Servant Day: Christmas

Author's Note: It's Christmas! The days may be short, and the nights cold and dark, but the mistletoe is up, the tinsel is glistening, and the log fire is warm and cozy. So here's a Christmas treat! Pour yourself a boozy beverage and snuggle up with another Servant Day story. Merry Christmas!

The nights were drawing in. The wind had a sharp edge to it, and gusts threw freezing sleet into the faces of shoppers braving the seasonal crowds. Every day, the postman brought new Christmas cards, which were gathering on a pile on the kitchen table, waiting to be put up properly.

It was definitely The Season To, etc.

Their home did not look all that seasonal, though. In fact, it still looked pretty much as normal, and it was beginning to chafe at Emma.

"Babe," she said to her husband Jack, "can you get the tree and decorations out of the garage, please?" Emma didn't mess with things in the garage — there was always some project going on, with furniture in various states of restoration, and she didn't want to cause anything to collapse while trying to get to the back where the Christmas stuff was stored, including the artificial tree they'd used for years. It was a bit tired, but also comfy, like a well-loved jumper.

"Sure," Jack said, engrossed in something on his phone. "I can do that."

But he didn't.

A couple of days went by, and Emma prodded him about it again.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm on it," he assured her.

Still nothing. By the next day, she was started to get annoyed. "Babe, are you ever going to do anything about this tree?"

Instead of answering, he asked, "What have you got on this weekend?"

She blinked. "More shopping. Meeting Rebecca for coffee. Why?"

"Cancel that."

"What?"

"It's your turn," he said with a smile.

Emma looked blank. "My turn at what?"

Jack looked smug. "Your turn to be the servant. Saturday. From 4pm onwards."

It took Emma a moment for it to sink in. Then she gave a squeal of delight and launched herself into his arms.

Some time ago, Emma's friend Rebecca had introduced her to Servant Day, a sex game that Rebecca played with her husband Dan; it incentivised getting the household chores done, by providing excuses for lots of mid-chore sex. Having sort-of seen this in action, Emma had been really keen to try it with Jack, but struggled with how to raise the subject with her very-much run-of-the-mill husband. Jack was a dear, and she loved him to bits, but their sex life had been, well, boring.

After some very careful management by Rebecca, the game had been explained to Jack, and Emma had convinced him to give it a go. Emma had had a glorious — if somewhat terrifying — evening teasing, exploiting and getting rogered by Jack, as he acted as "servant", required to follow her instructions for the night. He'd promised to return the favour but, despite the occasional not-so-subtle reminders from Emma, it hadn't happened.

And now it was going to.

She gave another squeal of delight and hugged him close, her legs wrapped around his hips, as he laughed and struggled to retain his balance.

***

So Jack was planning something. Lots, Emma hoped. When she'd been the Lady, and Jack the Servant, she'd had a delicious time making plans for exactly how and where she was going to drive him wild with lust, and the anticipation had been fabulous. Rebecca had given her lots of tips gained from experience, which meant that Emma had been able to control the evening precisely.

This wasn't the same, but it was just as good. Emma was giddy with excitement all week. She didn't know what Jack had planned, but she was looking forward to several hours of being repeatedly pleasured. Or being thoroughly used and abused as Jack's personal fucktoy. Either. Both. She couldn't wait.

Some Mysterious Parcels arrived. When Emma casually asked what they were, Jack simply smiled knowingly, and said nothing. She sent the entire time in a frenzied state of pent-up arousal. Saturday just couldn't come soon enough.

***

Saturday. Emma could barely sit still all day. Jack affected a casual mood, as if he'd forgotten all about it, and laughed when she threw a cushion at his head. There was at least some distraction — if it could be called that — in the morning, as she'd booked a waxing; she didn't think Jack would object to the results.

Finally, it was Time. Four o'clock.

"Ready?" he asked.

"God, yes!" she said with feeling.

"Right then. Upstairs and in the shower with you," he said. "Clean and shaved, dressed and down here by four-thirty."

"Shaved". Ha, she thought. It was handy that men were so predictable, sometimes.

