All-Moist Christmas

When she took him inside, her smile was as warm as her embrace. They moved against one another, gently and with only the slightest undulations to build the numbing ecstasy that washed over them. He grasped her beautiful breast in one hand, feeling the lovely brown nipple as it became hard beneath his finger. She opened her mouth to sigh as his cock made deep descent, then withdrew to the point of painting her slit with their combined juices.

He pushed forth once more, and a grin bled across her lips. She leaned forward and kissed him, feeling the coalescence of a hundred million nerves, and the utter frenzy of his lunging, spurting cock. Their tongues mated as he spilled within her. The way he clutched her, she felt the deepest affection. In truth, he clung to her out of raw despair, and an all too insistent fear of what lay beyond.

**

His phone vibrated in his hands, and he lowered his eyes on the call ID. Cold tension ran its spidery fingers up his back. He shivered, ran his thumb over the display and flipped the phone open. She sounded refreshed, like she'd slept through since he last saw her.

"He's another regular," she said, then added, "He's nice to me." It sounded defensive, but read overwhelmingly with loneliness. He told her he'd be over and they hung up. For a long while, he sat unmoved, unable. He'd promised himself he would never return to that place, could not see her again. No experience had ever been so frightening, sitting there in that tiny closet. Watching—forced to watch. And her. It was too much.

He closed his eyes and recalled the scene again—the manner in which he'd finally found her. The scruffy dude had been wearing an imitation alligator skin jacket and a black scarf around his neck. The face was rough like the man. He'd taken one look at the photo and said, "She goes by another name. That's one of Eric's girls. Find her off Utica, I think." And he had.

**

She handed him a glass of rum after she'd let him in. The stale smell of her apartment was a memory. It had been replaced by a scent that was tannic, of a pine forest or something earthy like that. It washed over him like a fond memory.

It was incredulous. On his lap was a plate of gingerbread cookies. They were clearly homemade—the arms were opposing lengths, and she'd apparently been short on gumdrop buttons, having only given them one red dot each; they were awkwardly arranged and looked more like stubby little penises. For their lack of aesthetic, they were uncannily delicious.

She turned to look out the living room window while he dug in his pocket for the money.

"You get paid for your drawings?" she said when he'd slipped the cash into the top drawer.

"No yet," he replied.

"You have a job?"

"Not right now."

He thought he knew where she was going. He took a drink and watched her watching him. The rum was different—better, richer or something. She tossed hers back and passed a knuckle over her lips. Her complexion looked good, healthier. Her face seemed brighter, tight and attractive in the shaft of light that spilled in through the window. She wore a simple halter-top and blue jeans.

His gaze didn't seem to pester her quite like before. Though her eyes were still on-guard, she no longer paced. Her bare feet rubbed over one another, toes clenching and unclenching.

"My father," he said, breaking the silence. "He's pays."

"I don't understand."

"He thinks it's for presents for the family."

She smiled suddenly, a first. She seemed to like the idea of his misdeed. "Can I see what you drew?"

I don't have much," he said. "I was…" he decided better than to finish on sentiment.

"Well, can I see anyway?" With a shrug, he placed the empty glass on the counter and opened his sketchbook. "What's that?" she said.

"The slats," he said.

She seemed almost disgusted. The fragile smile fell away, and with it, the very color was washed from her cheeks. "The fucking closet slats?"

"I admit it was—"

"I knew it," she interrupted.

He closed his eyes. Here's where she throws you out.

"You can't see in there. That's the problem," she said, hurriedly setting her glass down and dashing through the living room toward her bedroom. "I was worried about the door. Wait. I mean, no. Come here." She reappeared an instant before his feet could move. "Come on!"

"The bathroom," she said as they stared in on the toilet. She looked to him to respond.

"It would be better," he offered.

"Yeah," she said, and stepped inside. She ushered him into the bathroom and shut the door. "Down at the bottom, see?" There was a square vent in the door. She knelt and demonstrated the ventilation flaps. "Better, right?"

"Sure," he said.

She got on hands and knees. "You would have to squat like this. It would be better, right?" He nodded, profusely. "Or, don't you think so?"

"It'll be lots better," he tried.

