Twelve Lays of Xmas Ch. 10

Part Ten of 12 Lays of Xmas, the full novella version. Eleven is about 80% finished, but here is where I hit a wall for a while. Work, y'know?

Any similarity to any persons living, loving or otherwise - well - you know who you are. Oh, and Happy Birthday, baby.

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The Twelve Lays of Xmas

Ten Lords A'Leaping

The apartment was still and peaceful the following morning. I left Jessica lying in bed, curled in the warm centre of our divan, a faint smile on her face. In the middle of the night, I had awoken to find her buried under the duvet, licking at my cock, her tongue like a little kitten's. Not that I have ever had a kitten do that... well, not there. I wasn't even sure if Jess was awake, or merely enacting some oral fantasy in her dreams, but then, from under the covers, in the darkness of the night, I heard her murmur that she wanted me to enjoy her mouth, and I did, slowly, until the need ebbed up in me, and flowed into her.

Outside, snow had settled deeply, and the streets were hushed. In the apartment, all I could hear was the ticking of the clock, and the faint hum of the coffee-maker. I read yesterday's paper at the table, drank coffee and orange juice, ate toast, and felt good, in a distracted and exhausted kind of way.

There came a scratching at the door, and I thought it was Minx, who had taken to prowling the corridors of the building late at night (though we had not yet provided her with a key for the lift). It turned out to be a different minx: Lisa. She had worked late, snatched an hour or two on the sofa in her office downstairs in the club, and had now paused to see if there was breakfast at our place before going back to her own apartment for some more serious rest.

She was a little put out by the fact that Jessica had gone out to another club last night, but the details put her in a better mood, especially when I was able to tell her that I thought Jessica had found her a dancer she could employ. Lisa's club isn't a table-dancing club - though there is a small stage for live acts - but the mood can get pretty raunchy down there, and she likes to have entertainment to get the clientele in the mood to party. Very often, the entertainment would consist of her, Tasha and Jessica, costumes optional. Those were the partiest of party nights.

Lisa joined me in the kitchen, drank black coffee and ate mountains of unbuttered toast. We talked around several subjects with lengthy pauses in between. At some point, we both became aware of conversation from behind the door of the guest room - Orla and Padraig must have woken. I mentioned to Lisa that we hadn't seen much of them since Padraig arrived.

Lisa grew suddenly irritable, and went off to see if Jessica was awake. I didn't know what was wrong, and I was aware enough of Lisa's temper to know that I didn't need to be in front of it. I read the sports pages, which is what a man is supposed to do in a time of crisis like this. It was the weekend. I had been thinking about going to see the football, but I wasn't sure how that would work with Jessica's plans.

So, while I waited for people to reappear, I did a very un-guy-like thing and wrapped presents. Well, in truth, what I did was put some of the presents I had bought into nice gift bags that I had also bought, and attached appropriate labels. Then I went to put the gifts under the tree.

Shit.

I am something of a traditionalist about Christmas. The tree goes up twelve days before, and comes down twelve days after Christmas (clearing the decks for my birthday, since you asked). Jessica would have the house decorated for Christmas from about mid-July, and there were a few festive ornaments about the apartment and a wreath on the door. We just didn't have a tree. Was that supposed to have been my job? Why does no-one ever remind me of these things?

Coat, boots and scarf. Keys and wallet. I remembered there was a place a block down that had had trees last week. I'd be gone half an hour, tops.

*****

Two o'clock that afternoon, I was in the lift going up to our floor, holding onto our festive Norwegian tree. It would have been marginally less effort to have gone to Norway to get it, but I had the damn thing, and I had felt extraordinarily festive humping the damn thing along the street. T'is the season to be grumpy. I wondered who would be available to help decorate it.

The lift stopped before our floor, and in stepped Tasha, looking marginally bemused to find me there struggling with greenery. She pressed the button for my floor, and I realised she wasn't dressed to go out.

'You on your way to our place?' I asked, pushing foliage out of the way.

'Uh huh,' she replied, with a nod and a smile.

'You want to help dress the tree?'

