4 comments/ 22807 views/ 8 favorites I'll Be Home For Christmas By: Smokey125 Smokey Saga #5: "I'll Be Home For Christmas" This is a holiday dramedy. It's both a humorous and touching little narrative, a magical, facetious fairy-tale, and is dedicated to anyone who enjoys a few laughs in their sexcapades. It's not the hottest story I've written—it has less sex in relation to other content—but does become quite steamy in the middle, and is appropriate to the season, very much in the Christmas spirit. Enjoy! *** December 19th, 4:17 p.m. As the day's temperature descended from its 35°-peak, the city weather precipitated into a light snowfall, and the Midwestern sun quickly faded into gray clouds. The town radiated Christmas in all directions. Wreaths and garlands hung from homes, businesses and offices, where inside, cheerful holiday music piped through stereo systems. Cars jammed the roads, drivers honking through to the nearest mall, restaurant or relative's house. Residents plugged in their lights, and neighborhoods were alit by multicolored strings on windows and frames, as well as their own streetlights. If one held an aerial map and zoomed far enough into the east-northeast side of town, at the precisely correct coordinates, a particular building would swim into view. This building, located at 661 Kit Kat Street, provided a unique service to citizens, to which men and women paid visits for distinctly separate purposes. A sperm bank. Gentlemen came to the bank to make donations, and ladies visited to consider utilizing these donations to complement their own fertility. A daily buzz circulated around the bank, mostly between employees and visitors, in the form of coy cracks and euphemisms, used to humorously maneuver around official terminology regarding the bank's business. More often than not, these funny remarks were made by visitors, under the impression they were cleverly delivering a suggestive pun or quip for the first time. Employees would smile politely, making believe they hadn't heard these same jokes dozens of times before, and carry on as usual. It was nearing the end of a standard work week. The minutes ticked down as the last male guests turned in their samples and were on their jolly ways. A seemingly endless rendition of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" slowly transformed workers' brains into meat loaf. Quitting time arrived for more of them, and off into the Christmas bustle they departed. Sample collections had dwindled from the average estimate during the rest of the year, due to both holiday rush and also the cold winter weather. Two women in the building, Amy and Lola, stuck around to finish a bit of supplemental labor after everyone else left, as they often did together. They were the same age, 33, the equivalent of degrees Fahrenheit beneath which the temperature'd just begun to slip. They'd started at the bank around the same time several months ago, and had since become best friends—though they did tend to bicker, tease and chew each other out a lot—the broadest strip of common ground being their job. They handled the bank records and inventory. Amy took care of the digital files in the computer system, Lola looked after the hard copies. This was the arrangement 80% of the time, though they occasionally switched off so Lola could take some time to sit down and Amy could get up and stretch. A confused Amy stared at the computer screen, clicking and shaking her head, as Lola made rounds behind her. "This can't be right," Amy announced as her friend circumnavigated. "What can't be," Lola answered, in the tone of an apathetic statement, rushing about with her folders. "According to this, we've processed a grand total of twenty-nine samples this week." "Yeah?" replied Lola. "So?" "So, besides the fact this is the third week in a row we haven't gone over forty, you know we're expected a weekly quota of thirty." Lola looked up at her for the first time, shutting the folder in her hand. "Ames..." she said, nicknaming her in her bicker-slash-lecture voice, "In the first place, Christmas is less than a week away. Of course we're gonna get less business; this is not exactly Toys 'Я' Us. And in the second place, I've told you, that quota stuff's bunk. Nobody can expect anything here; we just get what we get." "Lolly..." Amy said, mimicking her nickname tone, air-quoting her slang. "Mr. Simmons doesn't think it's 'bunk.'" Brad Kenneth Simmons, their boss, was extremely by-the-book, and Amy wasn't that far behind him. He lived by bottom-lines, guidelines, deadlines, dotted lines, and of course quotas. His favorite saying was, "Numbers never lie." "Did you not see the memo he sent out?" Amy continued. "It clearly states we need at minimum thirty samples processed per week, or else payroll won't be able to afford our Christmas bonuses." "'Course I did, and I promptly ignored it, thank ya very much," said Lola, who was looser about concrete things like numbers and guidelines. She was concerned with practical pragmatism and meeting living, breathing, three-dimensional folks who came to their establishment. "C'mon, Amy, 's ridiculous. How many guys you know in the mood to come in here and pop their puppies at thirty damn degrees? Besides, what're we supposed to do? We can't just grab dudes off the street and force them to give us their junk." Amy spun her chair in Lola's direction to face her. "Lola, I spent it already! This was the year I thought I was finally going to be able to give my family and friends some really quality gifts!" "Oh my God, Ames, where do I even begin here," Lola sighed exasperatedly. "Real friends aren't gonna care if you give 'em a Cadillac or a Hot Wheel. And so you spent, what, a hundred lousy bucks you don't really have? So the hell what?? You'll get it back! It's not like we're going tummy up by New Years'. And if it's really stressing you out that much, big deal, just return the gifts!" Amy settled down a little, thinking about what her buddy-girl was saying. It made sense. "Oh...y'know, I guess you're right. I'm probably getting all carried away over nothing here. You are. You're right, Lola." Lola pressed the lock on a filing drawer, whipped it open and let it swing out the rest of the way on its own. "Duh!" she exclaimed, unceremoniously dropping the last folder in. She stepped into the next room to the coat closet and collected their jackets. "C'mon, let's get outta dodge, whad'ya say. I'm beat." "Okay, let me just clock us out here..." Amy opened the time system, did just that, closed out her programs and shut the computer down. Five minutes later, they stood at the front door to lock up. As they often closed themselves, they were entrusted with keys. Amy blew out her breath in frustration. "I can't believe we're only one gosh-darn sample from getting our bonus." "Oh, will you give it a rest. Two weeks from now, we won't even remember this. We're not exactly broke, Ames. In fact, we're pretty damn comfy, 'fya ask me. So, what's it gonna be tonight?" Lola asked as they stepped out. "Chinese? Mexican? Burgers? Pizza?" Amy emerged behind. "Mmm...I dunno," she said. "You pick." Lola sighed. A visible breath blew from her nostrils and mouth. "You are so indecisive," she told her as they headed for their cars. "I am most certainly not," Amy asserted. "I just don't enjoy always having to be the one wh—" Her speech was interrupted by a voice calling for help. Lola and Amy turned to see someone hurrying towards them. It was a man, who looked about middle-aged, dressed in only a short-sleeved T-shirt, worn jeans and ragged-looking sneakers. He jogged in their direction, rubbing his arms, trying to keep warm. He had stubble about three or four days old, and a light dusting of dirt had collected on him, as if he hadn't had a shower in quite a while. "Excuse me! Excuse me, please!" he shouted to them. They saw him coming. "Oh my God, dude, are you crazy??" Lola asked. "It's thirty degrees out here!" He stopped before them, panting and shivering through chattering teeth. "I know. I know...I-I'm not crazy...I'm...I'm...homeless." The women's eyebrows jumped as their mouths wordlessly dropped ajar. He struggled for words and breath, rubbing his limbs harder and faster. "I-I don't wanna bother you, but...I-I just don't know what else to do right now...y-you can't believe what's happened to me in the last three days. I've-I've lost my car, my apartment and my job, all in the last 72 hours...and-and I know how it sounds, but I swear to God, I'm not lying to you! I'm-I'm just—" "Oh, holy cow, you poor guy!" Lola said, fishing her keys back out and turning around. "Well, c'mon, c'mon, get inside! Hurry up!" "Wh—...Lola," Amy ran back up alongside her. "We're not supposed to let anyone in the building after closing hou—" "Amy, what the hell're we gonna do, just leave the guy standing out in the snow with no jacket??" She took the appropriate key. "Look, don't worry. If anything happens—which it won't—I'll take the heat for it." She turned back to their homeless visitor. "C'mon, c'mon already!" she repeated, taking him by the arm with her right mitten. She opened the door, and the three of them hastened in. Lola shut and relocked it behind them, shrouding them in the dark lobby. "Oh, God, thank you!" said the quivering gentleman, continuing to rub himself warm. Lola trotted again to the coat closet and grabbed one of the spares kept for just such irregular situations. She returned and wrapped it around him. "Here, put this on." "Whew...thank you again," he said, exhaling on his icy hands and slipping his arms through the sleeves. "So whatever happened to