Twelve Days in Christmas

"Hard not to be. You're too gorgeous."

Christmas was silent as he kissed her softly, then broke away and asked, "Do you ever want to stand in the line?"

"In the line? Like, the gift line at the festival?' he asked.

She nodded, saying, "You were thinking it, too, weren't you?"

He paused, nodded, and said, "Just remembering when it was us."

"Did we lose some of that fascination with Christmas?" she asked.

"My fascination with Christmas is still going strong," he said, and slid his hand into her waistband, teasing her skin.

"The holiday."

"No way. It's pretty impossible when you, literally, live in Christmas," he said.

"Do you think you want kids?" she asked.

He shrugged and answered, "If I had to choose between kids and you, then no."

"You're sweet," she said and kissed him again, her hand moving up his cheek to slide through his dark hair.

Brad's own hand moved again, pushing down her pajama pants and sliding between her legs, his fingers tracing the warmth of her sex as she parted her legs for him. She purred softly into his mouth at the delicate touch, teasing the back of his neck, toying with the little hairs as their tongues played.

"You should take me upstairs," she said, breathily.

Brad adjusted, putting his arms around her waist and, as he stood, she wrapped her legs around him. Christmas planted small kisses on his neck as he carried her, hands on her bottom, up the steps to the bedroom. The strength of him, to be able to carry her that distance, made her wet thinking about that same strength being used to pin her and fuck her. God, why did she insist on teasing them both? For a silly Christmas game?

No, not just that. It was still the small, nagging hint of uncertainty. Even as hot as he made her, knowing what he could do to her, the pleasure of it, she had to be sure it was right for both of them. There was that 1% of uncertainty, and it felt as though playing out the game would resolve it. That, and the game itself was tremendously hot.

Brad laid her down on the bed and aggressively yanked down her bottoms. She yelped at it and felt of flush of desire at the little show of animal dominance. As much as she wanted to play out the game, she found the display so goddamned sexy that if he'd simply pulled her panties aside and taken her, she would have made no objection. He didn't, though. She could see the same want in him, but he wouldn't do it, wouldn't push past that barrier without her say so.

That did not stop him from pulling off her panties and pressing his mouth between her legs, though. Ravenous, he sucked and licked at her, drinking from her like she was life itself. She shuddered, arched her back and squeaked as he hit the perfect spot. He felt it in her, knew it was right, and kept at it. His hands gripped her hips, held her in place as she wriggled against his tongue and it felt right, so right and perfect.

Her fists gripped the sheets as he growled into her, sending pleasant vibrations into the little bundle of nerves. The sound of the wet squishing, and not just from his tongue, sounded sexy in the darkness. She gasped as his work on her sent her up the peak, over, and then there was that spectacular, carnal explosion that made her squeeze her own breast as her mind shattered with the intensity of it. Lost in the wave, she tugged at him, pulling him up with her.

Christmas pushed him onto his back and put her mouth around his cock, his groan of pleasure only spurring her on. His head on the pillow, he breathed deeply as she put all her effort into making it as good for him as he'd done for her. When she deemed him sufficiently hard and wet for her purpose, she climbed on top of him. She tugged her shirt up and over her head, tossing it aside as she spread her knees to either side of his hips. His hands rested on her, guiding her toward his cock, the need to be inside of her almost painful on his face.

That was not the game, though, as much as she wanted it herself. Instead, she trapped his cock between the lips of her pussy, sliding it back and forth along his length, coating his shaft in her arousal. She tossed back her head and rode him this way, rocking back and forth slowly along his cock, giving a small sigh each time his cockhead bumped against her clit. Fuck! It was torture of the most pleasant kind. One of his hands slid up her belly, palm flat, slowly creeping, until it held her breast.

Back and forth, back and forth, rhythmically she slid until she felt his aching cock jerking and ready to cum. His grip became tighter, and she looked down on him, with only the moonlight to show her his face, his need for her. She could have been blind and still felt it as powerfully, she thought, and then it happened. Her rhythm, her dance on his lap, pushed him over the edge and he groaned as he came, splashing her sex and his belly with his seed. Still she rode it, milking him, and a moment later she followed with her own pleasure. Her hips rocked, bucked, and her body trembled as he held her in the dark.