She couldn't resist touching herself while she was in the shower. She let one hand caress her breasts while the other slipped between her legs. She didn't know what Jack had planned, but she was imagining being screwed senseless in all kinds of different ways, all over the house, and it wasn't long before she was shuddering her way through what she hoped would be only the first of many climaxes that evening.

When she emerged from the shower, she found that he'd laid things out on the bed for her. There was a dress, which had presumably turned up in one of the parcels: it was a Santa outfit, red, with white fake-fur trim and a black belt with a large buckle. There was a hood, with a bobble on it. She held it up. Not too bad on the size, she judged, but short. Lord, it was short.

He'd also put out a white bra, knickers, suspender belt and stockings, and a pair of white high heels she'd forgotten she had. Where on earth had he managed to dig those out from? And when?

There was a stick of lipstick. Bright red. And there was even some perfume. When Emma had planned the Servant Day for Jack, she'd bought him some cologne, better than the antiperspirant he usually used, and he'd managed to track down the women's equivalent of the cologne, bless him. He was certainly putting in the effort.

And there was a little white drawstring cloth bag. When she opened it, she discovered a set of Kegel balls.

Okay, then.

She spent some time putting on extra make-up, including eye liner and mascara and some eyeshadow, to balance out the bright hooker-red of the lipstick. She carefully rolled up the stockings and put them on, along with the suspender belt. She dug out the lube and put the Kegel balls in, though she didn't need that much lube, as she was already quite moist in anticipation. Finally, she put on the bra and knickers, stepped into the Santa dress, and put on the shoes.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Not bad. The dress showed a bit of cleavage, although she wasn't really gifted (or cursed) in that area. And it barely covered her backside; if she coughed or shrugged, she was going to be giving the room a flash of white underwear. Which, given the circumstances, was no bad thing.

She checked the time. Twenty to five. Well, not too bad. And she thought the overall effect was worth the extra time.

It was dark outside by the time she came down the stairs, and the curtains were all closed — a good thing, given what she was wearing. She found Jack in the living room, sitting on the sofa in his jeans and t-shirt. He hadn't changed, she noticed. The lights were on normally, but there was a Christmas CD playing, some recordings of Rat Pack crooners doing the old standards.

His eyes popped a little when she came through the door, in a good way. She put a little sultry sway into her hips as she crossed the room to him, pleased with the effect she was having, and also appreciating the way it made the Kegels move inside her.

"Very nice," he said. "A bit late, but we can work with that." He gave her a hug and a kiss, then stepped back again. "Let's have a look at you."

She twirled, girlishly, a big grin on her face. "You like?"

"Oh yes," he said. "Me very like."

He pulled her close for another kiss, this time with two handfuls of arse, squeezing her butt as he did. She felt one hand slide up her back, holding her close, while the other slipped around to the front, She gave a light moan as he ran his fingers along her gusset. She wondered whether he could feel her dampness yet. He squeezed and rubbed his fingertips around her button, causing another moan.

"Okay," he said, releasing her. "First task." He gestured towards the boxes retrieved from the garage. "Putting up the tree and decorations."

Servant Day — The Basics: Whomever is playing the Lord or Lady determines what the Servant wears (generally something sexy: check!), and gives them a list of tasks or chores or housework to do (tree: check!). The Lord or Lady gets to admire their Servant being attractively attired while carrying out the menial tasks.

He sat back down on the sofa, and watched her go to work. He'd given her an outfit that would ride up and flash her undies to the world at the slightest movement, so she made the most of it, sometimes a little shrug or a movement to give Jack a momentary glimpse of white, gone before it could register, sometimes bending sensuously from the hips or crawling on hands and knees, her butt high, presenting him with a non-too-subtle invitation.

"I think this would be better with a drink, don't you?" he said, after ogling her for a while. "There's a bottle of mulled wine in the kitchen — why don't you warm that up and get us a couple of mugs?"

Servant Day — Rule One: the Lord or Lady can interrupt the Servant's current task by giving them new instructions. After completing the new instructions, the Servant returns to the interrupted task. Though normally the new instructions are a bit more spicy. She hoped that that would change, soon enough. She was hoping and expecting to be screwed silly before the night was done.