you, sir?" Amy asked him. "Well, uh..." He sniffled and cleared his throat. "M-my landlord was threatening eviction, because my place was just, kinda...a mess...and, I kept meaning to get it organized, I really did, but it seemed like all I could do was work, 'cause I was having so much trouble just making the rent. But it didn't matter anyway; the eviction went through. My lease was terminated, and that just happens to be the same day my department at work gets laid off, 'cause apparently the banking representatives bilked our company out of about ten grand, and then my 14-year-old junker decides to finally die on me. I tried to trade it in, but it's no good; there's nothing I can do. Even if I could get to the bank, I can't access my account. It's closed." He took a deep breath. "So, I'm on the street." Throughout the narration of this ordeal, Lola's and Amy's faces grew more and more sympathetic. "My gosh, what a terrible story!" Amy said. "Just listening to that broke my heart! I am so sorry!" "Yeah, me too," said Lola. "And you don't have any relatives to help you?" He shook his head. "They're scattered throughout the country. The only one nearby's my brother, he's on the other side of town, and frankly, I was closer with my landlord than with him. Besides, I can't call them; no phone service." "You're kidding! That's awful!" said Amy. "No wife?" He displayed his hand. "You see a ring on there?" Amy looked. "Well...no...but I thought maybe since it looks like you could use the money..." Lola elbowed her in the side. "A-my..." she reprimanded through her teeth. She turned back to address the gentleman again. "I must apologize for my friend, she's not exactly the world's most tactful person sometimes." He shrugged. "I-I couldn't care less about tact right now. I'm just...just trying to think of the most appropriate way of asking you kind ladies if you could maybe...provide me with a...few dollars to...to get something to eat?..." Silence took over for a moment. Amy started to say, "Oh...gosh...I dunno..." but something clicked in Lola's mind. She jumped in. "Uh, just a minute, please, sir," she said, taking Amy by the arm. "I need a quick word with my associate. Don't go anywhere, 'kay?" She led Amy a few feet aside. "You really think we should give him money?" Amy asked quietly. "We don't know him; he might just go get drunk with it." "Ames, just work with me on this for a minute," said Lola. She paused, then asked, "You want your Christmas bonus or not?" Amy did not at first perceive what she was on about. "What?" Lola provocatively arched her eyebrows, as if to convey a message. She subtly nodded towards the waiting room, looked back at Amy, cocked her head in the gentleman's direction, smiled impishly, and repeated, "Do, you want, your Christmas bonus, or not?" Suddenly, Amy realized what Lola was proposing. A look of shock washed over her face. She whisper-shouted. "WHAT?! NO!" Lola put her finger to her lips. Amy stared at her incredulously. "Are you insane??" she demanded. "We bring this poor starving guy in out of the cold, and now we tell him that if he wants us to feed him he has to...splooge off in a cup for us first??" "Well, obviously we are not gonna phrase it like that, but yes, Ames! Yes!" Lola insisted. "Look, first off, I know he's hungry, but we can take his mind off that. He's cold, and this is a great way to get his body warmed up. He's obviously upset about his situation, and who could blame him. The past few days he's had, giving him a little pleasure couldn't possibly hurt him right now." "Whoa, whoa, hold on a second here," said Amy. Imitating Lola's voice, hands on hips, she sarcastically quoted, "'We can't just grab dudes off the street and force them to give us their junk'?" Lola rolled her eyes and dropped them to the floor in exasperation. She scowled at Amy. "I hate your photographic memory," she commented with a sour sigh. "Okay, fine, in this case I was wrong. But this is an out-of-the-ordinary situation. We'll shelter him...pleasure him...process his sample, then once we've earned his trust, we'll take him out to eat with us. And boom: he gets an orgasm and a delicious meal, we get our bonus, everybody wins!" "Uh-huh..." Amy said immediately, just about cutting her off. "And what about him earning our trust? Hmm?" "Oh—!" Lola scoffed. "What's he gonna do, try to rob us? Look at him! He's as weak as a slug! He can't weigh more than 150 pounds! Amy, the poor guy probably hasn't eaten in days! God's sake, if he tried to get nasty with us, I think we could take him!" It was Amy's turn to sigh. She had to admit, it did seem like Lola had the situation thought out, and her plan didn't sound...too atrocious, but... "I...think I'd feel a little bad just...using him like that," she said. "It'd feel like we took advantage of him." "That's why we're gonna take him out to dinner with us," reiterated Lola. "It's more personal and friendly that way. You're right—if we made him give us his...y'know...then just gave him a few bucks and shoved him out the door, then yeah, I think his feelings would be hurt. Probably make him feel like a gigolo or something. But we take him out, show him some kindness and compassion, fill up his tummy, give him some companionship, heal his heart from all the crap he's just been through, he'll feel better. Come on, Ames, you heard what he went through. How often do you get an opportunity to turn around someone's day like this?" Amy was considering, but still not completely sold. She looked at Lola uncomfortably. "I think I'd rather just take him straight out to dinner...I mean, do we really have to ask him to..." She finished the question with a quick masturbatory gesture. "Yeah, I know, but look it, Ames," Lola reasoned. "He's been in here for five minutes, and he still looks like an ice cube. No matter what, I think the last thing he needs is to go back outside right now. And no, we don't immediately have to ask him to...y'know...jerk off for us," she went on, lowering her voice to a whisper, "But, well..." The corners of her mouth curled up as she mischievously chuckled. "...You don't think that would be a fun little diversion for him? We can get him something from the snack machine for now, then we can take him inside, convince him to do this for us, then when it's finished, we all go out to dinner!" Suddenly, it was as if Amy and Lola completely reversed positions from the way they'd felt twenty minutes ago. "'Convince him to do this for us'??" Amy parroted. "You said it yourself, we cannot just convince a random homeless stranger inside, exploit his vagrancy, and politely ask him to stroke his...self, just so we get an extra hundred bucks! How is that supposed to make him feel? How would we feel if we were in his place?" Lola paused to sigh again. "Well, first off, we couldn't know how we'd feel, 'cause we're asking him for sperm, and last I checked, we don't have testicles!" she snapped. "If we did, this wouldn't be necessary, now would it?! And second off, hence, for the fourth time, we take, him out, to dinner!" She heaved a breath of frustration. "I'm getting just a little tired of saying those words! Look, Amy, once again, it's a wonderful way to say thank you for doing this little favor for us. And, besides, he's not a 100% total stranger...anymore. We did just learn some of the more intimate details about his life." "Oh, now you're just grasping at wrapping paper ribbons," Amy scolded her. Still, she had to concede that at least the dinner treating seemed like an incredibly noble and humane gesture. Lola saw the consideration in her face. "C'mon..." Lola said, drawing out the coaxing with a manipulative smirk. "Can't you just picture all your friends' and relatives' happy faces when they see those beautiful quality gifts you got 'em?" she asked, a hint of naughtiness dripping from her voice. Another second, and Amy gave in. "Oh, all right," she surrendered, at which point Lola grinned big and clapped her red mittened hands in excitement. Amy pointed a green mittened finger at her. "But that was dirty pool, playing on my emotions like that." Lola wryly replied, making fun of her. "I know, I know, and I promise to feel excruciatingly horrible about it for the rest of my life. Now c'mon." They strode back over to where their vagrant stood waiting for them, pacing about, trying to rub his hands warm. "Oh, here, here! Let us do that for you," Lola offered, taking one of his hands in her mittens and rubbing it between them. Amy did the same with his other hand. "Uh, one little question right now, sir...please don't ask us to explain just yet, but...how old are you?" The gentleman did obediently as Lola asked, supplying only his age. "42." "Good!" Lola winked at Amy. "That works. Now, sir, would you like to come with us, and right now we'll buy you a nice candy bar or something, get you a little warmer, and then later, if you like, we can take you out for some dinner?" He was visibly moved. "...Wow. My fortune's sure turned to run into you two gals, but...I don't know if I can ask you to go that far." "But you didn't ask, we offered," Amy corrected him. "And we insist!" "That's right, and it's Christmastime!" added Lola. "We couldn't turn away a cold, hungry gentleman at Christmastime." "And, since we're already...kinda shaking hands here, I'm Amy." "And I'm Lola." "Well...very pleased indeed to make your acquaintance, ladies! I'm George." I'll Be Home For Christmas "So lovely to meet you too, George," said Lola. "Right this way!" *** December 19th, 5:41 p.m. The three sat together in the waiting room. George was practically inhaling a Snickers bar the women had purchased for him. "So, what sort of place is this?" George asked between bites. "Doctor's office?" "Well, kind of, but not really. We'll get to that in a minute," said Lola. "How are you feeling? Can we turn up the heating for you?" "Mm," he said, mouth full of chocolate, peanuts and caramel. "I'm starting to feel much better, actually." Amy was eyeing Lola warily. She was evidently very nervous about this whole arrangement. "Fantabulous!" said Lola. "Well, George, this is a type of bank, actually. But you see, it's not the sort of bank that handles money." "That's right," Amy jumped in. "See, this is a place where single women and lesbians come who'd like to become mothers, and men...indirectly...help the women, with that task." George looked back and forth between them. He wasn't exactly processing it. They were going to have to spell it out for him. "...George, this is a sperm bank," Lola explained. Upon hearing, George choked on a piece of Snickers. