Spirit of Christmas

She guided the car carefully down the street towards her house, windscreen wipers flapping pathetically against the penny sized snowflakes that swirled around in the chill night air, drifting against parked cars either side, blanketing the familiar houses in their silent, white sheath and coating the street lights to hide any vestige of warmth that they may give this cold Christmas Eve.

Braking gently, lights turning the snow behind a vivid, blood red, she turned the wheel and steered the car carefully into her drive, stopping just short of the garage, slamming the transmission into 'Park' and yanking on the handbrake. She sat for a while, engine running, heater blowing only just-about-warm air at the windscreen, wipers grating on the glass, as she relaxed her grip on the wheel and took a few deep breaths.

"Fucking white Christmas!" she said out loud, "Who needs it?"

She systematically shut down the car, heater, wipers, lights and finally engine. Apart from the soft noises of the wind, a silence fell upon her. She grabbed her bags from the passenger seat and braced herself for the onslaught of the cold night, before opening the door and heaving herself out. The wind slammed the door behind her and there was a momentary orange glow on the snow as the car auto-locked. She paid no attention to this, walking steadily across the snow covered path to the sanctuary of her porch, thankful that she had left lights on to guide her across the treacherous ground.

Closing the door behind her, feeling the embracing warmth of the central heating, she placed her bags on the porch table and sighed in relief, before pulling off her damp hat and shaking out her long, dark hair, hating the tingle of wool induced static that accompanied the action. She threw the garment onto the coat stand, followed by coat and scarf, and bent to yank off her knee length boots, before retrieving her bags and entering the house proper, switching off the porch lights and closing the heavy door behind her.

The hallway was softly lit, but she didn't pause, turning immediately left into her living room, snapping on lights as she passed through to the kitchen, dropping her handbag onto the sofa as she did so. There were no decorations, no Christmas tree towering in the corner, no flashing multi-coloured lights reflecting off shining tinsel nor strings of cards, and no gaily wrapped gifts waiting to be opened. Joy didn't 'do' Christmas, hadn't for a long time.

In the kitchen she unpacked her groceries and put them away neatly, then folded the bags and put them away too. She made herself a hot chocolate and tossed in a healthy shot of dark rum, carried it back to the living room where she sat on the sofa, curling her legs underneath her. Holding the cup in both hands close to her chest, she sat in quiet dread of the next forty-eight hours, staring at the beautiful fireplace opposite, primed and ready to be lit should the heating fail as had once happened!

Joy was single and still doggedly asserting herself to be in her mid-forties, though she was in truth closer to fifty. The years had been kinder to her looks than anything else. She was still remarkably beautiful, though she dressed herself down, hiding a figure that many women half her age would have died for; full firm breasts, smooth flat stomach, flaring hips, long shapely legs and a round fleshy backside that was still where it was meant to be. Her dark brown hair was free from dye and showed no traces of any grey. Her unhappy years could be best be seen in the sadness of her rich, brown eyes if you looked for it, though she hid that well too.

Refusing to dwell on Christmases past, she tried to shrug off her melancholy mood, and sat sipping her drink, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol-laced chocolate as it coursed through her. Shunning the radio, television and magazines that were just too festive, she reached for her Danielle Steele, found her place by the page with the folded corner, and let herself drift into a nicer place, where things were how they were meant to be.

Some hours later, she put the novel down, refusing to acknowledge the emotion that was stinging her eyes and returned her empty mug to the kitchen before retracing her steps, shutting off lights and heading upstairs to her bedroom. She spent a few minutes in the bathroom, doing what she had to, and then, naked, crossed her bedroom to the window where she eased the curtains apart and peeped out into the night, not looking at the houses and their ridiculous assortment of flashing plastic reindeer and grotesque Santa's, but instead looking up at the sky, searching for and finding through a gap in the clouds, Polaris.

"Star light, star bright..." she whispered aloud, finishing the familiar wish in her mind with a sigh. She let the curtain fall back into place. The green glow of her clock told her it was just after midnight as she slipped under the heavy quilt, her naked body momentarily recoiling in shock against the coldness of the sheets before the heat of her own heat warmed them and in turn itself. "Happy fucking Christmas girl!" she said quietly. Sadly. Bitterly.

