tagErotic CouplingsChristmas Came Early

Christmas Came Early

byTGStone©

'Twas the week before Christmas...

This really wasn't like me. I can feel my cheeks glowing again just thinking about it. It's like someone else took me over that day. Saying what I said, doing what I did....it's not that I regret it, and nobody got hurt, eh?

In fact, it helped me get through that Christmas, and to get my head together into the new year. So, it was a positive thing. But it was a strange day all round.

Brief as I can, this is me - I work at home, I'm a writer. Sometimes that means putting the final touches to a novel -- optimistically. Sometimes it means doing a travel piece for an airline magazine -- without ever going to the destination -- just to pay some bills. Google Earth and Wikipedia have helped put food on the table more than once.

6 months ago the father of my child tells me he's leaving. No real explanation, but I s'pose I could see it coming. So me and Hanna are rolling around a house with less furniture than before, and a nagging hollow in our lives. But we're a team, we get on with it all.

And now it's coming up to Christmas, and via txt he drops this bomb -- 'Hanna with me xmas day? we goin to my mums. Nxt year with you, ok'

Hmm. My world went silent. Silent and cold.

He never was a particularly eloquent engineer of the written word.

I spoke to Hanna; and after a lot of tears and hugging, she confessed that yes, she wanted to go. Fucking daughters and their fathers. I s'pose at her age I would done the same thing. Damn it hit me hard though.

So -- not only did I have the task of trying to make our girls-only Christmas the best ever, but now I had to get it organised quicker too. Our day, would be Christmas Eve.

I imagine you're the same as me -- some things you gotta go to a real shop for, but nowadays Amazon and Ebay make shopping sooo much easier. I was madly ordering stuff daily, from new twinkly lights, to the full size bike I knew she needed. When did bikes get so expensive? The credit card seemed to wince with every purchase. All that e-commerce meant almost daily deliveries arriving too.

Like I said, I work at home; thank you cable internet. So being around for all the random package arrivals was no problem, aside from the odd tricky moment when you're in the shower. Or, I'm slightly ashamed to admit, once when you're having a midday private test with a toy you've bought as a guilty treat. Hey, some people take coffee breaks, that day I had a 'me' break, ok?

Then, on December the 23nd, I got the most amazing, game changing email. Months before, a big publisher had sounded me out about a job, and I gathered my skirts and put on a good show. But I wasn't holding my breath, y'know? They'd just pick a 'name' as usual, and promise to keep me on file. Blaa blaa.

The subject line read 'Welcome on board.' Scanning through my daily influx of junk nonsense, I almost missed it. Good job I was intrigued. The body copy started, 'Regarding the autobiography of **** ******, we confirm that we would like to engage you for the project. As agreed, the daily expenses for prior research/interviews will be.....'

I stopped reading, and just sat open mouthed. Then a sound started to come out of me, a whimper at first, building into a full blown scream. I stood, my arms up finishing in two devil-horn gestures.

I'd been picked to ghost-write the autobiography of a major, major footballer. I was gonna be freakin' rich! Well, pretty comfortable for a while. His name was enough to guarantee good sales, so as long as I did a decent job -- and hell I would -- then commissions should come in off the back of it. To say I was ecstatic was to not do it justice.

So, can you see how that day suddenly became a little different? How you might be excused for, say, going off the rails just a bit?

I had two 500 word film reviews to finish, and it was only 10.30 am, but I couldn't stop myself -- I was almost dancing around under the Christmas decorations. A smile was glued to my face.

Even though I'd been absorbed in planning and buying all the gifts and festive fayre, I hadn't felt that jolly, to be honest. The thought of being alone on the actual day was quietly killing me. But now I felt overjoyed, even optimistic. It might only last a short while, but it had turned into the biggest day of my career, so screw it! I went off to the fridge and opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that had sat in there for a week.

My routine generally was to get coffee first thing, and let it do it's work while bustling about getting Hanna ready and finally off to school. Then check the laptop, but not to really touch the thing. Because a shower and real clothes were next -- homeworker + no routine = a slob.

As I said, that day I'd been hit by a brilliant tornado called 'Joy', so I enjoyed a glass of crisp wine, and luxuriated in my t shirt and dressing gown still. A little decadence, before the hard work on the book started. I will admit, I even started singing Christmas songs while bouncing around. The blinds were shut, who cares? The first glass seemed to disappear, so I refilled it. It had been a shitty year; I deserved that day.