***

December 15th: Workshop

... He had me in his arms the moment my besties walked out the door. No, that wasn't quite right. He was a fucking animal. My brother pinned me against the door so hard that I gasped. His big hands clawed at my jeans, tearing them open and popping the button. I heard it skid away across the floor.

Fuck! It was carnal, and it had my pussy gushing. His mouth pressed against mine, his tongue demanding that I reciprocate, and I did. Only too happily. He broke away only long enough to yank my torn jeans down. I hadn't worn panties. Yes, I was fucking ready for it, ready for him. They couldn't have left soon enough.

He pulled his own pants off as he stood. And then we were entangled again, our lips locked. His hands went to my ass, and I moaned into his kiss as he picked me up and impaled me on his cock. They were barely into their car and already he was balls deep in my pussy, fucking me against the door so hard that I heard the wreath fall to the porch. That just made it hotter.

My arms around his neck, I held on through the vigorous fucking, my brother's fat cock plundering my treasure as I panted like a thirsty dog. That's what I felt like. A dog. A bitch that he'd forced himself into, to satisfy the years of hunger I'd put him through. All those nights of dirty photos by text, the sexting, the phone sex, while I was away in school. The teasing had done exactly what I'd intended.

The entire drive home I'd thought about it, fantasized about it, and now it was everything I'd rubbed my pussy to for so many nights. Bodily, he lifted me up and down on his cock, taking his pleasure for all that teasing. But the pleasure was mine, as well, just as necessary. My pussy longed for it, ached to feel his body against mine, the strength and vigor that I'd come to crave.

I'd fucked boys in college, had a few that were fun. I've even told you about some of them. Nothing, though, was like this. None of them could match the ferocity with which my own brother fucked me. Not one of them was made for me, like he was made for me. His thrusting began to slow, even while his breathing increased, hot and ragged against my neck now. He was going to cum. My brother was going to cum in me.

It happened, quick as lightning, the first hot blast of his incestuous cream flooding my welcoming pussy. I gasped, bit at his neck playfully, and then the second shot triggered the full realization of what was happening. It was hot, and it was filthy. It made me cum so fucking hard. How he managed to hold on to me through the spasming, jerking of my body was lost on me. The only thing I could think about was the taboo ejaculation spilling into me, seeding me, maybe even impregnating me.

The idea was both terrifying and exciting. I'd given myself to him, unprotected, let him fill me. Soon, I could be walking around our hometown, carrying his child. What would I say? That I'd gotten knocked up in college, most likely. I'd raise my own brother's child, all the while knowing exactly who it was, living a lie, even as I allowed him to continue to fuck me at his whim. Then what would I tell them the next time it happened? Because, as he grunted and pumped his cream into me, I knew that there would be a next time, and a next, and a next. I belonged to my hot brother.

***

Christmas saved the document and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to touch herself. Alright, so her homecoming hadn't exactly happened that way, but she felt sure that her readers would well receive her indulgence. They always did. Typically, she was a rather linear writer, going from start to finish. This time, though, she was allowing her imagination to skip around, following her own fantasies. It wasn't usual, but it felt right to do it this way.

She checked the time on the laptop. She'd been at it all morning and it was inching into the afternoon. Her stint in the workshop was in just two hours. That was more than enough time. She set the laptop aside and stripped off her clothes, then threw on a fuzzy robe.

Padding quietly from her room, she listened, then followed the sound of the TV to the living room, where she spied Brad on the couch, half-dozing. He was the perfect victim. She crept to the couch and reached for his shorts. Before he could come around and realize what was happening, she'd yanked them down and plunged her mouth down around his cock.

"Huh? What the--" he stammered and nearly sat up.

The sight of his sister rabidly devouring his cock quickly relaxed him back into the couch with a groan, though, and his hand came to rest on her head.

"God," he breathed, "I guess you were writing something kind of hot?"

Christmas purred around his cock, which was quickly hardening under her skillful ministrations.

"Guess I need to make sure you get in some writing every day," he said, then sighed and enjoyed the fantastic dick sucking.

