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A Father For Christmas

By: Nakod Apa



Featuring:
One eminent author - Harry Rogers to his adoring readers
Mrs Brown - his housekeeper (mostly absent)
Malachai - his trusted procurer of festive entertainment
Ariel (aka Tit-ania) - a call girl with small ones
Brigid Groom - a well endowed teacher from next door

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Chapter One

Snow; snow; snow!

Frustrated, I gaze out of the window and watch it piling up along the road. Odds on I'm going to be disappointed, the driver unable to get through the drifts to deliver my gift. Ah, well, what will be, will be. I pride myself on being philosophical. If it doesn't make it today then my pleasure will not be forfeit - only postponed.

A final glance down the hill toward the main road and I draw the curtains to shut out the descending gloom, then add another log to the blazing fire whose flickering, amber glow lights my study.

Yet I still feel a trifle irritated at the possibility of a delay. Ever since the publication of my first best seller, some sixteen years back, I've made it a tradition to order a Christmas gift for myself - and Malachai has promised that the one he has found for me this year will be the best yet.

Taking the makings from the corner cupboard I occupy myself preparing a large glass of hot toddy before lighting the first of my festive ration of cigars and settling into my favourite armchair to await events.

It can't be above fifteen minutes later when the doorbell rings. I'm in luck, it got here after all.

A few moments later my housekeeper appears. 'The young lady you were expecting, Mr Rogers.'

She ushers in my gift who gleefully scurries to the fire to warm a cute young body half frozen by the cold outside.

'Thank you, Mrs. Brown.' I ignore her disapproving stare. 'I take it you'll now be leaving for your sister's.'

'Yes, sir. I'll just about make it before this snow completely blocks the roads.'

'Getting bad, isn't it.'

'Worst we've had over the holiday for five years or more.'

'Well, happy Christmas. I'll see you again in the New Year.'

'And to you, Mr Rogers.' She leaves, her face expressing disapproval.

Settling back I inspect my self-financed gift who, while continuing to banish the cold from her slight figure, is cautiously viewing me . Yes, I decide, Malachi - my procurer - has excelled himself this year.

Ever since I discovered what it was for, I've preferred my pussy on the young side - though given Malachi's habitual caution this one will be older than she appears - at least a month or so over eighteen, possibly more. But still the way the ribbons pull her dark hair back into pigtails definitely adds to the image of youth, while the slight oriental tilt to the eyes and the pointed chin give her the look of a merry pixie - most appropriate for the time of year.

She's small beside my six foot - about five-one or two I reckon, and less than a hundred pounds. A light dusting of freckles cover her features - I'm already looking forward to discovering how far south they go - while her pointy breasts barely disturb the smooth plane of a thick, white, fisherman's sweater. Heavy pantyhose cover slim legs and the short skirt that hides their junction is closer to a broad belt than a fashion item and barely covers her trim boyish arse and hips. Her footwear she has left in the hall.

Yes, she meets all my predilections except one - those boobs; small, barely a handful, they're not as big as I would like. But then I've had this conflict for as long as I can recall. I want my pussy both young and very well endowed. Regrettably the two rarely go together. However I'm sure the training she has received from Malachai will more than compensate.

Her quiet voice interrupts my musing, 'How would you like me, sir?'

'Why, ready for action, my dear.'

She grips the hem of her sweater, preparing to pull it over her head.

'No, wait! I prefer to unwrap my presents myself. I'll undress you. And then you can dance for me.'

'If that's your wish, sir.'

'It is.' Taking a last, leisurely puff on my cigar I throw the stub into the fire. Carefully I place the toddy glass on a small side table and get to my feet, 'Now move well away from the flames, we don't want an accident.'

She looks longingly at the blazing logs then undulates to meet me in the centre of the room.

'Don't worry,' I reassure her. 'I'll soon have you warm.'

Hands on narrow, rounded hips I turn her, my middle-age spread pressing against her straight spine. Burying my nose in her hair, I inhale its fresh, feminine scent. 'What's your name, my dear?'

'Ariel, sir.' She thrusts back, massaging her butt against me, stiffening my cock.

'Shakespeare, eh! Not a bad name, but I think Tit-ania would suit you better. In fact, I think that's what I shall call you.'

'They're not really big enough, sir.' Hurriedly she adds, 'But I'm sure you'll enjoy playing with them.'

'Ah, Malachi told you I was a boob man.'