The second glass is going down well, and I'd moved onto torch songs by Queen. Top of my voice. Then, the doorbell goes.

Shit. I pride myself in answering the door looking like a sane lady, so no one can snigger to their buddies about the 'loose woman' at number 12. And certainly not the neighbours, half of whom I'm sure think I live off welfare benefits -- you know; no man around, young kid, doesn't leave to go to a job. The bell rings again. Oh fuck.

Putting the glass down, I tidy and tuck myself together as best I can in the mirror. After a deep breath, I walk to the front door.

Flicking the locks, I half open it and look out. Oh no, it's him. Of course, it had to be him.

With all the extra deliveries coming up to Christmas, most of the couriers had taken on temporary staff to deal with the rush. And this new guy had been a regular at my door for the last couple of weeks. Jeez, he was take-your-breath-away-gorgeous.

Because he was rocking up to my house every couple of days it seemed, of course you get familiar. You talk, end up knowing a little bit about each other. That's natural, and polite. Was I a touch too eager with him? Maybe....having a young beautiful man on your doorstep regularly, who's oh so eager to help, was a treat; Ok? I'll freely admit it. Every time he handed over another package, his smiling face mouthed something about signing the dumb little electronic device.....but I was just looking at his lips. A few bits of stubble, he was probably too young to grow anything fuller. But rosy, happy lips, brought out even more with the nip in the air. Always like he was truly pleased to see you.....probably he was relieved I was in, so at least another successful delivery was crossed off his busy schedule. But he made that smile feel like it was just for me.

And the fingers. Beautiful. Everytime he handed me a parcel I made sure my hand brushed against them -- they were long and fine, like a pianist. Sorry about the schoolgirl gushing, but it'd been a while, yeah?

My final piece of defence, your honour, is he'd told me that he was only on a one month contract. After the last delivery on Christmas Eve, he was gone, I'd never see him again. Outta town, maybe out the country. Curse the young for their freedom.

So, that morning, he stares at me a little startled. I had bed hair, and a fluffy dressing gown on, not my regulation jeans and baggy sweat top. He got over himself swiftly, offering, 'Mrs Pittman, good morning! Christmas is one day away!'

Yep, he could read address labels, he knew my name, but not my new title. And he had manners, but obviously recognised a half dressed woman when he saw one. I never did find out his name by the way.

Then he smiled at me. Bastard....I was high on emotion that day, and his smile knocked me even further off axis than I was already. It was chilly, but maybe because he'd be in and out of the van all day, he only wore the company shirt on top. Like I was coming out of hibernation, I groggily lifted my eyes up to his and said, 'Well, for some of us Christmas is tomorrow. But hey, let's not go into that - how are you?'

'I'm great ma'am, but jeez it's colder than I thought,' he laughed. He wore a scarf around his neck, with 'Noel' embroidered many times into it. I watched his breath linger in the air. 'Got two packages for you today, one's pretty big, hold on a sec.' He went to the van, and slid open the door. As he walked away, I stared at the jeans cradling his butt. Damn, this boy just got better and better.

He brought back a small carton first, maybe the whisky taster set for my Mum (don't ask); then went and struggled to free a huge item from within. Oh, Hanna's bike, thank the lord. I admit I simply took in the contortions and images of his body from the doorstep.

Manfully, he brought it to my door, and not letting go said, 'Can I bring this in for you, it's a little cumbersome, y'know?'

Look, my blood was running hotter than usual now....I was feeling like that day was destined to be my private happy day -- does that explain it a little more?

'Oh that would be lovely, just bring it through to the living room, that's where I'm gonna try and wrap it.'

He rotates the long package sideways to fit into the corridor, and strides into my house, with me directing him verbally as he goes. Without thinking, I close the front door behind us.

He's dutifully stood in my lounge near the sparkly tree, and after scanning around, I tell him the best spot to put it down. We smile at each other, a job well done, and he says, 'Oh, sorry Mrs Pittman, just gotta go get the signature machine from the van.'

Remember, I was past normal by now.

'It's Ms Pittman, yeah? And seeing as you're here more than my cat, I think you can call me Angie.'

He stopped, and looked at me a touch unsure. 'Er, ok, Angie. I just need your signature for the system, yeah?'

'Sure.'

