O Christmas Tree

“I know what I want to hang up first.” I’m so curious I’m paralyzed as I watch him take a length of tinsel rope and wrap it around my wrists, then makes a loop on the end. He raises my hands over my head and hangs the loop on a high branch. I’m almost on my tiptoes. “You’re the perfect ornament.”

“I can’t lean back on the tree,” I gasp. Through my sweater I can feel faint pricks of the needles when I shift my weight.

“Nope, you’ll have to stay completely still.” He smiles as he pushes one hand up my thigh, under my skirt. He tugs at the waistband of my tights, pulling them down to my knees along with my panties.

“My parents will be here for dinner soon.” I’m panting now.

He continues to smile, calmly. “I’m giving you an early start on your Christmas present.”

I close my eyes, bracing myself for the feel of his fingers or tongue against my clit. What other reason could he have for hanging me on the tree like this?

After a few moments nothing has happened so I open my eyes to find him still smiling, but now with a small gift box in his hands. He lifts the lid to reveal a small pink egg.

“What’s that?”

He picks up the egg, dropping the box on the floor. He slips his hand under my skirt and slips the egg into my pussy. He pushes it up far enough that it doesn’t slip out when he removes his hand. He pulls my tights back up into place and steps back from me, putting his left hand in his pocket.

“Oh!” I squeal when a gentle vibrating emanates from my pussy. The speed increases. I struggle not to squirm against the tree. I don’t want to knock it over. I don’t want to get scratched. I’m held in place, helpless against his devilish smile and the remote control in his pocket.

“Oh! Ah!” I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.

“Don’t move,” he says. “And don’t you dare come.”

He turns his back to me, hand still in his pocket. He rummages through the box of tree ornaments with his other hand. The strength and speed of the vibration in my pussy continues to change every few seconds, quickly bringing me to the edge of an orgasm, then backing down.

He pulls ornaments out of the box, one at a time, carefully placing them on the tree around me. I resist the urge to squirm. There’s too much at stake, in ruining the tree. It doesn’t take long before I’m out of my mind. I close my eyes to concentrate on not coming.

“Open your eyes and watch me decorate the tree,” he says, still smiling. With the word tree, the vibrating in my pussy intensifies.

“I can’t,” I gasp through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you can. And be mindful of the tree.” Another strong pulse with the word tree.

I open my eyes and watch him move back and forth between the box and the tree. The vibration in my pussy is relentless. He somehow knows just when to back down before I come. I’m sweating. My parents will be here soon. He can’t keep me up here forever.

“You look so beautiful, hanging from the tree” he says, sending another jolt through my pussy.  He holds the last ornament in front of me, uncomfortably close to my face. It’s a clear glass orb. It will shatter if I move suddenly and knock it out of his hand. I fight not to buck my hips as he holds the ornament just in front of me, daring me to move.

“This will look lovely on the tree, won’t it?”

Another strong buzz in my pussy.He reaches over me, close to me, his lips millimeters from mine. I try to reach forward to kiss him but he moves back just enough. He hangs the ornament over my head then lingers over me.

“Please.” I beg. I can’t hold out much longer.

The doorbell rings.

“Your parents are here,” he announces. His breath is warm on my face. “I’m sure they’ll admire the tree.”

“Oh! Please, let me come now,” I moan as another pulse puts me even closer to the edge.

He grins and shakes his head. He unhooks my tinsel rope, releasing my arms. He kisses my cheek just as my parents have let themselves in and enter the room. To them, the kiss looks as chaste and innocent as could be. But no kiss is innocent right now, as I use all my willpower to resist the thrumming in my pussy. My back itches from the scratch of the branches through my sweater.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” His right hand extends to shake my father’s hand while his left hand stays in his pocket.

“Your tree is gorgeous, dear.” My mom gushes.

“Yes, you picked a lovely tree,” my dad says.

I can do nothing except smile and agree. “Yes, I’m very happy with this tree.”

Check out Exhibit A for more Awesome Christmas Erotica!


Last Christmas

There are some weeks when I think I’d rather get malaria than get the chalky malaria pill stuck in my throat again. It is, quite literally, a bitter pill to swallow. A year later and it’s still my weekly reminder of last Christmas. There’s no pill to help me forget that.

Last Christmas I had malaria, and yes, some days the heartache seems more painful.