She laughed, her voice musical. 'Maybe,' she answered. She made some suggestions about what could be done with Christmas balls that had nothing to do with evergreen foliage and pine needles.

She held the lift doors open while I man-handled the tree out, and along the corridor. I gave her my keys to unlock the apartment door, but Jessica was already opening it. She took one look at me struggling down the hall with the tree, and burst out laughing.

'So that is where you've been,' she said. 'It took you long enough.' I started to explain about the enormous city-wide shortage of suitable forests, but she cut me off. 'No, I mean you should have bought this weeks ago.'

I got the thing into the apartment, and we dug out a wooden tub that we had used the year before from the closet. With some wooden wedges and a lot of swearing, I got the tree upright in the corner by the window, over-looking the street. As I looked out, it struck me how many windows in the building across the street had lights twinkling in them already. Had they been there this morning? Damn, I had been distracted the last few days. But, hell, we all celebrate the season in our own way.

'The ornaments are in the storage room,' Jessica reminded me. I left her and Tasha in the apartment and went off to the basement to fetch the box.

Twenty minutes or so later, I was back at the apartment. The door was latched, and I had to knock, because Tasha had taken my keys, of course.

Jessica answered the door, and before I could speak, she whispered: 'sssh', and in the same movement by which she guided me inside, she slipped her hands over my eyes. I barely had time to recognise that the apartment was almost pitch black, save for some Christmas lights which had been hastily strewn around the window, and a string of pale amber lights which snaked a path across the floor towards the couch. Someone was sitting there.

'Who -?'

'Ssssh!' Jessica slid a broad silk ribbon over my eyes in place of her hands, and tied it at the back of my head. She took the box from my hands while I stood with my back to the door. The ribbon was just gauzy enough that I could see the trail of amber lights curving off across the room in front of me.

'What?'

'Follow the lights,' Jessica whispered, and I heard a whisper of more silk, and my memory chipped in with the information that my lover had been dressed in little more than her blue silk robe when she answered the door. I caught a whiff of her perfume, and - was that my imagination? - other exotic and sensual scents.

It was actually quite bizarre to find myself setting off into the invisible space of the apartment, guided only by the half-viewed lights on the floor. Hardly another detail was visible, except for the outline of the unlit lamp by the window, its steel stand reflecting the Christmas lights. The couch, well, I am sure I mostly just imagined its soft bulk as the trail of lights ended. I took my chances, turned and fumbled my way down onto the seat.

'So, what...?'

'Ssssh,' came a voice, but it wasn't Jessica's. Nor was that perfume. Someone was leaning over me, kissing my mouth lightly. I explored her lips with my tongue, and it felt and tasted familiar. Tasha.

Someone was unlacing my boots. That would be Jessica, I presumed. Tasha's hands cradled my face. Then a third pair of hands worked open my belt.

'Who is -'

'Ssssssh!' came all three voices.

So I leaned back on the couch, and felt three bodies moving around on either side and in front of me; three pairs of hands stripping me of my clothes. The apartment wasn't that warm, but I felt a glow from inside, a heat in my loins. Someone kissed me. Someone else closed a delicate hand around my cock.

Occassionally there were whispers, but otherwise there were few clues at all. My hands were free to roam, and the women encouraged me to stroke across their thighs, their flanks, their breasts. I felt a pair of large nipples stiffen under my fingertips; a shaved mound brush my thigh. Soft, satin skin pressed at me from three sides.

Jessica nipped at my ear with her teeth. I knew it was her (of course I would have known anyway!) because she then whispered into my ear: 'Do you want to fuck me, baby?' That was easily answered. I heard Jessica chuckle as she shifted off the couch from my side; other women, felt or imagined or barely glimped as outlines through the ribbon, moved around like shadows.

'I'm going to suck you first,' I heard Jessica say softly, so softly I then doubted it was her. But it was definitely her voice which continued: 'At least, it might be me. Do you think you can tell, baby? Do you think you'll know who is sucking you? Who is fucking you?'

Almost before she finished speaking, a mouth closed on the head of my swollen cock, and that same mouth produced a long tongue that slithered around my shaft. Oh, God, it was good. I took in a long breath, and captured more warm, subtle scents, mingling on the air in the room. I realised some music was playing in the background - some of my own jazz CDs - masking very slightly the exchange of words in soft voices, the rustle of skin.