'Not really, sir. He just said to make sure I gave you a good time.'

'Well if he trained you, then I'm sure you will. And I hope you'll also enjoy our time together.'

'My happiness comes from making you happy, sir.'

'That sounds like a Malachi maxim.'

'Yes, he does keep impressing it on us doxies. . . .But what do I call you? Do you prefer "sir" or "Mr Rogers".

'How about "Daddy". After all, I'm more than old enough to be your father.'

She giggles, 'A father for Christmas.'

'Exactly. I've never had a daughter - at least that I know of - who I could introduce to the ways of the world. You can show me what I've missed.'

'Oh, yes please. I can see I'm going to like having you inside me, Daddy.'

'Why? Don't you enjoy being ridden by the men Malachi sends you to service, my Tit-ania?'

'Well, most of them - yes. Not that I've entertained many as yet. He's only just finished training me.'

'Ah, then I shall have to give you a thorough workout. See how attentive a pupil you were.'

'I'll try not to disappoint my Daddy.'

'Right then, let's dispose of those wrappings and see just what you've brought with which to amuse me.'

Ariel raises her arms high as my hands gather the hem of her sweater. Slowly I ease it up over her breasts and face. Pulling it along her arms until it comes free I carelessly toss it into a corner of the room. Gently I kiss the back of her neck and run my tongue down her spine to the strap of her half-bra which, while cupping those fledgling boobs, leaves them bare above the nipples.

She trembles slightly. 'That's nice, Daddy.'

'A taste of things to come, my dear.' I unhook the bra . 'Turn round.' My voice is suddenly husky. 'I don't know why you bother with this thing.'

Peeling the thin straps from her shoulders allows the soft, insubstantial satin to fall away from her gently mounded offerings, each peak graced by a sweet pink nipple set in a puffy aureole. They are already erect and clearly aching for attention. Dropping the flimsy material to the floor I wrap my hand around one, feeling its hard point digging into my palm.

'At your age tits should be firm enough to stand up for themselves. These darling little puppies may still be a bit on the small side, but they're rather nice and fit my grasp admirably. Reckon, I'm going to have lot's of fun playing with them.'

Ariel smiles at this unexpected token of my approval. It seems that she too has often bemoaned her modest endowments, but my intention to cherish and enjoy them makes her happy. Idly she rubs her other nipple between splayed fingers.

I step back and gaze appreciatively at her smooth, bare shoulders while considering my next move.

She turns and sees my trousers already bulging in anticipation; folds her arms under those smooth, childish attractions, plumping them up.

Proudly flaunting and offering them to me she says, 'Please, my Daddy. Suck them hard.'

'Patience, my girl. Patience! There's no rush. We've got all night.'

'Shall I take the rest off now, Daddy?'

'No, unwrapping you is part of my foreplay. When I've finished then you can prepare me.'

Hands encircling a narrow waist I search for her skirt fastening; find it; unclip it, and let the trifling swatch of material flutter to join her discarded bra. Only disenchanting pantyhose and a low-slung, plunging, black thong remain.

Slipping my thumbs under the narrow, curving bands of silk that run from each hip to meet in a wider gusset that barely covers her mound I lift each leg in turn and ease the material off her curving hips and along those alluring thighs, then slide it, together with her pantyhose, down over a neat ankles.

Smiling, she steps away and splays her legs, presenting her shaved treasure for my inspection.

Sitting myself once more in the armchair, I sip the last of my hot toddy, and immerse myself in the study of her delightsome young body.

The firelight casts soft shadows across her softly rounded shoulders; slim arms and those small, nubile breasts. A lean, wasp waist leads across a perfectly flat belly to the pronounced curve of her hairless pussy. Her hips are narrow and boyish; her arse neat and tight; her slender thighs taper to long smooth legs. Young and wholesome, her flesh promises to be firm, warm and titillating to the touch of my hands and mouth. It still remains to be seen how good a ride she is, but so far I'm extremely pleased with the gift I had Malachai find me.

Slowly I let the tension build between us. The heat of my gaze adding to the warmth from the fire, gives a flush to her satin skin. A shiver of lust quickens between her legs as she senses my approval and desire.

Leaning back I stretch a hand to the small table beside my chair and grasp the remote control. Pointing it in the direction of the wide alcove to the left of the fire I press a button. All is quiet for a count of three. Then a deep, thumping bass starts playing. I smile at her, 'Dance for me, my cherub. Let me see some bump and grind.'