She drifted into a half sleep, her lonely mind desperately seeking the company she so needed, imagined him sliding into the bed beside her, warm and hard, folding her in his arms. Her nipples stiffened, her fingers found them gently and caressed them, feeling his tender touch, then slipped down between her legs where she was already moist, making her breath catch in her throat, as it always did with her first touch.

Her breathing became more ragged as she became wetter, fingertips swirling around her swollen lips, teasing her hard clit and plunging deep into her hot and aching pussy, stretching herself there, and soliciting pleasurable moans from herself. Her mind couldn't hold a single image, and wandered instead through a variety of scenes, changing locations, even changing his appearance, but never his intent, until with a cry she froze in her gentle climax, breath held hard as she span out amongst the stars and bathed in their cool white light until the breath exploded from her in a blissfully anguished gasp and a series of involuntary shudders. There was a blaze of colour and then the all encompassing, peacefully tingling afterglow as she was carried back into herself, falling like stardust from the sky, where sleep claimed and calmed her.

She awoke slowly, snug in her bed, stretching lazily. Daylight filtered through improperly closed curtains. She listened for the Christmas Day sounds of children playing, but heard only the soft howling of the wind and a noise like sand being thrown against the window. Despite the warmth of her cosy bed, she shivered at the thought of the weather outside as her senses slowly switched on for the new day.

She became aware of the sound of running water, the sound of a shower? She strained her neck to look across the room to her bathroom, looking through the open door and seeing the mirror in there, steamed up! Momentarily confused, she shook herself and left the cocoon of her bed to investigate, padding naked across the thick carpet.

She stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, surprised but not shocked and paying no heed to her nudity, "Who the fuck are you?" she said angrily, "And what the fucking hell are you doing in my shower?"

He turned towards her, "You are awake Joy!" and smiled at her engagingly. She was drawn into his dark eyes, glinting with good humour. "I am Caspar," he added.

"Oh, a friendly fucking ghost, that's alright then!" she shot back at him sarcastically.

She knew she ought to be running to the phone by now, but she felt in no way threatened by this man. She was intrigued by him. He was clearly of far eastern descent, his skin was shining wetly a light caramel brown and he was quite bald. His chest was lean and hard, devoid of hair, and she found herself wanting to see more of him, that part which was hidden by the steamed up cubicle door.

"Come and join me, the water is wonderful!" Caspar invited.

Her feet started moving before her brain, and she was already at the over-sized corner shower cubicle, sliding the glass door aside before her mind asked 'What the fuck are you doing girl?' She paused, the door open just enough to see his powerful thighs running with steaming water, and his long thick penis hanging softly between them, resting against heavy looking balls, as smooth as his scalp. 'Just going insane,' she answered herself, easing the door open further and slipping inside.

The water stung her skin like sharp needles as he pulled her to him. She placed her hands palm flat on his hard chest, felt his hands on her waist pulling her closer and bent her neck upwards as he stooped to kiss her, lightly brushing her soft lips with his. Her hands slid slowly up to his shoulders and around his neck as he eased open her mouth and explored inside with his tongue. She kissed him back, deeply, hungrily, felt his penis twitching, stiffening against her thighs as she stood on tiptoes before him.

His hands caressed her back, slid down to her soft backside and squeezed, pulling her tighter against his surging cock, taking friction from her thighs. She felt the pulse in it, straining as it was against her skin, and eased her legs apart to allow it to spring up between them, fully hard. She felt the smooth shaft between her already wet labia, knew that it wasn't the shower that had made them so. She slid back and forth along his thick shaft, stifling her gentle gasps against his chest, her hands now sliding around his hips onto his firm behind.

The water cascaded over them from the showerhead as they gyrated together, she shuddering in his thick arms, nibbling on his shoulder, leaning back to allow his hands access to her straining nipples, her eyes closed against the water, her mind open to every exquisite sensation he caused in her body.

