An Erotic Christmas Story
"Going Against Type, Part 10- A Christmas Story," by Kay Jaybee
Read the entire "GAT" series here.
It’s Christmas Eve, but more importantly, it’s Tuesday.
Why haven’t we talked about Christmas? We were together last week for goodness sake! Perhaps he’s busy with family? I know he isn’t working this week- I’m silly to even hope he’ll call by today – but it’s almost 1pm...
I thumped down onto my desk chair, annoyed with how quickly I’d allowed doubt to rob me of the new found confidence my time with John had given me. This was ridiculous behaviour. Yet the nagging voice at the back of my head wouldn’t let up,
We don’t really talk beyond immediate pleasantries. We don’t even text. Okay, we do text, but it is always of the – ‘I want to see you with a woman again’ variety from him or, ‘How about a four-some’ from me. We see each other, and something takes over, passion, lust, desire, whatever you want to call it, and we fuck. We just fuck. I mean, why chat to your DVD delivery man over coffee when he could be tipping you upside down over the side of the armchair and give your arse a proper seeing to?
Shaking some common sense into myself, and reigning in my increasingly lurid imagination, I looked down at the few remaining presents I had left to wrap, trying to divert my mind from all the things I’d rather be doing on a Tuesday afternoon by humming Christmas carols along to the radio.
The knock at my door made me jump, and I physically had to restrain myself from running to see who the caller was. So what if it’s one o’clock? It’s probably my next door neighbour with some mince pies or something. My pulse was thudding so hard in my chest that it was threatening to break free from my body as I forced myself to move slowly.
The silhouette through the glass panel in my front door was unmistakeable.
‘I was just passing.’ John’s broad grin, and the mischief playing in his deep brown eyes, told me this was a blatant lie. He had come here on purpose.
An equally wide smile crossed my face as I stood back to let him in, ‘I thought you might be away or something.’
‘I thought you might be too.’
A feeling of unexpected awkwardness came over me, ‘I was going to text, but I didn’t want to get in the way of your life or anything.’
‘Same here.’ A large rough hand ran through the back of my hair, smoothing out the knots, sending little shock waves of need shooting down my neck and into my chest. Then slipping a hand into mine, John pulled me towards the living room, swiftly banishing any uncertainty.
Gesturing to the middle of the floor, he said, ‘Last minute wrapping?’
‘A few bits for the neighbour’s kids.’ I could feel my breathing accelerating.
For God’s sake woman, all he’s doing is holding your hand. Calm down.
‘That’s a big roll of paper for those little gifts.’
I don’t know if it was the way he spoke or the look on his face that gave him away, but I knew what was going to happen before he moved. In a few breathless seconds John had stripped me naked, and I was being enveloped in large swathes of bright red starry gift-wrap. My head spun from the swiftness of his movements.
‘Don’t move, and don’t speak, okay?’
I nodded, trying not to laugh as John wrestled with the sticky tape dispenser, before he cut off length after length, pulling the paper tighter and tighter, until my arms were pinned to my sides, and my legs were clamped together as if I was some sort of bizarrely festive Egyptian mummy.
Curator by Alan Daniels
He stood back to admire his work, his face creased with lust, and my need to giggle was abruptly wiped away. I could feel my nipples chaffing against the smooth figure hugging covering, and suddenly I realised how desperately I wanted them to be free so that John could touch them, suck them, hit them...
Obviously pleased with the affect he’d created; John began hunting around the room for something.
I only had eyes for the growing bump beneath his jeans, wondering how long it would be before I could suck his delicious length in my mouth, or would feel him slide between my legs. I wanted to speak, to ask him to kiss me, but I’d promised not to talk, and I didn’t want to distract him from what he was going to do next...whatever that was.
I shuffled my feet, unsteadily for a moment on the thick carpet, watching as he began to unwind the deep purple ribbon I’d spent simply ages draping around my Christmas tree. I gulped; my throat dry, the look of determination in John’s eyes as he bought the two metre garland towards me spoke volumes.
He stood so close to me, his dark eyes boring into my own, I swear I could actually hear his pulse as he lifted the ribbon up, and then, all of a sudden, he dropped it. It was if, in that split-second, he couldn’t bear to be dressed any longer. John peeled his clothes off at a speed that made the lightening disposal of my own garments seem positively drawn out.
I struggled not to speak as my eyes traced the line of his chest, the hairs so soft and inviting, his tattoos just begging for fresh examination, and his cock, hard and firm, pointing at me accusingly, as if it was all my fault its owner was as horny as hell. Perhaps it was. I hope so.
Naked, emanating power, John retrieved the ribbon and began to wind it around my neck in a large bow. Speaking softly, but with an edge of hunger in his voice, John said, ‘You are the prettiest present I’ve ever packaged.’
He picked up the scissors I’d left on the floor, and cut off the remaining length of fabric, ‘I started thinking about doing this last night. I even have some rolls of gift wrap in the van. Couldn’t believe my luck when I saw this roll just waiting for me.’
Biting back the urge to talk, I watched my courier wind part of the ribbon around his arm, before approaching me. Again I guessed what he was about to do, and I tensed a little as the first bind of the silky material went over my eyes and around the back of my neck, trapping my hair, until I was totally blinded by one of my own Christmas decorations.
I couldn’t help but groan as the purple darkness robbed me of the chance to see his gorgeous body as he moved before me. I could feel John’s fingers pulling at the knot behind my head, making sure it wouldn’t slip undone, then his hands were at my elbows, supporting me, ‘You look amazing. Are you okay?’
