The Holidays Series

by Tara Sivec

  Noel reaches between our bodies to shove her blue lace thong to side while I hold her up against the wall. Not wanting to have her thong get in the way of what I’m about to do to her, I grab the thin strap by her hip and yank it as hard as I can until it rips apart from the rest of the material. She drops one of her legs from around me long enough to let the ruined lace flutter down her leg and fall to the floor.

  “Holy shit, that was hot,” she mutters, lifting her leg back in place as I push the front of my boxers down just far enough for my dick to be free. “Also, I’ve had an orgasm brewing ever since I hosed you down in the yard yesterday, so twenty seconds is plenty of time.”

  She pants as I push my hips forward and the head of my cock slides through her wetness.

  “I’ll race you to the finish line. Last one there has to be the one to cut Aunt Bobbie off after seven martinis and before she starts taking her clothes off.”

  We groan in unison as I push into her in one smooth, hard motion, agreeing to whatever she asks as long as she lets me do this for the rest of our lives. You know, without the whole melting vagina thing and the yard filling up with strippers and Amish people.

  Noel’s thighs tighten around my hips, urging me to move harder and faster as I fuck her against the wall, dipping my head down between her cleavage to pepper the tops of her tits with open-mouthed kisses.

  Right when I finally feel like I might have been wrong, like maybe I’m not really doomed and maybe all of the bad, crazy shit has finally past us, I go and do something completely stupid. While Noel clutches tightly to my shoulders, moaning softly and thrusting her hips up rapidly to meet mine as I drive my cock in and out of her, I open my mouth. Instead of staying quiet and just enjoying what’s happening and how good it feels, I open my mouth and mutter something about how I could die a happy man right now. No sooner do the words leave my mouth when a loud boom sounds from outside, shaking the house and rattling the windows.

  Noel might have fixed our luck with the new, borrowed, and blue shit, but I just fucked it all up by mentioning my death when my dick is buried inside the love of my life. The bad, crazy shit has found us once again, and going by the screams currently coming from outside in the yard, no one will be able to escape unharmed.

  16

  Lenny and the Goat Fuckers

  Noel

  “Holy shit, what was that?” Sam asks, the movement of his hips coming to an abrupt halt when an explosion shakes the house and the muffled sounds of screaming can be heard from out in the yard.

  I know I should be concerned that our wedding might currently be in the process of falling apart, but with Sam’s penis only halfway inside of me when he stopped, and teetering on the edge of an orgasm ever since he told me I looked stunning, I don’t really care about much right now. I don’t even care that I’ve spent the last seven months painstakingly making sure I’m showered, shaved, and smelling wonderful before we have sex, just like every good woman does at the beginning of a relationship. All it took were a few sweet words from Sam before I attacked him and stopped caring if he got near my sweaty vagina that may or may not smell like the breakfast casserole my mother made this morning as it leaked from the pores of my pussy.

  Now that I finally have him inside of me, all worries have left the building about whether or not this will end in another non-orgasm for him, and I’m so damn close to feeling the ecstasy of my own release with just a few more thrusts from him, I’ll be damned if I let anything ruin that.

  “Don’t worry about what’s going on out there, just look at me and keep moving,” I tell him softly, grabbing his face and turning it away from the window so he can concentrate on me instead of the chaos happening outside.

  Shifting my hips against him, he groans softly when the movement pulls him all the way back inside me and he immediately starts moving again. His groin hits my clit in the best way each time he thrusts back into me and I start chanting his name quietly when he picks up the pace once again.

  “We are NOT calling the fire department! It’s just the one tent and it will be out soon. No one panic!”

  Sam’s hips stutter to a stop again when we hear someone yell from outside, and I shake my head with wide, frantic eyes.

  “Nope, no stopping. It doesn’t matter, just keep going,” I remind him, smoothing my hands down his face and pressing the heels of my feet crossed behind him against his ass to make him move again.

  “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter…fuck, you feel so good,” Sam repeats after me with a low groan, adding a curse at the end that brings my orgasm immediately back to life.

  “Turd Ferguson, you are a bad, bad boy! Stop trying to eat Aunt Bessie’s leg, right now!”

  Sam starts moving his hips even faster, both of us ignoring the shouts from outside as each of his rough, hard thrusts drive me right back to the edge. His hands clutch tighter to my ass and he helps me move against him, the lower half of our bodies smacking together as the air in the room gets hotter and we get sweatier.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming and I apologize for the fire in tent number three. Please sit back and enjoy this poem I wrote for my one true love. Scheva, you’re so hot, even though you’re a diva. You make my penis hard, like the plastic around a tub of lard…”

  Sam lets out another low groan when Alex’s voice outside is amplified by the use of a microphone, and I know it’s a groan of frustration instead of pleasure when his eyes dart to the window next to us.

