I'll Be Home For Christmas


Amy felt a little silly handling a man's genitals with a Santa hat on, but she saw that this was the whole fun of it all for Lola. It occurred to her that to a horny person who loved pretty girls and Christmas, this would spell major hot 'n' kinky.

"Lola, you are so weird."

"You think that's weird?? Look what I got outta your purse! Here, tickle his balls with this!"

She showed Amy the other object in her hand. Amy gaped at her in disbelief. The sight brought her a good little ways back to her senses. She halted petting George in mid-stroke. "What th—are you insane, Lolly?? That's my electric toothbrush!" she shrilled.

"I'll buy ya a new one!" snapped Lola within a tenth of a second. "Trust me, Ames, DO it. Trust me! I saw this chick do it to this dude in a dirty movie once. It drove him freaking crazy!"

Amy had to laugh. "Lola, you're sick!" she exclaimed through a guffaw.

"IknowIknowIknowIknowIknow! Just do it!" Lola commanded. "You gotta! Just watch the reaction it gets! DO IT already!!"

"A-all right, all right!" said Amy. She activated the toothbrush as Lola resumed her hand job, and slowly, lightly touched it to him.

The response indeed proved nothing short of immense. The jolt coursed George's entire body, and he almost leapt right out of his skin. His moans graduated to sharp, booming cries of ecstasy, electricity-crackling shouts of delirium. This action provoked George to redefine the word 'insanity.' He gripped the armrests of the chair, squeezing the ends of his fingers as white as the outside snow. A little more intensity and he'd have ripped the upholstery right out. His body thrashed spastically and uncontrollably. Amy and Lola had to hoist themselves up on their knees and grope even harder just to hold on to him. Their Santa hats almost fell off.

"Oh my GOD!" Amy laughed exultingly, watching the fireworks show, her pussy getting wetter every second.

"I told you!" Lola rejoined, roaring to be heard over George's outcries.

"Lolly, what if someone hears us?!"

"Ames, the building is closed, remember?!"

The light bulb clicked on above her head. "...Oh yeah...

"Loll," she shouted again, "You're gonna think I'm crazy, but...this is really, really fun!"

"I know, right?!" Lola croaked out, laughing so hard she couldn't contain herself. It looked like they were going to make him cum before much longer. Suddenly, she stopped laughing as she remembered—the whole reason they were doing this in the first place!

"Oh, God! Amy, get the cup ready!"

Amy herself gasped at the same realization. She looked around. Where the heck did she put it?

"Hurry up, Ames! I think he's gonna blow!"

Amy looked around frantically. She'd put it right there on the floor, beside her! Didn't she? DIDN'T she??

"A-MY!...This dick feels like a friggin' volcano in my hand! I cannot stop it! Get, the damn, cup!"

Forcing her libido to behave itself, Amy dropped her toothbrush. She peeked around the corner of the chair. Ah! There it was! That was right, she'd kicked it over there by mistake and forgot to retrieve it. She stretched her arm out as far as she could, pulled her whole body a few inches closer, finally grasped the cup, pushed herself back up in front of Lola's oil-caked hand pumping George's throbbing red dick like a Super Soaker, held the lip of the cup just under the head, almost dropped it but kept her hands steady...

And not a second too soon. The instant Amy positioned the cup, it was as if a vacuum attached to his urethra, and vehemently sucked him dry, draining his balls spurt by spurt by viscous spurt. It was glorious. They could almost see it happening in slow motion and hear the majestic music, ornamented with the Christmas bells and angelic voices...

"O come, all ye faithful!...Joyful and triumphant!..."

After he began cumming into the cup, Amy remembered the toothbrush and re-jolted his balls with it, as Lola's now exhausted hand milked him on and on, and it did seem to keep things going longer than expected. At last, he wound back down, his consciousness temporarily shut off, and he deflated in Lola's fingers. Lola and Amy let out a unisonous, "Whew!"

"Yay!" cheered Lola.

"Damn!" exhaled Amy. She was abruptly so dizzy, she felt like she was about to fall over. Her heart thundered through her chest. She thought she was riled up before, but when she saw the prize shoot from the tip of that swollen dick, over and over again, she just about lost her mind. "M-maybe you should take this," she said, handing Lola the cup. "I think I...have to go to the ladies' room..."