I was putting my microbiology degree to good work at a clean-water project in a remote village in southern India. The Doctor worked at the local clinic. He’d grown up in the village but had left to go to school in London. After a few weeks of my being immersed in work, a stomach bug sent me to the clinic for cipro. After the weeks of cultural isolation I clung to someone who spoke English so well and knew some of the same pop culture references as me. And who seemed to have a never-ending supply of gin.

It’s easy to romanticize India. Sultry, spicy food eaten with your fingers. Air thick and heady with incense. Swirling colorful scarves. At a Diwali party The Doctor and I snuck off to a private corner of the garden to make love in the glowing flashes of the fireworks, not needing to be quiet because the bangs and pops of the firecrackers drowned us out.

The Doctor lived with his parents and a large family so he always came to my small house. We holed up for hours, days when we could, naked, sweating under the mosquito net. Drinking scalding hot ginger chai with such a bite it made my nipples tingle. Cooling off with slices of fresh, sweet mango, smearing the sticky juice on each others’ bodies and licking it off.

I’d had affairs like this before and I knew it was a bad idea to get attached but I was falling hard for The Doctor. For Christmas I was going to surprise him by telling him I’d extended my contract in the village for another few months, followed by a permanent position in nearby Mumbai so the affair could continue.

I planned a small Christmas Eve party for my Indian coworkers and the small number of expats around. I did my best to create the cookies and hot cocoa from my childhood. Christmas music flowed from the small, tinny speakers connected to my phone.

That night I felt unusually warm but I wrote it off as my small house being too crowded combined with having drunk a little more gin than usual. It wasn’t until The Doctor commented that I didn’t look well that I realized I’d had a headache for several hours. The last thing I remember is the music pounding loudly in my ears as I fainted into The Doctor’s arms.

I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, sweating under a crisp white sheet, blinded by bright sunlight. I heard a familiar male voice speaking hushed English with an unfamiliar female voice. Through the mosquito net I could make out other beds. My whole body ached. I closed my eyes. The voices came closer.

“Ms. Johnson, are you awake?” It was The Doctor’s voice, but why was he so formal? My eyes fluttered open. The Doctor stood over my bed. A pretty blond woman who I’d never seen before stood next to him.

His voice always soothing. “You have malaria. You’ve been in hospital here for three days.”

I raised my head and opened my mouth, but too weak to make a sound.

“Shhh, don’t try to speak,” he said. “Let me introduce my wife,” he continued, indicating the blonde next to him. “She arrived from London last night.”

I sank back into my pillow, allowing the fever and aches to swallow me, preferable to the feeling of pain in my heart.

It’s Christmas Eve again. I’m in Mumbai, staring at the malaria pill in my palm. I’ve had to take one every week. I always gag on it. I haven’t spoken to The Doctor since I was released from the clinic, fully recovered. From the malaria, at least.

I hope it’s not too late for this particular prompt from Exhibit A’s AWESOME CHRISTMAS EROTICA meme.


FullSizeRenderA damp, dreary day morphed into a damp, chilly evening. I should have worn gloves, it was just cold enough to need them, but I’d been denying the change in season.

I spotted the smoke from the chimney as I came up the walk. I stood in the cold, gray sharpness anticipating the warm, soft yellow glow that awaited me. She was there. She was in my study reading my books and waiting patiently for me.

The entranceway was dark. I hung my overcoat in the hall closet. I tossed my briefcase on the floor, my workday forgotten the moment I saw her smoke signal. I didn’t hurry though. I knew she’d have heard the front door open but I didn’t want her to think I was anything but patient.

I didn’t bother turning on lights as I walked to the liquor cabinet in the dining room. The fire in the study did nothing to take the chill out of the rest of the house but I unbuttoned my suit jacket anyway and slung it over the back of a chair. Chairs for six diners around the table. I rarely used more than one or two of them. I doubted we’d use any tonight.

I loosened my tie and undid the top button of my shirt with one hand while my other hand ran over the bottles in the cabinet. Cold, unyielding glass. My fingers rested on the good scotch. The company scotch. She didn’t drink scotch and she barely counted as company.

Like the contents of the bottle, though, she would warm me pleasantly. She’d glow amber from the firelight. She would flow through my fingers and taste smoky under my tongue.

