Dani and the Christmas Dildo

byVoboy©

* * *

When I woke up my mouth tasted worse than it had after I'd licked Dr Jennings' shit-covered dick. "Fuck," I grunted to myself, the winter sun beating through the windows like I beat at my knives. It felt like I'd been in a fight. My head ached, just up behind the left eye. "Fuck."

I did a quick, anxious inventory of myself. I felt and smelled like ass, but my thong was still on and intact. I couldn't feel anybody's fluid staining my body, and my various holes all lacked that not-so-fresh feeling. Kevin, apparently, was not a rapist.

But he'd certainly been lying in my bed. Or someone had, and my shoddy memory could provide no other possibility. I caught sight of his flannel shirt draped carefully across the back of a chair, his hiking boots lined up neatly beneath. His side of the bed was rumpled but, as I quickly and a little bit frantically ascertained, devoid of any wet spots. I ended up sitting upright on my mattress, pretty much naked, sighing with my head between my legs. I felt like I was going to throw up again, which was probably why there was a bowl left thoughtfully on my bedside table.

"Fuck," I said one more time, a little bit desperately, and then my stomach was heaving and evil-smelling bile was crashing into the bowl, which part of me recognized as the stainless steel one I used for making salads. Had used; there'd be no more of that. With regret I saw some chewed-up crab Rangoon bobbing in the goo; that shit had been good. Pity.

I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, my abs aching like they did after a particularly vigorous cowgirl session. "Guhh," I sighed, praying for a glass of fucking water.

I heard a tentative knock on the door.

"Marie? Want some water?" Fuck me. There was a God; his name was, inexplicably, Kevin. "Are you decent?"

"Yes! And no." A tiny part of my mind played with the idea of receiving him in the nude, but I decided that would be humiliating, even demeaning. To be sure, he'd undoubtedly seen most of my naughty bits when he'd put me to bed the night before, but... well, this was different. "Just a minute!"

I used the old warehouse offices as my apartment, which meant I kept my clothes in a different room than I slept in. That had never seemed like a particularly bad idea, but then I almost never had anybody over. I scanned desperately around and saw nothing but my bathtowel and my vomit-ridden elf costume, wadded on the floor by the mirror. "Hang on a sec!" There was nothing for it, though, so when I opened the door for Kevin I was wearing his own flannel shirt over a thong, feeling more self-conscious than I'd felt since the sophomore formal. I gnawed nervously at my lower lip, then remembered that's what I often did at Southside before I fucked guys. I stopped. "Sorry; I don't really have any clothes in here," I said lamely.

"Oh, that's okay." The boy had on his nice jeans from last night under a wife-beater. He scanned my legs, of course. "I'll just, um... look, do you want any breakfast? Coffee's on its way?" He was holding out a glass of water, I noticed, and my brain screeched at me to take it. I drained it gulping, water running in little cascades down my chin. "I'll get some more water?" he said vaguely.

"No, thanks, no breakfast." We both glanced over at the sloshing bowl. "I appreciate it, though."

"No problem." He turned to go. "I'll just... you can keep the shirt, Marie."

"Shit. Thanks." Christ-ola. What kind of healthy male spends a night in bed with a naked, passed-out girl and just sleeps? Who was he, Gandhi? I was impressed. He was looking better by the minute. I could discern no ass through the jeans, but that was hardly the end of the world. "Look, go on back downstairs; I'll make myself presentable and then I'll wash your car. It's the least I can do."

"Nah, that's alright. You missed the upholstery, mostly?" He smiled shyly. "I'll see you down there," and then he left with one more lingering glance at my legs. I snuck a peek down there; the shirt gave out right at labia level, meaning I looked totally naked under there. Christ, the guy'd be masturbating before he even got out of my driveway.

I was buzzing somewhat as I made my way to the bathroom and gave my teeth a thorough scrub, and not buzzing from the lingering effects of the alcohol. Kevin was not a bad-looking cat, and there could be professional benefits involved in fucking even a freelance journalist...

No! I looked into the mirror at my face, its pointy-cornered eyes blazing. What the fuck was wrong with me? I remembered my lunch with Tori and I smacked my own jaw lightly. No. No sex with strings. If I was into this guy, I was into this guy, and if I wanted to sleep with him, I damn well would.