He turned her, took hold of her wrists and raised her arms above her head, placing them palm flat against the cool, slippery tiles. She instinctively spread her legs, thrust out her behind in search of him, gasped when she felt his large, hot cock nestling between her buttocks. He reached around her, reclaiming her breasts with his hands, nuzzling through her long wet hair to caress her neck with his tongue, to flick at her earlobe with it until she bent her head back, twisting her neck, so that he could he push his tongue into her ear.

His hand slid across her flat belly, through her sparse pubic hair and between her lips, gently stroking them, nudging her clit, sliding fingers gently inside. She leaned heavily against the tiles, pushing down onto his fingers, moaning loudly.

With a subtle shift of his hips, his long, thick cock slipped between her thighs from behind, and he guided his cock into her wet cunt with his own hand, sliding it deep in one smooth stroke. She arched her back, pushed down hard to take him fully, "Yes fuck me, please fuck me!" she cried softly.

He held her hips in both hands as he started to thrust, using all of his impressive length, pulling it nearly all the way out before slamming home again hard, raising her to the tips of her toes with every thrust, his huge cock filling her, stretching her lips tight around him, and with each thrust she pushed at him just as hard, so that her straining nipples jiggled against the cold tiles as he fucked her fast and breathless from behind.

Her climax rushed upon her, smothered her, swept her away. She screamed, feeling only the water and his hard cock, surrounded by one and impaled by the other she shook and shuddered helplessly, until she was pulled under the water completely, away from the cold tiled wall, but the relentless stabbing between her legs didn't falter. She was floating, spinning, being carried away by the tide, until with a savage thrust she was hurled back to the shore, back to the wall and lifted off her feet as he held her tight, yelling as he took his own climax deep inside her, pumping his hot seed into her hot, greedy cunt.

She stood, gasping for breath, only barely aware of the tiles pressed against her cheek and palms, her legs weak, trembling, her breath coming in rasping pants as she searched for air.

"I have to go now Joy," he said, his deep voice calm and soothing in her ear, "I'll leave you a gift under the tree, but don't open it yet, you will know when to."

"Mm-hm," she acknowledged his words, unable to yet form words of her own, and she felt his softening cock slip from her with a profound sense of loss.

It took a while, stood there, or rather leaning there under the still stinging jets of the shower, for his words to fully register, for an appropriate response to form in her mind and transmit to her mouth, coming out as a breathless, "But I don't have a tree!"

She turned sluggishly, but she was alone. She slid the cubicle door open, noted the unused towels and bone dry floor. There was no sign of him. She rallied herself and washed, shut off the water, brought herself back to life with a vigorous towelling and slipped into her thick, soft robe.

At the foot of the stairs she turned right into her living room, and stopped in her tracks. In the far corner of the room, near the door to the kitchen, stood a Christmas tree, its branches heavy with all manner of brightly coloured and shining baubles, draped with sparkling tinsel and ablaze with multi-coloured lights that chased themselves around and around. Underneath the tree was a single gift, wrapped in richly glowing golden paper.

Her heart soared, she unleashed a silly, dazzling smile at nothing in particular. It was all so beautiful. She approached the tree almost in wonderment, knelt and picked up the gift, a flattish, rectangular box. She raised it, childlike, to her ear and shook it, hearing something slide inside. She replaced it under the tree, leaned over to turn on the radio to hear Christmas Carols being played, then happily went into the kitchen for coffee.

While her caffeine fix was brewing she looked out through the snow-crystal edged window to her back garden. It was a blanket of white, glistening in the weak winter sunlight that was now fighting through the dispersing clouds. A robin, its red breast a stark contract to the black and white world outside, alighted on the fence nearby and looked back at her, chirped something happily and went on its way. Pouring the coffee, she had to fight against the stinging in her eyes.

"So, one good fuck with a friendly ghost and you're getting all gooey girl!" she chided herself, but even that brought only a smile to her face.

Returning to the living room, she knelt at the fireplace, took a match from the mantle and soon had flames licking at the chimney, not because she was cold, just because she wanted to and it felt right. She sat in the armchair, sipping her coffee, and lost herself happily in the flames that soon settled into a warm, cosy fire, sighing contentedly from time to time.