I nodded awkwardly; glad he was holding me, afraid I would topple over at any moment.
‘Good girl. You remembered not to talk,’ I could feel John’s breath on my neck as he spoke, ‘You are, without doubt, the most tempting Christmas present I’ve ever had.’
As he spoke, my breasts, already swollen with their need to be touched, became taut and hot, and pussy juice began to leak on to the tops of my thighs. Although I couldn’t see him, the image of John in my head was so vivid, his short dark hair, his strong arms, and his eyes wickedly bright, that the ribbon might as well have not been there.
The pressure of his palm as he pushed it against my mound made me stagger so much that John had to steady me again with this free arm. I moaned softly as his fingers squeezed my enclosed clit, causing my juice to flow freer, darkening the paper, turning the crackling sound it had initially made, into a wet squelchy rustle.
‘What a hot little bad girl you are.’
I bit my lip harder as I felt the layers of wrapping paper between my legs start to mulch as John continued to knead and pinch at my flesh. Then, with a grunt of frustration, he lifted me off my feet, and laid me on the floor, making me dizzy and disorientated.
I have no idea how I managed not to beg for more, as a hand came to my right breast, kneading my tit, creasing and crumpling the gift-wrap.
Abruptly John stopped, his weight lifting from me, and a sense of bereavement flooded through my body. The purple ribbon became darker, and I realised he must have turned the lights off. Then the chirpy Christmas tunes that had been playing in the background disappeared as the radio was clicked off. Silence filled the room around me. A frisson of fear crept up my spine, and a prickle of perspiration rubbed between the packaging and the back of my neck. My ears strained to pick up a sound, but I couldn’t hear anything, not even my lover’s breathing.
Time seemed to pass slowly as I lay like a fallen statute, painfully aware of the friction of the saturated paper as it clung to my pussy. Every part of my body ached for a continuation of the attention it had been receiving. The ribbon against my eyes felt tighter than ever, but I began to wish it was between my teeth, gagging as well as blinding me. There was no way I could stay quiet for much longer. I clamped my jaw, determined not to break the rules, but as my brain went into over drive, my resolve began to crack.
Has he left? What’s he doing? Is he okay? Why isn’t he touching me? Surely he can’t have gone- can he?
‘John?’
His hands were on me before I’d even finished speaking his name, ‘You spoke. Thank goodness you spoke.’
‘I...’
John didn’t sound angry, just very relieved, ‘you’re such a dirty girl! Feel how wet you’ve got this paper!’ His fingers began to run all over the gift-wrap, pressing it against the contours of my body, ‘I was beginning to think you’d never say anything, and I’ve been longing to punish you.’
Punish me?
My heart-rate increased further as my brain raced through all the things he might want to do to me.
As John’s arms came around my waist, I found myself hoisted into the air and bodily turned over. My tits squashed against the floor, I heard a ripping sound, and rapidly air was playing over my backside as the wrapping was torn from my arse.
‘Just beautiful,’ John’s palms grasped each of my bare cheeks, burnishing them roughly with his calloused hands.
The smack against my left cheek made me screech into the carpet, ‘That’s for speaking out of turn.’
Then he slapped the right cheek, sending a burning wave through my backside, ‘And that’s for making me wait for so long before you broke the rules. You have no fucking idea what you do to me woman...’ He slapped me again, ‘...let alone what you do to my dick...,’ and again, ‘...my imagination has never worked so hard in all my life...,’ Smack,‘...I can’t bloody stop wanking over you...’ Spank, ‘...dirty girl.’ Slap.
Pride swelled within me as the pain of the beating spread through my legs, making my pussy twitch and my crushed chest tighten like never before, as John continued to tell me what effect I had on him.
He spoke to me like no one else had ever spoken to me before, roughly, passionately, and yet with a kind of glorious disbelief, while continuing to rain reddening strikes against my arse.
This is the best Christmas present ever.
John’s voice was becoming deeper, more breathless, and even though I couldn’t see him, I was sure his chest and neck would be blotched with the familiar red spots that covered his skin when he was close to coming.
Air rushed around my body as the remaining paper was ripped up my back, and I was unwrapped in a flurry of clawing urgency. Then, still blindfolded, I was flipped around, and manoeuvred into a sitting position. Lifting me up as if I was weightless, John pulled me down so I was sat astride his lap, his dick sliding into me with blessed ease.
Yanking the last vestiges of the gift-wrap from my body, John’s mouth attached itself to my right nipple, making me almost sob with delicious relief. My ribboned head fell to his shoulder, and my nails dragged through his hair as we rocked each other to a climax.
Finally freeing my eyes, John stared into them, his desire as intense as when he’d walked into the room nearly an hour before, his voice husky and a little uncertain ‘Do you like turkey, and Christmas pudding?’
I frowned, the sheer ordinariness of the question surprising me after what had just happened, ‘Um, yes I do.’
‘I know it won’t be on a Tuesday, but fancy sharing some with me tomorrow?’
A grin of massive proportions engulfed my face as I climbed off his lap, rescuing the abandoned ribbon as I went. Running it suggestively through my fingers, I ordered him to stand.
‘I would love to, but just in case you decide you have to run off and deliver something, I think I’d better make sure you can’t escape’
Dragging him upstairs to my bedroom, I began to tie his un-protesting wrists to the bed post.
Who needs a stocking at the end of the bed when you can have a hot delivery man?
Originally published December 2009