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry!" said Lola, giving him a pat on the back. Luckily, it was only a crumb down the windpipe. "So, George, why don't you let me take that coat for you, if you're feeling warmer now," she offered. He obliged. Lola took the coat, promptly stuffed it in Amy's arms, then sat back down with George and slipped her hand around his shoulders. Amy glared at her. "That's okay, Lola, don't trouble yourself; I'll hang it up! No no no, please! Allow me!" Ignoring her, Lola continued to George. "We have lots of folks come visit us, but, sometimes not quite as many as we'd hoped." Amy hung up the coat and sat closer to him as well, resting her hand on his thigh. "Yeah, like this very week, for instance." Lola resumed. Her next move was deliberate. She acted as if she were about to say something else, then stopped. "Right. Our—" Pause. "Oh, hey...y'know what? I've got an idea...George, why don't you stand up, and we'll show you around?" Okay, why not, he acquiesced, suspecting nothing. They took him arm in arm around the perimeter of their waiting room and donor areas. As they made their way about, Lola went on. "So, most of the time, we do very well with the number of nice gentlemen who drop by to donate their essences to us. Although this being the Christmas season, that's slowed us down a tad." "Oh, George!" said Amy, opening a door, "You must see this; this room's very special." They guided him into it. "Our V.I.D. room." "The fact is, George," said Lola, as they entered, "Our weekly goal is thirty sperm donations." She kept him turned in her direction so he wouldn't see what sat on the other side of the room. "However, this week, it seems we were only able to accumulate a total of..." George abruptly heard the sharp sound of the door being shut. He about-faced to see Amy leaning against it. She posed provocatively, regarding him with an innocent yet coyly seductive smirk. Then he heard Lola finish her sentence. "...Twenty-nine." It took another moment, but finally George began to put two and two together. He grew alarmed, shifting towards the closed door. "Um, thank you so much for everything, ladies, really, but...I-I think I'd better be running along now." "Uh, where, George?" Amy asked, gently halting him in his tracks. "You've nowhere to go. You told us, remember?" George looked back and forth between them. He remembered. His eyes widened nervously. Lola took him by the hands. "George, honey, it's okay," she consoled in a soothing voice. "You have nothing to worry about. We're going to take care of you. Now, we said a little later we'd take you out to dinner, and we will. And we can even look into putting you up in a hotel room for a couple nights—it's just that right now, George...'twould appear there's a little favor exchange to deal with." "Right, good sir," said Amy, inertly blocking his escape. "You needed to come in out of the cold and get warm. We, meanwhile..." She awkwardly sucked some air through her teeth. "...Need a thirtieth sperm sample, in order to meet our weekly goal." "With which we were hoping you might be able to...help us," Lola said, flirtatiously flipping her eyebrows and caressing his arm. "But...eh...y—...you ladies want me to just give you m—..." He shakily let it trail off. "I...I don't know if I'm comfortable with that." "And we completely understand that, George!" Amy told him reassuringly (yet also flirtatiously). "Trust us!" "Of course!" said Lola. "It's a perfectly reasonable reaction. Granted, this is a bit of a reversed situation, George, as normally our donors come to see us and submit their sperm to us of their own volition." George looked to the other side of the room for the first time. It consisted of one table with a TV and DVD player on it, another small coffee table occupied by some pornographic magazines and DVDs, and a soft, cushy armchair facing its fellow furnishings. "A—...are you going to keep me in here against my will unless I...do this for you?" he asked them. "Oh, gosh...you know, George," said Lola, "I don't much care for the phrase 'against my will.' This is a bit of a gray area, you know what I mean?" She led him towards the armchair. He looked behind him. Amy was still guarding the door. Inside of Amy, a funny feeling was developing. Though she hadn't believed it would, the idea of taking the helpless gentleman in and persuading him to help them out—now that it was actually happening—was...somehow...turning her on. No visible explanation, but now, him in their room, something deep down within her suddenly really wanted to undress him and...get into his pants and... What?! Amy, you naughty girl! That's not you! thought the orderly, sensible part of her brain, mentally smacking herself on the wrist. What is the matter with you? We might expect this kind of thing from Lola, but not you! You don't have that depraved mind! Still, the other part of her brain argued, Hey, wait a minute! Can't we...indulge myself once in a while? I'm not a nun! I'm not a monk! And, it's...actually been a long time since I've...touched a man down there. She let herself be swayed in one direction, then the other, back and forth. An arbitrary third thought then entered her mind. Hmmm...maybe Lola's right; maybe I am indecisive. Meanwhile, Lola went on. "Technically, George, we're not legally allowed to hold donors prisoner." She gingerly sat him down in the armchair, squatting beside him. "Our hope was that we could be nice enough to you, that you'd be nice enough to do this for us." Amy redirected her attention on George. She allowed herself to enjoyably consider slithering her hand beneath his jeans...until at last deciding, Screw it. I want this. Other part of my brain, go to heck in a handbag. Slipping from the door to the other side of the armchair, she added, "Right, and, if you absolutely insist on refusing us this request, we have to respect your decision. We can't force you to do this, but..." She sighed, growing more manipulative herself. "We'd really have no choice but to release you, back outside." "And, need we remind you, baby, it's cold outside," Lola softly added. Amy knelt by his other side. They now each held on to one of his arms. Lola was looking at Amy suggestively. Amy was beginning to get very excited. Looking back and forth between them, George asked, "But...couldn't we just go out to dinner right now instead?" Silence. Lola looked to Amy, feigning uneasiness. "I don't think we can do this nicely anymore," Lola told her. She turned back up to George, affably but firmly, and stated, "...I'm sorry, George; no sperm, no dinner." "W—...what??" "That's right," Amy chimed in, letting her warped debaucherous side take over. She then went on to surprise all three of them, as if she just couldn't stop. "No fruition, no nutrition. No rub, no grub. No squeal, no meal! No jerk-y, no turkey! No cummy, no yummy!" "A-MY! What th—?!" Lola blew up laughing. She'd never seen this side of her before. "I can't believe that came outta your mouth!" My gosh! thought Amy. I didn't realize how aroused I really am! I need this more than I thought! I'm hornier than Lola! A now grinning, fired up Amy, intoxicated by how much fun this was becoming, fired her another one. "Oh yeah?? That's what your Dad said last night!" Amy retorted, gleefully leering back at her. This made Lola's eyes and mouth pop wide open, collapsing once again in hysterical guffaws. George was not exactly laughing along. He had to admit this repartee was uniquely...well, unique...and he wanted to be polite, but he was also starting to really want out of here. He tried to rise from the chair, but ceasing their silly symphony, as Lola predicted, together they were able to overpower him and tug him back down. He tried again. Same result. They stopped laughing and joking. "Oh, George, please, hold on a moment!" said Amy, trying not to giggle at the ludicrousness of the whole situation as she and Lola repeatedly wrestled and pinned him back into the chair. "This would be so much easier for all of us if you would just cooperate!" "She's right!" said Lola, as they all tried to settle down. "Please! We really don't wanna be forceful about this! We wanna be your friends, George! And we want you to be ours." George stopped trying to shake them off and sat still in the chair, now needing to relax. He was already drained of energy from his last few days of anguish. He was beginning to feel that he might just have to honor their wishes. "Um...w-would..." he stammered. "...Would I have to do this...right in front of you girls, in...in the same room?" he asked. Delighted to see that he appeared to be