Emma straightened and went through into the kitchen, swaying her hips as she walked, and examined the wine rack. Sure enough, it had a bottle of supermarket pre-prepared mulled wine. Emma could see it right away, but pretended not to notice it at first, so that she could spend more time bent over as she "searched" for it.

She poured the bottle's contents into a saucepan and warmed it up on the hob, before ladling some generous portions into cups.

She put hers by the partly-assembled tree, and handed the other to Jack on the sofa.

He stood to accept it, took a sip, and then put it down on the coffee table. He held her for another kiss, and said. "kneel, please. I want you to go down on me."

Well. Things were looking up.

She knelt as requested, and turned her attention to undoing his belt and jeans. Beneath, she could feel his hardness. She ran her fingers over the cotton shorts covering him, before pulling them down and releasing his shaft. He was already fully erect. She gave him a smile, before enveloping him in her mouth, tasting him, rolling her tongue over the head. She pulled back for a moment, using her hand to masturbate him, then went down again, and sucked on him. She played with his balls with her other hand as she moved her lips along his length and back. She was sure he had plans for the rest of the evening and would not want to come too soon, but she decided to make him fight for that, and tried to make him come as quickly as she could, moving her head in time with her hand as she jacked him into her mouth.

It might have been a struggle, but Jack managed to keep control, and soon he said, "okay, that's enough. Back to the tree."

Emma gave a sultry pout, but stood and went back to decorating the tree. Only a minute went by before she was kneeling in front of the boxes, sorting the decorations, when she heard him approach from behind, and press his erection up against her backside, his hands reaching around to push her groin backwards. It felt wonderful, and she hoped he would fuck her, right here on the floor.

He didn't say a word, just ground himself against her, so she pretended it wasn't happening.

Servant Day — Rule Two: If the Lord or Lady doesn't give the Servant new instructions, then the Servant has to keep going with the current task, no matter what the Lord or Lady is doing,

His hand slipped down the front of her underwear to rub at her, and behind she could feel the heat of him, rubbing up and down the cleft of her buttocks. His face nuzzled the back of her neck, her shoulder, her cheek. One of his hands squeezed her breast. And she tried to focus on unpacking the decorations from their wrappings. He pulled back, and she hoped that the next thing she would feel was his hard cock sliding into her, but instead it was his fingers that he used — first one, then two, thrusting in, bumping against the Kegel balls. Still, she quivered. After a minute or so, he withdrew, and returned to sit on the sofa, leaving her frustrated.

Twice more, he did that, coming up to her and filling her with hope that, at last, finally he was going to fuck her, only to crush her hopes, while still getting her even wetter.

After the third time, he picked up his mug, and said. "I'll leave you to finish that. Join me in the kitchen when you're done for the next task. No playing with yourself while you're alone." He closed the kitchen door behind him.

It's possible that Emma did not do the best job of arranging the decorations on the tree as she rushed to complete the job.

***

Jack was sitting at the kitchen table, when she came in. He pointed at the empty mug beside him. "A refill, please."

Obediently, Emma took his cup, dumped another ladle of steaming dark liquid into it from the gently simmering pan, and returned it to him.

With her standing close to him, he reached out to grope at her groin again, sliding his fingers between her legs.

"Are you ready to come yet?" he asked.

"God, yes please!"

"Well, we'll see. Soon, perhaps. Not just yet, though."

He pulled his hand back. She gave a small wail of frustration.

He reached out again and slid his hands up her thighs to her hips, hooking his fingers into the elastic of her underwear. "I think we can dispense with these now, though." And he worked them down her legs until she could step out of them. He slid his fingers along her vulva, worked them in and out a few times, and then pulled the Kegels out with a single movement; her knees buckled slightly for a moment in pleasure. "These too," he added unnecessarily.

This was a promising development, Emma decided.

"Next job is the Christmas cookie gifts," he said. "One batch, anyway."

Each year, Emma made a whole pile of Christmas cookies, and handed out jars of them to friends and family. So, baking, is it? Hmm.

Jack turned her around, pointing her at the working top, and patted her on the bottom. "Get to work now," he said.

