wood, metal and nails if they had to.”
“Are you serious?” asks Maisie. “It seems like it’d be easier to buy it from a purveyor of amusement park rides. Does that even exist? Do Great America and Six Flags order their rides from a manufacturer?”
I shake my head.
“Beats me. They probably do. After all, you know the rock and roll memorabilia in various Hard Rock Cafes? For example, Gwen Stefani’s glittery jeans that she wears on stage, or Elvis’s guitar pick? All that stuff is from a catalogue.”
Maisie stops to stare at me, halting in her tracks.
“No way,” she breathes.
“Yes way,” I say with a quirk of my lips. “There are companies that specialize in this kind of gear. They buy concert memorabilia from artists and production companies and then sell it to restaurants like the Hard Rock Café, Planet Hollywood, and whatnot. It’s a real good gig.”
Maisie shakes her head in wonder.
“Who knew?”
I pat her hand.
“I know right? Hey, check this out. This one’s cool too.”
The next house over has set up a life size nativity scene in their front yard, except that everyone is a zombie. Joseph, Mary and the Three Kings are zombies, with ghoulish grins and skull-like heads. Only Baby Jesus is spared. He’s a pink-cheeked cherub in his bassinet, with a donkey looking over the fence at his peacefully sleeping face.
“Wait a minute, what’s going on here?” asks Maisie with confusion. “It’s not Halloween, so why have they reenacted the nativity scene with ghosts?”
I shake my head.
“I don’t know sweetheart, but I read an article about this spread in the paper. A lot of folks aren’t happy with this presentation because they feel it’s disrespectful to the Christian religion, even if Jesus is technically a zombie with the resurrection and all. People are lobbying for this one to be taken down.”
Sure enough, as we stride by the nativity scene, an older lady with a colorful hat accosts us with a clipboard.
“Sign our petition to get these terrible decorations destroyed,” she says, practically thrusting the clipboard at us. “This is no way to revere the Holy Father’s family! Sacrilege!” she almost screams.
A shutter at the house twitches behind her, but there’s no other sign of life. Mary and Joseph continue grinning their ghoulish smiles and Baby Jesus rests amiably in his manger. Maisie looks uncertain and a bit terrified, so I take the lead.
“Thanks, we’ll think about it,” I say. “I believe they’ll be discussing this nativity scene at the next City Council meeting, and I’ll be sure to bring it up then.”
With a nod, we pass by the woman, who’s turned to accost the next set of spectators. Meanwhile, Maisie holds tight to my elbow.
“Thanks for handling that,” she says in a slightly shaken voice. “That woman was a little scary.”
I pat her hand.
“I know. There are a lot of crazies out there, even here in our little town.”
My girl nods gratefully, but then turns to me.
“But why are you going to be at the City Council meeting?” she asks. “What’s going on that’s so important? Are you really going just to protest this nativity scene? Should I go?”
I laugh. I’m going because I’ve just gotten in my first batch of organic supplements, and I’m applying for a permit to sell them in a new shop in town. Of course, the supplements will also be sold from behind the counter at the gym, but I also want something more serious. I don’t want these supplements to seem like homemade remedies that a grandma concocted from a witch’s brew. I want them to be legit, with a real store, and real branding, because that’s the only way they’re going to take off.
As a result, I purchased a small store space downtown, and we’re setting up shop. I’ve already hired an employee to work retail, and the contractor’s there right now getting things ready for our Grand Opening. But I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Maisie, because I need a license to operate first. That’s going to be taken care of at the next City Council meeting, and I can’t wait to let her know the news. I’m practically bursting with excitement but manage to hide my pounding heart. I want it to be a surprise, and I want to see my girl’s face lit up with joy as I embark on my new venture.
“I figure there will be some interesting things at the next City Council meeting,” I say in a vague tone. “I’ll tell you more about it later, when it’s not so cold.”
Maisie’s about to say something, but then we come upon the grandest display of all. There’s a huge Santa in his sled perched on the roof of a two-story house, with one arm raised in the air to say hello. Eight reindeer outlined in sparkling lights prance before him, and buzzy Christmas music plays from hidden speakers.
“Oh my gosh, this is so amazing!” squeals Maisie. “Look, there’s fake snow too!”
Sure enough, the homeowner has hidden snowblowers among the bushes, and geysers of white confetti float into the air before swirling around and settling about our shoulders like the real thing.
“This is so awesome!” my girl laughs, her face turned up to enjoy the snow. “I love it.”
I can’t resist the temptation and spin her around to press a tender kiss to that pink pout.
“I love you, sweetheart, and being here with you means everything to me,” I say.
She melts before my eyes, leaning into my kiss as her lashes flutter shut.
“I love you too, Patrick,” she whispers. We savor this romantic moment, but then Maisie surprises me by breaking free and scampering off.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I ask, dumbfounded. “What’s going on?”
She giggles while waving for me to follow.
“Come on! I just noticed that Santa’s arm stopped waving, and we need to fix that.”
I squint up into the night sky, and it’s true. Santa’s mechanical arm, which previously had been swinging back and forth in hello, has stopped moving. But it didn’t stop in mid-air. Instead, the thing swung down so
that it’s dangling across his body at a weird angle, looking like he’s got a disjointed elbow.
“The elves will be very unhappy if Santa can’t wave, not to mention the children who aren’t going to get their gifts this year,” Maisie calls from across the lawn. “Come on!”
I start jogging towards her, looking around us.
“Yeah, but what are we going to do? Shouldn’t we just inform the homeowner? They must have tools or something to take care of this.”
But my curvy girl doesn’t hear. She’s circling the edge of the house, staring up into the sky. We move further and further along the side of the house until we’re right by the back gate. Then, to my surprise, Maisie pops the latch open and slips into the backyard.
“Come on,” she beckons. “I see a fire escape over here.”
I pause. What private home has a fire escape? I thought people slid down gutters and skidded over roofs when their houses were on fire. But evidently, this handsome Federalist mansion has a real fire escape, although it isn’t much more than a rickety metal ladder extending from the roof to the garden.
To my dismay, Maisie’s already starting to climb.
“Wait,” I stammer, rushing over to stand by the metal ladder. “What’s going on?”
“Come on, slowpoke,” she says merrily. “What are you waiting for?”
As I watch, mouth agape, the beautiful woman ascends at least twenty feet in the air, agile as a chipmunk. She’s sure on her feet, and strong and flexible too. Silently, I curse my personal training. I must have taught her that during our mock-boxing sessions. At the very least, I gave her confidence in her physical abilities, because as I watch, Maisie swings off the ladder and hoists herself onto the roof. She’s now twenty feet in the air above me, grinning down while gesturing with a mittened hand.
“Come on, Patrick! Last one up’s a rotten egg.”
I groan silently. Obviously, I’m a rotten egg because she’s already up there, while I’m still down here. But I need to follow my gorgeous girl because where she goes, I go. Grimacing, I tentatively put my booted foot on the metal ladder, testing its durability. Shit. Will this thing support my muscled frame?