She was unaware of the time she sat there, or of finishing her coffee and placing the cup down on the hearth. What roused her was the unmistakable aroma of cooking, of meat roasting and vegetables boiling, and she was suddenly very hungry.

Walking back to the kitchen door, she peered around the jamb and was not surprised to see a man there, but it wasn't the one from the shower. This man, also of far eastern appearance, was wearing a fine robe of deep burgundy, thick hair sprouting from it at the chest. He had a beautifully trimmed goatee beard and thick curly hair on his head that reached almost to his shoulders.

"Ah, there you are Joy, come and dine with me, we have a feast to share!" he said, smiling broadly at her.

She returned his smile and walked into her kitchen, the table in its centre was laid and laden with cooked meats, potatoes and other vegetables. There was a carafe of dark, red wine and two fine, crystal glasses. Two places were laid for dinner at opposing ends of the table.

"And what's your name?" she enquired, sitting as he pushed the chair in behind her.

"I am Melchior," he answered brightly, taking his seat opposite.

"Are you a ghost too?" she asked laughingly, once more questioning her own sanity as she did so.

"Of a sort I suppose," he answered, "Let's eat!"

They dined gloriously on thick slices of turkey and pork, an array of vegetables, stuffing and crackling in rich gravy. They laughed like old friends at the silly jokes from the crackers and donned the paper hats that came with them. They drank wine, they chatted. They laughed.

Eventually, the feast was over and cleared away. She stood to pass her empty glass to him as he stacked the last of the dishes into the washer. He took it from her with a smile.

"Have we forgotten dessert?" she asked.

"Not exactly my dear," he answered, turning to face her, "I rather thought that I'd have you for that." In so saying, he pulled her hips towards him, at the same time leaning forward to push her shoulders back as he kissed her hard on the mouth. She lost balance, reached out behind her and steadied herself with both hands on the table edge as he licked his way along her neck.

She let her head fall back, her long hair trailing on the surface of the table, made no resistance against him as he licked his way from her throat, easing open her robe to nuzzle between her breasts, using his cheeks to push the garment open, exposing her hard nipples before sucking on each in turn.

She felt her pussy contract sharply and flood with hot juices in response to him, as he lifted her by the hips and sat her on the table. He pulled at the tie of her robe, used both hands to open the garment, easing it off her shoulders and pushing against them, forcing her to lean back, taking her weight on her forearms laid flat to the table.

He knelt, eased apart her legs with his hands, running his palms lightly along her inner thighs. She automatically raised her legs, resting her heels on his shoulders as he buried his face into her crotch, tongue probing deeply into her. She shuddered, let out a low sound of contentment as he tongued her wet lips and sucked gently on them, working towards her eager, swollen clit. As the tip of his tongue found it and started a slow, swirling motion around it, he eased two fingers into her eager cunt, knuckle deep, and swirled them inside her in counter motion to his tongue.

She lay back fully on the table now, surrendering to the urge to touch her breasts, to squeeze the hardness of her nipples between her own fingers. The lingering steam and heat of the kitchen soothed her, his deeply probing fingers and clever, teasing tongue aroused her own heat. Her body was twitching, anticipating its release from the delightful tension that was building inside it, simmering, just short of the boil that would send it into a steam-heated frenzy.

Melchior stood between her legs, the flat of her feet now on his chest, and undid his robe, never taking his eyes off hers. He stepped forward, she felt the heat and tickle of his large hairy balls on her glistening wet cunt, felt the weight of his rock hard cock as he laid it over her pubic hair on her belly.

She reached down slowly, making contact with the head of it, gasping aloud, tearing her eyes away from his to look down, taking it in her hand and raising it, testing its girth and weight, astonished by this massive thing, equally astonished that her hot cunt was aching for it, that she was aching for it. She raised her eyes to meet his once more, her hand stroking his hardness, her breath catching, her eyes already glazing with desire, "Fuck me!" she said simply.

He eased back, took the thick head of his cock and rubbed it against her wet lips, sliding it up and down between them, nudging her clit, probing her entrance, until with a slow but firm thrust he eased it into her. She cried out as he stretched her, lifted her hips to meet him, until he was fully and beautifully inside her slick cunt.