Your Body is a Winter Wonderland

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

"Come here, already," I said. I was lying on the floor, my head under the Christmas tree. I could see your feet and calves on the coffee table, but I had to call for you twice before you lowered yourself to the carpet and scooched under the tree with me.

"Well, hi," you said, with a slow grin. "Fancy meeting you here."

A quick kiss and then, distracted, I mused, "This is so pretty. Just look up at all the little lights." For a moment I gazed back at what seemed a million tiny white lights, their brilliance softened by the shadowy pine needles. A glance back over at you..."You're not looking!"

"I am looking."

"Looking at me," I conceded. "That doesn't really count." I rolled onto my side so I could face you, my left shoulder just brushing the lowest limbs on the tree. "I'm telling you, it's a really pretty view."

"Oh, I agree," you murmured, smirkingly pulling me closer, the tree skirt wrinkling underneath me. "I'm sorry - I'm just not in the mood for a pine needle in my eye."

"All right, cranky," I snarked, though I couldn't keep the corners of my mouth from quirking upward. "Let's get out before the tree takes its revenge on us."

We lounged on the couch for a bit, lazily kissing, but I was antsy - I wanted it to just BE Christmas already. I was so eager to give you the presents I had wrapped (badly, but energetically) weeks ago. I kept asking if you might perhaps like to open just one, just a wee little one, but you said no, not until Christmas Eve, at least. "That's FOREVER away," I moaned like a 6-year old, only half-mocking in my mock-pouting. Then I had an idea.

"Ohhhh, I have a present I think you'll want to open now," I cooed.

I moved back onto the coffee table so you could get a good view. I was wearing one of those corset style thermals with no bra, so it was easy enough to strip my shirt off prettily - tugging it down so that my hardened nipples poked at the waffled fabric, and manipulating the hook and eye closures with one hand. I pinched my right nipple through the shirt and you moaned before I could. The lights from the tree dappled my skin as I tugged off the sleeves. Then came the jeans and panties together - I still haven't quite figured out how to take them off in a truly sexy manner, so I just distracted you by standing up and bending forward at the waist; letting my mouth nuzzle the front of your sweats as I pulled them off with one hand and tossed them aside. I'll admit, I continued to mouth you even after I was naked, though. There's something so sexy about feeling your hardness through the barrier of clothes, as if we're doing something illicit.

You were breathing hard, leaning forward to trace my exposed breasts and neck. You said, "I - uh - I...." with a couple of gulping false starts, and I smiled a little to myself, to hear you so unsettled already. I wondered if you had been thinking about this for awhile. Then, in a rush, you burst out, "I thought you said you had something I could unwrap."

I giggled. "Well, not exactly.

"I said I had something you could OPEN."

And with that I turned around in a mirror image of my previous position, so my elbows rested on the coffee table and my ass tilted up in front of you.

I reached around and ran my palm methodically over my butt, just in case you had misunderstood my lame single entendre. I needn't have worried - before I could finish I felt your hands circling my waist, your mouth at the base of my spine.

For some reason, I had expected you to plunge right in, but of course that's not you. Instead, I gasped, my hair brushing the tabletop, as I felt you gently spread me open for inspection; your thumbs cradling my clit and your warm mouth teasingly brushing. I kept saying, "Oh" -- a dozen different intonations of the same word -- as your tongue began to play over me.

A little kiss on my inner thigh. "Shall we get in bed?"

I laughed, stretching myself back up to my full height, as you hugged me from behind. "Yeah, all the blood was rushing to my head like that."

"Mmmm -- I know that feeling," you whispered, and I could hear your smile.

In the bedroom, I "helped" undress you, which no doubt meant that it took longer, but it was also quite a bit more fun. I couldn't resist taking in a mouthful of cock. It was far too close as I sat on the edge of the bed in front of you.

I grabbed your hand and held it on the back of my neck, asking silently for your help in pushing it in farther. I love the feeling as you seemingly catch on a notch in my throat and then, pressing gently, slide free and deep. It's so reminiscent of the way you move into my other wet, eager channel, and the association always gets me dripping. You still find it hard to believe that it's my favorite kind of foreplay.

This time you had other plans for me, though.

I wonder if it ever feels like Twister -- one hand lightly circling my breasts, brushing my nipples until I keen. The other deep inside me -- a couple of fingers here and a couple of fingers there, gently fluttering and pressing against my walls like a terribly naughty sea anemone. Your mouth -- oh my. I find it hard to even remember exactly what you do with that lovely mouth, because it makes me so very stupid. Licking, flicking, sucking; I feel sometimes as if my pussy is literally a nether mouth kissing you back.