I poured two glasses. She would drink it if I asked her to.

A sliver of yellow light sliced through the dark hallway. The door to the study was open just enough for me to watch her undetected for a minute. She lay on the couch under an afghan tucked up to her chin, but with bare shoulders and arms exposed holding a book. She brushed her bangs aside and turned a page, her fingers long and delicate. In a few minutes I would feel the heat from those fingertips through the fine weave of my shirt as she traced my bicep the way she liked to do. Watching those fingers, I was jealous of that book, of her hair. I wanted them to touch me.

I nudged the door open with just enough sound to cause her to look up. She wasn’t startled. She’d been expecting me. She smiled. The fire made her cheeks flush and eyes shine.

“Come here, you.” I held up one of the glasses.

She stood, the afghan falling to the floor to reveal her complete nakedness. She stepped toward me but didn’t take a glass.

“Drink.” I was not asking her if she wanted one. I was telling her to take one.

She took a glass and sipped. She would never let me see her flinch from the burning down her throat but after another sip I saw the scotch beginning to take effect. Lips moist and red as if they’d been kissed too much. The flush from her cheeks spreading down to her breasts. Her nipples hardening.

I stood still, watching her, letting her sip but not touching my own drink yet. I watched her body change as the scotch coursed through her blood. The flush spread across her soft skin. Small beads of sweat along her hairline glistened. The space between her legs would mirror the soft, warm, moist invitation of her mouth by the time she finished the glass. Glowing amber from the firelight. Ready to flow through my fingers, skin tasting smoky under my tongue.

I loosened my tie a bit more and slipped it over my head. The icy gray color reminded me of the coldness outside and for a brief moment I wondered if the tie would melt if it came in contact with her skin. The tie retained a coolness. Her body throbbed with heat.

She dropped her empty glass onto the thick carpeting. She held her arms out in front of her, wrists together in offering.

Let It Snow

In anticipation of the storm, my flight’s been cancelled. I have nothing else to do and could use the extra money so I call the bookstore to see if anyone wants to take the night off and let me work instead. The snow has just started and the roads are still fine. There’s no chance the manager would close early on Christmas Eve.

At the front of the store I stop to admire my handiwork in the large window. I love making the displays. Each book and reading accessory is perfectly in place except for one rack of bookmarks slightly askew. I fix the bookmarks.

There won’t be any customers tonight, but I won’t be entirely alone. There always has to be two people for closing. Ty is in the break room when I enter to grab my stupid elf hat. The manager thinks the hats are festive.

“Why are you so pissed off?” Ty asks.

“You’re not wearing your elf hat,” I snap.

I sit at the register and stare at the snow falling through the large front window.

Ty and I had been secretly fucking since Thanksgiving. The sex is amazing but every other single aspect of his personality grates on my nerves. He is effortlessly effervescent and customers gravitate toward him. I’m growing weary of his endless good cheer. It clashes with my natural grouchiness.

Ty is supposed to be stocking shelves to prepare for business on the twenty-sixth but I’m sure he’s in back reading. Holding a book in his thick fingers. Fingers that grabbed my hips and pulled my ass up so he could sink his cock deeper into my pussy the last time we fucked.

“We can’t drive home in that.” I jump at the sound of Ty’s voice behind me. In my daydreaming I’d lost track of time. As he walks past me toward the window he knocks my elf hat off my head. I stand up and follow him, ignoring the hat. “They haven’t cleared the streets yet and it’s still coming down.”

“Let me check the news.” I pull my phone from my pocket. Ty stands close behind me. “They’re only plowing the highways right now,” I tell him. “They’re not bothering with surface streets until the snow stops. Hours ago they advised everyone to stay home.”

“Great,” he says. “We’re stuck here. Let’s have some fun.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, fingers squeezing my arm slightly.

I shrug him off. “I may as well start on my new display.” I do want to have some fun with him but I’m equally annoyed about being stuck here with him.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ve done it in the store before.” He gives me the boyish grin he uses on customers.

“Indulge me for a few minutes and reach some things from the high shelf.”

“Fine, but we’re not going to work all night are we?”

I ignore him. “Turn off the fucking Christmas music. ‘Let It Snow’ my ass.”