'If that's what my Daddy wants.'

An impudent grin flits across her face as she takes two quick steps to the coffee table. Slowly, suggestively, she removes a fresh cigar from the humidor; strokes it between finger and thumb; slides it between red lips; pulls it back and carefully nips off the end with sharp, even, white teeth.

Her eyes close. Suggestively she strokes the cigar between her breasts, down past her navel, across her mound. It disappears into her cunny. She's lost in a pleasure of her own, swaying in time to the music, pumping the makeshift dildo in and out. A film of perspiration coats her skin. She gives a deep sigh, her butt cheeks clench.

A pace to the fire and she takes a spill from the mantle, thrusts it into the flames, then carefully lights the moistened cigar. A thin curl of smoke, an even glow at its tip, and she offers it to me. Her grin is merry as I clamp it between my lips.

Even through the nicotine and the scent of logs burning in the grate I can smell her arousal. Sitting back I puff peaceably as the recording finishes and a new one starts.

Gently her hips begin swaying to the beat. Leisurely, almost as an afterthought, eyes fixed on mine, her right hand raises to her lips. Slowly and thoughtfully she licks each finger in turn, before her left hand cups and kneads a breast; slips down past her navel to her furrow; strokes between her legs; curls all except her middle finger, which she pumps in and out of her cunny in counterpoint to the squeezing of her right hand.

As the melody takes over from the bass she hunches her shoulders up and down - shakes her arse - turns and pushes it toward me - rotates her hips and thrusts her mound forward and back aping the movement to come. Grasping hard nipples between thumbs and forefingers she stretches and releases them as her lithe figure rocks to the rhythm of the music.

Shaking and shimmying she gyrates, her fingers again slipping down to wander over stomach and hips - suggesting, demanding, I admire the treasure she brings for my delight.

Arching her back she thrusts her arms high overhead as her movements became ever more exaggerated, her flaunting ever more erotic. The melody pulsates, her flesh trembles and palpitates as her dance becomes wilder.

The music builds to a crescendo and dies away. A final thrust of her hips and she gradually stops, arms still raised, offering her delicious body for my pleasure.

If only her tits were larger, I think, I would try to keep her beside me permanently.

I place the cigar in the ashtray and bring palms together in a slow, appreciative clap. 'Delightfully done, my dear.'

'Then now, my Daddy. Use me now.'

She's right - it's time for me to fill her.

'Come here.' I tell her, 'Feet either side of mine, hands on the arms of my chair.'

As she moves close I reach out and with a palm on her bare back urge her to lean toward me. My hand strokes the silken insides of her thighs. I curl the fingers of my free hand around one darling little breast, testing it for that magical soft firmness that is only to be found in young flesh.

I massage one nipple to hardness and, as my mouth sucks and licks her other, she tightens her grip on the chair and softly squeals with pleasure.

Lifting a small hand she slides it down to explore the growing erection that tents the crotch of my trousers.

'You already feel hard enough to enjoy me,' she observes.

'Sure,' I agree. 'But in my experience slowly, very slowly, gives the greatest pleasure. . . However, help me undress and we'll see how tight a fit you are.'

While she removes my shoes and socks I slip off my smoking jacket and unbutton my shirt. Then my trousers are unzipped and, together with my underpants, we shuck them along my thighs, leaving my tool pointing obscenely toward her.

'Down with you,' I command.

Happily she sinks to her knees, leans forward and kisses the point of my cock, then grazes slowly down its length to my balls. These she carefully licks, taking them gently into her mouth before running back up my shaft to its tip. A brief flick of her tongue over the slit and she takes my length into her warm mouth. The way she expertly sucks my engorged head has me groaning and writhing in pleasure. I can feel it right down to my toes.

'Too much, too soon,' I gasp.

Pulling her head up, with hard, curving fingers I reach for her mound. My palm firmly rubs her soft lips. Squirming helplessly she looks up, her eyes wide.

'Now, Daddy! Do me now! Please!'

Jumping to my feet I grasp her smooth hips and turn her to face the fire. Greedily my hands curve around the globes of her arse and for a long moment of introspection I fondle their compact firmness.

My need for her is suddenly urgent. Leaning onto her I force her to bend well forward from the hips, steadying herself with hands on her knees. Her backside presses into my cock.