coming around, the ladies smiled. "Oh, that's up to you!" said Lola amicably. "Yes," said Amy. "If you want us in the room with you, here we'll be. If you wanna be alone, we'll go outside." But pleeeease at least let me stay with you while you jerk off, George...pleeeease let me watch you stroke your cock... her randy mind thought, as a bit of wetness generated between her legs. I really really wanna watch that! "Hell, we could even do it for you if you wanted," suggested Lola. She said it as a bit of a throwaway, but a couple of beats passed while the girls thought about it, and their smiles grew. "Hey, that's actually not a bad idea!" Lola appended. Amy's anxious heart began pounding. Keeping calm on the outside, she asked, "Would you be comfier with that, George?" George took a moment before he answered. "I...don't think I'd feel too comfortable either way, but..." He was having a very tough time bringing himself to finally agree. He glanced over at the visual porno aids on the small table beside. "Oh...forget about that stuff," Lola said, waving it away. "That's ordered and delivered to us, and it's actually not really that good at all. Most of our donors don't even use it. It's...not hot, or sexy, it's just...dumb." She softened her voice, and coyly asked, "Maybe, eh...maybe we can give you a little encouragement ourselves?...Huh?..." She began to massage his inner thigh. "That feel good?" Amy started simultaneously rubbing his neck and shoulder. After a minute, George had to admit, he was enjoying the massaging. They observed his facial expression relaxing as he leaned into their healing hands, and so they enticed him further. Lola put her other hand to work rubbing his back, while Amy also worked on his other thigh. "Oh, George...we can see you're enjoying this," Lola said to him, her voice dripping with honey. "That's what we want. We want this to be a positive experience for all of us." Soon, they noticed a twitch, and a small rise in the crotch of his tattered jeans. They smiled. "My, oh, my, that does feel good, doesn't it?" Amy asked him sensually, her own juices already in motion. She laid her head on his shoulder, hugging his arm as her heart sped. Their eager feminine hands inched closer to where his inner thighs met his genitals. He stirred as he felt them nearing his delicate region. "Um...ladies..." he squirmed, "I'm...I'm still not sure, abou—..." He gasped as he felt the contact. "It's okay," Lola took over for him. "We are." She rubbed him through his jeans, gazing up at him with a deceptively beatific smile. He squirmed and stirred a bit more. His eyes fluttered. He heard Amy ask, "Are you, eh...are you ready to take them off, George?" "I...uh...I don't..." He wasn't sure. He honestly didn't know how he felt, or should be feeling about this. On one level, it felt nice. On another, it felt strange, as if he didn't know if it should be happening. Still, he allowed himself to be drawn further in. "Trust us, George," whispered Lola. She unbuttoned them and pulled the zipper down. Then she tugged them from around his backside towards his calves. He wanted to reach out and stop her, but...he also didn't want to. At last, the pants came down far enough, and out jumped his stiffened member. The women's minds cheered. When George saw his naked cock exposed to the girls, he closed his eyes. "Oh..." he emitted, a dash of embarrassment coloring his face. "Aw," he heard Lola say to Amy. "Look at that, he's shy! How adorable!" Lucky for him, she was teasing him tenderly, not cruelly. She tugged off his shoes, then the jeans' down from his legs. Now nothing over the lower half of his body, they spread his legs as wide as the confines of the chair would allow. The initial naked fondling began. "Oh! Ames," Lola reminded her, tossing her head in the direction of the door, working George up towards a full erection. Amy picked up on her hint; they needed a receptacle. As much as she didn't want to leave the room, "I'll be right back, George!" she announced. A moment later she returned with one of the bank's standard plastic cups, disconnected from its lid. She eagerly settled in beside Lola. "So, uh...what should I do?" she wanted to know. "Um...oh! Here you go, play with his balls," Lola urged. "That way, I can hold him and stroke him with both hands." Amy softly giggled, reaching to caress them. Her hands were quivering with enthusiasm. "Like this?" "Yeah, y'know: rub 'em, jiggle 'em, tickle 'em, tease 'em...they like that a lot," Lola instructed. "Balls love attention. They really really really don't wanna be left out. Just don't play with 'em too rough. They're extremely sensitive." George allowed himself to let his head drop on the back of the chair, while the women cuddled and fondled him. He still wasn't entirely certain how he felt about this, but it was beginning to feel very good. As he grew harder and harder in her hands, Lola remembered another aid they could use. "Oh! Ames! Go get me some massage oil!" she said, motioning with her head again. "Oh, Lola, for cr—!" Amy was starting to feel like Lola's gofer. She was the horniest one in the room, and just wanted to stay here toying with these funny balls. Suddenly, the short jaunt out the door for a little oil seemed a very long trip. "...O-kay...okay, Lollypop, but after this, you want anything, you're gettin' it yourself!" She accidentally kicked the cup a few feet as she hopped up. Oh, shoot...ah, I'll get it later. "A'right, I'll be right back again, George." She re-disappeared, re-reappeared, and another minute later, George felt the lovely sensation of lube dripping down his cock, Lola rubbing it on him, her hand slipping and sliding all over. "Okay, balls, Ames's back," she said to them, contentedly plopping back down in her spot. "And she's not going anywhere now." She resumed her teasing activity. She was starting to really want to touch both George and herself. More time passed. The sun had gone down. The city was lit only by man-made lights. It continued snowing. A beautiful tableau. They fell into a rhythmic pattern. Lola held the base of his dick with one hand, giving smooth, even strokes with the other, keeping a good, moderately quick speed. Amy cupped his balls and gracefully danced her fingertips over them. Amy was a bit jealous, desiring to actually orchestrate the masturbation and handle the cock herself. But then, Lola was better-versed in this sort of thing. She knew what she was doing. George's entire body started to react. He breathed heavier. His head rolled back on the chair, and small moans began resonating out from his vocal chords. Lola and Amy were highly enjoying his flattering reactions. Lola couldn't help but smile. "Hey, I think we're good at this!" she proclaimed. "Yeah!" Amy chortled along. "How come we never tried this before?!" They both giggled like kids. Lola was feeling genuinely proud of herself. She had Amy and their colleagues under the impression that she'd a lot of experience, but the truth was, though she liked being thought of as an authority figure, she was a big talker. She didn't really possess all the inner knowledge, skills and capabilities she led them to believe. It was a fun roleplaying game for her. But here she actually was, with an actual human dick in her hands, actually stroking it, evoking actual candid outbursts and exclamations of pleasure from its owner. And it was she who was making the gentleman feel this way—with Amy's help, yes, but nonetheless, her ego was highly boosted. She felt confident and in control. She was nice and excited, but if she only knew what was going on inside Amy's body right now. They went on. George had long since left behind the part of himself to which this demonstration felt bizarre and uncomfy. He was unable to believe he'd been so resistant. He moaned, he groaned, he whimpered, he squealed. Innovative and inventive as her mind was, Lola was constantly thinking of ideas to make the whole act more fun and intense when suddenly, inspiration struck yet again. "Oh my God," she said to Amy mischievously, "Oh my God!" Sensing she'd come up with another errand, Amy vehemently shook her head. "No, Lola, no! Whatever the heck it is, you get it!" "I will, I will!" said Lola. "Ames, do me a favor and stroke his dick for me, would ya? Be right back!" "Really? Okay!" Amy perked up, jumping at the chance to feel the cock herself, in her own hand. "What is it?" Lola hopped to her feet. "I'll show ya in a minute!" she said, dashing out. Amy gladly took over stroking George's cock with her left hand. She didn't put an igniting rev on it with the rapid motion Lola delivered, but petted it intimately, smoothing her fingers over its slippery slope. The feel and texture made her shiver with zeal inside. She felt salivation generate, and swallowed. She wanted to feel his dick in her mouth (but not slicked with massaging oil). She thought later they should take George somewhere he could enjoy himself a nice hot shower, and made a mental note to herself to then kindly ask for permission to suck his lovely cock. Actually, she couldn't wait to ask for permission to suck his lovely cock. In another minute, Lola ran back in, wearing a Santa Claus hat on her head, another in her hand. "Ta-da!" The hats were used as holiday decoration around their bank. "How funny is this?!" she laughed. She placed the other one good and snug on Amy's head. "We're Santa's naughty little helpers!" I'll Be Home For Christmas Amy felt a little silly handling a man's genitals with a Santa hat on, but she saw that this was the whole fun of it all for Lola. It occurred to her that to a horny