She licked and sucked, coating his cock in a wet sheen as her hand gently squeezed his balls. Her little fantasy, still playing over in her head, had her pussy desperate for him. Still, she teased herself, waiting for the right time. It couldn't come soon enough. Brad, though, was cumming, and fast. She buried his cock in her throat, sealing her lips tight around his base, taking his first shot directly into her belly.

Brad quaked on the couch as he filled her up, firing off spurt after spurt of his cum into her. Christmas wondered when she'd become such a cumslut, because she was loving it. The feel of those hot blasts of incestuous seed coating her throat only made her hotter, naughtier, and she found herself eager to get back to the keys and write up an intense blowjob scene. Maybe something with a facial.

It was then that she decided she wanted one herself. She'd never done it for him, after all, and the idea was sexy and slutty. What would that be like? How hot and dirty would it be to take her brother's full load to the face, maybe even let him take a video of it? She could suck his cock again later, while he watched himself plaster her face with his semen. Damn it, she was hot! Maybe teasing herself for days was a failing proposition. She wanted it. Badly.

Brad's cock was spent now, but she continued sucking at it, intent on getting everything she could. There were still a few drops left. She made short work of those, finally releasing him and fighting the urge, again, to touch herself. She wanted to stay on this high, to be keyed up for tonight's gift.

She rose, shrugged of the robe to further tease Brad, and was delighted by his open-mouthed stare. She stretched loudly, cocking her hips from side-to-side playfully. He reached for her, but she batted his hand away and then threw the robe over his head. By the time he pulled it off, she was gone.

***

The workshop was actually a barn on the outskirts of the town, where each year volunteers gathered to assemble gift packages. All year, the townsfolk and charitable people from all over sent in gifts that would be assembled into packages that were, then, shipped back out to families in neighboring towns and cities. The entire effort took the kind of logistical planning and organization that required someone with money and sense. That person was Ernest Gale, Marcy's father.

Gale had earned his wealth through his trucking company, which later diversified into regional shipping across the Northeastern United States. Christmas, as with everyone in town, knew him on sight. The old man had nothing but a nice word to say to anyone and was, himself, in the workshop each day, right alongside the volunteers. How he'd managed to raise a brat of a girl like Marcy was beyond Christmas' guess, but she supposed that Marcy was just his little girl. He had a hug for Christmas when she arrived.

"How are you, girl?" he asked in his deep, gruff tone.

"Great, Mr. Gale."

"Remind me to thank that brother of yours for the trading advice. He set me up pretty good."

Christmas nodded, agreeing, though she didn't really know what he was on about. Brad's head for money and numbers was not something she'd gotten. That had been their mother's thing. She'd gotten the words from their father.

"Where can I pitch in?" she asked.

The old man looked around, spotted Marcy, and called her over. The rich girl finished packing a box, obviously displeased by the menial work, but ensnared in it by her sire, and walked over.

"Chris here needs a place to fill in. Why don't you set her up?"

Marcy nodded and said, "Come, mascot," snapping her fingers.

Christmas gritted her teeth and followed. Marcy walked her over to a large pile of merchandise, divided into two piles.

"I think the pet toys will be perfect for you," Marcy said, grinning. "There are far more human toys, so this section is languishing. Now, there are two piles," she said, her pitch rising, as though instructing a child, "One is for kitties and one is for doggies. Just put one toy and one treat for each into the box, seal it up, and then put a little sticker with the right animal on it. Can you do that?"

"It seems very complex, but I think I'll manage."

"Good girl," Marcy said, and patted her head.

Christmas picked up a dog toy in the shape of a bone, handed it to her, and said, "This looks like an appropriate gift for a bitch. You seem like you could use a good bone."

Marcy scowled, reddened, then tightened her lips and stalked away. Pleased with herself, Christmas began packing the small boxes. It was boring work, but gratifying. Homeless pets needed Christmas cheer, too, after all.

***

After four hours of packing the boxes, she felt like she'd barely made a dent in the big piles. The two big stacks of finished packages, though, said otherwise. She gave a long stretch and then found Earnest.

"Mr. Gale," she said.

He turned.

"Could I buy a small stack of the gifts for the shelter? I owe Diane a favor for making my dress," she explained.

"Right enough, honey," the big man said, nodding, "Tell you what. Do another hour and whatever you pack up in that time, you can haul over to the shelter. That good?'