Nudging her legs wide I drop my arms that I might again caress and savour the insides of those slim thighs. She quivers as my rough palms slide up and down. Suddenly her knees give out and she collapses onto the mat.

What a cliché, I think. Taking a woman on an animal skin rug in front of a roaring fire.

I continue to mercilessly fondle her, savouring the smell of her sex, her mons wet in my hand.

Some say doing a woman well is an art form. To my mind it's more about experience and I intend to apply all of mine over the coming night. By the time she leaves tomorrow she will know what it is to be fully used by a man.

She is breathing heavily and wriggling. Is she really as needy or is she acting - making me believe in my power to arouse her. Do I care?

Pushing her legs wider apart I place my fists on her hips and gently lift and pull her back. The feel of her soft nether lips as they stretch to accept my tool is glorious. Her wet sheath is tight; the tightest I can remember ever burying myself inside. Now I'm in right up to the hilt, my balls rubbing against her arse.

Lying half along her back, I tenderly trace the line of her neck with soft kisses.

I ease partly out her and she starts a slight movement of her own - sliding her tight cunny up and down along my cock - demanding her release.

A new track starts on the CD - a quiet, slow rhythm. Ideal to time my thrusts as I make full use of my gift.

Nothing matters but the thrill in my cock; the joyous clutch of her velvet muscles as I ride her.

I realise she's staring into the flames, moaning with the joy of being fully used. Sighing and whimpering her skin is coated with a layer of sweat.

'Daddy! Daddy! Yesss.' She shivers and gasps as she cums for the first time.

Firmly I slide my hands round her belly and up her chest to grasp each sweet, impudent little nipple between thumb and finger. They feel wonderful as I squeeze and use them as reins to pull her back onto me.

'Don't stop,' I tell her, 'there's more to come.'

'Oh, yes. . . yes, Daddy.' She her lifts her crotch up slightly up and squeezes me with her inner muscles.

Looking down I watch my tool thrust in and out between her legs,

Suddenly I ache. I'm only moments away.

There is a surge of warmth deep within her as my first squirt explodes.

Her thighs clench in sympathy; the randy bitch wants to cum as well. Her tits seem damp and swollen with lust, nipples hard, tingling with expectation.

All I hear are the crackle of the fire and her small moans and whimpers.

I'm overjoyed and shoot another hot, creamy load deep inside her. Then quietly continue riding her until I am totally spent.

Empty, I kiss and cuddle her while I regain my strength and feel ready to use her again.

Then I change my mind and decide to eat some of the food Mrs Brown has prepared before taking my gift to bed for a longer, more leisurely fuck.

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Chapter Two

Eyes closed I drift in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of a warm, pleasurable feeling surrounding my cock.

'Daddy?' The voice is soft. Almost a little girl's voice.

'You awake, Daddy?'

I'm too comfortable to respond.

Soft fingertips gently caress my cheek then float down my neck. The wet warmth leaves my cock. Soft lips press against my chest. Hair tickles my skin.

'Stop playing, Daddy,' the voice whispers, 'I know you're awake.'

Hands run lightly down my body. I gasp, unable to stop myself, when they fondle my cock and balls in the way a man loves.

Ever so slowly, I open my eyes to a room flooded with that shadow less white light that comes when the land lies smothered beneath a layer of snow.

She giggles. Her hair once more pulled back in two braids, the naked, teasing imp is pretending to be in desperate need of a good humping.

'Haven't I given you enough?' I murmur. 'Even with a Viagra boost there's a limit to a man's endurance.'

'Stop whingeing, Daddy. You know you need your favorite pussy. Anyway, I'm going to be collected very soon. You can manage to take me one last time.'

'Jesus, Tit-ania, you're the insatiable one,' I feign a groan.

'It's what you asked for, Daddy.' Her hand slides up and down my solid shaft.

My toes start to tingle and my head falls back onto the cushions.

'I think my Daddy needs to have some help,' she declares, straddling my hips.

I try to sit up, but with one hand on my chest she pushes me back, while her other hand finds my morning woody and guides it to her wet labia.

'That's what my big Daddy wants in the morning,' she says.

'And how did you know?'

'A dutiful daughter always knows.'

'And is this what she likes?' I reach for her sweet little puppies, caressing them until she whimpers with desire.

Dropping her hips she takes me deep inside, bringing a tingle to my toes. I can hear the blood rushing through my veins.