An hour later, I’m happy with how my display looks, no thanks to Ty. He did turn off the music. And the main lights, but he left the twinkle lights on. He took a few boxes from a high shelf in the store room for me, then proceeded to mess with every single item I set out in the window, knowing it would get a rise out of me. At this point I’m so annoyed with him the only thing left to do is fuck him.

“You’re done,” he says. “Let me help you relax.”

“I don’t want to relax.” It actually was pretty thrilling the last time we closed together and fucked on the floor behind the counter. My pulse quickened at the memory. I grudgingly admit to myself how handsome he looks in the glow of the twinkle lights.

“What is wrong with you tonight?” he asks. “You could have stayed home but chose to work. I don’t really want to be here either, but if I have to be stuck here I’m glad it’s with you. Or at least I was glad.”

I bristle. I turn from the window and walk behind the counter, pretending to busy myself with organizing paperclips. I smell his cologne before I hear his footsteps behind me. I breathe in deeply. I’m done resisting it. I lean back against his chest.

“I know you hate me,” he says. “Except for fucking me. But we have so much fun with that, fuck the rest of it all.” He puts an arm around me and holds me tight against him. I can feel how hard he’s become.

“I don’t hate you exactly,” I say. “Customers love you.”

“It’s because I’m so nice. And because I’m so nice, I have a present for you.” He slips one hand in the front of my pants.

“Your Christmas package? Clever.”

“Nope,” he whispers into my neck. I don’t stop him from pushing my pants down. He kneels behind me. Hands on my hips, he turns me around, the front of my white cotton panties level with his face. “I love this smell,” he says, nuzzling me and pushing my panties aside. He gently gives me one slow, long lick that releases tension in my back I didn’t even realize I’d had. I shudder. “I’m going to lick you like this until the snow stops,” he says.

“We’re behind the counter. We won’t see when it stops.”

“You’re so literal.” He stands and takes my hand, leading me to the front window. He pushes my carefully arranged display out of the way. I move to clean it up but he holds my hand firmly. I relax again and I let him lie me down in the window. He strips off my clothes. He kneels between my legs again, breathing warm air on my pussy.

“Now you can see.” He gives me one more long, slow lick.

“Let. It. Snow.” I sigh.


Christmas Song Erotica Prompt #1

My colleague Exhibit A is hosting Christmas Erotica Extravaganza. Each day he’s posting a Christmas song as a prompt and letting our imaginations run wild.

This is my contribution for his first prompt, The Pretenders’ “2,000 Miles.”

“It’s too warm in San Diego to feel like Christmastime. Let’s drive out to the mountains for the weekend.”

We light a fire in the hotel room and snuggle naked under the blanket together but it isn’t long before we’re too warm. Tossing off the blanket, he gets up suddenly, crosses the room, and throws open the window, letting in a blast of frozen air that sets my whole body at attention.

“Don’t grab the blanket,” he warns. “We came up here to be cold.”

I lie on my back, muscles tense, resisting the urge to shiver. His eyes and the icy air touch me. Each gust of wind plays over my nipples until I think they can’t possibly become any harder. My eyes are on the window. Diamonds sparkle, frost and snow on the glass. I long for the blanket but I’m restrained by his wish.

Through the open window I hear Christmas music in the distance, at least three or four songs have played as he stares at me with a look of affectionate assessment. He’s gauging the upward point of my nipples, the goose bumps emerging on my arms, my struggle to keep still.

Heat from the room slightly melts the frost on the edge of the window. I adjust my focus to his cock. As each moment of exposure to the cold leaves me in agony, his cock grows. He thrives on the cold and my discomfort with it.

I imagine his cock inside me, heating me from within. My breathing steadies, my muscles relax. With my eyes on his I risk moving one hand down to touch myself. He nods. I press one fingertip to my clit and instantly feel warmth radiate from it.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly after that one moment. I close my eyes in silent frustration and withdraw my hand. I will myself to stay warm, to retain my small amount of heat.

“What’s your Christmas wish?” he asks.

“For you to fuck me,” I whisper.

“What else?”

“For you to close the fucking window,” I say louder.

“You can choose one.”

I open my eyes to find him smiling. Cock in his hand, he takes a step toward me, confident he knows which I’ll choose.

“Close the window,” I say, pulling the blanket over me and turning my back to him.

It’s only the twenty-fourth. There will be plenty of time for fulfilling his Christmas wish tomorrow.