person who loved pretty girls and Christmas, this would spell major hot 'n' kinky. "Lola, you are so weird." "You think that's weird?? Look what I got outta your purse! Here, tickle his balls with this!" She showed Amy the other object in her hand. Amy gaped at her in disbelief. The sight brought her a good little ways back to her senses. She halted petting George in mid-stroke. "What th—are you insane, Lolly?? That's my electric toothbrush!" she shrilled. "I'll buy ya a new one!" snapped Lola within a tenth of a second. "Trust me, Ames, DO it. Trust me! I saw this chick do it to this dude in a dirty movie once. It drove him freaking crazy!" Amy had to laugh. "Lola, you're sick!" she exclaimed through a guffaw. "IknowIknowIknowIknowIknow! Just do it!" Lola commanded. "You gotta! Just watch the reaction it gets! DO IT already!!" "A-all right, all right!" said Amy. She activated the toothbrush as Lola resumed her hand job, and slowly, lightly touched it to him. The response indeed proved nothing short of immense. The jolt coursed George's entire body, and he almost leapt right out of his skin. His moans graduated to sharp, booming cries of ecstasy, electricity-crackling shouts of delirium. This action provoked George to redefine the word 'insanity.' He gripped the armrests of the chair, squeezing the ends of his fingers as white as the outside snow. A little more intensity and he'd have ripped the upholstery right out. His body thrashed spastically and uncontrollably. Amy and Lola had to hoist themselves up on their knees and grope even harder just to hold on to him. Their Santa hats almost fell off. "Oh my GOD!" Amy laughed exultingly, watching the fireworks show, her pussy getting wetter every second. "I told you!" Lola rejoined, roaring to be heard over George's outcries. "Lolly, what if someone hears us?!" "Ames, the building is closed, remember?!" The light bulb clicked on above her head. "...Oh yeah... "Loll," she shouted again, "You're gonna think I'm crazy, but...this is really, really fun!" "I know, right?!" Lola croaked out, laughing so hard she couldn't contain herself. It looked like they were going to make him cum before much longer. Suddenly, she stopped laughing as she remembered—the whole reason they were doing this in the first place! "Oh, God! Amy, get the cup ready!" Amy herself gasped at the same realization. She looked around. Where the heck did she put it? "Hurry up, Ames! I think he's gonna blow!" Amy looked around frantically. She'd put it right there on the floor, beside her! Didn't she? DIDN'T she?? "A-MY!...This dick feels like a friggin' volcano in my hand! I cannot stop it! Get, the damn, cup!" Forcing her libido to behave itself, Amy dropped her toothbrush. She peeked around the corner of the chair. Ah! There it was! That was right, she'd kicked it over there by mistake and forgot to retrieve it. She stretched her arm out as far as she could, pulled her whole body a few inches closer, finally grasped the cup, pushed herself back up in front of Lola's oil-caked hand pumping George's throbbing red dick like a Super Soaker, held the lip of the cup just under the head, almost dropped it but kept her hands steady... And not a second too soon. The instant Amy positioned the cup, it was as if a vacuum attached to his urethra, and vehemently sucked him dry, draining his balls spurt by spurt by viscous spurt. It was glorious. They could almost see it happening in slow motion and hear the majestic music, ornamented with the Christmas bells and angelic voices... "O come, all ye faithful!...Joyful and triumphant!..." After he began cumming into the cup, Amy remembered the toothbrush and re-jolted his balls with it, as Lola's now exhausted hand milked him on and on, and it did seem to keep things going longer than expected. At last, he wound back down, his consciousness temporarily shut off, and he deflated in Lola's fingers. Lola and Amy let out a unisonous, "Whew!" "Yay!" cheered Lola. "Damn!" exhaled Amy. She was abruptly so dizzy, she felt like she was about to fall over. Her heart thundered through her chest. She thought she was riled up before, but when she saw the prize shoot from the tip of that swollen dick, over and over again, she just about lost her mind. "M-maybe you should take this," she said, handing Lola the cup. "I think I...have to go to the ladies' room..." She unsteadily got to her feet, made her way to the door, got out of Lola's line of sight, and immediately shoved her hand under her panties, thanking God there was nobody else around. She heard her pussy beeping like a metal detector in a satellite dish. So that's why guys are in there alone, she thought, dashing into the closest stall, rubbing her cunt like she wouldn't see tomorrow. *** December 19th, 7:28 p.m. The party was over (so to speak). The computer had been rebooted, and sample number thirty was soon to be processed through. Four female hands, one cock, and one pussy had been toweled off. And one electric toothbrush had been properly disposed of. George was passed out for a few minutes, but when he came to, he found he'd been almost totally redressed. They waited for him to wake. He looked up to see the two of them standing on his either side. They were no longer wearing their Santa hats. "Am I...uh..." He looked back and forth between them, piecing things together again in his mind. "...Okay?" They put their (clean) hands on his shoulders. "You're fine, George," Lola assured him. "In fact, I'd say you're far better than fine. Your hands aren't ice with fingers anymore, you don't have snow in your hair, or a nose like a cherry, and your balls are good and empty. So you've gotta be feeling better now." She gave him a little post-rub on the neck and shoulder blade. "You hungry?" "Oh," George leaned forward, trying to push himself up out of the chair. "More than you could possibly imagine." "Oh, me too," said Amy. "And I will be so ready to get outta here, just as soon as I take care of one more little thing." George turned to face her. "Uh-oh..." he chuckled. Amy laughed. "No, no, George, nothing like that." Well...not right now, anyway. "You see, I'm processing your sample through our system like I was telling you, and I just need to know your last name, please." George closed his eyes, dropped his head an inch and chuckled once again. "What?" Amy and Lola asked simultaneously. He reached around the back of his jeans for his wallet. "You're never gonna believe me...I'm telling you, you'd never take my word for it. So here." He handed Amy his license. Checking it out, Amy's eyebrows bounced an inch as disbelief washed her face. "You're right," she said, returning her eyes to his. "I don't believe it." "What?" asked Lola. Amy showed her the license, provoking from within her a similar reaction. She looked back up likewise. "Carlin??... "But...but...you're dead!" Lola declared with a laugh. He nodded. "I know it. Trust me, you would not believe the reactions I've gotten. Literally my whole life. I do not understand what my parents could have been thinking. Not many normal everyday folks have to say the words, 'No, I'm not him!' five times a day." Neither Lola nor Amy knew exactly what to say. Finally, Amy announced, "Okay, well, I'll...just...go ahead and get this in the system then..." She departed, leaving George with Lola. She entwined her arm with his. "Y'know, if it's any consolation, I do have a bit of an idea how you feel," she told him. "I know it's not the same thing, but my name's Lola, and a lot of people I meet think it's really cute to go..." Imitating Barry Manilow, she sang, "'At the Copa, Copacabana!...' And if it's not that," this time quoting Ray Davies of The Kinks, "It's, 'I asked her her name, and in a dark brown voice she said, "Lola," L-O-L-A, Lola...'" She scoffed, shaking her head, much like George did just a minute before. George laughed. "It's okay, really, Lola," he said. "I'm well used to it by now." "Aw!" It was now Lola's turn to be moved. Her heart melted just a bit. "That's the first time you've called me Lola!" Amy dropped back in. "Amy, George just called me Lola!!" she joyfully informed her. Amy, regarding her with an odd expression, said, "...Congratulations...Lola..." She gave George back his license. "Thanks, Mr. C." "Oh, wait a sec, Ames," Lola said. "I think we owe him more than that." She turned to him, taking him by both hands. "George, I admit it didn't seem like such a big deal before we...y'know...did this whole thing, but...well, now that we have, and I've had a little time to think about it, I realize that...not a lot of gentlemen would do what you just did for us." Amy's eyebrows raised. "Um, actually, Lolly—" Lola released one of George's hands to hold up hers and halt her. "Uh, hush, Amy, would ya please, I'm trying to make a very nice speech to a very nice man here." Returning to George, she continued, "Now, I know, I know, you also didn't have much of a choice, and...that was kind of a devious thing we did, taking advantage of your not being able to go anywhere and all. But still, you didn't really have to go through with it for us. I mean, it's not as if we threatened your life or anything." Amy piped up again. "Uh, yeah, but Lolly, we did kinda—" Lola cut her off again, maintaining focus on George. "But you did! You sat still for us, and you let us stroke your dick, and make you cum, and you could have run at that point, you could have tried to boot us away, but you let us do it. Just to meet our weekly sperm sample goal. Again, how many dudes we've never met before would do something like that?" "Lola, seriously, I'm telling you—" "ALL I'm trying