Dear Santa

"Oh, fuck..." she whispered.

Then his mouth was between her thighs, his tongue plunging ferociously into her dripping cunt, driving into her hungrily, hands gripping her thighs tightly, her legs dangling over his shoulders where he knelt before her.

"Oh, God...oh, fucking Jesus Christ..."

Her hands were in his hair, clutching him, pulling him furiously into her - her hips bucking against him - all the time his tongue driving into her, slurping her juices from her cunt noisily, wantonly. She could smell the musky scent of her own arousal.

She felt him switch his attention to her sensitive clit, his tongue wetly gliding the length of her labia, the tip of his tongue teasing under her hood, flicking over her exposed clit. Mewling pitifully her body bucked helplessly in time with his tongue strokes.

"Oh, sweet fuck, oh...oh...oh...oh..."

Top of his tongue: lapping her clit, flicking it, pressing it...

"Oh, fuck...please...please..." whimpering, moaning.

Tip of his tongue: delicate, hard, tickling around her sensitive flesh, flicking over her...

"Oh, sweet fuck...oh, sweet fuck..." louder now, torn from her.

Now all of his tongue: working her cunt, licking hotly through her flesh as if it was an ice cream - plunging wetly into her, dancing inside her moist flesh, her hips jumping.

"Oh my God..."

She felt her climax building, unstoppable, overwhelming: a wave towering above her.

"Oh, sweet fuck, I'm cumming...I'm cumming...fuck...oh, sweet fuck!"

Shouting now, turning to a hoarse, throaty scream: her climax ripping through her, juices gushing from her cunt, her body shaking helplessly, thighs spasming, clutching madly at his head, pulling his hair with all her strength.

And all she could think was: "Oh my God, he hasn't finished with me yet."

For a while he held her - his tongue gently lapping up her juices - allowing the spasms of her orgasm to pass, her flesh to de-sensitize. Then he was on his feet - untying his bow tie, loosening his collar.

"Take off your dress." No arguments.

She hurried to comply: sitting up, struggling to unzip it, then letting it drop to the ground - pooling about her feet.

"Stand up, turn around." Oh fuck.

She felt his presence, saw him approach her from behind in the reflection from the window. Feline, assured, overwhelmingly confident. She stood still, shivering slightly as his hands brushed over skin - stroking her gently - all the while her anticipation growing, her stomach fluttering nervously.

In the window she watched his lips brushing the nape of her neck, his hands on her naked hips. She realised he was watching her in the window from over her shoulder, meeting her eyes.

Slowly, eyes probing her face for her reaction he took her wrists, pulling them gently behind her back. Then - seeing her mouth open in a silent gasp, seeing her nervous excitement - reading silent permission in her eyes, he tied them firmly in place, his bow-tie wrapped tightly about her skin. She swallowed, her groin spasming with nascent lust once again.

Dear God, what's he going to do to me?

Gently she felt pressure on her shoulder - turning her about - then he was kissing her once again, the taste of her cunt strong and musky in his mouth. She kissed him willingly, the absence of her hands adding a new dimension, forcing her to lean against him to get the contact she sought, her lust flooding liquidly through her.

With gentle pressure he pushed her to her knees before him, making himself comfortable on the edge of the desk, opening his trousers. He was wearing no underwear, his cock springing out massively erect to hover before her mouth.

Oh, my God.

Swallowing nervously, she took it into her mouth, stretching her lips over it and engulfing the head in her warmth, her eyes looking helplessly up at him from under her brows. He groaned pleasurably, his eyes never leaving hers. Encouraged, she slowly took more of his length, forcing her head down on him, gradually engulfing more and more. Like a snake swallowing an egg, she thought hilariously.

Eventually she felt his cock hit the back of her mouth, her tongue licking brazenly along his length. Slowly, very slowly she withdrew - repeating the cycle - her wanton tongue licking, circling the sensitive flesh at the tip: slurping him, sucking him. She heard him moan and felt his hands twisting in her hair.

Behind her, the door opened and she knew without looking that The Prick was stood there, Miss Tits and Curls clutched in his hand. She took in the scene of devastation that was his office, thought of the sight of her, kneeling semi-naked on the floor before him, her wrists tied behind her back with her lover's bow tie, his cock buried in her mouth and all she could think was: Fuck off you prick, I'm fucking busy.

Carl didn't speak, but she felt him glare across the top of her head, felt the savage intensity of his gaze and knew that The Prick quailed before it, scuttling out of the door, leaving it ajar behind him. She didn't care.

Carl's hands gripped her head, a new intensity awakened by his Neanderthal reaction entering his body. This time as she withdrew she felt his hands allowing her to withdraw, knew what would happen next. As she plunged back down his hands gradually increased the pressure, driving her helplessly onto his erection, making her gag, her throat spasming, trying to swallow the obstruction. She heard him moan loudly, her throat choking.

He pulled her up, allowed her to breathe, then she was forced back onto his cock - retching, gagging, body jerking involuntarily - then off - gasping desperately for breath - down again, faster this time, building a rhythm.

Oh fuck.

Her body quickly accommodated, her throat gradually relaxing its response, the gagging less pronounced. Above her, she heard him groaning, his breath coming in shuddering gasps. Desperately she pushed her head down on his cock, wanting to please him, wanting to taste in her mouth, willing him to guide her.

"Oh, fuck...I'm going to cum...oh, fucking...yes..." whispering, a hoarse moan.

She felt his climax build as a physical thing, his balls spasming against her chin, his cock jerking quickly in her mouth. She raised her eyes - saw his snap open - and in the second that their eyes met he came in her mouth, jetting thick ribbons of semen into her throat.

Oh, shit.