"Yeah," she said. "But it's much closer. You have to be quiet. Oh! The radio. We'll keep the radio on." She switched on a tiny set that hugged the sill above the sink. Sleigh bells beat out a well-worn rhythm, and she quickly changed it. The powerfully ironic Joy to the World invaded the room. She cocked her head, then shrugged.

Just then, there was a knock at the apartment door. She jumped as if bitten by a rodent, grabbing at his shirt. He had to jab an arm out and grab the shower door to prevent being knocked into the tub. His sketchbook slapped down upon the floor.

"Fuck! Shit!" She waved her arms and breathed deeply. "Okay," she whispered. "It's okay, right? Okay. Stay in here. Close the door. Don't say anything." She pulled the door closed behind her, but just as he'd knelt, she burst back through and he nearly took it in the nose. Her eyes were full of fear. "I like this guy, okay. Don't say anything!"

The door clicked and he sank to the floor. She got so excited over a thing, so jittery. Every move she made jarred him to the bone. He reached out with a trembling hand and adjusted the ventilation flaps.

The man was leading, all but dragging her. Then he leapt onto the bed and flopped onto his back. She stood nearby, gazing shyly at him.

"Come on sugar tits," he cooed. "You're not scared of me?"

Her finger was hooked over her lip. She shook her head, but made no sound. Rocking to and fro on her feet, she affected a girlish hip tilt and sucked on a finger.

"Come on, sweet pea," he said. "I'm not going to bite."

She shook her head again, whimpered.

"Baby pie," he whined. "It's not fair." He leaned back on her pillows and unfastened his jeans. "Got me coming out of my way for my Christmas present. Don't be a naughty elf." He shoved his blue briefs down with his pants, revealing a tremendously long cock. Long and thin. "Look how much I need you," he said in a helpless voice.

Her eyes twinkled, and she grinned.

"If you don't come over here and sit on my lap, sugar," he said, "I'm going to get cross with you. I might do…I don't know what."

Her finger slipped from her mouth with a pop. "What?" she teased.

"I might use my belt," he said. "That doesn't never work with you, though."

Her head went to and fro.

"Nope," he sighed. He made a great show of deliberating, passing his eyes up and down her body. "I might just have to use every hole you got. You like that don't you?"

She grinned.

"I thought so." He slapped the mattress. "Let's go."

Instead of complying outright, she draped a leg on the bed, then raising it, extended her reach and pressed her foot against his cock. He took her foot in his hands and rubbed himself on her heel. She was grinning, hair falling into her eyes. His teeth were gritted, eyes wild. Charcoal met paper and a sketch came to life from within the bathroom.

She got onto the bed, immediately seized his staff and fell upon it with her mouth. He leaned back, gathering her hair in his hands and drawing a large gulp of rich air as she took as much of him as she could. Opening her mouth and cradling him on her tongue, she bobbed and allowed him to thrust gently until a soft gagging issued from the back of her throat. She made no attempt to pull back, even as her eyes watered and the tears fell.

Saliva strings fell from her lips and swam down his shaft. He turned his head and craned his neck to see how she took him, to awe at her feat. Finally, she pulled off him with a gasp. Her teary smile seemed to say I'm pleased, I hope you're pleased.

When she went down on him again, gagging herself once more, he groaned, threw his head back into the pillows and pounded the mattress with his hands. She withdrew and jerked him with her hand, fisting her spit over his swollen member until it glistened.

"Just look at that," he marveled. "How about a little titty fuck?"

She lifted her top over her head and reached back to unfasten her bra. He took her arms and let her back gently, then crawled over her and straddled her chest. His wet cock thumped her breasts, and she gathered it in her cleavage and formed the slick canal he so desired.

"Yeah," he said, and went to humping and sliding his sex within the slippery cradle. She raised her head, and he angled his thrust so that the head of his cock popped in and out of her suckling lips. "My wife's tits are too small for anything like this," he said with a rich groan. The dirty smile fell from her face, and she let her head fall against the bed. "Hey, now," he said. She wore a blank expression, still trapping his rigid tool between her breasts, but appearing as though she'd checked out.

"Dammit," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean it." He freed his cock and leaned forward. "Wait a minute. Let me see something." She gazed up at him. "What's that over there?" he said, and she turned her head. Just then, he pressed the head of his dick to her ear. "Nope, won't fit." She giggled and batted him away.