Leaned her head back and grunting with enthusiasm she stretches her arms above her head, straightening her body so she can ride me harder.


A Father For Christmas



We are getting close. My fingers turn into claws clutching, squeezing, bruising her small, soft mounds

She shivers. 'Oh! Daddy!'

Moaning, she thrusts down one last time and I feel her cunny fill with the warmth of my seed.

'That was soooooo good, Daddy,' she purrs.

'And this Daddy loved it,' I say.

I can still hear my heart pounding. We hold each other, neither moving, until my flaccid cock slips out.

Sliding from under the covers I stumble to the window.

Sometime in the night the clouds have rolled away and left a landscape of drifts, as smooth and bare as the pussy waiting in my bed. Nothing stirs out there save a lonely gull. Even the main road at the bottom of the hill is deserted.

My mind drifts. The two adjoining cottages that make up our small hilltop community are empty for the holiday - Paul and Sonia Holloway to the right having elected to visit a son in Australia, while I understand the newly qualified young teacher who has recently moved into the left-hand cottage is spending a few days with her clergyman father.

I glance back at my simulated daughter sprawling naked, face down, only half-covered by the duvet. Just as well I'd fitted the triple glazing and extra insulation; outside it might be cold enough outside to freeze the balls off a brass monkey - thank the lord for central heating and log fires - but here, bolstered by the Viagra, mine are raring to perform for the sixth, or is it seventh time since yesterday afternoon. Pity I only booked her for the one night.

I imagine myself marooned for days . . . with, thankfully, Tit-ania to keep me satisfied.

The ring of the 'phone jerks me from my reverie. It's Malachai.

'Hi there, Harry. How they hanging?'

'Very well, Mal.'

'She exhausted you yet?'

'Nearly.'

'Told you she was special. She's going places that one. But not right away. Not till they clear the roads. Got her booked in later today for a threesome with a couple of brothers - if the snow ploughs make it in time.'

'Then you want me to keep her for a bit longer?'

'What choice do I have. You can have a freebie - or two. I'll give you a bell when I can get by your place. In the meantime, just don't wear her out.'

'You're kidding, Mal. More likely she'll totally wipe me.'

'Aren't you the lucky fucker.'

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I'm in the kitchen basting the goose for our festive lunch when the door bell rings. Surely that's not Malachai already. He can't have driven up the hill - not with the snow still uncleared. Anyway he said he'd 'phone.

Still I won't find out standing here. The need to fetch more wood for the study fire has, fortunately, seen me at least semi-dressed in a pair of jogging bottoms and a woolen sweater, without delay, so I head to answer the fateful summons.

As I pass my study I see Tit-ania through the open door. Standing beside the resurrected log fire, checking through my stack of CD, she is wearing what I now know is her favourite attire of nothing whatsoever.

Though it is really quite warm out in the winter sunshine, when I open the porch door a chill breeze whistles around my ankles. There, on the step, her chestnut hair flowing loose around her shoulders, a somewhat anxious look on her seraphic face - as if not sure of her welcome - is the young, primary school teacher from next door. The oversize, librarian spectacles have disappeared - does she really need them or are they merely a prop to hide behind, I ask myself.

Thick, striped tights cover her dancer's legs. But what I notice most is the apparent absence of a bra - a low cut, clinging, woollen dress spray paints the curves of her lissome body, allowing her ample breasts to jiggle slightly as she moves. What I wouldn't give to play with them.

'Why, hello, Miss Groom. What are you doing here? I thought you had gone to stay with your vicar father.'

'It's Brigid, Mr. Rogers.'

'Of course. Brigid it is. And I'm Harry. But that still doesn't say why you're stuck out here in the snow instead of with your family.'

'I used the snow as an excuse not to go. Couldn't face any more of that holier-than-thou piousness I've suffered since I was a child. It was all right while my mother was alive - but this last year. I'd rather be by myself.'

'You're so right, I can't stand all that god bothering either.'

'Anyway, I thought if we were both alone you might like to join me for a mince pie and a drink.'

'That's kind of you and a great idea, but ....'

At that moment there is a whoosh and a cartload of snow slides off the roof leaving her half buried and on her knees.

Swiftly I move to help, brushing snow from her hair and clothes - though very conscious of the firm mounds beneath the now thoroughly wet dress.

She laughs as she gets to her feet. 'Well that's a new experience.'

'Better go and get some dry clothes,' I say.