She unsteadily got to her feet, made her way to the door, got out of Lola's line of sight, and immediately shoved her hand under her panties, thanking God there was nobody else around. She heard her pussy beeping like a metal detector in a satellite dish.

So that's why guys are in there alone, she thought, dashing into the closest stall, rubbing her cunt like she wouldn't see tomorrow.


December 19th, 7:28 p.m.

The party was over (so to speak). The computer had been rebooted, and sample number thirty was soon to be processed through. Four female hands, one cock, and one pussy had been toweled off. And one electric toothbrush had been properly disposed of.

George was passed out for a few minutes, but when he came to, he found he'd been almost totally redressed. They waited for him to wake. He looked up to see the two of them standing on his either side. They were no longer wearing their Santa hats.

"Am I...uh..." He looked back and forth between them, piecing things together again in his mind. "...Okay?"

They put their (clean) hands on his shoulders. "You're fine, George," Lola assured him. "In fact, I'd say you're far better than fine. Your hands aren't ice with fingers anymore, you don't have snow in your hair, or a nose like a cherry, and your balls are good and empty. So you've gotta be feeling better now." She gave him a little post-rub on the neck and shoulder blade. "You hungry?"

"Oh," George leaned forward, trying to push himself up out of the chair. "More than you could possibly imagine."

"Oh, me too," said Amy. "And I will be so ready to get outta here, just as soon as I take care of one more little thing."

George turned to face her. "Uh-oh..." he chuckled.

Amy laughed. "No, no, George, nothing like that." Well...not right now, anyway. "You see, I'm processing your sample through our system like I was telling you, and I just need to know your last name, please."

George closed his eyes, dropped his head an inch and chuckled once again.

"What?" Amy and Lola asked simultaneously.

He reached around the back of his jeans for his wallet. "You're never gonna believe me...I'm telling you, you'd never take my word for it. So here." He handed Amy his license. Checking it out, Amy's eyebrows bounced an inch as disbelief washed her face.

"You're right," she said, returning her eyes to his. "I don't believe it."

"What?" asked Lola. Amy showed her the license, provoking from within her a similar reaction. She looked back up likewise.


"But...but...you're dead!" Lola declared with a laugh.

He nodded. "I know it. Trust me, you would not believe the reactions I've gotten. Literally my whole life. I do not understand what my parents could have been thinking. Not many normal everyday folks have to say the words, 'No, I'm not him!' five times a day."

Neither Lola nor Amy knew exactly what to say. Finally, Amy announced, "Okay, well, I'll...just...go ahead and get this in the system then..." She departed, leaving George with Lola.

She entwined her arm with his. "Y'know, if it's any consolation, I do have a bit of an idea how you feel," she told him. "I know it's not the same thing, but my name's Lola, and a lot of people I meet think it's really cute to go..." Imitating Barry Manilow, she sang, "'At the Copa, Copacabana!...' And if it's not that," this time quoting Ray Davies of The Kinks, "It's, 'I asked her her name, and in a dark brown voice she said, "Lola," L-O-L-A, Lola...'" She scoffed, shaking her head, much like George did just a minute before.

George laughed. "It's okay, really, Lola," he said. "I'm well used to it by now."

"Aw!" It was now Lola's turn to be moved. Her heart melted just a bit. "That's the first time you've called me Lola!"

Amy dropped back in.

"Amy, George just called me Lola!!" she joyfully informed her.

Amy, regarding her with an odd expression, said, "...Congratulations...Lola..." She gave George back his license. "Thanks, Mr. C."

"Oh, wait a sec, Ames," Lola said. "I think we owe him more than that." She turned to him, taking him by both hands. "George, I admit it didn't seem like such a big deal before we...y'know...did this whole thing, but...well, now that we have, and I've had a little time to think about it, I realize that...not a lot of gentlemen would do what you just did for us."

Amy's eyebrows raised. "Um, actually, Lolly—"

Lola released one of George's hands to hold up hers and halt her. "Uh, hush, Amy, would ya please, I'm trying to make a very nice speech to a very nice man here." Returning to George, she continued, "Now, I know, I know, you also didn't have much of a choice, and...that was kind of a devious thing we did, taking advantage of your not being able to go anywhere and all. But still, you didn't really have to go through with it for us. I mean, it's not as if we threatened your life or anything."

