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.'

--------------------------------------------

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