He smiled at me again -- maybe that was when my mind finally snapped -- and started to move past me to the door. Unconsciously I raised a hand to his chest, and slid it under the scarf. He stopped close in front of me, my fingertips resting on the few wispy curls above the final button. I'll never understand how this came out of my mouth, but I looked up and said, 'Perhaps, you could stay for a while?'

He just looked into me, dumbstruck. Eventually came, 'Um, well....er....Mrs....'

I was so far into my femme fatale weirdness by now, that I threw off my prior self like an old coat. I reached up and placed my finger on his faltering mouth. 'It's Angie, like I said. I know this is a little weird, but I think all my parcels are here now, and I've had some good news today. So, I feel like celebrating, y'know?'

At that my other hand loosened my robe so it fell open. The t shirt was an old one that had shrunk in the wash, so it clung to my chest, and finished high above my bare pussy.

His wide eyes cast down me, taking the offer in. Poor lamb, I don't think he signed up to his seasonal job thinking he'd have to deal with this.

His mouth moved a few times, but no sound came out. At last, still staring at my pubes, he was just about able to form a sentence. 'Mrs....Angie, it's Christmas....er, I've got so many drop off's to make....and,' At this point he swallowed and looked into my eyes again. 'And I'm sure it's against the rules.'

I smiled at first, then let out a soft laugh. I raised my mouth nearer his ear, 'Today, Santa's little helper, fuck the rules. I don't want you for long, I just want you inside me.'

I flashed my sweetest cheeky grin, and simply turned and led him out by the shirt. I didn't want any more negotiation. To be honest I was so freaked by what I'd just said, I probably couldn't keep this act up unless I toughed it out, and quickly.

I'd shrugged off the robe, and as I climbed the stairs with my prize in tow, I could almost feel his eyes burning into my ass cheeks. Yeah I've got a young daughter, but I still work on looking good. Even more so after Mr Dickhead waltzed off. So I was pretty sure Courier Boy was getting a decent view. We reached the landing, and I led him into the bedroom.

Not wanting to turn this into a farce, I didn't throw him on the bed. Instead I motioned with my hand and said, 'Lie down.' Coming forward, I loosened his scarf, and dropped it on the floor.

I'll never know if he was secretly into this 'dominant MILF' thing (and I've never ever tried to be dominant before), or he was just petrified....but bless him climbed onto the bed.

To get what I wanted, I just knew that I had to throw everything out the window, and tell him what to do.

Our time would be brief, so I left my t shirt on, and placed a knee on the bed next to his shoulder. I threw the other knee over him, so my mound was above his face. Looking down at his appreciative eyes, I held onto the headboard, and lowered my lips down to him. 'Lick me,' I said.

By now he was either resigned to his fate or he was starting to enjoy himself -- because he lent up a little and traced the tip of his nose across and down my lips, then back up to my clit. I'm pretty sure that's when my first drip fell on him. Jeez, my body had waited far too long for a moment like this. To feel someone else's touch again, to not be in manual control of every move.

His warm tongue reached out and touched me, gently caressing my folds. I let out a little cry, and gripped the headboard tightly for a second. He massaged me, explored my flesh. Then he snaked that muscular tongue up inside me, pushing until his chin was hard against me. He held firm, licking up deep into me. Stronger moans came from deep in my chest, and his smeared face dug into my skin.

Withdrawing his tongue, he must have discovered some boldness, because I felt his hands on my ass, gliding over the curves at first, then at last gripping my cheeks down onto his face. Finally, he traced his tip over my clit.

Pangs of electricity burst out inside me. My legs nearly gave up, and I must have uttered a noise that sounded as if I was in pain. Far from it; I was lost in raw pleasure.

Aware that I was tender, he lapped away at my bud lightly, the waves rolling up and down with his motion. My eyes were shut tight, as were my fists on my anchor point. He kept sweetly doing what he was doing, but making sure my little nerve centre got the licks and flicks it was craving. Soon -- almost too soon - I could feel a very long overdue man-induced orgasm start to build.

I let him carry on pleasuring me for as long as I could take, then pulled my hips up and away from him, my thighs trembling slightly. 'Stop.' I said.

Poor lad, he looked at my glowing face and started to say, 'But....'

I put my finger to his lips before he could utter another word. 'Sssh. Just do as I say.'