Amy piped up again. "Uh, yeah, but Lolly, we did kinda—"

Lola cut her off again, maintaining focus on George. "But you did! You sat still for us, and you let us stroke your dick, and make you cum, and you could have run at that point, you could have tried to boot us away, but you let us do it. Just to meet our weekly sperm sample goal. Again, how many dudes we've never met before would do something like that?"

"Lola, seriously, I'm telling you—"

"ALL I'm trying to say here, George..." paused Lola, flashing him a sweet smile, "...Is that you, are a very, very special person."

Amy smiled too. It turned into quite a nice, warm moment. To Lola's remark, she added, "Well, I won't argue with that."

George didn't smile. His expression dropped. "Yes, well, tell that to Clive Clopman," he said solemnly.


"My landlord."

The ladies' faces reverted to disappointment as they remembered the details of his recent trauma.

"Oh, yeah...again, George, we really are so sorry you had to go through all that," Lola comforted him. "But, hey. Y'know what, we made you a promise to buy you dinner and put you up in a hotel room, and we are gonna stand by that promise." She motioned out the door. "So let's just take things one at a time...go to dinner right now, and we'll talk about it, and we'll see what we can do for ya."

Amy stayed put as they headed out. "Wait a minute," she said.

They stopped and briefly about-faced.

"Did you say...Clive Clopman?"

"Yeah, he's my landlord," George repeated.

Amy thought. Something in her mind clicked. She hurried out the door in front of them, heading in a different direction. "Forgive me, guys, I know we're all starving, but I've just gotta check something real quick here..." She booted up the computer again.

Lola sighed wearily. "What are you doing, Ames?..."

Amy didn't answer just yet. Instead, she opened the appropriate application and brought up the donor database. She used the "find" feature, typed in the name, and sure enough, was directed right to it: Clive Clopman.

"I knew it!" she pointed to the screen. "I knew that name sounded familiar!" She clicked on the name's hyperlink, and the program brought up his file with an array of personal information. "November 28th! I remember this guy! Lola, you remember this? Really stuffy British dude, blonde, three-piece suit, kinda looked like a store mannequin?"

George chuckled dryly. "Yup, that's him."

"Oh, yeah..." Lola scrunched up her face, bringing back the details in her mind. "Yeah, yeah, he had some kind of...weird little story for us when he dropped in here, didn't he?"

"Oh, you bet," said Amy. "I'll never forget this story. He came in by himself, real sneaky, like he was up to something weird. I gave him his cup, and then later I happened to walk by while he was in the room, and I overheard him on his cell phone..."

"Right!" said Lola. "But that wasn't his wife he was talking to, was it?"

"Nope! 'Cause he said on the phone they just had to make sure his wife didn't find out."

"Oh, George!" Lola turned back to him. "George, listen, this is the best part! Tell him, Ames."

"A'right, so when he came back with the sample, I knew it wasn't my business, but it was bothering me, so I said may I ask what that phone conversation of yours was all about, and he got really nervous. He didn't want to tell me. But I'd told Lola, so she came up and asked about it too. And we didn't wanna let him leave until we found out what was going on."

"Oh, geez," said George. "What...was going on?"

"Turns out he was playing around on his wife," Lola explained. "He had a girl on the side, and the girl was...well, kind of a psycho."

"To put it mildly," Amy added.

"Yeah, and she wanted to get pregnant, but she wanted him to be the father, and she wouldn't take no for an answer. She wanted him to have sex with her, but he didn't want to do it, so he thought he could just kinda get around everything by coming in here."

"You're kidding me!" said George. "That's...really kinda disgusting."

"Right??" chuckle-scoffed Lola. "So he told us that it was really his business, and he'd work it out himself, and...well, technically, according to our policies, we had to keep his sample, and let him go."

"Yeah, but I distinctly remember he said one more thing to us before he left," continued Amy. "He asked us to keep it confidential, 'cause if his wife ever found out about it, she'd kill him."

Lola nodded. One second later, the light bulbs over both Amy's and Lola's heads lit up. Their eyebrows jumped, they turned back to each other, one word written in caps across their faces: EUREKA!

"Lolly..." said Amy quietly, "...You thinking what I'm thinking??"

Lola nodded. "Where's the phone?!" she demanded.

Amy scribbled down the number. They took George back to the waiting room, where Amy placed the phone up on the desk.

"Put it on speaker and let me handle it," Lola crossly ordered.