He left her alone for at least five minutes. Long enough to dig out the recipe, set the oven, and measure out the ingredients. And to discover the note he'd left on the mixer. "DO NOT USE." And he'd wrapped the power plug in masking tape as a less-than-subtle hint.

Okay. So she was to mix the dough by hand, then.

She pulled out a different mixing bowl, put all the ingredients into it, and was just getting her hands into the mixture when he returned. She felt his hands slide between her legs from behind, feeling for the entrance, and then a moment later, he shoved his cock into her.

She sagged a little in surprise, pleasure and relief, and she spread her legs wider to grant him access. Rule Two applied, so she continued to work the sticky mess with her hands, while her husband fucked her hard from behind.

This was what she'd dreamed of, when she was planning her own day with Jack as the Servant. It was even more what she'd hoped for, when she fantasised about being his Servant. Being groped, then being left all excited and frustrated, that was good — as long as it led to a good, solid, fucking. And she dreamed of being the tempting sexpot that got her man hard whenever he looked at her, making it difficult for him to resist, until he could bear it no longer and simply had to unceremoniously fuck her, no matter what she was doing at the time.

Rule Two just added that extra spice.

She'd hoped that Jack would plan more of the day than two tasks, but she gave him credit for the mixing-bowl idea, and she wasn't going to complain, for his first Servant Day; she hoped there'd be many more.

She pushed her hips back into him, arching her back, squeezing the dough with one hand while supporting herself with the other. Jack's hands on her hips pulled her close into him, and she felt his hips crash against her butt again and again as he thrust into her. He couldn't last much longer, she judged.

And then he pulled out.

She thought he was going to spurt over her but, to her amazement, he simply slapped her on the arse, and said. "Not yet. You've got more work to do first," and walked out.

***

Jack returned shortly before she got the cookies into the over. He was still wearing the t-shirt, but now he'd lost the jeans and was down to his boxers. He had a carrier bag in one hand, and a laptop in the other.

What on earth was he planning now?

"Make sure the working top is clean and dry," he said. 'Next job is writing the Christmas cards."

She looked puzzled. "Wouldn't that be easier on the kitchen table?" Which was already clean and dry, not to mention mostly empty, apart from a few rolled up bath towels, in a neat pile.

"It would," he acknowledged. "But you're going to use the working top."

She shrugged. "Yes, my Lord," she said.

From the carrier bag he produced packets of Christmas cards and envelopes, plus several pens; the laptop was for addresses. He opened the laptop up on the counter, within reach and angled towards her, and indicated that she should get to work. He waited until the first card had been dunked into an envelope, and then he came over to her and tapped the insides of her thighs to indicate that she should widen her stance. Okay, so now is when he's going to blow his load in me, she thought but, once again, she was wrong. Instead of sticking his shaft into her eager sex, he sat down on the floor, back to the cupboards, scooted between her legs and began to go down on her.

"Mmm," she said. "That's good," And she closed her eyes. After a moment, he stopped. Awww.

"Did I say you should stop working?" he reminded her.

"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry." She picked up the next card.

"More rules, for while I'm doing this. If I'm not doing it right, you have to guide me. Tell me what you need to make you come. But no orgasm until you have permission. Understand?"

"I do."

"Good." And he went back to work.

She pulled up the next address on the list of relatives,

Jack's cunnilingus had improved a lot, lately. After their previous Servant Day, where she'd given him clear instructions on going down on her, he'd asked her to continue doing that, so that he could get better. She'd been only too happy to oblige, and she'd had some spectacular climaxes as a result.

It was one thing to do it as the Lady, however, where she could tell her Servant just exactly what to do to pleasure her, all her attention focused on her own enjoyment. It was quite another thing to try to do the same while also writing Christmas cards. She found that she could only write a few words at a time before she needed to pause, as the waves of pleasure kept overwhelming her. As per her instructions, she offered minor directions to Jack, telling him when he was off-target or needed to speed up or slow down, and that only increased the pleasure, making it hard to progress.

"I'm getting near," she told him, breathlessly.

He paused long enough to say, "Not yet. Not 'til I say."