12 comments/ 34427 views/ 21 favorites Christmas Wrapping By: HLD I've been kicking this story around for a couple of years, and I finally got it finished. This is my entry for the 2014 Literotica Winter Holidays Story Contest. It takes its title and inspiration from the classic 80s song by the Waitresses. Please leave a comment or send me an email, and don't forget to vote! ************* Bah, humbug! No, that's too strong, because Christmas is my favourite holiday. It's just that in the romance department, I've had a really bad year. It started the last over New Year's break. My then-boyfriend and I went away for a long weekend to go skiing, but it seemed that Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. (and his stupid, frickin' law) had other ideas. First of all, we rented a condo outside of Gatlinburg, but the weather was unseasonably warm. Although there was a good base of snow—both natural and machine-made—the fact that the high one day was in the low 50s made the trip seem more like a fall excursion than a ski trip. Second, Britt didn't get his flu shot the previous October and spent most of the weekend with a fever and puking up whatever food he managed to get down. Real romantic, huh? Last, on the Sunday before we were supposed to fly home, I twisted my knee when one of those twerpy little eight year-old kids that plague the ski slopes zigged in front of me, causing me to zag to the right. Only my left leg didn't get the memo and I ate a face full of icy and wet snow. I like (and want) kids, but I swear to God, if I'd had my .38 special with me, I'd have whacked that little punk right then and there. So that weekend was a bust. The only saving grace was a literal run-in I had on Saturday while perusing the ski shop for a chincy souvenir or two. "I know you," he said. Pretty lame opening line. Kind of plain. Not very memorable. The East German judge docked him two points for being lazy. It turns out I really did know him, though. "Veronica Turner, right?" He seemed familiar, but it took me a second to place his face. Tall, dark and handsome. Perfect skin, good teeth. Rugged good looks and boyish charm. "Jonathan Reilly," he said, seeing my blank look. "From Perry & Associates." "Of course," I replied sheepishly. There really is no graceful way to forget someone's name, is there? I knew him from some auditing work I did; he was a regular at one of the firms I visited once a month or so. "How have you been?" "Good . . . Trying to get some time on the slopes." An awkward silence fell over us. "What about you?" I waved the shot glass in my hand. "Just picking up something for the girl who sits next to me. She collects these things and doesn't have one from Tennessee." He flashed his big baby blues at me and my heart fluttered. I had run into him in the elevator a couple of times and usually when I saw him, he was in a stuffy, corporate double-breasted suit. But this time, his hair was ruffled, his ski jacket hung open because it wasn't that cold and I noticed that he was rather attractive. Hawt, actually. "Listen, I'm here with some friends and we're having some folks over tonight for drinks," he flashed me that oh-so-charming smile. "Do you want to come hang out with us?" "I'd love to," I winced with regret. "But my boyfriend's not feeling well and I've got to get back to him so he doesn't feel like I left him for a lift ticket and a pair of skis." I couldn't tell if the disappointment on his face was from me turning him down or finding out that I was seeing someone. Either way, a part of me felt flattered that he'd wanted to see me that night. It was better than being taken for granted by the guy I was dating. "Sorry to hear that," he reached for his wallet and passed me his business card. "We're staying near downtown. If he's feeling better later, give me a call and come on over." "Okay," my eyes skimmed the card, which had his work phone, email and his cell phone number on it. "See you around." He turned and headed back towards where some of his friends were standing. They were a mixed group and quickly matching up couples, it seemed he was there by himself, and not as half of a pair. Much to my delight. I stuck his card into the folds of my purse then headed back to the condo, fully intent on jumping my boyfriend. Unfortunately for me, he was in the middle of one of his dry-heaving spells and that kind of put a damper on my plans. So I loaded him up with Nyquil then drew a nice hot bath and had some quality time to myself and the jacuzzi jets. And the mental image of Jonathan Reilly between my legs. ************* That was almost twelve months ago. Egads, I didn't realise how much time has passed. Twelve freakin' months. This year has just flown by. Mom told me this would happen: graduate from college, get a job and the next thing you know; you're about to turn thirty. It hasn't quite been that long, but you know what I mean. The days do seem to run together. Mom was wrong about one thing, though: I'm twenty-five and single. There were no apparent prospects as far as my love life goes. After the ski trip, Britt and I broke up. We were never that serious. I think we stayed together because we were bored. Still, neither of us fought very hard for each other, and when we broke up I was more relieved than sad. Of course, that meant that I had to get back "out there" if I wanted anything other than the single life. Not that I'm complaining. I go out with my girlfriends. I've got a good job. I don't understand all those girls who think that within two years of getting their MBA, they have to be someone's wife and start making babies. Me? I kind of like being single. Of course, in five more years when all my friends are married and have young families, I'll probably change my tune, but for now, I like my life the way it is. "Got any plans for Christmas?" Annette asked me after the Thanksgiving holidays. She sits two cubicles over from me. She's in her early thirties and divorced with two kids. Her folks live in Louisiana and she goes home to visit them every year around the holidays. "Nope," I replied. "This year's been a busy blur and I just don't think I've got the energy for a big Christmas." "Aren't you going home?" "Naw, now that my brother is off to the Air Force Academy, my parents are taking a Christmas cruise. No one will be home." "Did they invite you?" "Nope." I let out an envious snort. "They've got empty nest fever and are taking full advantage of us being gone to make up for all the years of family drama hell that follows us around this time of year." "Why don't you come to Natchitoches with us," she offered. "The house is big enough." "No, thanks," I smiled appreciatively. "I don't have any vacation time