to say here, George..." paused Lola, flashing him a sweet smile, "...Is that you, are a very, very special person." Amy smiled too. It turned into quite a nice, warm moment. To Lola's remark, she added, "Well, I won't argue with that." George didn't smile. His expression dropped. "Yes, well, tell that to Clive Clopman," he said solemnly. "Who?" "My landlord." The ladies' faces reverted to disappointment as they remembered the details of his recent trauma. "Oh, yeah...again, George, we really are so sorry you had to go through all that," Lola comforted him. "But, hey. Y'know what, we made you a promise to buy you dinner and put you up in a hotel room, and we are gonna stand by that promise." She motioned out the door. "So let's just take things one at a time...go to dinner right now, and we'll talk about it, and we'll see what we can do for ya." Amy stayed put as they headed out. "Wait a minute," she said. They stopped and briefly about-faced. "Did you say...Clive Clopman?" "Yeah, he's my landlord," George repeated. Amy thought. Something in her mind clicked. She hurried out the door in front of them, heading in a different direction. "Forgive me, guys, I know we're all starving, but I've just gotta check something real quick here..." She booted up the computer again. Lola sighed wearily. "What are you doing, Ames?..." Amy didn't answer just yet. Instead, she opened the appropriate application and brought up the donor database. She used the "find" feature, typed in the name, and sure enough, was directed right to it: Clive Clopman. "I knew it!" she pointed to the screen. "I knew that name sounded familiar!" She clicked on the name's hyperlink, and the program brought up his file with an array of personal information. "November 28th! I remember this guy! Lola, you remember this? Really stuffy British dude, blonde, three-piece suit, kinda looked like a store mannequin?" George chuckled dryly. "Yup, that's him." "Oh, yeah..." Lola scrunched up her face, bringing back the details in her mind. "Yeah, yeah, he had some kind of...weird little story for us when he dropped in here, didn't he?" "Oh, you bet," said Amy. "I'll never forget this story. He came in by himself, real sneaky, like he was up to something weird. I gave him his cup, and then later I happened to walk by while he was in the room, and I overheard him on his cell phone..." "Right!" said Lola. "But that wasn't his wife he was talking to, was it?" "Nope! 'Cause he said on the phone they just had to make sure his wife didn't find out." "Oh, George!" Lola turned back to him. "George, listen, this is the best part! Tell him, Ames." "A'right, so when he came back with the sample, I knew it wasn't my business, but it was bothering me, so I said may I ask what that phone conversation of yours was all about, and he got really nervous. He didn't want to tell me. But I'd told Lola, so she came up and asked about it too. And we didn't wanna let him leave until we found out what was going on." "Oh, geez," said George. "What...was going on?" "Turns out he was playing around on his wife," Lola explained. "He had a girl on the side, and the girl was...well, kind of a psycho." "To put it mildly," Amy added. "Yeah, and she wanted to get pregnant, but she wanted him to be the father, and she wouldn't take no for an answer. She wanted him to have sex with her, but he didn't want to do it, so he thought he could just kinda get around everything by coming in here." "You're kidding me!" said George. "That's...really kinda disgusting." "Right??" chuckle-scoffed Lola. "So he told us that it was really his business, and he'd work it out himself, and...well, technically, according to our policies, we had to keep his sample, and let him go." "Yeah, but I distinctly remember he said one more thing to us before he left," continued Amy. "He asked us to keep it confidential, 'cause if his wife ever found out about it, she'd kill him." Lola nodded. One second later, the light bulbs over both Amy's and Lola's heads lit up. Their eyebrows jumped, they turned back to each other, one word written in caps across their faces: EUREKA! "Lolly..." said Amy quietly, "...You thinking what I'm thinking??" Lola nodded. "Where's the phone?!" she demanded. Amy scribbled down the number. They took George back to the waiting room, where Amy placed the phone up on the desk. "Put it on speaker and let me handle it," Lola crossly ordered. "'Kay...555-2778," Amy dialed. She then quickly got up and took George's arm. She put her finger to her lips and led him over to sit down together, and watch Lola work her magic. Three rings in, the phone picked up. A male voice. A British male voice. "Yes?" "Yes, hello, Mr. Clive, Clopman, please?" Lola said. "...Speaking," the voice skeptically crackled through. "May I be of assistance?" "You may indeed," Lola said, leaning against the desk. Oh, she was going to enjoy this. "Mr. Clopman, my name is Lola Anderson. I'm calling from the Juniper cryobank in the greater downtown area, at 661 Kit Kat Street. How are you today, sir?" "Why, I am quite well indeed, ma'am." "I'm glad to hear that. Now then, three weeks ago, on November 28th, you paid us a visit. Do you remember, Mr. Clopman?" "I...believe so," the voice said. "Excellent. And do you, sir, happen to remember the...details attached to this particular visit?" The voice came through the slightest bit quieter after a beat. "...I am reasonably certain I do recall those details as well, yes." "Very good. Because, you see, this is where you may be of help to us. Mr. Clopman, sir, may I please ask you a personal question?" "...Yes?" "In the three weeks since this visit, has your...wife..." She paused for effect. "...Been in any way informed of your visit to us?" There was a silence which lasted several seconds. George looked at Amy, about to laugh, but she gently placed a hand over his mouth. Although I'd really like to put my hand on your—stop it, Amy, you horn-dog!! The voice returned. "She has not." "And, now, if I remember accurately, Mr. Clopman..." Lola was liking this, George and Amy could tell. "...You were really quite emphatic in your desire that your wife should absolutely not become aware of what went on this particular day, were you not?" Another short silence. The voice jumped to the next logical segment of the conversation. Mr. Clive Clopman said, "...Yes, well, now, would it appear that we've a bit of a blackmail situation on our hands?" "Oh, Mr. Clopman, I don't care for the word 'blackmail.' I'd rather think of it as a...favor exchange, if you gather my inference..." George's ears perked up. He remembered Lola using that same phrase, "favor exchange," in asking him for his essence. More silence. Clopman cleared his throat. "Right," he said. "Well, before we advance any further, I'd like to ask you a question, ma'am. Hypothetically speaking, why would you wait until now to blackmail me in this matter, rather than three weeks ago?" Halfway through this question, Lola sensed what he was asking and smiled at Amy and George. She silently rubbed her hands together in anticipation. "Well, you know, Mr. Clopman, sir, it really is funny, the little twists and turns of fate," she said, easing in. "Let me ask you, please, does an ex-tenant of yours, by the name of George Carlin, signify anything to you?" Yet one more predictable pause. "...Perhaps it does...and your business with Mr. Carlin?" "Oh, our business with Mr. Carlin is really quite simple, sir," said Lola. "You see, we happened to encounter Mr. Carlin earlier today, and took him into our establishment for the sake of shelter, upon his informing us that he just happens to be..." She cracked her knuckles. "...Homeless, Mr. Clopman. Do you understand?" "I see," the voice said, bending the tone of the word 'see' upwards, as if it were a question. "And once we learned the unhappy events of Mr. Carlin's last three days or so, Mr. Clopman, that's where you came into play." "And may I ask what it is you're getting on about then?" "Of course. Now, we are presuming that you with your tenants' board together voted to evict Mr. Carlin...one week before the Christmas holiday. That, sir, is truly an unfortunate combination of events. Now, getting back to your wife, should you still desire that she remain oblivious of your visit with us, we were very much hoping that in return, we might be able to...kindly persuade you, to call together another little meeting of your tenants' board, and reinstate Mr. Carlin's lease." The next silence seemed to last forever. Eventually, Lola finally said, "...Mr. Clopman?...Sir?...Hello?..." "...Now listen," the voice returned, intimidated but firm, "This hasn't anything to do with me personally, ma'am. Mr. Carlin was an unfit tenant. He left his apartment in disarray." He stopped talking. Lola waited a minute to hear more, didn't, and then asked, "I see...and was that his only offense?" "...N—...now see here, ma'am, I really haven't the time for this just now. I've got things—" Oh no you don't. "Uh, I'd suggest you make time, Mr. Clopman. If you end our conversation now, I cannot guarantee that your wife will remain unaware of the events of the last three weeks." I'll Be Home For Christmas "Yes, well, if anyone wishes to speak to my wife, they will be forced to go through me," he said, using any kind of defense he could. "And how difficult would that be, Mr. Clopman? You're familiar with my voice, but what about anybody else? Anytime someone asks to speak to your wife, you'd have to consider that it might be an informer. Your wife would become suspicious." Yet more silence. The voice sighed. "Right..." it said. "Well. It