  “Not stopping, it doesn’t matter, not stopping, it doesn’t matter,” he whispers before I even have to remind him, his eyes coming back to mine as I give him a nod of encouragement.

  “Yes, fuck me harder. Make me come, Sam,” I whisper, talking to him as dirty as I can to keep him in the moment.

  His lips slam against mine and his tongue pushes past them, tangling and swirling around my own tongue until I moan into his mouth. He quickly gets back into a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of me and hitting my clit in that perfect spot with each thrust of his hips, until it only takes a few seconds for my orgasm to wash over me.

  My thighs tighten around his hips as my release pulses between them, and Sam breaks the kiss to bury his face in the side of my neck when he follows quickly behind. He comes with a boisterous shout of my name, his hips moving erratically and his entire body shaking against me as I wrap my arms around him and hold him close. After what feels like the longest orgasm in the world, Sam finally slumps against me with one last spastic jerk of his hips, letting out a loud, lengthy moan against my neck.

  “I think I just shot at least ten gallons of sperm in you,” he mutters after a few quiet moments of heavy breathing, pulling his head back just enough to look at me. “Seriously, that shit came out with such force I’m surprised you can’t taste it in your mouth right now.”

  I laugh as I unwind my legs from around him and he pulls himself out of me, holding onto my hips to set me back down on my feet. My laughter is short-lived when I immediately feel those ten gallons of sperm start leaking out of me and sliding down between my legs. With no other choice at the moment, I grab the skirt of my dress and shove it between my legs to start wiping up the mess.

  Sam looks at me sheepishly, opening his mouth to most likely apologize that I’m cleaning cum off my thighs with vintage lace, when another round of screams come from outside, cutting off his apology and forcing both of our eyes to the window.

  “The fuck? Is that snow?” he mutters in awed confusion as we watch huge, white snowflakes swirl around right outside the glass before another loud explosion rattles the house and breaks the peaceful, albeit confusing, moment.

  “Everyone, remain calm! Please refrain from using bottles of vodka from the open bar to put out the fires. Even though they are liquid, they WILL make things worse!”

  Sam and I slowly turn our heads to face each other.

  “Did he just say fires, plural?” he asks.

  I nod my head silently, dropping the material of
my now wet and cum-stained dress as footsteps suddenly pound against the floor outside the room. The door bursts open and Alex stands there breathing heavily, his white dress shirt partially untucked and stained in several places by what looks like black soot, his grey tie all askew and flung over his shoulder as he stares at us with wide eyes.

  “You two look nice and satisfied, that should make what’s about to happen a little easier,” he informs us, plastering a fake smile on his face and clapping his hands together. “Let’s go, assholes, it’s time to get married! Just keep your eyes open and your head covered at all times. Sam, you go first and get to the front of the aisle as fast as you can, I’ll escort Noel out to meet her father at the back. Hopefully by the time we get out there, the band will start playing and calm everyone down.”

  Alex starts jumping up and down frantically and flinging his arms in windmill patterns toward the door when neither of us move. Sam gives me a quick peck on the cheek and races out of the room before Alex hurts himself.

  When Sam’s out of sight and I can hear his feet thumping against the floor as he runs through the house, Alex rushes into the room, grabs my hand and tugs me toward the door. There are probably a million questions I should be asking right now, but there’s only one thing I can manage to mutter as Alex hurriedly pulls me through the house.

  “Band? What band? Since when do we have a band for the wedding?”

  “Crazy Bitch” by Buckcherry blasts through the sound system set up around the backyard as soon as Alex and I get out there, the trek across the yard taking longer than expected when we had to stop to fight off Turd Ferguson as he jumped out from behind a tree and latched himself to my leg. Sadly, it’s not Buckcherry playing the song, nor is it a recording of the actual song. Instead, it’s a cover being played by the worst, most off-key band I’ve ever heard, set up off to the side of the yard, right next to the reception tents.

  As I use the skirt of my dress to blot at the bloody scratches on my leg left behind by Turd Ferguson, we continue walking across the yard. I almost want to laugh that just a few minutes ago I thought having cum stains on my dress would be the worst that could happen to it.

  “That’s my friend Lenny and his band Lenny and the Goat Fuckers,” Alex tells me as he continues to pull me toward the beginning of the aisle, where my father stands waiting for us. “He helped me through a really rough time, so I hired him to play at your wedding to thank him. Don’t worry, he’ll slow this song down and make it more romantic when you head down the aisle.”

