A Slut's Christmas

So its Christmas Eve and I am drinking alone in a hotel room after visiting my parents. For some reason I am convinced its a good idea to post my first story ever. Sincere apologies to William Burroughs who's heartwarming tale of Danny the Car Wiper inspired this sloppily edited piece of dubious writing. Enjoy :/

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It was Christmas Day and Miranda the Slut left her parents house alone and more than a little dejected after an entire day of enforced holiday cheer. The night was clear and still but there was a bite to the air. Miranda pulled the fake fur collar of her coat closer around her neck and clicked her way past a gauntlet of wreaths and twinkling lights as fast as her high heels could carry her.

She grabbed a cab in from at the next corner and gave the driver her address.

It really was irritating, the way they heaped all that unasked for pity on her. Sure she was alone and childless but she liked it that way, better than the alternative anyway. Her sisters just couldn't get it through their heads that the thought of someone like sweet, pudgy Greg or sweeter and even pudgier Anton spooning her night after dreary night for the rest of her life made her shudder.

All the same, she admitted to herself, out here in the night being whisked by glowing window after glowing window it was hard not to feel a tiny twinge of loneliness.

What I need is a good fuck, she thought.

She looked up and caught the driver's glance in the rearview mirror. He was an older man with a thick head of curly hair a little doughy around the chin but still handsome. There was a hint of a lear in the way those glossy brown eyes fixed themselves on her for just a moment.

I wonder what he would do if I offered him a blowjob for a tip, Miranda smiled to herself.

As if he has heard her the man's lear quickly turned to disdain. Asshole. He probably had a dumpling of a wife at home, a good woman who dutifully lay under him like a sack of potatoes. He let her off in front of her townhouse and she gave him a tip just big enough to assert her financial dominance. Snow was coming down and the only living thing in sight was her.

She looked up at her bedroom window. It stared back down at her like a dead eye. Instead of going up, she turned and walked down the street to Baba Yaga's.

Thankfully it was open, though less populated than she had been hoping. There were only four people in the whole place including the bartender. They all looked up at her as she opened the door briefly letting the cold in with her.

She took a seat at the bar and scanned the room to get a better look at who else was there. The results were disappointing. There was one very young couple sitting together in a corner sharing some sort of festive punch for two. Their heads were touching as they whispered something private to each other. The only other customer was an older man with a damp ponytail and a pilled sweater who was trying to chat up the stocky lesbian mixing drinks behind the bar. He had a serious looking book beside him that he kept touching as he talked.

Miranda ordered a martini with extra olives and tried to ignore the man with the ponytail who had noticed her, of course, and was giving her the eye in an unpleasant way. She was not that desperate. Not yet anyway.

"Pretty dead tonight," she remarked to the bartender.

"Tell me about it. I don't even know why we're open. Shitty tips and I'm missing my girlfriend's famous vegan roast turkey."

"I hope that tastes better than it sounds."

The bartender laughed. "Better than a can of ravioli in front of the TV which used to be my go to holiday feast."

Sure. Sure. Relationships better than being alone. She got it. She scrolled through her contacts wondering which of her exes she could talk into coming down for a drink or two. There was Alex but knowing him he was already a few beers beyond being of use in the penis department. Besides, she remembered his hygiene not being the best. Liam had been a bad breakup. He had called her a cold hearted bitch and threatened to post naked pictures of her on the internet.

There was Tom. He was never a boyfriend, just a friend with benefits. She hadn't seen him since the summer but he shared her disdain for all things family related so the chances of him being alone right now were high. He was also a bit of a gym rat. Miranda's vaginal muscles gave an involuntary squeeze of anticipation as she remembered what he could do with those well developed abs.

Hey, she texted her number

Hey, he replied after what seemed like an eternity.

What are you up to?

Christmas stuff. I'm at the sister's trying to stuff down some desert she spent three days making.

Really? I thought you hated that shit.

Yeah...well the girlfriend insisted. I think it was just morbid curiosity.

Girlfriend!? Fuck. Were there no single people left in the city?

You have a girlfriend? How did that happen?

I'm not really sure. I guess she just woke up in my bed one time too many. To tell you the truth I'm kind of liking it.

What about you? Tom's next message popped up after a long pause

Just having a few drinks with some friends. And drunk texting everyone I know to wish them a merry Christmas, she lied.

Ha ha! Well thanks. I'll call you after the holidays. You can meet Sarah. We'll go for dim sum at that place you were always talking about.

Sure. Sounds great. Happy New Year.

Thanks. You too.

Miranda ordered another drink and sat there staring at her phone. It lay on the bar like a dead bird. This was the worst Christmas ever.

Another rush of cold air made everyone turn towards the door again. This time it was a man. He was a little older, maybe in his early fifties but hot, like a Santa who spent three hundred and sixty four days of the year bench pressing reindeer. He took off his cashmere coat and tossed it casually on the bar two seats down from Miranda. He ordered a whisky, the good kind.