would appear that you hold all the cards...and your demands, then?" "Okay, Mr. Clopman," said Lola, easing up, "We don't wanna put demands on you. I am not trying to personally torment you. Now after having had Mr. Carlin visiting with us, we understand that his apartment was in, well, a shambles. So you and I are in agreement on that. Now, what if I could personally promise you that if you reinstate Mr. Carlin's lease, his home would remain tidy?" "And how do you propose to uphold this guarantee?" "Well, sir, the parent of our organization also runs a cleaning service for locals. We'd work out a schedule and deal with them to take care of Mr. Carlin's living arrangements such that his apartment would reflect an atmosphere of cleanliness and maintenance." "I see, and the compensation for such a job would come from what source?" "Leave that to us, Mr. Clopman. We'll iron it all out. I know you're concerned about your rent being paid adequately and timely, and I respect that. Please, my word is good—we'll work with Mr. Carlin so that he can keep an orderly home and also your rent." Silence. "Mr. Clopman," Lola softened her voice. "Please, we really do not wanna have to resort to blackmailing you. I am simply right now appealing to your sense of human decency, especially in light of the approaching holiday. We'd simply like to avoid an ugly situation and straighten things out to satisfy everyone. Sir, I realize your life is your own business. I have no ill will against you personally. We merely wish to protect an innocent man. You have my ironclad promise, we'll see to it that Mr. Carlin meets your tenant standards. But if he's forced onto the streets, he may not survive this winter. Please, sir. For us. For our sake. For the sake of Christmas. Please." In the past several minutes, George's facial expression had morphed from surprise to disbelief, to awe, to wonder, to happiness, to an emotion he could not yet define. But most of all, he was moved beyond words. He had lost a chunk of his faith in humanity in the last few days, it was true, and he couldn't imagine meeting two people who would bend over backwards for him like this, going so far beyond the call of duty, seemingly unconditionally, to keep a roof over his head. He was about to cry. The voice took several audible breaths. Finally, just under half a minute later— "Very well; tenants' board meeting tomorrow at 10:00 a.m., to address lease reinstatement. Mr. Carlin is expected to attend." George gasped. His eyes stung and welled up. He and an equally overjoyed Amy hugged. Lola grinned and punched her fist in the air. "Thank you, Mr. Clopman! We can do that, no problem; he will be there, I promise. Thank you very much, and he will see you tomorrow morning. Merry Christmas, sir! Happy Holidays!" She hung up, spun around to George and Amy, smacked a triumphant palm on the counter and said, "A Christmas miracle! Guess who's no longer homeless!" George jumped up, breaking into tears of joy, and threw his arms around Lola, hugging her as hard as he could. "Oh, my God, I don't know how to thank you!" he cried. "You saved my life!" "Hey, it's okay, it's okay!" Lola laughed. "George, honey, there'll be plenty of time for that later. Let's just eat already!!" George fretted. "Oh, gosh, but...wait a minute...how am I going to afford the rent?" Amy chimed in. "Well, we'll help you. And, we'll help you find another job too. Let's talk about it over dinner, and then later we'll get you that hotel room so you can have a nice, long, hot shower..." ...And then just see what happens after that, she thought, roguishly lowering her gaze to that lovely spot in his jeans, right between his legs, looking forward to it already. George couldn't believe it. He had been rescued by the light of two angels. This was going to be a wonderful Christmas after all. I'll Be Home For Christmas Snow fetched up in little eddies on the window panes. Frost coated the glass, creating pale, glittering swirls that caught the light of the battery-operated candles. The sounds of glasses clinking against one another and the ladle swishing around the punch bowl were nearly drowned out by the voices and laughter of Sarah Gonzales family and friends. Sarah sipped at her punch and hugged her arms across her chest a little tighter. It wasn't just her family and friends, but that of her boyfriend's, Michael O'Connell. Sadness and longing had her heart aching and her throat tightening. Mike had been deployed nearly a year ago. The army had said that he'd return in time for this year's holiday season. But things had changed over there and the November date had been pushed back until mid-December. "I'll be home for Christmas," Mike had joked, voice crackling over the satellite when Sarah had video-chatted with him the day after he'd been given the news. Mike's flight had gotten cancelled before he could even leave the country, though. He'd called using a payphone in the airport. "Sarah, I'm so sorry, but I don't think I'll make it home until after Christmas. All of the flights into Newark have been cancelled." His sigh was heavy. "I really wanted to be there. I miss mom. I miss Rudy and Hank. I miss you." Sarah had fought back her tears. "Don't worry about it, honey. We'll save your presents and a little food for you." "Just a little?" Mike had laughed. "Well, maybe. Rudy and Hank might just eat it all. They've grown a foot each, I swear. Listen, Mike. Don't worry about us. You just make sure you stay safe. We'll still be here when your flight gets in." There was the faint sound of a bell chiming from Mike's end. "Okay. Tell everyone I love them, okay? And I love you, Sarah." "I love you, too, Mike." The line had then gone silent in her hand. Sarah cleared her throat and carefully rubbed her sweater sleeve over her cheek. Mike's mother, Anne, had not taken Sarah's 'no' for an answer when she had tried backing out of their original plans for Christmas Eve. "Sarah, just because Michael isn't going to be here doesn't mean that you're not welcome or wanted. Good heavens, girl! I better see your smiling face here or by gosh, I'll have Hank come and get you with Rudy! No one should be alone on Christmas Eve!" The woman was certainly a force to be reckoned with. So here she was. Alone and despite the company of all of their friends and family, lonely. She really had no excuse to be. After all, what could Mike be doing right now? She imagined him lying on some bench in an airport, with only straggling travelers and television screens as companions. "Sarah?" Anne's voice broke through her thoughts. Sarah straightened and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Hi, Anne. The punch is great." Anne took one hard look at Sarah before her eyes softened and she made a quiet sound. Her arms wound around Sarah's shoulders and she pressed her chin atop her head. "Don't look so downtrodden, girl. You're in good company." Sarah sniffled. "But somewhere out there, Mike's all alone in an airport. He's got no one to talk with or anything." "Oh, sweet girl." Anne hugged her tighter. "Don't you worry your little heart. I'm sure Michael's getting along just fine. Come on, come into the family room." The tiny dark-haired woman led her into the largest room of the O'Connell house. The couches, chairs, ottomans, and even the floors were filled with extended family members and friends and neighbors. A tall tree stood in one corner, draped with garlands of gold and silver tinsel and white lights. Ornaments Anne had collected dangled from the branches. An angel tipped slightly at the very top. Christmas music played softly. The children were laughing and squealing, the teenagers had abandoned their sulky angst. The adults mingled with glasses of wine and eggnog, the elders smiled broadly from their seats with eyes glimmering. The air of cheer was practically tangible. Sarah even felt a tiny bit of her sadness lift. Rudy and Hank rose from the couch and were on her a moment later. They had begun to fill out nicely and resembled their older brother. Hank gently pulled her ponytail and enveloped her in a hug. "Glad you could make it, squirt." His own hair stuck up on one side and his grin was lopsided. Sarah mock-frowned at him. "As if I would be anywhere else." Rudy shyly hugged her, his frame still slightly gangling. "We were worried that you wouldn't want to come if Mike couldn't make it." Sarah's lips eased up into a smile. "And miss seeing your goofy faces? Not on your lives." Both boys laughed as Anne and Sarah took their places on the couch. Gifts were passed around the room. Soon, paper was flying and scraps of it hung off the furniture and its occupants. Tacky bows and stick-on ribbons had been the most sought-after weapon in the wrapping paper wars. Hank had slapped a bow into Sarah's hair. In turn, she had looped his arms and torso in glittery golden ribbons from a present Anne had received. When she had finished, his dark hair was peppered with flakes of the glitter and his cheeks were flushed. "I think Sarah won that time," Rudy smiled, a green bow stuck to his ear. Anne gasped from laughter, hand flattened over her heart. "I dare say she did." "Ma, do we have any gifts for Sarah?" Hank stood, stumbling as his foot caught on one of the strands of ribbon. "I'd thought that Sarah could open hers' tomorrow morning with you kids." Sarah blinked. "Oh-" "Please dear, I wasn't going to let you go home and spend the rest of the night alone! I have the guest room made up for you." Anne patted her hand. "Michael sent a gift ahead for you in case he couldn't get here. I left it in the room for you." "Anne, I don't