left." That much is true. Our company sucks as far as benefits go. I get ten days of paid time off each year. If I work here another five years, I get five more days. At least I have a job I like. I went home that afternoon and went through my usual evening activities. A stack of Christmas cards were waiting in my mailbox, reminding me that I needed to send mine out. I hate writing Christmas letters; all they do is remind me of what I procrastinated and didn't do, completions and connections from last year that are un-done, like my ski-shop encounter. My apartment is a quiet place; I live alone but in a nice complex with lots of singles and a few families. I had a wreath on the door, and some lights on the balcony, but not too much. I was just feeling kind of, well . . . blah. I sent out regret RSVPs to all of the Christmas parties. I only went to the one through work, and that wasn't much of a party, at least for me. The last thing I want is to get blitzed along with my co-workers or do anything stupid in front of my boss. So, no thanks, to all of my invites. Leave it to everyone else to deck those halls, trim those trees and raise a cup of Christmas cheer. I just needed to catch my breath with a nice quiet Christmas by myself this year. The view from my kitchen almost makes up for how small the place is. Especially when the first snow of the year has fallen. Where the year before was unseasonably warm, this winter was starting out with a brutal arctic blast. Beginning after Thanksgiving, about six inches of snow had fallen, leaving a nice calendar-quality view of the pond and woods outside my window, the frozen landscape eerily quiet, yet beautiful. It warmed up, a little melted and then more snow came, and that pattern refreshed itself for the next month. So just outside my apartment, the ground was still pristine and white, unsullied by the footprints, sled trails and dirt that would appear over the next couple of days, and from the second floor of my building, I get nice panoramic views of the snow. Even though I wasn't doing anything big, I was still going to enjoy the romanticism of having a nice white Christmas. I heated up a cup of hot cocoa in the Keurig, then went through my mail. Bills. Bills. LL Bean catalog. Bills. Credit card application. Bills. DMV notice to renew my licence plates. The only non-bill/non-junk mail I got was from my friend Christina. I ripped it open and found a nice Christmas card along with a picture from our beach trip over the summer. I smiled at the memory of most of the trip, then winced when I recalled how sunburned I got on an afternoon which was just overcast enough to make me forget to wear any sunscreen. I didn't think too much about it until I remembered the aborted date Jonathan and I were supposed to have that weekend. We ran into each other a couple of times through work, but our timing was always off. We couldn't even find time for a lunch date when we were both free. Either he was traveling, or I had a meeting, and then there was a couple week span when it seemed like he started seeing someone, even though that didn't last. We tried to keep in touch; we were Facebook friends, whatever that entails. It seemed like we were always promising to get together or call, but nothing worked out. When we finally could get together, we both happened to be at the beach over Memorial Day weekend and he invited us to hang out on a boat one of his friends was renting, but then my third-degree sunburn put a stop to that real quick. By the time I stopped peeling and thought about trying to arrange that date, I got offered a nice three month detail to the corporate office in San Diego. Of course I took it. It was the best move for me professionally. I got to network within my own company as well as around several others, and I found out they were grooming me to be the project lead for some big initiative they were going to roll out the next year. That meant a raise (and maybe more vacation time!) and three months in southern California on an expense account. But it put a serious crimp in my social life. When I got back in town, it was just before Halloween. I scrounged together a costume and tried to get Jonathan to come along, and then Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. struck again and blew up the transmission in my would-be date's car. So that sucked. He was apologetic, but once again, we couldn't find a time when we both were free. Thanksgiving rolled up on me out of nowhere and work seemed to envelop my life. I don't know why it is that people think just because I'm single that they can drop all their crap on me, but that's what happened. I ended up working a ton of extra hours as my co-workers took off around the holidays. I didn't complain too much; instead of working for overtime, I took the extra hours as comp time in case I wanted to save them up for a nice big vacation in the future. And it let me stockpile favors I could call in down the road. Still, it meant that my date with Jonathan Reilly would have to wait until another month before I could even think about trying again. Christmas Eve day came around, and the office was a ghost town. It was very nice. No conference calls. No meetings. My phone didn't ring. I actually got work done. A foot of snow had fallen the night before leading some people to call in. The city did a pretty good job of keeping the roads clear, and I only have a two block walk over to the light rail, then a short ride out to the park and ride. When it's warm, I actually walk the mile or so from my apartment to the transit station, but not today. Bundled up tight for the brief time I was exposed to the elements, I was hardly dashing through the snow as I came in to work that day. "Go home," my boss passed through the office just after lunch, giving those of us who showed up half a day off with pay. He stopped in my door, "Got any big plans for Christmas?" "Nope; I think I'll miss this one this year," I shut down my computer and gathered up my things before he changed his mind. "Well, Merry Christmas, Veronica!" he called and went on to see to those in the rest of the building. I guess there's really nothing nice to say when you hear that they're not doing anything on a holiday. So I trudged on home to celebrate in a quiet way and unwind, doing Christmas by myself this time. I set my things down and took of my coat, gloves and scarf. My apartment was cold, and since I was home early, I had to manually override the automatic thermostat to warm the place up. With a sigh, I poured myself a glass of wine, turned on the TV and tried to decide if I was going to wallow in self-pity for more than an hour. I just wanted this winter over with! My parents were off on