She nods, her hands easing wet material away from her body. Then her expression drops in dismay. 'My key! I was holding my door key and I've dropped it.'

'Not to worry. It'll turn up when the snow melts.'

'But the door's self locking. I can't get in without it.' She starts scrabbling in the pile of snow.

It's not quite needle in a haystack time and she may get lucky, however . . .

'It may seem warm and sunny but you'll likely get pneumonia or hypothermia or an even worse "ia" before you find it. Better come into my place and get dry.'

She shivers. 'You're so right. Thanks, Harry. I'll try not to be a burden.'

'No problem. For those in peril in the snow . . . The bathroom's top of the stairs. Get those wet clothes off and yourself under a warm shower. I'll see what I can find for you to wear.'

'Anything will do.'

'It'll likely have to. My wardrobe of feminine adornments is somewhat sparse.'

While I take the opportunity to change from my now wet bottoms and jumper into a terry-toweling bath robe, I rack my brains for something suitable for my impromptu guest. In the end I can think of little except pajama trousers and a well worn dress shirt that buttons right down the front.

Deciding they will have to suffice I grab a large bath sheet from the airing cupboard and convey them to the bathroom. Cautiously easing open the door I discover Brigid semi-obscured in the shower.

'I'm coming in. Face the wall if you're modest,' I call.

I give her a moment then slip in, leave my burden and collect her wet clothes.

'Towel and coverings on the chair. I'll be in the kitchen making coffee when you're ready.'

Outside again I pause, unsure what to do with her garments, then decide they can best dry over the radiator in the spare bedroom.

As I spread them I discover there is just the dress, panties and tights. Definitely no bra. I wonder why not, she surely needs one. She might not be quite as young as I normally like my pussy but I sense her tits are superb. How am I going to get my hands on them?

The coffee is just about brewed when I notice Brigid guardedly descending the stairs wearing just the dress shirt with the top two buttons undone.

'Door on your left.' I call. 'The fire will warm you up. I'll bring the drinks,' .

As I load a tray with three mugs, coffee pot, cream and sugar, she strolls into the study leaving the door wide open. Bearing the tray I start after her then remember Tit-ania is in there. This could be interesting. I pause where I can see and hear them meet.

Faced with a naked Tit-ania, Brigid stops and stares, open mouthed.

Tit-ania, equally surprised, asks, 'Where did you spring from?'

'I live next door. The name's Brigid. And you are?'

'Ariel. Though Daddy calls me Tit-ania,' she emphasizes the pun by gently squeezing her left breast. 'D'you usually go gate-crashing half dressed?'

I can sense in Brigid an immediate and intense antipathy. 'Sorry if I'm intruding,' she says, sarcastically. 'I wouldn't want to get in the way. . . I got shut out and then . . . Oh, what does it matter?'

'That what you call it when you butt in where you're not wanted?' One hand scratching her pussy Tit-ania moves closer to the fire. 'Fancy him do you? Well, don't think I'm going to let some tight-arsed bitch come in here and steal my Daddy from me.'

'Oh! So he's your father. I didn't know he had a daughter.'

'Don't be a dumb bitch.'

'There's no need to be rude. Anyway I have an excuse for being badly dressed. What's yours for prancing around au naturel.'

'If that means bare-arsed then say so. Anyway it's what he pays me for.'

Realization hit Brigid. 'Pays? You mean you're . . .'

'Obviously. Why else would I be here with an old has been, you stuck-up cat. Yes, I'm "one-of -those"; a working girl. A bed warmer, a whore if you like. At least I'm not ashamed of having men enjoy what I have to offer.'

'I don't know how you can do that and still keep your self respect. I couldn't. And what's all this "daddy". It's grotesque, you're not a child any more. Act your age.' She sounds just like the school mistress she is.

'Mind your own. Prancing around in your nightshirt, showing off those overgrown balloons. Don't pretend you don't want him. You're no innocent who doesn't know how to use it. So keep away from my meal ticket. He doesn't need your cunt while he's got mine to fill.'

Plainly unaccustomed to parrying insults Brigid is becoming combative. 'Don't talk to me like that, Tit-less Ania. You skinny -.'

'Bitch? I'm proud of my tits. He's loves playing with them. I don't need to keep them all wrapped up as if they're too precious to be handled. Bet you he doesn't even notice your mountains.'