know what to say-" Sarah's eyes stung from trying to hold her tears back. "Just say 'yes', dear." Sarah smiled. "Yes, then." The front door opened at the other side of the house and the dim sound of voices issued from the kitchen. Anne pinched Sarah's thumb between her thumb and fingers. "Merry Christmas, dear." Silence fell over the entire room before deafening squeals, shrieks, and cries erupted. Sarah's head turned toward the entry way. Her heart stuttered and she gasped. Michael! She was off of the couch and running across the room before she knew what was happening. "Mike!" His fatigues were wet with snow, the smell of cold air and damp man clung to him. His arms spread wide to catch her. His hat was knocked off with her impact. Her face buried in his neck as happy tears tracked down her cheeks. His hands rubbed up and down her back as he showered her face with kisses. Then, the rest of the family was on them. It was a massive group-hug that had Sarah's heart glowing. There wasn't one dry eye in the place as everyone settled back into their places. Sarah tugged Mike over to the couch and sat in his lap. His face was split with a grin that wouldn't go away. "Come on! Who went and turned all the waterworks on?" His voice was like music to Sarah's ears. It wasn't crackly with static and he was here. Here, warm and solid in her arms. The party began to reluctantly dissipate as the night wore on. Mike joked that he had received more hugs tonight than he'd ever gotten in his whole life. Soon, the family room was empty but for Anne, her boys, and Sarah. The floor was littered with wrapping paper and scraps of tape. Punch cups and discarded plates of food lay on the coffee table and chairs. Sarah rose from Mike's lap to help Anne as the woman bustled about with a tray, stacking the dishes and glasses. She waved her away. "No, no. Rudy and Hank can help me just fine. Go on, you two go upstairs." Mike rolled his eyes and took the tray. "It's fine mom. Believe me, this is a cakewalk compared to what I've been doing for the past ten months." Anne smiled. "You deserve some rest, though." "There'll be plenty of that soon enough. Doing a few dishes won't kill me." Sarah shook her head. "I'll bring your bag upstairs, okay?" "Thanks," Mike called from the kitchen. Sarah lifted his bag from the foot of the stairs and grunted at its weight. She hauled it up the stairs and took a breather at the top of the flight. The O'Connell house was shaped like an 'L', the addition Anne had had put on the eastern side made for some glorious sunrise views. It also meant that the guest rooms were a little ways from the rooms of the boys and their mother. Sarah pulled Mike's bag into the guest room on the right...The room that had been his as a boy. The light switch was cool beneath her fingertips. Something shiny and red caught her eye. It was glossy paper gift bag. It surface was scarlet, the holographic paper seemed to dance in the light. She remembered Anne's words about Mike sending a gift ahead for her. Biting her lip, Sarah edged closer and ripped the tape that sealed the bag's mouth. White tissue paper crinkled with the widening of the bag. She pushed it to the side and delved her hand beneath it. Soft material met her fingers. She pulled the item from its hiding place and held it up to the light. A gasp issued from her lips. It was a very naughty thing. The teddy had cups of red velvet lined with white faux fur. The rest of the skirts were thin cloth that matched the cups, the hem was lined with the same fur. Surely...Sarah rummaged in the bag again. Yes, there they were! The matching bottoms were no more than a glorified thong. It too, was as red at the teddy and was as soft was silk. A thread of wickedness wound through Sarah. She shoved Mike's bag to the wall and turned down the bed before darting into the adjoining bathroom. Her clothes hit the floor with muffled sounds as she hurriedly undressed. The cups of the teddy just barely concealed her breasts. The flesh pushed up, cleavage spilling over the top in creamy swells. The fur tickled the tops of her thighs and the thong rode low on her hips. She pulled the tie from her hair and shook her curls out. Her face in the mirror was already wine-flushed, her lips reddened from the alcohol as well. With a smirk, she sauntered out of the bathroom and knelt at the edge of the bed. After a moment of waiting, Sarah heard the sound of feet climbing the stairs. The boys' doors closed after them, then Anne called out a good-night. Sarah nibbled at her lip. Where was Mike? Then, she heard his boots on the stairs. His steps were softened by the carpets as he walked down the hall. The door opened slowly. The light flipped on. Mike shut the door behind himself and turned, stopping dead in his tracks. "Holy Mary..." His voice was a hoarse whisper as his eyes ran over her figure in the red nighty. Sarah curled her finger in the air between them. "Come here, big boy. I've got a wish list that only you can help me with." "Oh, yeah?" Mike's feet quickly carried him across the distance. "Mmhm." Sarah straddled his lap as he seated himself, his back leaning against the headboard. "You see, I've been feeling...Naughty." Mike grinned at that, his hands dragged up her sides before gliding back down to rest at her hips. "You look very naughty in this." He tugged at the hem of the teddy, making the cups dip a little more. Sarah's fingers slid the front of his fatigues open and she tossed them over her shoulder before starting on his boots. She could feel her breasts beginning to slip free of the cups of the teddy as she yanked his pants off of his legs. Once more, she straddled his hips and settled her hands at her shoulders. She placed her lips at his ear. "Oh, yes. I've been feeling very naughty." Her hips rolled against his. "I've been all alone for so long. All I've had is myself." "Sarah," Mike groaned. "And I think you've been feeling naughty, too." She caught his earlobe in her mouth and suckled gently. "All by yourself." "You're not wrong." Mike's hands palmed her bottom. Sarah straightened and ran her hands down her body. "And with only yourself, you can't get much satisfaction." She slid her hand between their bodies to where her hips and his ground together. "Oh, no. You can't get too far." Mike's hips bucked at her touch. A low groan escaped from between his parted lips. "Jesus Christ, I've missed you, Sarah. You have no idea how much." Sarah planted a finger over his lips as he tried to kiss her. "Ah-ah. I haven't given you my wish list, yet." A grin bared his teeth. "You better hurry, then. Or I'm gonna share mine. And I won't be talking." A shiver trekked over Sarah's skin at his promising tone. She bent close to his ear again. "I wish for pleasure. I wish I could have you kissing me, have your mouth on me, all over me. I wish I could have my mouth on you. I wish I could have your fingers on me, in me...Instead of my own. I wish I had you inside me, Michael." "Sarah," Her name on his lips was like an aphrodisiac as she rode his lap. He tore his undershirt off of his chest and set his mouth to hers. Their lips meshed and their tongues tangled. His chest was hot beneath her palms. His nipples were little hard buds between her fingers. "Mike, please touch me." Her voice rang with entreaty. The cups of the teddy were peeled down and folded beneath her breasts. The nipples were already pouty and a pretty shade of pink. She held them as his hands ripped the strings of her thong apart. His mouth was hot and wet as he drew her nipples into his mouth. He suckled until she swore that the only things that were holding her up were his mouth and the hand that he had planted on her back. His other hand tickled her clitoris in mind-erasing circles. And that was before he delved a finger into her sex. He gave no quarter as his mouth relentlessly roved over her breasts and his fingers plunged mercilessly into her. Sarah shot into the stars, her body trembling against his as she gasped his name. With a quick, sure move, she had his boxer briefs flying to the floor. She kissed his belly, trailing her lips down, down. His hips bucked when her tongue licked up the side of his cock. Her hand wrapped tightly around the base as she took the head into her mouth. "Ooh, my God." It wasn't long before Mike was thrusting at her tongue, eyes rolled back in ecstasy. But Sarah wasn't ready for him to be finished, yet. She released him from her mouth and climbed up his body. Her sex rubbed over his cock, her saliva and arousal drenching him. She positioned him and slowly eased down. A moan left her lips. "You feel so good, Michael." Sarah rolled her hips, feeling him twitch deep inside her. She planted her palms on his chest and began to roll her hips as his bucked beneath her. Their gasping breaths and mingled moans, the slapping of flesh and whispered praise filled the room. The material and fur of the teddy brushing over Sarah's skin only added to her pleasure. Her breasts swayed with her every movement. Her hair tickled the pouting peaks. "Please, please, please." She chanted, head thrown back and lips parted. With a brutal groan, Mike's cock pulsed inside of her. His come coated her inner walls as she orgasmed around him. Mike's hands held her limp body upright as she shivered through aftershocks. "I knew I'd chosen right when I saw this." He tugged at the hem of the teddy. "My, you were naughty." Sarah circled her hips lazily. "I think I still have a few more things left on my wish list." Mike grinned. "I thought only good girls got presents." Sarah shook her head. "Naughty girls get the best presents."