"'Kay...555-2778," Amy dialed. She then quickly got up and took George's arm. She put her finger to her lips and led him over to sit down together, and watch Lola work her magic. Three rings in, the phone picked up. A male voice. A British male voice. "Yes?"

"Yes, hello, Mr. Clive, Clopman, please?" Lola said.

"...Speaking," the voice skeptically crackled through. "May I be of assistance?"

"You may indeed," Lola said, leaning against the desk. Oh, she was going to enjoy this. "Mr. Clopman, my name is Lola Anderson. I'm calling from the Juniper cryobank in the greater downtown area, at 661 Kit Kat Street. How are you today, sir?"

"Why, I am quite well indeed, ma'am."

"I'm glad to hear that. Now then, three weeks ago, on November 28th, you paid us a visit. Do you remember, Mr. Clopman?"

"I...believe so," the voice said.

"Excellent. And do you, sir, happen to remember the...details attached to this particular visit?"

The voice came through the slightest bit quieter after a beat. "...I am reasonably certain I do recall those details as well, yes."

"Very good. Because, you see, this is where you may be of help to us. Mr. Clopman, sir, may I please ask you a personal question?"


"In the three weeks since this visit, has your...wife..." She paused for effect. "...Been in any way informed of your visit to us?"

There was a silence which lasted several seconds. George looked at Amy, about to laugh, but she gently placed a hand over his mouth. Although I'd really like to put my hand on your—stop it, Amy, you horn-dog!!

The voice returned. "She has not."

"And, now, if I remember accurately, Mr. Clopman..." Lola was liking this, George and Amy could tell. "...You were really quite emphatic in your desire that your wife should absolutely not become aware of what went on this particular day, were you not?"

Another short silence. The voice jumped to the next logical segment of the conversation. Mr. Clive Clopman said, "...Yes, well, now, would it appear that we've a bit of a blackmail situation on our hands?"

"Oh, Mr. Clopman, I don't care for the word 'blackmail.' I'd rather think of it as a...favor exchange, if you gather my inference..."

George's ears perked up. He remembered Lola using that same phrase, "favor exchange," in asking him for his essence.

More silence. Clopman cleared his throat. "Right," he said. "Well, before we advance any further, I'd like to ask you a question, ma'am. Hypothetically speaking, why would you wait until now to blackmail me in this matter, rather than three weeks ago?"

Halfway through this question, Lola sensed what he was asking and smiled at Amy and George. She silently rubbed her hands together in anticipation. "Well, you know, Mr. Clopman, sir, it really is funny, the little twists and turns of fate," she said, easing in. "Let me ask you, please, does an ex-tenant of yours, by the name of George Carlin, signify anything to you?"

Yet one more predictable pause. "...Perhaps it does...and your business with Mr. Carlin?"

"Oh, our business with Mr. Carlin is really quite simple, sir," said Lola. "You see, we happened to encounter Mr. Carlin earlier today, and took him into our establishment for the sake of shelter, upon his informing us that he just happens to be..." She cracked her knuckles. "...Homeless, Mr. Clopman. Do you understand?"

"I see," the voice said, bending the tone of the word 'see' upwards, as if it were a question.

"And once we learned the unhappy events of Mr. Carlin's last three days or so, Mr. Clopman, that's where you came into play."

"And may I ask what it is you're getting on about then?"

"Of course. Now, we are presuming that you with your tenants' board together voted to evict Mr. Carlin...one week before the Christmas holiday. That, sir, is truly an unfortunate combination of events. Now, getting back to your wife, should you still desire that she remain oblivious of your visit with us, we were very much hoping that in return, we might be able to...kindly persuade you, to call together another little meeting of your tenants' board, and reinstate Mr. Carlin's lease."

The next silence seemed to last forever. Eventually, Lola finally said, "...Mr. Clopman?...Sir?...Hello?..."

"...Now listen," the voice returned, intimidated but firm, "This hasn't anything to do with me personally, ma'am. Mr. Carlin was an unfit tenant. He left his apartment in disarray."

He stopped talking. Lola waited a minute to hear more, didn't, and then asked, "I see...and was that his only offense?"

"...N—...now see here, ma'am, I really haven't the time for this just now. I've got things—"

Oh no you don't. "Uh, I'd suggest you make time, Mr. Clopman. If you end our conversation now, I cannot guarantee that your wife will remain unaware of the events of the last three weeks."

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