Brigid glares at her. 'I'm not the one that's strutting about like a sow on heat displaying all I've got to tempt a decent man.'

'Jealous, that's what you are, you snooty twat. Bet you wouldn't know how to satisfy a real man. Doubt you've ever been really fucked. Have you, frigid Brigid?'

'How and who I fornicate with is no concern of yours, you silly, little tart. If he wants me, he can have me - and for free.'

Tit-ania finally snaps. Fingers curled into claws she launches herself at Brigid's face. 'Fucking bitch.'

Instinctively Brigid steps back making Tit-ania's fingers catch in the collar of the shirt. As she stumbles the garment rips apart.

With a pop, pop, pop the buttons burst presenting me with a fine view of my neighbour's firm, ripe boobs swinging free. But it's not those Tit-ania notices.

'Can't afford a razor, eh! If you expect to get eaten out looking like that, well -.'

Furious now, Brigid spreads her legs displaying a thick bush of fine, auburn hair. 'Satisfied, tramp? I'm proud of what I've got.'

Time I intervened.

Marching into the room I pretend not to be aware of the tension between them. 'Here's the coffee.' I carefully place the tray on my desk. 'And I see you've met Ariel. I hope she's been entertaining you.'

The 'phone rings. Momentarily we all freeze. Then, as I move to answer it the two girls pointedly turn their backs on each other.

'Malachai here, Harry. Sorry to spoil your fun but the main roads have been ploughed. Though I bet not so well as you've ploughed my bitch,' he chuckles. 'Anywise, if you can tell her to walk down the hill I'll be waiting at the bottom.'

'No problem. I've finished with her. Give her five to get some clothes on and I'll send her down to you.'

What a stroke of luck, I think. Solving my immediate problem of separating the two of them. I turn to Tit-ania, 'Seems they've managed to get the main roads clear. So if you walk down the hill Malachai will be waiting for you.'

'Oh, hell. I was enjoying myself with you Daddy. Still a working girl's gotta work. Now where did I leave my things?' She pointedly ignores Brigid, 'We were in here, yesterday, when you stripped me.'

'There. On the chair in the corner.'

As she swiftly dresses I pour the coffee, offering her a mug. 'One for the road. Keep the cold out.'

She stops, grins, and grasps it. A quick whirl and the hot liquid is splashing across the Brigid's cleavage and running down to drip from her taut nipples. 'He's all yours for now, cunt. He knows where to come afterwards for a proper fuck.'

Brigid just stands, too stunned to react while, head high, Tit-ania stalks out of the house and down the hill.

The slam of the front door still echoing around the house I open the drinks cupboard and grab a bottle. 'Sorry. I didn't realize she was like that. After that exhibition of jealousy I don't think I want her again.'

I wave the bottle. 'Let's have a drop of brandy. Get the taste of her out of our mouths and toast the festive season?'

Brigid stops rubbing her breasts dry with the end of the shirt. 'Were you listening to us?'

'Yes.'

'And you heard what I said?'

'About having you? Yes. And I'd be honoured to take you to bed.'

'I didn't mean . . . When I invited you to my place I wasn't thinking . . .'

'I understand. Given your upbringing as a clergyman's daughter you probably find the suggestion immoral. Anyway, it's not me you want; I'm somewhat old for you. So, while I may be disappointed - for it would give me a lot of pleasure to sleep with you - I do understand.'

'I'm not sure I do. But, forget about my father - I've never seen eye to eye with him, or the rubbish he spouts. No, it just came out. And I know now I meant it. . . I. . . I think I still do.'

Nervously she gazes at the carpet. Her breathing deepens. We are silent while a log crackles in the fire yet a whole conversation is there between us. We know. It is meant to be.

She puts her mug on the desk and falteringly pulls off the remains of the shirt. Standing naked before me, she lowers her head, a redness to her cheeks.

'Take me now. Please. Enjoy me the way you enjoyed her.'

Reaching out I trail my fingers down her cheek and on to cup her left breast, my thumb gently massaging the nipple. She takes a sharp breath, stiffens, and raises her head to look me straight in th eyes.

Does she really mean it? Deliberately I take the end of the sash holding my robe closed and place it in her hand.

For several heartbeats she stands motionless, then gently pulls on it. My robe parts. Shrugging my shoulders I let it slip to the carpet.

Drawing her to me I lock my lips to her's.