There was a mirror running the length of the back counter which provided a perfect opportunity for eyes to casually meet. It was not long before hot Santa caught Miranda looking at him.

"God, is there anything more depressing than a bar on Christmas?" he said giving her a rueful smile.

"I'm sure there is somewhere in the world but right now I'm drawing a blank."

He slid over to sit next to her.

He introduced himself as James. It appeared the whiskey he was drinking was not his first of the evening which made him only slightly less intimidating. Miranda felt a sharp tug somewhere deep inside her as for some inexplicable reason she suddenly imagined him pulling her over his knee and spanking her.

"Would you be offended if I bought you a drink?" he asked.

"Not at all. In fact I am practically un-offendable"

"Is that so?"

"Yup. Try me."

"Maybe later." He grinned at her and summoned the bartender.

She smiled and sipped her third martini trying to keep her wits about her. At least the extra olives were technically food. "You don't look like someone who spends their Christmas in a bar," she said.

"I just put my ex wife and kids on a plane. Had a couple of drinks at the airport. Realized I needed another one during the cab ride home." He took a long pull of whiskey. "Not much open today."

"Nope. This is about it for this neighborhood."

"You live around here then."

"Why do you want to know? Are you a serial killer?"

"No, I'm definitely not a serial killer. You didn't ask if I'm a rapist."

"Are you?"

"Only if the girl asks nicely."

They were both a little drunk, at least that was how Miranda excused the fact that she was having this conversation with a complete stranger and that it was resulting in a flood of molten lava that was about to set her panties on fire.

"What if she begs?"

"Then definitely."

Miranda tugged an olive off its toothpick with teeth and tongue.

"Was it an amicable? The divorce I mean"

"No. It was not."

"I see. Ex is a bit of a bitch? Used the kids as leverage? Got half you shit for no good reason?" Where was all this coming from, Miranda wondered.

"Something like that."

"So you're kind of pissed at her."

"I pretty much hate her guts."

"Wow. Lot of rage."

"A fair amount. And alcohol is not helping."

Miranda shrugged. "We women are not good people sometimes."

"You'll get no argument from me on that one tonight," he affirmed throwing back half the whiskey in his glass.

"You sound like you could use something to vent that rage on. Or maybe someone." There it was finally, his hand squeezing her thigh hard. He finished his whiskey in a single gulp and settled both their tabs. "I'll be outside. You have ten minutes," he growled against her ear.

As soon as she heard the door close Miranda hopped off her stool and scurried to the bathroom. On the surprisingly clean ledge over the sink she laid out an assortment of cosmetics a hairbrush and a small packet of wet wipes. Carefully she touched up her lashes and slicked her eyebrows into neat dark wings over her eyes. She applied lipstick then blotted some of it for that soft, kissable look. She ran a brush through her curls and adjusted her breasts inside their lacy cups. Lastly she took a wet wipe, looked around to make sure she was alone, and reached inside her panties to give herself a quick scrub.

Not perfect, she told herself looking in the mirror. But not bad either. Her pussy was throbbing with excitement like a kid on Christmas morning.

She was just turning to go when she was startled by a sound coming from the last cubicle on the left. Someone was in their crying.

Miranda shook her head. Not her business. She pulled the bathroom door open then let go of the handle and let it swing shut. A heart wrenching sob echoed through the tiled space. She looked at her phone. Six minutes left.

"Hey," she rapped gently on the corner stall. "Are you ok?"

"No." The muted word came out followed by a long sniffle. Toilet paper was pulled from the dispenser noisily and a nose was vented.

Miranda sighed. "What do you need? A tampon? Do you want me to call someone? Get your boyfriend?" She was pretty sure it was the girl, half of the young couple, who had been sitting in the corner earlier.

"No!" This time the word was a horrified shout.

"No to the boyfriend?"

Another even louder sob rent air.

"Hey." She knocked again. "Come out of there so I can make sure you're ok. Or I will actually have to go find your boyfriend." There was a long pause and then the latch slid back. The girl emerged from the stall dabbing at her mascara stained eyes and looking down at her feet.

"Sorry," she said and shuffled to the mirror. "Oh God!" She pressed her palms into her eye sockets and resumed crying. "I am a total stupid mess. No wonder he hates me."

"The boyfriend I take it?"

The girl nodded. "He said something about a starfish and that I should break up with him already. I think I'm bad at sex or something." She inhaled deeply trying to suppress yet another sob that was rising in her throat.

Miranda rolled her eyes. Alcohol and honesty were a bad combination at that age.

"Well, do you like it when he fucks you?" she said crossing her arms and giving the girl a stern look.

"Oh yes!" the girl gushed her face turning a deep shade of pink.

"So what's the problem?"

"It's hard to know what to do," the girl looked down at her feet miserably. "I've read books and looked up stuff on the Internet but...I just can't see myself doing those things...even when I really want to"

"You want to?"

"More than anything. But its so hard. What if I do them wrong? Or Sean laughs at me?"