I could hear him puttering below right now, sounding oddly domestic. I pondered the significance of last night; how new, how special, I told myself, that he'd acted kindly, politely, respectfully. He'd taken care of me and, well, he still was; the smell of coffee was already strong in the air, leaving just a faint and passing queasiness. Hell, the toothbrush had been more nauseating. I splashed water on my face and stripped off my sweaty thong and Kevin's vaguely stinky flannel shirt, then walked naked into the next room. Back when this place was a warehouse it had probably been a storeroom; now I got dressed there.

I selected with more care than I had in quite awhile. Sensible underwear, top and bottom: check. Fresh, tight pair of jeans: check. Rib-knit tanktop: check, my boobs sitting nicely inside there. Loose, flowy blouse: check. I tossed my thick hair back into a loose ponytail, made sure no new zits had made an appearance, and down I went towards...

...what? It was refreshing not to know. All my encounters with men, all of them for years, had been planned out, non-spontaneous, cautious. This one was none of those, and I came down the treadplate of the metal stairs barefoot, whistling and carrying his boots in one hand.

"Hi!" He was fussing over my coffeemaker, the drip one I never used, but that wasn't his fault. So far, even the prospect of dusty coffee wasn't putting me off. He had scrawny arms, I noticed, but not too scrawny. "Find everything okay?"

"Sure?" He glanced over, and I preened a tad when I saw his eyes flicker up and down, then widen. I might have arched my back, just slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks." I walked over to him and put a friendly hand on his lower back, my thumb stroking very gently. "Hey. Kev." I waited until he looked down at me. "Thank you," I said, making sure I put several ounces of warm, genuine appreciation into my voice. "That was above and beyond, what you did for me last night." I was still deciding whether I should go up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek, when he smiled down a bit goofily.

"No problem?" He blushed. "What kind of a guy would I be to ignore a damsel in distress?"

"Aww..." I did give him a kiss then, a slightly lingering one. "You're sweet. Can I make it up to you?" I was proud of myself; I didn't even put too much flirt into my voice, keeping the line from being an obvious come-on. I could so easily have this guy boning me on my couch, I knew; I wanted to give him a fair chance, though. "You can hang around; I don't have to go to work for a couple hours." My hand was still on his back.

"Oh! Um, I've got to get my notes typed up..." He seemed flustered, which I found cute.

"I've got a laptop you can use." I blinked up at him.

"And, well, I really should let you rest a little... you were in really bad shape last night?"

I frowned as I wondered whether he preferred dicks. Was there someone I could ask? I paused while I thought of a new tack. "Well, I mean, did you have any more questions for me? Now that you're here, in my shop, you can look around and see where I work..."

"Thanks; that's a great idea, but I already took the liberty of poking around a little?" He poured some coffee, and I glanced down: one mug. He wasn't sharing breakfast with me.

Probably gay.

"I think I'm just going to head out, Marie. I really should have been home last night, is the thing."

I flinched as if I'd been smacked. "Oh, shit! I'm sorry, Kev! Did I keep you from... someone?"

"You might say so," he admitted, sliding the coffee shyly toward me. "It's my dog? Tammy?"

My hands flew toward my mouth. "Fuck me! I'm so, so sorry!" I was, too. I like dogs. "Oh, sweetie, I'm the worst! Your Tammy needed you to, what, let her out? Feed her?" Our family dog had moved in with my sister, showing no sign at all of wanting to be with me. I didn't suppose I could blame him. I touched his forearm. "I'm such a shit."

"Stop that. No, no, Marie, you're fine." He glanced again at my body. "No, more than fine. That's not it. She'll be okay without me for one night. I just feel kind of, you know, guilty?"

"Hell yeah. I'll come help you walk her," I blurted. I was being serious, too. It would have been different, I reflected, if he'd said he had a wife; the nature of my job means getting lots and lots of married dick, and a wife for Kevin wouldn't have given me even the slightest pause. But a dog, well, a dog was special.

"No, Marie, that's not necessary?" He blinked, his Adam's apple bobbing, and then he glanced at me sideways. "Uh, if you'd like, I'd love to take you out sometime. You know, for dinner? A movie?" He smiled, the poor thing, so timidly; I wondered suddenly whether he could possibly be a virgin. No worries, if he was; Southside offered a tutorial, the "Virgin Special," just for first-timers. I was pretty good at the anal portion of that.

I smiled. "I'd love that." Marie enjoyed dates. "When's a good day for you? I work like a dog," I warned, which was true; I was often on my hands and knees. "I'm free on Tuesday night, though. Of course you can take me out, sweetheart."

He grinned, all wide and toothy. "That's great! I'll check about Tuesday." He took on a distant look. "I think Brad gave me your number?"