I gingerly put a foot on the floor, hoping my muscles would work, and levered myself up. 'Move over, it's my turn to lie down'

He obliged, and my back down descended onto the soft bed spread. Breathing deeply, I relaxed my thighs so they were spread wide, my bent knees out at right angles to my torso. Some women cum easier on top, or on all fours. I love the sensation of a man above me, pleasing himself inside whilst grinding down onto my clit. I get off on the size and weight of a man's body covering me, taking me.

He was staring at my body, laid out for him. I had to say, 'I think it's time to get your cock out now.'

He snapped back into reality, half-mouthed a 'Sorry,' at me, then proceeded to lose his boots, jeans, shorts and shirt in a faster time than I thought possible. He knelt on the bed between my legs, his cock pulsing, almost pointing up at the ceiling.

I drank this gorgeous sight in for a few moments, and my fingers voluntarily sought out my nipples. Rolling and pinching them through the thin cotton, I looked into his eyes and murmured, 'Fuck me.'

His reticence had all gone. He lurched forward, placing his palms above and either side of my head. His hot smooth cockhead nestled against my lips, and with a few sways of his hips, he'd covered it in my juice. I reached a hand down between us, and held his shaft. God it felt good; but this was not the time to linger -- I guided it down to the right spot, and fed the tip inside.

He needed no instruction, and pushed into me. In one move, he slid his entire length upwards til it rested against my deepest flesh. The feeling of a cock within me at last almost pushed me over the edge. Being opened up, having a warm, hard human being inside me was heaven.

My muscles gripped him, and even he gasped. His balls rested against my ass, and he relaxed down onto his elbows. His chest was against mine, our hips locked together. He slowly pulled back his cock, almost so he left me; then thrust forward.

I cried out, and gripped the bed spread tight in my fists. His rhythm was strong but not frantic. Again and again, sliding back so only his tip was in me, then powering into me full. Little twists of his hips just drove my clit even wilder, and I knew I would not last much longer.

I started to buck against him, milking every last sensation from his motion. For better purchase, I wrapped my legs around his back. Everytime he rocked forward a groan came from the back of my throat, and I reached my hand behind his head. I gripped a handful of hair, and made him look into my eyes. It was hard to speak, but I just about managed an audible, 'I want you to cum. Just use me.'

At that he upped his speed, using my inner flesh to bring himself to climax. My body tensed under him, then all my pent up sensation burst in one huge release. Then another, and another. I was shuddering, and spasming tight onto his cock. That's when he arched his head back, drove hard into me, and let out a strangled growl. I felt him erupt deep inside.

I still had hold of his hair, and as we panted, I pulled his mouth down onto mine. We kissed with a hunger, and he still ebbed back and forth, as smaller tremors continued within us both.

Spent, he rolled off me. We breathed deep, slowly calming. He looked over at me, and I met his eye and smiled. I couldn't help myself; I said, 'Merry fucking Christmas.'

Once he'd gathered himself, he glanced at me with a slightly pained look. He'd be behind on his deliveries by now. Taking his hand I grinned and said, 'It's ok, you can go now.'

He quickly dressed, then stood, again holding my eyes for permission to run away in this ungentlemanly manner. I stood, picked the scarf off the floor, and tied it around his neck. I leant up and kissed his beautiful mouth one last time. Ruffling the back of his head, I whispered, 'Go. You have gifts to bring to people.' He smiled, and left.

Hanna and I had a great, great Christmas. I was told that I was, 'In the best mood I'd been for months!' Thank you child. One day you'll understand.

Mr Dickhead picked her up at 8 am the next morning, and it was all ok y'know? You can catch up on a lot of work on Christmas Day, and then watch great movies lying half drunk on the couch.

Still, I can't help but wonder if he might take a delivery job again next Christmas??

Dang, I never did sign for that bike.....

Season's greetings, to you one and all.

####

Thank you so much for reading, hope you had fun ;)

© TG Stone 2013

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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous11/30/13

Your story

I like you short story quick style-no 3 paragraph description of the characters and really well thought out descriptions of the action

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by chytown11/30/13

Great Story*****

Thanks for sharing this was very entertaining.

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by Anonymous11/30/13

Seriously??

To Anonymous on 11/28. How are you going to tell someone to go back to school to "lern" the basics when you don't know them yourself? So sad.

To the author: I enjoyed it. I wonder what you'll do formore...

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by Anonymous11/29/13

I liked it! Good character presentation, attention to detail, effective use of sexual terms. Really turned me on ;)

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by Anonymous11/29/13

Ignore that first Anonymous

I thought it was great!

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