"Trust me as someone who's been around. No man is going to laugh at you when you have his dick in your mouth."

"But how do you go from not being like that to being..."

"A slut?"

"Yeah."

Miranda gritted her teeth. She really didn't have time for this.

"Come here." She grabbed the girl and undid the top two buttons of her little white blouse. She pulled it open to reveal a surprisingly sexy bra underneath. Then she fished her lucky red lipstick out of her bag and applied a generous amount to the girls lips before smearing it a little with a sloppy kiss. "Lets leave the eyes. That hint of mascara tears is kind of hot."

The girl giggled nervously.

"Give me your phone." Miranda grabbed the device out of the girl's hand not giving her a chance to change her mind. She took a picture. "His name is Sean?" The girl nodded. He came up immediately when Miranda types 's' into the search box. "Anything you want." She added the caption before she hit send.

"Ok now go." She pushed the girl out the door.

One last check of her own appearance in the mirror revealed a mouth that could use a touchup. It was then that she realized she had pressed her lucky red lipstick into the girl's hand as she sent her off to hopefully the best night of her life. Oh well. It looked like she wasn't going to need it anyway. She looked down at her phone. Thirty seconds too late.

She emerged from the bathroom just in time to see the young couple leave. Sean was holding the girl's hand and practically dragging her behind him. The girl looked back and gave Miranda a delirious grin. Watching them hand in hand like that gave Miranda a hollow feeling somewhere deep down in a place she hadn't known existed. She found her coat and stumbled out into the street. It was empty of course.

She looked up and down the block and in the alley but there was no sign of James. Everything was still an silent. Above her a brittle black sky was studded with the few stars that managed to out shine the city lights. She had never felt lonelier or more empty. Her cunt felt hollow, a deserted cave through which a cold wind whistled.

She walked back to her place slowly, delaying that moment when she would have to resign herself to a solitary and chaste night. For some reason the usual Internet porn and a vibrator solution did not appeal.

Her hands were like ice as she fumbled with the lock to her townhouse. She felt the shadow fall across her just before the hand came over her mouth.

"I said ten minutes, slut."

Someone large and powerful propelled her inside. She could smell whiskey and peppermint. Hands were groping for her breasts inside her coat, twisting what flesh they could find. They mauled her in the most delicious way.

She was hustled into the living room. Somehow, her coat and dress fell away leaving her in bra, panties, stockings and high heels. Hot Santa...James...toppled her over the back of her couch and yanked her panties down. The wool of his pants scraped her skin as he jammed his pelvis into her from behind. "Can you feel that?" His cock was large and very hard against her ass. "That's going inside you in a minute." He grabbed her and spread her apart grinding the length between her burning cheeks.

She knew she should scream but it felt so damn good to have those hands on her hurting her just right.

"Where do you want it? Pussy or ass?" He kicked her legs apart and helped himself to a grope of her sopping crotch.

"I have to choose?" she gasped.

He stuck two fingers in her pussy, then added a third and laughed when her inner muscles automatically gripped him.

"What a bad, bad, dirty little girl you are." He spanked her hard. "Someone promised me a revenge fuck and then was late." Smack. "Someone needs to learn some manners." Smack. Smack. Smack.

Miranda felt her bottom turning a very festive red. She had never wanted someone inside her so much. She lifted her head and looked out the window, at the snow covered roofs under which hundreds of families slept, husbands and wives curled together in their beds, children exhausted from the excitement of the holiday, everyone full and content. In spite of herself she felt tears in her eyes.

"What do you want, dirty girl?"

She pressed herself into James's solid body. "Fuck me," she begged.

James found her pussy with his cock and thrust inside with all the man strength that was in him. He stretched her wide hitting her cervix. An epiphany of pain shot through her.

"Is this it, whore? Is this what you've been looking for?"

Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. Her voice could only squeal and whimper.

He thrust and thrust and thrust bruising her, not caring. He pulled her off the couch and flung her down on the floor coming on top of her with all his weight. She felt him at the entrance to her rectum, prodding and spreading.

"This is going to hurt," he whispered. "But you're going to take it, aren't you?"

Without waiting for her to answer he forced himself inside her driving in deep.

"How does that feel, bitch."

"Ungh..," Miranda grunted. Her violated ass was alight with pain. "Is that all you've got?" she panted.

He laughed again and launched himself at her. One hand grabbed her hair and the other snaked around and invaded her neglected cunt. He called her every degrading name she had ever heard and some she hadn't. He ground the heal of his hand against her clit while his fingers filled and stretched her. And all the while he kept ramming his cock into her ass pounding her into the floor over and over again.

Finally she felt him tense against her. His cock twitched and he pushed himself so deep inside her she thought he would be welded to her forever. He let out a groan.

Miranda felt his cum spurting inside her white hot. It was shooting through her, a bright light, to her very finger tips. Then she went still. She felt herself fly up into the night sky and then come back down in a shower of glowing embers.

Miranda the Slut was cumming.