Frantically she swallowed, forcing her head down into his cock, salty liquid filling her mouth, running down her throat, dribbling over her chin. She gagged, coughing, pulling off his cock, semen still shooting over her face, her neck, her hair. She coughed, laughing gently as his spasms passed.

"Oh, Kate, that was...fuck," Carl whispered, his hands holding her head, suddenly gentle.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her bound body to him, kissing her wetly through the juices running out of her mouth, trickling down her chin, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth with undiminished hunger while his body recovered.

When he stood, he took her with him - his hands sliding beneath her arms with phenomenal strength - lifting her, carrying her helpless to the sofa. He threw her back onto the soft leather, trapping her wrists beneath her.

She watched him strip, discarding his clothes with a feline, erotic, grace. His body was magnificent: chest smooth, hairless, evenly tanned, every muscle of his torso etched softly into his skin; legs sculpted in long planes of muscle. Achilles made flesh, she thought.

Then he approached, a raw intensity burning in his eyes. She felt her body shiver, her cunt burning with sudden desire -- brazenly opened her legs, pulling her stockinged knees up wantonly.

For just a moment he stood over her: predatory, dominant, powerful. She heard herself whimper - prey reflex. Then he was on her, twisting her around to face him, pushing her legs up onto his shoulders, his cock hovering for just a second over the entrance to her dripping cunt.

"Yes..." she breathed.

His cock plunged into her, driving down in one long, sudden movement. She gasped, pleasure spiking through her, dancing over her skin, her nerves jangling, her body arching, pressing against him.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" The sound ripped from her in one long, shuddering moan.

He didn't make love to her. He fucked her. Hard, passionate, hungry. His cock driving into her, her need mirroring his, her body shaking, shuddering -- all conscious thought gone, lost entirely in the heat, the intensity of that moment, as if she'd been living her whole life for just this one instant.

It went on and on, her legs hooked over his back, pulling him into her; his cock deep, deep inside her - her every secret sensitive spot sending wave after wave of pleasure thrilling through her body -- hearing herself screaming, moaning, gasping somewhere in the distance.

"Jesus...Fuck...Christ...ahhh...ahhh...ahhh..."

Shuddering, gasping, moaning in time with his strokes, her hands clasping and unclasping uselessly beneath her, trying to push her body up into him.

"Oh...fuck me...fuck me...fuck..."

Faster, faster...shouting now, her voice hoarse, earthy, her arousal echoing around the office...

"Fuck...oh...shit...ah...fuck me...fuck me!" Screaming, yelling, any reserve gone - her body twisting...near, so fucking close...oh, fuck!

"Oh, sweet fuck!"

Her climax ripped through her, blasting through her body like a tsunami - carrying everything before it. Every muscle in her body screamed, convulsing her in overwhelming sensation -- alive, she felt fucking alive!

Dimly she realised that she was crying and laughing - spasms of pleasure like waves breaking over her -- passion receding gently, slowly allowing her body to relax.

"Sweet fuck..." she whispered, overwhelmed.

Carl's hands reached beneath her, untying her wrists, and then they were holding one another - clinging desperately together like the survivors of a shipwreck on the sofa in her ex-husband's office.

Finally, her appearance partially restored in the executive rest-room, wrapped in Carl's dinner jacket - which act of possessiveness provided much needed confidence - his bow tie sticking out of the breast pocket; him looking reasonably respectable in shirt and trousers, they emerged into the suddenly quiet atrium - the faces of her co-workers staring in amusement, or shock or disbelief -- or encouragement? Someone giggled softly, but she heard no malice.

"Ahhh, here she is," The Prick said. "Our payroll prostitute!"

Trust The Prick to be the last person to realise that the rules had changed. She was no longer his unfortunate ex-wife, his to torment and humiliate as he saw fit. She was Carl Marshall's property now, he had marked his territory for all to see. If you pushed Carl, he pushed back.

Carl showed him how.

With deceptive calm, apparently taking no notice of The Prick, he strolled to a nearby potted fern. Without the hesitation that would have ruined the effect in any normal man, the hesitation that would have given the victim time to react, to raise his hands in defence, Carl smoothly upended it over him. Soil and compost, water and leaves showered over him - leaving him standing like a fucking fool in a plant-pot helmet.

"I think a fucking clown like you should wear a fucking clown's hat," Carl hissed. "She's right, you are a prick."

Dismissing him from his thoughts, Carl walked off down the corridor, knowing she would follow him.

In the shocked silence that followed, one man started laughing - laughing with genuine amusement - his hands clapping the performance. A real belly laugh - like it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Saldana.

That laugh was infectious. Slowly, tentatively at first, the others started to join in until the room was echoing with genuinely joyful laughter, people clapping for no reason that they could admit to, just for the sheer joy of it.

Kate found herself laughing along, tears trickling un-regarded from her eyes.

"He's waiting for you Kate," Saldana said, his grey eyes twinkling now, gesturing down the corridor to where a smiling Carl Marshall stood.

"Yes, sir," she said.

Then, after a moment. "Mr Saldana, who is Carl Marshall?"

Saldana continued chuckling, his rotund shoulders rising and falling. Casually he reached into his pocket, took from it a folded piece of paper, handing it to her. Before even glancing at it she knew what it was.

Her letter to Santa.

"That was quite an order, Kate," he said, and she found herself looking at him with new eyes. "But you have been very good since your divorce, I think you deserved something special."

She looked again at his beard, the growth just starting in. By Christmas it would be a full growth. Just in time, she thought, her head reeling.

"He's very special Kate, unique in fact. You will be good to him, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," she said. "Oh, I'll be very good, I promise."

Then, tears pouring down her cheeks, she was running along the corridor into Carl's waiting arms, the sound of her colleagues clapping and cheering behind her, her note gripped tightly in her hand.