In the past, most guys have been proud if they could just pull an orgasm from me. And fair enough. But that's not enough for you -- you tease and toy with it; feel it lurking just under the surface and yet deny me until my head flails and I am begging. Sometimes wordlessly, stretching and gasping, trying to maneuver for just a second's additional contact. Sometimes you push me too far; I lose all self-control and plead quite shamelessly: "Please, let me come now. Oh, please. Oh, please. Oh! Please!" My hands ball up until the nails press little half-moons into the flesh of my palms, but I don't even feel it until much later. Then it's just a charming souvenir.

This was one of those times. When you finally allowed me to come I felt as though my cries were ripped out of my throat by a force beyond me. I shuddered and my torso tensed and jerked upward in little, useless sit-ups.

You probably would have let me recover for a bit longer, but I was too aroused by my own wetness and the knowledge that you were also literally dripping with excitement. "Come here," I said once again, my voice now a bit ragged at the edges. "You know what I want."

You took my head in your hands, kissing me. I could taste myself on your lips as I arched up under you.

"Tell me," you insisted.

I don't know if you were really unsure, or if you just wanted to hear me say it. Perhaps a combination of both. But I didn't question; just let my desire out in a rush of words.

"I want you to fuck my ass. I want you inside. I'm so wet and open now, I'm sure you can slide right into me. I want you to fill up my asshole with your come." Saying these things just notched up my fever even more, and I wouldn't have stopped except that you closed my mouth with your own, kissing me desperately and moaning, growling, as if we were already doing these things.

When you broke the kiss I didn't say anything, just pushed to the side so that we rolled together, exchanging places. I didn't want you to worry about hurting me. I rested one hand on the side of your face, looked into your eyes and said, "Now?"

You couldn't even formulate the words to answer, just nodded and let out a strangled breath.

I reached down with one hand to skim some juice from my cunt down to my ass, but it really wasn't necessary. I took the rest and stroked it over your shaft, which was already just as slick. It took a second to maneuver you in just by feel, but once I found the spot you slid in me like a billiard ball thunking cleanly into the corner pocket. There was that same kind of satisfying rightness to it.

I reminded myself to relax and breathe deeply as you stretched my inner walls. But once I had you inside, I began to tighten my muscles up, gripping and releasing your shaft. I leaned forward, my hips rotating in a slow figure 8, and kissed my way up your neck. My tongue flicked out, tasting warm, salty skin.

I mused, laughter in my voice, "Now, this is an interesting variation on sitting on Santa's lap. But I guess it's what all the bad little girls want for Christmas this year." Then I gasped as, for the first time, you drove your hips up against me, pulling down at the same time and burying your cock even deeper inside.

You muttered, "Oh, I can feel how much you want it, you bad girl. You're SO sloppy wet."

My hand tightened on your shoulder. "Oh! Oh, God!" I paused for breath and sanity. "You know I can't think clearly when you talk to me that way."

Breathless but sly, you answered, "Oh -- is it the talking that's getting to you, then? And here - I - thought - it was -- the -- fucking." With that you pulled me down again, hard, and I screamed.

I leaned forward so that I could more easily glide my hips over you. I tried some shallow movements, enjoying the feeling of your head rubbing at my entrance, but my own selfish need made it impossible to tease for long. Soon I was back to long, deep strokes. I bent over you and my clit rubbed against your pubic bone, giving little shocks that made me whimper and tighten up. I couldn't talk, couldn't even really think, and I started moving faster, my hips pistoning over you. You put your hands in my hair, holding my head tightly, and whispered, "Oh, that's it,sweetie," over and over.

My own voice was foreign to my ears as I started to shake, little thrills scampering over my skin. In a dim corner I could feel an orgasm building, but I couldn't act on it. Somehow you knew, though, and you reached a hand under me, slipping between our sweat-slapping bodies to manipulate me. I was gasping for air and half-crying with the intensity of it all.

It was almost a relief to slip over the edge. It felt just like that -- as though the ground had fallen out from under me. I clutched you close, moving just a little, my spasms almost painful in their force. You came only a few seconds later. I'm not sure if you had been waiting for me like a gentleman or if my own orgasm had pushed you over. I admit, rather shamefacedly, that I had lost my awareness of you as anything more than my fuck toy.

So, when I caught my breath, I looked at you somewhat shyly, as if reacquainting myself with you. You flexed your penis inside me and I jumped and twitched, feeling a bit oversensitive.

I rested my head on your chest for a moment, hunching my back up like a cat, and listened contentedly to your still rapid heartbeat.

I'd like to pretend I had something clever and Christmas-appropriate to say at the end. Something about resting merry, gentlemen, or having a holly, jolly Christmas. Sadly, my brain wasn't working clearly enough for that; I could have barely managed a paltry fa-la-la.

I suppose I could claim that I invoked the reason for the season, our sparkling tree and eggnog and presents. I have my doubts as to whether he would want to claim this mundane little miracle, but, without a shred of irony, I said, "Jesus Christ, that was good."