He reached out to caress her face. "Man, hot as they come."

She smiled and made a kiss-face, grabbed his cock from his hand and jerked it. He scooted forward and she took him into her mouth again. Still jerking the latter half of his shaft, she stared into his eyes, sucking and encouraging him with soft moans and whimpers.

He groaned and huffed, gritting his teeth, and she jerked faster. "You want me to do it this way?"

She responded by placing her hands on his hip and bobbing her head, taking him deep, slurping and moaning. His stomach tensed as he humped her face.

"Oh, God," he groaned. "Baby pie, it's coming." She opened her mouth and stuck out her velvet tongue, laying his pulsing head in the cradle as she jerked. He screwed up his face and threw his head back. A thick white rope squirted from the tip and she slowed her hand to deliver every carefully aimed blast into her mouth. The radio roared with one chorus yet remaining:

'No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found,
Far as, far as, the curse is found.'

"Oh, oh, oh," he grunted. "Get-it-baa-bee!" She closed her mouth over his purpled and spewing helmet. The veins on his shaft were pronounced, they swelled as he lurched. A white leak issued from the corner of her mouth. "Oh, fuck," he gasped with a sigh, falling forward and ramming his cock into her mouth, causing her to gag. He pulled back and watched her clean his cock with care.

He appraised her like a martinet as she wiped his seed from her cheek and licked it from her fingers. "Did you swallow?"

She nodded.

"That's my girl," he said. "Whew! Hey sugar, lemme make like Santa and slip it in the chimney til I'm soft." She rolled over and permitted the single thrust that sunk his waning cock. "Nice and warm," he cooed. He lay on her, his cheek pressed to her back. She wore a beatific look of contentment as he gently humped, and shook himself of the last spasms. At last, he rolled onto his back and breathed easily. She scooted close to him and put her leg over his, resting her head on his arm.

It was allowed for but a moment. He got up soon thereafter, and she watched him cross the room. He grinned at her and shook his head as he pulled on his clothes. She had a pained expression on her face, a look of homeless longing.

"Merry Holiday, baby," he said with a wave. The door to her apartment was slammed shut a moment later.

The artist opened the bathroom door to find her staring up at the ceiling. The sketchbook was tucked under his arm and he started to leave, knowing she'd ask sooner rather than later. He was halfway through the living room when she called him back.

"Can you lie on the bed with me?" she said. He turned and looked down at the floor. Her voice dropped to a troubled whisper. "Just a little while?"

"Okay," he said, shuffling to the edge of the bed, setting his sketchbook on the floor, hesitating a moment, then scooting and reclining beside her. She moved close and put her arms around him, nuzzling her face against his side. He held perfectly still, not moving, barely breathing, staring across the room out the window. The snow was falling serenely outside.

"Do you think he knows?" she asked.

He wasn't sure what to say, or truly what she meant. "I think so," he said quietly.

He was able to extricate himself from her embrace only after she'd fallen asleep. Slipping from the apartment, he walked home in the frigid dead of that winter night.

**

"Where have you been? I called you a hundred times. We were supposed to go to the gallery's holiday party. My show was last night!" He scooped the phone from his pocket and thrust it out to her. It was dead.

"I'm sorry," he said. "My battery…I forgot."

"At least tell me where you were?"

He stared numbly at her feet. They were pointed in. The temper was like the girl, restrained and ever suppressed. She was more hurt than anything. He knew that. But what could he possibly say?

**

Christmas Eve. His girlfriend had gone upstate to her family's home. She'd phoned, but self-pity prevented him from taking her call. She wished him a Merry Christmas, the tension in her voice coated with candy cane sweetness. His attention was tuned beyond her words as he listened to the bustling sounds of her family in the background. There was bantering and shouting. A dog was barking, and someone had just come through the front door to a huge welcome. His girlfriend stopped in the middle of I love you to say she had to go.

He took the train to the far side of town, sat on the couch while she stood by the window, and stared down at the ice cube that graced his glass. It floated solemnly in the little brown puddle. She'd never entertained this client before. He was a referral. Oddly, he wasn't due for another three hours.