Naked in the heat of the fire we stand holding and caressing each other. I put my hands to her face and search deeply into her eyes. I feel her soul and the warmth of her heart. I am lost in this young woman.

My tongue probes and explores her sweetness. But mostly I'm conscious of those firm boobs pushing against my bare skin and my hard cock stabbing into her belly.

Reaching out with one hand I pull the cushion from my chair and drop it on the rug before the fire. Time to replay the cliché of a tiger skin rug and a fire.

'Lie down. On your back.' My voice is hoarse with lust.

As she settles I hesitate, lost in the beauty stretched before me, her mound arched high by the cushion and her legs spread.

Kneeling between her thighs, my hands knead and stroke her from hips to shoulders; squeezing and fondling those adorable tits.

She squirms and moans and pushes back at me. She is ready. She wants me inside her, but I feel a need to take her slowly. To control our pleasure.

Lowering my hips I let my cock head slide along her slit making her legs start to tremble.

Her hips buck as she tries to pull me inside her. She grinds her teeth in frustration and whimpers, 'Don't play! Do it to me!'

'I am,' I say. 'There's no hurry. We've got all day.'

She looks up at me. She's getting desperate. 'Oh, god no - now! Use me, now! Take me! Shag me! Fuck me! Ride me!'

'Tut, tut. What a way for a teacher to talk I hope your students don't hear you.'

'Bastard. Pound my pussy first. You can ream my arse, fuck my tits and eat my rug later.' This is the real woman; an earthy, sex loving woman who delights in talking dirty.

Taking sympathy on her I let my tool spread her labia. Then, a fraction at a time, I slip inside, pull out, slip inside again. her legs and arms wrap around me, her nails raking down my back.

I can wait no longer and plunge deep. She gasps with delight. Slowly I withdraw and then thrust into her again. I am a perfect fit - just long enough to reach the bottom of her cunny and thick enough to stretch her wide

Her mouth wide she gasps and writhes as with each long, slow thrusts I take possession of her.

As I come my legs tremble and jerk straight. She gives a plaintive cry and collapses her wild passion spent.

It isn't quite déjà vu. She is, if anything, tighter than Areil had been. And where is my preference for the very young and inexperienced - Brigid is two or three years older yet I feel a passion beyond any I've previously known.

Satisfied we lie holding each other in the warmth of the fire. After a while she whispers, 'Yes, that was it. I want it, need it, again. please take me again.'

'Whatever you want, you shall have, ' I promise.

Chapter Three

It is the quiet swish of the curtains being drawn that wakes me. Through eyes half closed against the bright sun I glimpse a naked Brigid staring out of the window. 'Is it that time already?' I mutter.

'Yes, and it's a fine day to start the New Year. Most of the snow's gone, but there's still a hard frost.'

I realise I need to pee. Reluctantly rolling out of the warm bed I pad toward the bathroom, 'Did I remember to wish you a "Happy New Year"?'

'Each time you took me.' As I open the door she adds, 'While you're there have a shave. I'm tired of being continually sand-papered.'

'Does that mean you'll deal with this woody of mine?'

'I have each morning this week. Why should today be any different?'

Lost for a reply I close the door.

When I return she is lying on the bed ready for me. 'Want to hear a story,' she asks.

'If it's short.' I lay beside her, my mouth searching for a nipple while my hand strays toward her newly smooth mound.

'Once upon a wonderful time there were two bears. An older, splendid, well endowed he-bear and a young, horny she-bear. Day after day they made great music together, until one day the she-bear looked around and decided that there was something missing.'

I'm gently stroking her furrow, feeling for the dampness that says she is ready for me.

She ruffles my hair, 'Are you listening?'

My tongue circles her erect nipple, 'Yes, yes. The two bears were missing something.'

'Well, what was it?'

'How should I know, it's your story?'

'Well, my obtuse he-bear. Where was the baby bear?'

'Does there have to be a baby bear?' I slide a finger inside her.

'Yes, if our story is to have a happy ending.'

'Hmm. If you say so, my beautiful, horny one. But since we've not been taking any precautions, it could already be on its way.'

'Maybe. However, I think we should make sure.'

'Good idea, darling.'

I lay back as my inamorata thrusts a leg over and straddles me. Carefully her cool fingers feel for my tool, lift it slightly, then impale herself on me. Leaning forward she jiggles a full tit along my lips before beginning to rhythmically rise and fall.

'Next Christmas you really will be a father.'

END