The mouth bathing my cock pressed down further. A hand caressed my balls and massaged my thickened, stiffened shaft. There was a soft sucking sound, the smack of lips on my penis. The woman going down on me pumped her head a few times, and brought me to full erection, then lifted up. A second mouth slid down on me.

'Jessica,' I murmured.

'Very good,' came a laugh, and I recognised Tasha's voice this time. It had been her going down on me first, but there was an ease and familiarity about the way her replacement was taking me into her mouth, and not just because it had been only twelve or thirteen hours since Jessica had sucked me off under the duvet. I'm not going to analyse the differences in oral technique the two women used, but there were subtle changes. OK, I will tell you this much. Tasha had used her mouth to excite my cock; Jessica was tonguing my cock to excite herself. Trust me, I can tell.

Jessica lifted up, and her voice sounded husky and aroused as she said: 'Your turn.'

The third woman hadn't said a word so far. Nor had I uncovered any clues when my hands had wandered over their bodies earlier. She was shaven, but so were Jessica and many of her friends. She had smaller breasts than Jessica, smaller than Tasha's too (which ruled out Orla, Diane and a few others). I did think that I had brushed my hand over a bellybutton ring, which - from memory - took away Tiz or Cats or -

'Oh, God!' I murmured, as the woman sank her mouth down on my penis. This was really something. I don't mean that she was any better at oral sex than the other two (like I would ever say that!), but the mystery was compelling, adding something potent to the erotic mix. Soft wet lips dragged up and down my shaft; she let her teeth graze along my skin slowly. I could feel long hair brushing over my thighs.

Jessica kissed my mouth, and I knew at once it was her, and my hands cupped and caressed her full breasts as she knelt against me on the couch. The invisible mystery woman ran the flat of her tongue up my shaft, and then lifted away.

'You were good at telling mouths, baby,' Jessica whispered. 'Now, whose pussy is this?'

They paused while they shifted around, shuffling the pack of their bodies in a sensual three-card trick. Find the lady...

Someone slowly sank down onto my lap. The other women pinned my arms to the back of the couch with their bodies as they sat on either side of me, making sure I couldn't gather any extra information. I felt lips brush my temples, hands on my chest, soft breath and warm skin. Unidentifiable.

My cock was slowly being taken up inside warm, wet pussy lips. I gasped, arched my back, and sank the length of my penis into that welcome embrace. I felt my breath exhale without my control, and my hands closed around a bare leg, and a firm breast. A familiar mouth kissed me, a technique I knew well. I moaned around Tasha's tongue.

It had to be the stranger fucking me. This wasn't a style of love-making I had experienced before; I was sure of it. The woman had a small pussy, that gripped me close; she sat across my lap and rotated her hips, slipping them back and forth. My cock didn't so much press in and out of her, as get massaged along its length as she stroked her lips along me.I felt soft bum cheeks brush my thighs; small feet touching the sides my knees. There was a soft little whimper from her mouth.

Actually, that did sound familiar. Maybe I did know this mystery woman. That slightly guttural, hungry sound in her voice... the need she showed, maybe I had experienced her be-

Whoa! Damn... she was getting my cock really hot. I stopped thinking about the guessing game, and settled back, to trying for a little self-control. My mystery partner pumped her hips back and forth on me for a little longer, and then paused... her pussy shivered around me and there was the softest, slightest moan, like a sob.

I let a long breath out of my lungs, and lay back, quite still. Room air curled cooly around my erect penis as the woman disengaged. Jessica's mouth came back to my ear, urgently hissing.

'Well?'

I grinned, quite confident.

*****

'How did you know?'

'Your accent.'

'All I did was moan!'

'What can I tell you? You moan with an accent.'

'You're the one with the accent!' Jessica insisted, laughing. Tasha nodded her agreement, and sipped Earl Grey from a delicate cup, cradles between the fingers of both hands as she sat on the couch with her feet up. This was an old debate. Naturally, I insist that I speak the Queen's English properly, and if the damn colonials want to object, let them write their own story.