I had no fucking clue. "I'll make sure you have it before you go, Kev. No worries; I'll be looking forward to it." Well! This was going nicely. Apparently, dating like a normal person was, indeed, possible. "Thanks again, too. You're a real prince."

"Sure?"

I spread my arms instinctively; Marie is a hugger, but in this case Dani was too. "Come on and give me a hug, Kev," I urged. He did, smiling and self-conscious, his butt held back as if he was afraid I'd detect a hard-on. Such a sweetie! I wondered whether he was a Christian, maybe? His arms were wiry and tight for all that, even though my head only came up to his chin. I sighed into his chest. "Call me, hon." I stifled an urge to kiss him, but I held my head up anyway. I think I made it abundantly clear that I wouldn't have minded him kissing me.

He flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet, and was out the door with a vague smile. I leaned against the counter and smiled after him, enjoying the cold floor on my bare feet. I didn't drink the coffee; dude had no idea how to make it.

Everyone has room for improvement.

* * *

I'd never been very decisive until after I'd graduated from high school. Until then, I'd been what my dad called a ditherer, always going back and forth. Only in bed did I know what I wanted, and understandably my dad knew nothing about that.

No, that was all about my sister Victoria. She'd always been a fervent believer in the fine art of personal fulfillment, which she defined as vaginal fillment. She'd encouraged me into the world of casual dick as soon as I'd turned eighteen, her a devastating sexual whirlwind at the state college in Seaborne. She'd found a man for me, a respectful and considerate guy with excellent hygiene and a great deal of competence, whom she'd clearly vetted in advance. "He's got a great cock and a lot of patience," was the way she'd put it, and so he'd graciously agreed to usher me out of my virginity. I'd been doubtful.

"What's he get out of it?"

Tori had stared at me as if I had no sense at all, which in some ways I didn't then. "He gets to be the first guy to fuck a high school hottie. Duh."

He'd been great. Three times in one night. And slowly I'd progressed, through Steve and crappy little Jose, until eventually Tori had set me up with Mike. Mike was an experienced operator, and she had a soft spot for him. He was also the cop at my school. He'd absolutely loved fucking me, in many different fun and depraved ways, and I'd emerged from that chrysalis as a much better, much more decisive woman.

Tori was proud of me. Hell, I was proud of myself. And now I had my own shop, a budding career... Christ, it was almost like Cinderella in a brothel.

My dad had been impressed, but he'd wondered where I'd gotten the money for the down payment at the ripe old age of twenty. I'd made vague allusions to the vast profits to be made in tattooing, which was only a slight exaggeration, but which also glossed over the fact that I'd made most of my money by sucking cum out of men.

Men like Andre, who liked to give it roughly. Not for him the soft, gentle blowjob, the calm relaxation of the mattress in my room at Southside while he watched me worship him; no, Andre liked to take charge. So I found myself on my back, topless, with my hands clinging tightly to Andre's muscular ass, just trying to keep up as he pile-drove down into my mouth.

Most of my coworkers shy away from anal and don't really mind oral, but I'm the opposite; this, what Andre was doing to me right now, was my least favorite sex act. Alas, he liked seeing my red hair draped around his midsection and he especially liked seeing my eyeliner run after he'd held his head down deep in my throat, so he often requested me. And only a fool turned down a personal request.

But that's where my decisiveness faded away: once Andre came in, he expected to cum in. He was into hair-pulling, too, which I found rude. Still, what could I do? He was paying me really good money for this, and his insurance company (who thought he was getting hernia therapy) was paying Dr diSpuglia and Dr Jennings really good money, so I suppressed my gag reflex and let Andre's thick dick have its fun in my mouth.

As always, he sat afterward, idly stroking his meat as I leaned over the bed, spluttering, a small and lively pool of snot, tears, cum, and spit growing on the floor under my face. "Christ, Dre," I coughed. "Had a rough week or something?" I heard the hoarse burr in my voice. "Needed to blow off some steam?" I hawked and spat, to the sound of his soft laughter. He rested a massive hand on my rounded ass.

"You're a fucking dime, Ellie," he growled fondly, his fingers prodding underneath my underwear. "I love hanging out with you."

"Shit," I grunted, keeping vomit down with some difficulty. I still didn't think I'd recovered from the rum and Cokes last night, and I hadn't had anything else since but an apple and a bunch of cock. I breathed deeply and glanced across at his naked body, smooth and sweating and gorgeous, probably the single most beautiful man I'd ever seen in the nude.