their Hawaiian cruise. My brother was doing whatever it is they do over the holidays at a service academy. All of my friends were with their families. The Yule Log was playing on one channel, and the 24 hours of A Christmas Story wouldn't start for a couple of hours. I made the mistake of checking my Facebook and was immediately repulsed by pictures of everyone's happy families. Don't get me wrong; I don't begrudge anyone having a Christmas with their loved ones. It's just that I wasn't in that place, and I didn't want to see it. So I did the only sensible thing that came to mind: I got out my Christmas Vacation DVD, polished off the bottle of wine and fell asleep on my couch. ************* I awoke in a better mood. It was Christmas, after all. A hot shower took away the crick in my neck. My parents still buy me presents, even though my wish list isn't very big. They had arrived over the previous week and were piled up in the corner next to the television. I had a little three foot artificial Christmas tree set up on an end table with a string of lights, four ornaments and a star topper on it. I resisted the urge to open them, instead waiting until my parents called, so we could do something together on Christmas. My brother called a little before noon. He was stuck at the Air Force Academy, but they were doing something for the cadets. Tony didn't have long, but it was good to hear his voice. After that, I lounged around for a bit before starting on dinner. A&P had provided me with the world's smallest turkey, so I prepped him as my mother and grandmother had taught me. There was stuffing to go in the bird. I washed and peeled a handful of potatoes. I would make gravy once the turkey was out of the oven and then viola! instant Christmas dinner for one. Only . . . I got him the oven, nice and hot, then . . . You guessed it: Mr. Edward A. Murphy, Jr. You suck. "Oh, damn!" It's a good thing I live alone because that was followed by a stream of unlady-like curses. Guess what I forgot!?!?! So on with the boots and out in the snow to the only all-night grocery I could find. Not only did I have to go to the store, but I had to walk. Almost another foot of snow was covering my car and I wasn't about to dig it out. Luckily, there is a convenience store and gas station about half a mile from my place, so that was my big Christmas Day excursion. The sun was hiding behind the clouds and The Weather Channel made it sound like more snow was coming, so I tried to hurry. There were a couple of cars in the parking lot. I went in looking for the food aisles, hoping they'd have the one ingredient I was lacking for a proper Christmas dinner, probably at about twice the price of a regular supermarket. I resisted the urge to buy anything extra, like the camouflage emergency flashlight that was on a display by the register or the CD of Christmas polkas, when my jaw hit the floor. At first, I thought the cold was causing me to hallucinate because what to my wondering eyes should appear? It was Jonathan Reilly, that guy I've been chasing all year! He was two people ahead of me in line, and after paying, he turned just enough to notice me. Our eyes met and he broke into a wide smile. "I'm spending this one alone," he said, as if to rationalise standing by himself on Christmas Day at the Circle K. "I need a break, this year's been crazy!" I said, "Me, too, but why are you . . .? You mean you forgot cranberries, too?" Then suddenly we laughed and he reached out to give me a warm hug. "Have you got dinner plans?" he motioned with his bag. He didn't just have cranberries, he had what was trying to pass for a Christmas dinner. From a gas station. "I do," I replied. "And you are not going home to that." "What do you mean?" he blushed. I snorted and stepped up to the register so I could pay for my jellied cranberry sauce. "Where's your car?" he asked as we were on the way out. After waving in the general direction of my apartment complex, I took the turkey dinner in a box out of his hands and ungraciously threw it in the garbage can by the door. Yeah, that was me being a bitch. He was either too stunned or too pissed that I had just thrown out his dinner to say anything. But when he saw my scowl, he let the matter drop. "You walked here?" Jonathan asked incredulously, and then steered me in the direction of a very nice BMW sedan. "I'm driving you home." It turns out he has four-wheel drive and I had him park in an empty spot in the guest section of the parking lot the superintendent had cleared out earlier in the day. Like a gentleman, he opened the door for me and walked me to my apartment. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" I asked. In fact, I was going to insist since I needed to make up for robbing him of his dinner. "I'd be delighted," his charming smile made my pulse race and my palms sweat. The aroma of the turkey filled my little apartment. He gave me a token offer to help with the dinner, but I shooed him away from my kitchen. Pretty much all I had left to do was make mashed potatoes and gravy. "So when can I take you out for lunch?" he asked as I handed him a bottle of wine and the corkscrew. "The way our luck is going, this may be it until next year," I sighed. He poured two glasses and held one out for me. "Then here's to our big date!" We toasted one another and I downed half of mine in one gulp. Familiar carols and pop songs played on the television as the virtual Yule Log burned. The sun was setting outside and the glow of the neighbours's Christmas lights shone through the windows of my apartment. "So what do you usually do for Christmas?" I asked, checking the thermometer on the bird. "We usually go over to my grandma's for dinner, but she fell and broke her hip in July, so they had to move her to a nursing home," Jonathan winced. "Most of my family is going there for dinner." "So why didn't you go?" I asked. Yeah, that wasn't the best question to ask, but I'm blaming the wine. "I was going to fly out on Tuesday, but something came up at work and I couldn't make my flight. I tried to get a flight yesterday, but this blizzard came through and shut down half the east coast." "First Christmas by yourself?" I asked. Christmas Wrapping "Yeah," he shrugged. "Me, too," I raised my glass before downing the rest. "To us lonely souls on Christmas." "Here, here!" And then he poured more wine. "What about you?" he asked. "No big plans?" "Not this year," I frowned. "Mom and Dad are in Hawaii right now. My brother is off at school. This is all the excitement I'm good for." "Well, I'm happy you invited me over," he said warmly and his charming smile sent a jolt from the tip of my nose to right between my legs. He raised his glass again. "Here's to you saving me from salmonella on Christmas!" We made more small talk as I finished up with dinner. I had enough to easily feed the both of us, although depending on how much Jonathan ate, it might cut into my coveted stock of leftovers. He graciously continued to offer to help, but it wasn't necessary and truly, I was grateful just for the company on what would have been an otherwise lonely night for me. Jonathan opened a second bottle of wine as I carved up the turkey. It turned out that he's a breast man and I'm a dark meat girl . . . um, interpret that anyway you want. Our magnificent feast consisted of turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing and the canned cranberry sauce from the store. Yes, I eat canned jellied cranberry sauce with my home-cooked turkey dinners. Stop judging me. A small pumpkin pie and tub of Cool Whip sat out on the counter for dessert. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for the two of us. I cleared off one end of my dining room table and set a pair of candles out. "Merry Christmas," Jonathan said, our wine glasses klinking together again. If I didn't know better, I'd say he hadn't had a home cooked meal in months because he ate more than I expected, all the while raving about my mad culinary skillz. As our evening wore on, I noticed he was quick to ask about me and didn't brag too much on himself. Nor did he spend half the night staring at his cell phone. Or my chest. When we were done, he elbowed his way into the kitchen to help clean up, a duty I was more than happy to turn over to him, once I had packed up the leftovers into airtight containers. For you guys reading this, if you want to turn a woman on: try doing housework without complaining or fishing for sympathy or affirmation. It will give your wife or girlfriend a chore-gasm, and I guarantee you will get lucky. I sat on one end of the couch, my wine glass half-empty in one hand, the TV remote in the other. "Basketball or football?" I asked. No, I don't watch hockey. "Who's playing?" he called, loading up the last of the plates in the dishwasher. I checked the satellite guide. "Miami and Utah, some crappy third-tier bowl game or Chargers at Raiders." Jonathan set the mostly-empty bottle of wine on a coaster on my coffee table and then sat down next to me, our hips brushing. "You pick," he said. I frowned. None of the games really appealed to me. So I switched over to TNT. Ralphie had just put on the pink bunny pajamas from Aunt Clara. His hand fell onto my leg and my hand unconsciously wrapped around his. His fingers seemed to naturally intertwine with mine. "So why didn't we ever go out?" Jonathan asked, finally getting around to addressing what passed for our relationship. "I work too much," my heavy sigh matched his. "Me, too." My mind raced, but I didn't want to be the one who broke the silence. He turned and I looked into his sparkling blue eyes. "If we work less, can I see you more?" his voice was almost a whisper. I just nodded. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the loneliness. Or maybe it was that Christmas magic. A moment later, we were all over each other. Jonathan pulled me close to him, although he didn't paw at me or try to get me out of my clothes. Not immediately. I tiled my head back and our lips met. We made out for a good long while. His touch was exactly what I needed right then. His arms wrapped around me in a warm embrace. I fell back into the couch and he leaned in, his lips tracing a line down my cheek to that spot right behind my ear. I led out a low, throaty moan as he nibbled along the side of my neck, sending a chill throughout my body. My nipples felt like they were going to shoot clear through my bra and sweater. "Damn, that feels good," I whispered in his ear. He pulled back for just a moment and looked me in the eyes. My heart skipped a beat. "I have to do something for such a wonderful Christmas dinner." Yes, he was baiting me. And, yes, I took it. "I've got some ideas about that." "Do these ideas involve the pumpkin pie and Cool Whip?" My hands framed his handsome face and I pulled him to me once again. "Only one of those," I giggled once we came up for air. "And not the pie." His hands brushed my shoulders and then fell under my arms. My breasts pressed against him. "May I?" he whispered. In that moment, all of my resolve melted away. Was it his charm? Was I just horny? Lonely? Or was he the really going to fulfill the fantasy that I had built up around him over the last year? Who fucking cares? I was alone on Christmas for the first time in my adult life, and here was a handsome, charming man who was clearly into me. Jonathan didn't strike me as a player, but in that moment, I certainly didn't mind being the target of his affections. "Yes," I gasped as he cupped my breasts in his hands. He made no move to undress me. My heart raced as we continued to kiss. I leaned back on to the couch, pulling him with me, so his weight pressed down. "Would you think less of me if I said I want you to fuck my brains out?" I bit on his ear lobe. Yeah, that was the wine talking. I'll go with that. "Mmmmm, I like the sound of that," he said, his voice thick with desire. Note that he didn't really answer my question. I tugged at his shirt, pulling the tails out of his pants. In response, he slipped his hands under my sweater and gave my boobs a firm squeeze. Soon enough, he was topless and I was laying on the couch in just my bra. My hands ran up and down his muscular arms and across his broad shoulders. He gazed down at me, unable to look me in the eyes. "I'm. . . I'm sorry," he stammered apologetically. "But your . . . your boobs are amazing . . ." I giggled and thrust my chest forward, making my tits jiggle in my bra. "And by 'amazing', I mean, 'huge'." His lips first went to my collarbone, lingering there just long enough to make me dig my nails into his shoulders. Then they left a sloppy trail of kisses down into my cleavage. I've been self-conscious about my breasts since fifth grade, when they first started growing on my chest. Yes, I'm top-heavy. They make my back hurt. I sleep in a sports bra. I gave up jogging and running and volleyball after my sophomore year of high school. The underwire is my best friend. And worst enemy. Putting on a bra is like being at a rodeo, and being both the bull and the rider. There are points in my life when I'd have seriously considered killing a complete stranger for A-cups. But on other days, like when Jonathan Reilly is undressing you, you wouldn't trade them for all the tea in China. I clutched his hair every time he nibbled on my just a little too enthusiastically, but he was otherwise very attentive, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. He