Ysabet definitely speaks with an accent, and it's really exotic and rich. Her heritage is diverse and colourful, and every word that passes her rich pink lips shows it. This isn't the time to talk about her past - just accept that it's complicated - but it can be said that Ysabet is Middle Eastern, European and American in varying degrees. The voice definitely has the cadence of her Arabic youth, and that's what gave her away.

We ate pitta bread, fruit, cheese; a late lunch. Or pre-dinner snack, if you prefer. Ysabet had brought some spiced coffee, but after a miniscule mouthful apiece we all - and that included Ysabet - agreed this was an evening drink, and so I made tea. We ate lunch on the same sofa where we had eaten each other.

Ysabet's arrival had been a complete surprise. For all the time we have known her, Ysabet has kept to a punishing schedule of work and study, and the last I had heard she was expected to work over the holidays. One of the many complications in her life is that she has had a few visa problems, which have translated into a license for the suits at the hospital where she works to have her work pretty much when and how they say. However, I knew Jessica had taken an interest in changing this, and she retains a lawyer who eats nothing but red meat (she was the shark I was going to use if the contractors had continued to be difficult). Apparently, Immigration had decided that Ysabet was now more American than George Washington, and with that security, Ysabet was changing employers. From the New Year she would be working much closer, in a town about two hours drive away. And, in the meantime, she had a week off.

'We're a little short of room," I started, thinking through the possibilities.

'We have plenty of room,' Jess interrupted.

'As I was saying... plenty of room...'

The guest room was vacant. While I had spent most of the day negotiating the streets of my adopted city searching for a tree, Orla and Padraig had departed, catching a flight to meet their cruise ship. It occured to me that I couldn't remember actually seeing Padraig at all during his brief stay, though I was sure he must have been here because I had heard Orla screaming his name. I recalled all the fuss about her not wanting to go, and we hadn't seen anything of her since he arrived. Contrary woman.

After the sex, and there had been alot of sex, the women - Jessica, Ysabet and Tasha - had decorated the tree while I tried to find what damn bulb was breaking the circuit on the lights, and then served up that recuperative snack. The stereo was alternating between choral music and appalling Christmas standards; none of that was my idea. I brewed tea, cut bread, sliced cheese, washed fruit... and watched.

None of the women had put on so much as a stitch of clothing, and I have to tell you nothing decorates an appartment more desireably than three naked women. Not for the first time - not for the first time that week, or even that day - I marvelled at the many different ways women can be beautiful. No, more than that, I marvelled at the constellation of beautiful women who inhabit Jessica's heaven. Reading this tale, you might be thinking that I have some kind of harem going, but that's missing the point. This is Jessica's world; this appartment, this building, this amazing circle of people. And to be part of it, you don't have to be a particular kind of person, you just have to be.

Jessica is fair-skinned, long-haired and petite (though I may have mentioned she hasbig tits; I did? Thought so); Tasha is black, short-haired and slender-limbed. Ysabet's skin colour lay somewhere between the two, I decided, like a warm honey. Her hair is a dusky sandy brown, like a dark desert earth; she had it gathered by a simple tie-back in the nape of her neck. Her eyes are dark; quick and inquisitive. She and Jessica are fast friends; in the same way Jessica is with her blonde, Nordic lover, Lisa; and in the same way as Jessica is with her sultry, wicked ebony lover, Tasha.

Jessica caught me looking at them, just as I finished preparing our snack.

'What?'

'Do know any Chinese girls?' I asked. Jessica laughed, long and loud.

'How was your sex with a stranger fantasy?' she inquired.

'I'm not a stranger!' Ysabet insisted. We all agreed she was strange, though, and she sulked for a minute until we were all laughing together. The evening was full of laughter and sex, and we all three tasted Ysabet's honey coloured skin, in every conceivable way.

'It's Christmas Eve tomorrow,' Jessica said that night, in the small hours as she sat on the sheets of our bed, waiting for me to join her. She sounded almost wistful. I stroked her hair as she lay on my chest, and listened to the night draw dark around us.