She drew near and stood over his shoulder. "Can I see what you've drawn?"

He was working on three sketches, but had a strong feeling about one toward which she'd be inclined. He opened his pad. Her hair was tousled and she was smiling shyly. Her foot was resting in the man's lap, pressed against him. And he was grinning broadly at her, his arms helpless at his sides—full submissive to her prowess.

He looked up to see that she was biting her lip. She turned away quickly and crossed to the window. Nothing was said for a long while. He closed his pad and stared toward the imitation fireplace. Finally, she came from the window and seated herself on the loveseat adjacent the couch. Her eyes were moist. She lowered them because he couldn't help but stare.

"You don't have my permission to hock this stuff," she said.

He didn't understand. "Sorry?"

She rubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes and shook her head impatiently. "I mean—you can't sell it. It's mine. I want it."

"Of course," he said.

"I can buy it," she said.

"No. When it's finished you can have any of them, all of them. I mean, you know, it's Christmas."

Her eyes welled up again. "Fuck," she sighed. "It's beautiful."

He bit his own lip. He'd have gone for a glass of rum had she not spoken just then.

"Your old man, he couldn't take it?" She gestured with her glass. "He wouldn't like your drawings?"

He gazed down at the sketchpad. "Not this," he intoned. "Never."

"I'd be proud," she blurted assertively. "If I was him."

His chest thundered.

**

He was shy. She nearly had to drag him to bed. He insisted on reporting his name, that it was his first time doing something like this. She was cold.

"You're very beautiful," he said.

Her sigh was expelled as though poisonous. "Look," she said, leveling him with a dark stare, casting his shirt aside, "This is not a date." He was stone-still before her, sitting on his knees in bed. She was driven nuts by his reservation. She reached out and ripped his belt from the loops. "What are you doing?" she blurted in an exasperated tone.

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, do something," she ordered. He began to reach for his fly.

"No," she groaned. "I've got that taken care of. Have you fucked at all?"

I've had sex."

She looked past him, casting her gaze toward the bathroom door vents. She sighed and her face went slack. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," he smiled.

She closed her eyes a moment. "Thank you for what you said."

"It's true," he responded quickly. "You have beautiful eyes. I like your hair. I liked you right away."

"Okay," she said, putting a hand on his chest, pushing him back on the bed and straddling him. "So you know how to have sex. You don't know how to fuck."

"There's a difference?"

She smiled wantonly, unfastened his pants and scooted back. She jerked his shoes off and pulled at his pants until they came away. He lay there in his underwear, self-consciously looking up at her. She handed him a condom.

"From behind?" she said.

"Okay."

She rolled over and positioned herself on all fours. He got into place and she wriggled her bottom against his crotch. He pushed his underwear down and donned the condom. He allowed his cock to rest in the crack of her ass. She rolled her hips, sliding his cock between her ass cheeks.

In a radical departure from custom, he suddenly fell before her and put his mouth on her pussy. When his tongue entered her, she pulled away.

"You're not paying to go down on me."

"But I like it. It turns me on," he insisted.

She closed her eyes. "Fine."

He stuck his finger inside her and was quickly a voracious eater of pussy. He jabbed and darted his tongue, then used it as a brush to swab the whole of her vulva, cleaving the lips and unveiling her swollen clit. She quivered as he trapped the button between thumb and forefinger, pinched and sucked on it. She convulsed and climaxed as tiny electric fingers stung her repeatedly.

A moment later he reached around and grabbed her breasts. He lifted her against him and kissed the back of her neck. His cock entered her effortlessly and she caught her breath. He gently fucked her from behind, still holding her upright and close, alternately massaging her breasts and roaming her body with his hands.

His right hand slid down her abdomen and reached out to fondle her clit and feel where his sex was deeply enmeshed in her shimmering sheath.

"I'm about to come," he whispered.

She dropped her hand and closed it over his, forming a V around his phallus which swelled and pulsed as it spilled his seed within the condom inside her. He moaned softly, nuzzling her shoulder blades, kissing and sucking her sweaty flesh. His thrusts became relegated to a slow steady glide until he finished and they collapsed in a heap. He remained inside her and ground gently as he caressed her thigh and leg.