didn't do anything strange or creepy, nor did he jiggle them too hard, or go straight to that weird motorboating thing some guys do. Instead, he seemed to linger on every square inch of my chest. His hands reached around me and expertly unhooked my bra, and I slipped it off my shoulders. Once free of restraint, his lips closed over my nipples, first the left, then the right. An electric tingle ran up and down my body. "You like?" I asked gently, once he came up for air. "I love them," he replied, leaning into kiss me again. "I can tell!" We both had a good laugh and went back to caressing each other. For a long time, we lay on the couch, exploring one another. His featherlight touch made my skin crawl. I ran my hands up and down his back, which was soft and warm. "Let's go to bed," I said into his ear. He pulled back and scooped me up in his arms, carrying me the short distance to the bedroom. In reality, he lifted me up and took five steps, but the other way I described it sounds much more romantic. Jonathan set me down on the bed. "Be right back," he whispered in my ear, before going back out into the outer room and turning out all the lights and checking to see if the front door was locked. I watched him through the doorway, admiring his handsome form. He was in great shape, and my eyes lingered on his backside. My bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of the lights outside my apartment that shone through the cheap blinds. He stood in the doorway for a moment, and I lay back on the bed seductively. I raised my arms over my head, and splayed myself out on the bed for him to see. My breasts fell to the sides more than I'd have liked (thanks, gravity, you suck!), but I know he didn't care. My nipples were rock-hard and stuck straight up. And not because it was cold. Jonathan crossed the room and leaned over, taking one of them in his mouth. I let out a delighted squeal as he suckled on it sloppily, then blew gently, the cold blast making me shiver with anticipation. Jonathan's hand caressed my cheek. "May I make love to you?" he asked sweetly. "I thought you'd never ask." My eyes were hooded over with pleasure. Yeah, I usually have a rule about sleeping with a guy on the first date. I also think people get extra desperate around the holidays, especially when they're lonely. Yeah, that was me. But you know what? I didn't fucking care. I was in heat. And if Jonathan wasn't going to fuck me senseless right then, I was going to kick him out and spend the rest of the night alternating between masturbating and thinking of cruel, vindictive ways to skin him alive. "I . . . um . . . do you . . .uh, condom?" It was actually kind of nice that one of us was capable of thinking rationally. "I'm on the pill," I gasped, reaching out. He leaned into my embrace, but didn't meet my lips with his. "What about . . . you know?" Ordinarily, this may have put a damper on my libido, but actually, to know that this guy—whom I had been chasing all year—was doing a little bit of thinking with his brain instead of his dick, it was kind of hot. I guess that officially makes me "old" that I was turned on by a guy being responsible. "I haven't had sex in about eleven months," I said. Not that I was keeping track or anything. January 24th. Just sayin'. "I, uh . . . was seeing someone back in July," he said. "We used a condom every time, but if you want, I'll go out and get—" "Not a fucking chance, bucko," it was my turn to take control of the situation. I'm not doctor, and this is probably wrong, but if you've got some kind of nasty STD, surely you'll know before six months goes by, right? Right? In any case, it didn't matter. I was going to have this man right then. And bareback. More than once. My desire overrode any other right-thinking parts of my brain. I pulled him straight to my chest and I think that wiped out any further hesitation on his part. Now that I knew Jonathan was a boob man, resistance is futile, because I knew exactly how to get what I wanted. As he worshipped my breasts with lips, I tossed the throw pillows off the bed, and pulled at the comforter and sheets. My hands desperately tugged at his belt as we clumsily undressed each other. "You are so goddam hot," he gasped. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," I returned. His hands had never left my boobs, and the only reason his lips were on mine again was because I pulled him up to me. I stroked his engorged sex and rubbed it against the slit of my pussy. "Maybe if you're good, I'll fuck that cock of yours with my tits until you cum all over me." I thought he was going to shoot his load right there. "I'd do anything for you to do that to me," Jonathan's voice shuddered with desire. "Anything?" "Anything, goddamnit!" "Well, first you're going to fuck me," I guided the head of his cock inside my labia, which were slick with anticipation. "We'll negotiate the rest tomorrow over breakfast." Jonathan propped himself up with one arm under my neck, his other hand gently kneading my breasts. He looked me in the eyes. His gaze was tender, but had an undercurrent of feral lust. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as he entered me slowly. I spread my legs wide so I could take as much of him inside me as I could. He kissed me just as he bottomed out. I had never felt so full. Or content. Then he pulled back until only the tip remained inside me. "Veronica?" "Yes, sweetheart?" Leaning over, he nibbled on my collarbone. My nipple was rock hard between his thumb and index finger. I tried to push my hips forward to take him again, but he pulled back teasingly. "Do you want to make love?" The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my pulse raced when he whispered in my ear. "Or do you want to fuck?" My body shuddered with pleasure as he thrust into me with one swoop. Hard. Fast. And then he held it there. I wasn't trying to hurt him, but my fingernails dug into his shoulders. My eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets. I let loose a primal scream. "Fuck me!" I moaned. "Fuck me!" Without another word, he began to pound his cock into my pussy. I think I started to cum almost immediately. His weight pressed down on me with each thrust. It felt like he was re-arranging my insides. In the good way. At first, I tried to fuck him back. I moved my hips to meet each thrust. But soon enough, I gave up and just held on for the ride. My tits bounced every time he rammed himself into me. I lifted my legs up and wrapped them around his waist. "Don't stop!" I sobbed. The space between my legs was a goddam slip-n-slide. Every time he pulled out, we made that nasty, glorious squishing sound. He never let up. Not until I felt my pussy contracting around him. The room started to spin. But Jonathan was going to town on me, and I absorbed every blow. "Oh, god, Veronica!" he groaned in my ear. "I'm going to cum!" "Cum inside me," I was delirious with ecstasy. "Cum with me!" I started to feel lightheaded. My sex pulsed, flooding with warmth, both his and mine. He gave me a series of short, hard thrusts, then pushed all the way inside me and held it. Jonathan arched his back and every muscle in his body went taut. Clenching his teeth, he exploded inside me. Time seemed to stand still as the orgasm consumed us. I felt myself pulsing around him, and I swear to god I could feel the cum shooting out of his cock. Then his body went limp and he collapsed on top of me, his ragged breath in my ear. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I wrapped my arms and legs around him, fully content. Our bodies were covered in sweat. I was laying in the wet spot, but I didn't care. My hands ran up and down his body, tracing his strong shoulders down to the firm small of his back. His body jerked a couple of times and I knew he had blacked out for a few seconds. Closing my eyes, I was fully prepared to drift off to sleep with my lover inside me. And then my cellphone rang. Jonathan was dead weight for a second until it registered in his brain that I was trying to move him off me. Blinking away the haze, he rolled over on to his back. "Sorry," I mumbled, before literally falling out of the bed. My knees were weak and my body still shivered from that Jonathan-induced mind-blowing orgasm, but I managed to stumble back out to the front of my apartment. If it were any other ringtone, I'd have let it go. "It's my parents." "Merry Christmas!" I tried to sound cheerful and nonchalant, and not like my post-coital glow was being crushed by my folks. "Merry Christmas, Ronnie!" My mother has one of those voices that you can hear four blocks away. And, since she can't see you through the phone, she thinks she has to talk extra, extra loud. "How's Hawaii?" I asked. "Are you okay, sweetheart? You don't sound okay." Of course, there's no getting anything by that woman. "Well . . . I, um," I stammered, trying to make up some excuse. "I was in bed." Not a lie. My eyes darted over to the clock on the microwave. "It is almost ten o'clock here." "Oh, dear! We're so sorry!" Damn, I'm good. "Timothy," her voice sounded like my dad was across a football stadium, but in reality, he was probably standing right next to her. "We forgot she's six hours ahead of us!" "Give me the phone, then," there was some jostling from the other end. "We're sorry for calling you so late, honey. Did you have a good Christmas?" "Yes, I did. We got about two feet of snow in the past week." Despite all of the bitching I did about Christmas that year, it was nice to hear my parents's voices. It was then that I remembered I was naked. And the thermostat had gone into the "night" cycle. I poked my head into the bedroom and retrieved my robe from a hook on the back of the door. "Wow, that's a lot!" I could hear the smile in his voice. "You don't usually get that much, do you?" "Last year, we got two feet all winter." "Ask her if she turned a faucet on so her pipes don't freeze!" I had to pull the phone back from my head to keep from my mother making me deaf. Maybe Dad had me on speaker phone. "She knows what to do, Kathy!" My parents got married when she was eighteen and he was in the service. I guess they've been together for over thirty years now. Their interactions are a finely choreographed series of questions, evasions, exasperation, situational deafness and deliberate antagonism. And if you ever see them together, you'd know they're still desperately in love with each other. "Ask Ronnie if she's opened her presents!" "I haven't opened anything yet," I told my Dad, who was used to being Mom's relay service. "I was waiting for you to call. Hold on a second." I set the phone down on my coffee table and got out the small stack of presents that had arrived the week before. Each was carefully packaged in some absolutely hideous floral wrapping paper my mother had probably picked up in bulk at an after-Christmas dollar-store sale five years ago. "Are you off the cruise ship yet?" I asked conversationally. The feeling in my toes was returning. "Yeah, they let us off at about nine this morning, and then we went over to the Arizona for the tour before lunch." The only reason I wanted to go along on their Hawaiian vacation was to see the war memorial with my dad. He's always halfway through a book about something having to do with the Navy, and it seems like if the TV isn't on ESPN, it's on whatever they're calling The Military Channel now. His buddies still call him "Master Chief", even though he just retired about four years ago, and being with him in Pearl Harbor would have been nice. "We just got checked into the hotel and wanted to call you before we went out for dinner." The door to the bedroom was still open, but I turned on a light on the end table so I could see what my parents had bought for me. They bug me every year about gifts. I always tell them I don't need anything. I have a good job and if there's anything I want, usually I just go out and buy it. Everything else on my "want" list is really expensive, and I don't expect my parents to buy me a $400 GoPro for when I want to go whitewater rafting. Or it's something that I actually need, and I don't feel right telling my folks that I want tires for my car on Christmas. Christmas Wrapping But they insist, and I gave them a small list of things so not to offend them. "Okay, I've got everything here," I said into the phone. "Which one should I open first?" "Tell her to open the biggest one! It's the espresso machine!" "Kathy!" My dad was facepalming himself. "Don't tell her what it is!" I could only laugh as I peeled back the corner of the wrapping paper. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was the first thing I could think of when my mom called me right before Thanksgiving. "Thanks, Mom! It's wonderful!" "Tell her to open the two things from Macy's!" "She doesn't know what's in the boxes, Kathy!" I'll tell you this: My father is a saint. And I'm not just saying that because I'm a little biased. "Ronnie, there are two rectangular boxes tied together with yarn." "I see them, Daddy." The knot came un-done easily with a simple tug. Dad learned how to tie all sorts of knots when he was in the Navy, and over the years, he taught me all of them. He also taught me how to shoot, hustle people at cards, curse, fight dirty and all the other things my mother thought were inappropriate for girls. He told me that he worked hard to send me to a good college so I wouldn't have to spend six months a year at sea to provide for my family, but he also didn't want me unprepared for how the world really works, either. I was about to pull the paper back on the presents when I happened to look up and see Jonathan standing in the doorway to my bedroom. He leaned back against the door frame and I got my first look at him in all of his naked glory. If he was cold, you couldn't tell by looking. My nipples popped out, and my sex became slick almost immediately. There was a mischievous smirk on his face. I gave him the if-you-say-anything-I-will-kill-you look. In the first box was a very nice sweater, which would come in very handy given the current weather. As I started to open the second present, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Jonathan was stroking his cock, bringing it back to life. My mouth began to water. My eyes narrowed. Partly in warning. Partly with desire. In the other box, I found a stylish A-line skirt that I saw in a store and found on the internet. "Thank you, Daddy!" I gushed. "They're just what I wanted." "Well, all we did was click on the links you sent," he said, almost apologetically. "Thank you, anyway." I jumped slightly when Jonathan sat down next to me. I couldn't keep my eyes off his cock, which was standing straight up in his lap as he stroked it. Right next to me. I'm going to kill you, I mouthed so not to clue my parents in that I was talking to a naked man and them at the same time. He mouthed something back which looked suspiciously like, I'm going to fuck your brains out, but I'm not a good lip-reader so I couldn't be sure. But I was pretty sure that's what he meant. "Tell her to open the things in the stocking next!" "She can open that later," Dad told her. "It's just deodorant, toothpaste and underwear, anyway." "Now who's giving away her presents?" "Christ, Kathy! We put all that in her stocking every year!" One hundred percent true. Since I was twelve. "Ronnie, there's a smaller box with a blue bow on it. Open that one next, Pumpkin." I tore off one corner of the wrapping paper. Just as I realised what it was, Jonathan reached over and gave my tit a firm squeeze. It was all I could do to stifle a yelp. "Dad!" I used my surprise to cover up the machinations of my new lover. "This wasn't on my list." "I know, sweetheart." I could tell he was smiling from ear to ear on his end. "But your mom loves her iPad Mini so much, she thought you'd like one, too." The rest of the wrapping paper fell off and I turned it over to see which one they got me. It wasn't the basic version. "This must have cost a fortune!" I didn't hear whatever my dad said next because Jonathan sucked my rock-hard nipple into his mouth and bit gently. My pussy creamed a little on the spot. "—and with your brother at the Air Force Academy, we have all of his college fund just laying around, so we're spending it on you," my father continued. "I'll be sure to thank him," I said into the phone, trying not to scream. Jonathan stopped suckling on my boobs long enough to cup them from behind. I swatted at his hands, but there was no real threat and I was really just putting up token resistance. "There's one more thing I want you to open, and then we'll let you go." "Okay, Dad," I took a deep breath, to calm myself from crying out as Jonathan took my hand and placed it on his cock. "There's another present that's almost as heavy as the espresso machine." It was easy to find. Jonathan continued to grope me as I struggled to concentrate on opening the package. He pulled the robe down off my leg and rubbed his tumescent cockhead against my thigh. "Oh, Daddy!" I ripped the wrapping paper off. Part of it was excitement about my present. Part of it was whenever I said, "Daddy", he gave me a little extra sharp squeeze. That wasn't a complaint, by the way. "This is great!" Jonathan smiled evilly, apparently thinking I was talking to him. "Yeah, well, only the best for my little girl." It's a good thing he didn't know I was being molested as I talked to him. "There's a drill motor and an impact driver for the tough jobs. Nineteen point two volts and a carrying case, too." It's not every daughter who gets power tools from her father, but since I moved out on my own to go to college, Dad made up a list of things he thought I should have and has been filling it out over the years. I started to say something else, but Jonathan took the box from my hands. His eyes danced with puckish delight. I'm going to drill you later. "Tell Ronnie to look for the small box . . . you know . . . the small box." "I told her we were almost done." "Timothy . . ." Mom got that tone in her voice. "I've got it right here," I said, biting my lip as Jonathan pushed my legs apart. It was clearly a jewelry box, probably for a necklace. "Go ahead," my dad said. "After this we'll hang up. We know it's late for you." My hands shook as I slipped the bow off the present. It was either from the anticipation of what it might be, or the fact that Jonathan slipped two fingers inside me. I was still wet from the load of cum he had deposited in me earlier, as well as his more recent ministrations. Somehow, I managed to ignore the fact that someone was playing with my pussy and that same person was kissing his way across my shoulder to my neck and opened the present. Sure enough, it was a gorgeous gold chain with matching gold pendant that seemed to be encrusted in tiny cut gems. Just as I started to lift the necklace out of the box, I felt Jonathan lift me up off the couch and on to his lap. His cock was hard underneath me. I stifled a moan as I sank down on top of him. His hands caressed my rear end and I leaned back into his arms. "I love it," I breathed, hoping that I didn't give anything away to my father. "Daddy, you shouldn't have." The robe was wrapped around me, but somehow, the top was loose enough that my boobs spilled out of it. My nipples stuck straight up and Jonathan wasted no time in taking them between his fingers and thumb. "It's beautiful, Daddy," I whispered, my eyes hypnotized by the glittering stones. Again, I playfully swatted at my lover's hands, but that only seemed to egg him on. "Well, you deserve it, Pumpkin," Dad said, apparently oblivious to what was being done to me. I guess I was covering it well. Beneath me, Jonathan began to move his hips, first from side to side and then up and down. The slow burn of his cock inside me was making me tingle from the inside out. "You're only twenty-five for a year!" "I . . .I don't know what to say . . . Thank you, Daddy," I had to close my eyes and grit my teeth as Jonathan's lips ran down my neck. He continued to knead my breasts with his hands and work his cock slowly inside my