"Thank you," she said, and returned to the piles.

At the end of the hour, Kellen Miller helped her pack up her finished packages and put them into one of Mr. Gale's waiting semi trucks. Then they loaded the remainder she'd done into her car.

"Say, Chris," Kellen said, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. Christmas knew what was coming. Inevitably, it was going to happen.

"Do you suppose, I mean, if you aren't already going with someone," Kellen stammered, "Maybe you'd like to be my partner for the dance?"

She leaned up and kissed his cheek, saying, "You're a sweetheart, Kel. If I was going with anyone, It'd be you. I just--" she paused.

What was she? What was the right way to say no?'

She resumed, "I left some pretty complicated feelings back at school. I don't really want to get anymore right now. You understand, right?"

Kellen nodded, blushing cutely, and said, "Yeah. Oh, yeah. I get you."

"You can have the first one, though," she added quickly, "after the pageant."

"Yeah! That's a deal, Chris," he agreed.

"Thanks for the hand with the boxes," she said.

He nodded, and Christmas got into the car. She made the drive over to the shelter, which also served as the veterinarian's office. Inside, she found Mrs. Winslow at the desk. The veterinarian's wife looked up and smiled at her when she walked in.

"Look at you all grown up," the woman said, rounding the desk and hugging her. "What brings you in? Looking to adopt?"

Christmas returned the embrace and said, "No. I brought some gifts by for the shelter. From Mr. Gale."

"Bless the man, but that's kind," the woman said, touched, "Let me help you get them in. Dale's making the rounds and feeding right now."

The two of them hauled in the boxes and set them in the little lobby.

"Will you stop in and help give them out when we do the Pick-a-Pet?" Mrs. Winslow asked.

"Of course!" Christmas agreed.

***

While she drove home, she called Brad.

"Got any plans for dinner?" she asked.

"None."

"I'll stop in town and bring something back. Alright?" she asked.

"You're the best!"

"I know. Maybe you can thank me later?" she teased.

"Gladly."

She brought home dinner, and they ate it in the little dining room, but as they dined Christmas looked at the empty chairs and remembered. Seven years, but not one of them passed without that feeling of missing pieces, the others that should have been around that table. It was never so obvious as at this time of year, when so many others were gathering with families, that she and Brad no longer had one. They had each other and two empty seats at a table.

"What is it?" Brad asked, setting his food aside, intuiting her feeling from her expression.

"Can we go visit them tomorrow?" she asked, looking at the chairs.

"Of course," he said and rounded the table, kissing her head. "Let's grab a wreath in town and we can go whenever you want."

She nodded, squeezing his hand.

"I think I'm finished," she said.

She cleared the remains of the meal away quietly with Brad's help and, for a while, they lay on the couch together watching the holiday shows. As the evening wore on, she finally broke the silence.

"You know," she said, "I had this really awesome gift for you tonight. If it's okay with you, though, I think I'd just like you to hold me a while longer."

He held her tighter and said, "All you want. If you want to stay like this until we're old and gray, that's just fine with me."

In silence, they lay by the light of the fire, but the silence was not an awkward thing, she thought. It was perfect.

***

December 16th: Visitation

The drive out to the town cemetery was not a long one, and Hank's plows had kept the road free of snow. That was just like Hank, she thought, as Brad drove. Even though the road was rarely used, he considered the fact that people might want to drive out to look at headstones. She considered that, while the city had been a nice adventure, there really was nothing like a small town community. Even if it had a Marcy Gale.

Brad eased the car to the cemetery gates, where the plows had stopped, and the two of them left the heat of the vehicle. The cold seemed appropriate for such a place, Christmas thought, as she held Brad's hand and tromped through the snow. You wanted your loved ones to be resting in warmth and comfort, somewhere, but when you visited, you wanted it to feel miserable. At least, that was how she felt it should be.

She carried a Christmas wreath in one hand and they walked among the snow-capped tombstones, a hundred and more years of stories, those that had built the town into what it was today. Each of them, like her and Brad, was a piece of that workshop. It was like the barn, only they were giving the world their work and their words, the kind of gifts that would succeed them, like all those here, in the cold ground.