Too bad he was such a piece of shit. "Going to be able to get it up again?" I taunted him. He often liked cunt after he'd ravaged my face. "What, are you too big a pussy to fuck me?"

"Shit, girl." He chuckled, deep and vibrant, and my body went still as those big, deft fingers sampled my anus. He was huge, a monster. "You sucked me so good, it's going to be weeks before I can get hard again." I felt like he could pick me up, one-handed, plucking me off the mattress like a bowling ball. I sighed a bit, relieved, when his fingers slid out of me. I'd have taken him, like the pro I was, but I was glad I didn't have to. "Rain check, Ellie. I won't forget about you. You come on up and sit on me and tell me what I like to hear."

Ah yes, the ritual. I gathered my legs underneath me, ignoring my wedgie, and coiled myself seductively alongside him. As usual, I was struck by the contrast: him, huge and black, and me, small and pale. Holding his eyes through my lashes, I crawled onto his lap, the strong ridges of muscle firm under my thighs, and twined my arms around his neck. I let my nipples graze the tight curls of hair on his chest. "Baby," I recited, as I, or Racy Macy, or Wanda the Whip, had a dozen times before, "you're the best man I've ever served. Thank you for letting me take your big black cock." I kissed him then, letting him taste the snot and cum like he wanted to, and he dismissed me with a hand mauling my tit. "Come back and see me soon, baby."

"You bet, white bitch." He leaned back, stretching those castle-wall abs, and then bucked me off without difficulty. "Now get your fucking ho ass out of here, and let me get dressed."

"Yes sir." I backed out, like Anna before the King of Siam, like he demanded, and I stood nearly nude in the hallway as Carol led her wide-eyed new patient right past. I gave him a wink, wiped at my nose, and headed down toward the locker room.

* * *

I made a fat wad of cash the next day tattooing, and celebrated by heading straight to the bank and prepaying next month's mortgage. So I was in an excellent mood as I headed home, looking forward to a few hours of relaxation, maybe even a nap, before my late shift at Southside.

An unfamiliar vehicle, though, sat in my driveway. Huh. Who did I know that drove a truck? There was Mike, of course, but I hadn't seen him in weeks, and he'd never ever come over here. Belatedly I realized there was a guy sitting in the truck, and I made sure my revolver was ready in my purse as I drove up.

The guy peered at my car through the rain, vaguely familiar: dark, full face, longish curls, glasses. Mercifully clean-shaven. I squinted. The rain drummed on the roof of my Honda, and then I remembered. Quickly I dug into my purse and pulled out my phone; the email from Brad accused me, a reminder I hadn't bothered paying any attention to.

Ah.

Sighing, I made myself feel friendly and grinned brightly at the guy in the truck. I held up my finger in one of those wait one minute! gestures, and then I was kicking the car door open and sprinting for the door.

I had to be quite a sight, drenched, dressed in the biker-chic tattoo uniform people seemed to expect. When folks got an expensive tat from a sexy artist, they didn't want her to be dressed in mom jeans and a Pink Floyd t-shirt. I felt the rain pound on my Stetson as I jammed my keys into their many locks, going through the practiced motions, kicking the door open. I ducked inside, then turned and waved at Jake, the camera guy.

He sloshed across the dirt driveway, cowboy-booted and with one of those expensive sailing parkas drawn tightly about him, a waterproof kayaking bag over one shoulder. He smiled grimly as he stepped inside. "You're late, Ms Lynne."

"Sorry, hon," I stuttered, shivering in my lycra crop-top underneath the leather vest; it was one of the few things I owned that I could wear at both places I worked. I was freezing. "I had some banking to do. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Nah, I'm used to it," he shrugged. "Artists are always late." He looked down. "You're dripping all over your floor, ma'am."

"Oh shit, honey, call me Marie at least." I stamped my feet and kicked off my Doc Martens. "Fucking freezing. Look, find a place to sit and I'll put the heat on. Want some coffee? Tea?"

"No thanks." He peered around as I threw the lever that turned on all the lights, the industrial ones. "Whoah. Quite a place."

"Thanks." He watched as I shoved my arm into an oven mitt and set about firing up the forge. It was the fastest way to get the place warm, and he'd probably want some action shots anyway. "You know, maybe some coffee. Thanks."

"Sure thing." I winked at him, feeling water on my eyelashes. Shit, it was pouring. "Kitchen's that way. Make me a cup too, cutie-pie." Marie chuckled at him as he flashed me a sour glance and hiked toward the kitchen, making sure his camera bag was safely nestled on my couch.

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