pussy. I raised my voice just a bit so my mother could hear, and tried not to let it break. "And thank you, Mom!" "You're welcome, sweetheart," Dad beamed. "Okay, we're sorry for waking you up." "You know you can call any time." "Kathy, tell your daughter good-bye." "Good night, Ronnie. Merry Christmas!" "Merry Christmas, Mom. I love you!" "We love you, too, sweetheart. We'll call you when we get home." The line went dead, but I double checked to make sure they wouldn't hear me talking to the guy I was with. "I'm going to kill you," I sighed as I melted into Jonathan's strong arms. He pulled me close to him and kissed me, his lips locking onto that one spot on the back of my neck that drives me in-fucking-sane. I dug my nails into his forearm. "With what? A cordless drill?" "Daddy gave me a .38 Smith & Wesson last year," I warned without any serious threat in my voice. "Your father buys you firearms and power tools?" Jonathan's eyebrow shot up. "You know that means you're a daddy's girl?" "Yeah, so you'd better treat me right!" "I will always treat you right, 'Ronnie'," he winked. No one calls me that except my parents. Not even my brother. "Promise?" In the soft glow of a 13 watt LED desk lamp light bulb, I looked in to Jonathan Reilly's big blue eyes. I couldn't tell if it was just the moment, or if he truly meant it, but when he said the words, I believed him. "I promise." He slipped me off his lap and then picked me up in his arms. I nuzzled up against his neck. Luckily, the switches to the lights were next to the door to my bedroom. Laying me gently on the bed, Jonathan pressed his weight down on top of me. I spread my legs and his cock pressed into me again. Our lips met and he kissed me sweetly. "You are an evil man," I whispered in his ear. "Do you want to know something else about daddy's girls?" "Tell me." "If my father finds out that you're playing with my tits and my pussy, or that you're fucking me while I'm talking to him, he'll come here from wherever he is and he will shoot you." "Then he'd better not find out," Jonathan laughed, and I couldn't help but laugh with him. "Because next time he calls you, I'm going to eat your pretty little pussy . . . and the time after that, I'm going to bend you over the side of the couch and fuck you into next Thursday while you're talking to him. So if you want to keep getting Mr. Happy, you'd better not let him know what we're doing." "Watch it, buster," I giggled. "Your mouth is writing checks your dick can't cash." We kissed again, tenderly and gently. His hands caressed my face. Jonathan's hips moved slightly, just enough to make me tingle. But not hard. Not fast. Loving. We lay there for a long time, exploring each other with our hands and our mouths. He cupped my breasts. I played with his very nice backside. Neither of us were in a rush. I lost track of time, instead content to be just in that moment. For someone who had given up on this Christmas not so long ago, now I couldn't imagine missing this one this year. "Yes, you make me so hard," he whispered in my ear. I could feel it filling me up as we spoke. He pushed deep inside me and held it. "I can't believe it's taken us a year to get together." "Yeah, well, I hope it was worth it." "Ask me again next year." ************* That was three years ago. I'm pregnant and as big as a house now. Of course, that makes my husband very happy since my boobs went from big to ginormous. We got married the following year on Christmas Day. I got a promotion at work, but quit my job when they wanted me to move to Toronto to stand up a new district office. Fortunately, Jonathan makes more than enough money for both of us to live comfortably. Don't get me wrong: I'm not a trophy wife, but I make some money working from home as a freelance consultant, a job which affords me the opportunity to travel when I like, and I can usually go wherever it is that Jonathan's work sends him since my laptop contains pretty much my entire work life. After spending the previous Christmas in Chicago, we were at home for this one. "Good morning, beautiful," my husband rolled over next to me in our king-sized bed. We had just bought a house and were nesting. He was cutting back on his travel and starting to do a lot more through videoconferencing and remote access. I pushed him back on his back, making his morning wood stick straight up under the covers. It was a little cool in our bedroom, but we'd be making some heat in a minute. With a great deal of effort, I threw my leg over his hips and sat down on his magnificent cock. Leaning back, I let him get a good look at my big, pregnant belly, and my round, heavy breasts. I slipped the sports bra off and flung it across the room, so they sprung free. He cupped him in his hands and lifted his head expectantly off the pillow. I leaned forward and he took one of my nipples in his mouth. After paying appropriate attention to the other one, I reached for the phone on the nightstand. "So who should we call first?" "How about your parents?" Jonathan lay back in the bed, and I could feel him devouring me with his eyes. "So you still into living dangerously? I think Daddy was suspicious when we talked to him on Thanksgiving." "Then it's a good thing you had that throw pillow available to keep from screaming. What are you going to do this time?" he asked playfully. I started to move my hips just a little bit, just enough to keep my husband's cock fully erect. "Besides, you're my wife and can have sex with you whenever I want." "Daddy thinks I'm still a virgin." "You're eight months pregnant!" "Immaculate conception, baby. When I was sixteen, he asked if I wanted to be a lesbian so no boy would ever penetrate me with his dick. If you're so sure, when they come here next month when the baby's born, I want you to say the words, 'You know, Timothy, that I put my penis in your daughter's vagina twice a day, whether she needs it or not'." I love teasing my husband about being a Daddy's girl. "Oh, and you have to add, 'I also like it in her mouth and sometimes up her butt.' And you have to do it in person; there will be no chickenshit over-the-phone cop-out." "Do you really want him to kill me?" "No, but that's why I got that extra life insurance policy on you. And remember: he's a dead-eye dick with the .44. He may even give you a running start before taking you out with the Remington." "Not a chance, Mrs. Reilly," he put his hands on my hips and we found a slow, familiar rhythm. I started dialing. Jonathan's hands went to my breasts and he pinched my nipples just as it rang the first time. Then suddenly we laughed and once again got caught up in that Christmas magic that brings this tale to a very happy ending. Merry Christmas!