  I want to stop walking, stomp my foot, and scream at him for hiring a band for my wedding with the word goat fuckers in it, but it would be a waste of time at this point. As he hustles me across the lawn, my eyes take in so many terrible things happening all at once that I realize the band is the least offensive of them all.

  Half of the people gathered here for the wedding are running around the yard, screaming and diving behind trees or anything else they can find to take cover. At least the other half is sitting down where they’re supposed to be, but I’m pretty sure they’re just afraid to move, seeing as how fireworks are currently shooting out from behind the barn in every direction, none of which are UP INTO THE FUCKING SKY WHERE THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO GO. My feet stutter to a stop when I see Aunt Bobbie and a group of her friends, all in fancy dresses with full make-up, minus their wigs. They’re not wearing their wigs because they’re currently clutching them in their hands, beating Fat Ralph with synthetic hair in every color of the rainbow.

  “YOU BURNED MY FAVORITE LIZ TAYLOR WIG! BURN IN HELL, YOU CREATON!” a robust, bald man/woman screams, repeatedly smacking Fat Ralph in the face with a tangled dark brown wig.

  “Don’t worry about that. Some of the wigs caught fire from a few stray fireworks. Aunt Bobbie will get it all sorted out in no time,” Alex tells me with a nervous chuckle, grabbing my arm and pulling me forward right when Aunt Bobbie delivers a swift kick to Fat Ralph’s crotch with her blue stiletto.

  As soon as Alex gets me to my father, he places my hand into the crook of his arm and gives my dad a pat on the back. We all quickly turn at the same time when a group of women I didn’t see on our walk out here start to scream from back by the house. They scream, they flail, and they slip around in the pile of snow right next to the house, and I now realize Sam and I actually did see snowflakes out the window a few minutes ago.

  “Your mother thought it would be cute to rent a snow machine for the whole Christmas-slash-wedding in July thing,” he tells me with a sigh as I spot Pinky the stripper in the center of the hysterical women.

  Realizing they’re all strippers, and wearing six-inch stiletto stripper heels, I now see how they aren’t able to get their footing in all that snow that pours out of the machine at a rapid rate. With even louder, ear piercing screams that can be heard over Lenny and the Goat Fuckers, they continue slipping and sliding until they tumble down into the slush, one after the other, until they’re nothing but a pile of half-dressed, sopping wet, screaming and crying pole dancers.

  “Excellent! Impromptu mud wrestling. As fun as this would be to watch, no one wants to see strippers with frostbite on their tits,” Alex mutters with a nod before taking off in their direction and yelling to them across the yard. “NEVER FEAR, LADIES! ALEX IS HERE!”

  They scream even louder when he gets to them, scrambling their bodies through the snow and reaching out to him for help like snow-covered zombie strippers as he runs behind the snow machine to try and get it to turn off.

  “WOOOOHOOOO, ‘MURICA!” Fat Ralph shouts from the side of the barn, holding his fists in the air as the fireworks continue to go off with loud whistling and whooshing as they dart through the yard haphazardly.

  “THAT, is not my fault,” my father complains, pointing at Fat Ralph who continues to pump his fists and cheer with every explosion that has people screaming in fear, diving under chairs, and covering their heads. “I had the whole thing set up on a computerized timer so I could just press a button and they’d all go off nice and orderly after it got dark tonight. That shit-for-brains found the controller, pressed the damn button and THEN asked me what the button did. Now I can’t get them to stop until they’re all done. Anyway, you look really pretty, honey.”

  He finishes his explanation with a nervous smile, turning us both toward the aisle.

  “We should probably move quickly before the grand finale starts. There are quite a few M-80’s in that thing and it would be best if we got people to safety before they go off,” my father tells me, walking us at a clipped pace down the red fabric-lined aisle that has so many burn holes in it, I stop counting.

  Lifting my head when we get halfway down, my eyes lock on Sam’s as he waits for me, his body jumping and his arms flying up to cover his head with each explosion of another firework in the yard. He smiles at me and shrugs and there’s nothing I can do but smile back as I make my way toward him.

  Suddenly, Scheva jumps out in front of us from a seat in the aisle, her neatly styled up-do from this morning falling all around her face in a mess of tangles and knots.

  “Would you rather have a vagina that smelled like a fish, or a fish for a pet that smelled like a vagina?!” she shouts, her face an inch away from mine.

  “Okay, that one might be my fault. I take full responsibility for her,” my dad admits as I look back and forth between them when Alex runs up behind us, joining us in the middle of the aisle.

  “I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH ALL THE PEOPLE!” Scheva yells, pointing at random guests who have remained in their chairs, but aren’t paying attention to anything that is happening in the aisle. “I want to have sex with you, and you, and YOU! ALLLLLLLLL THE PEOPLE!”

  Her eyes zero in on the priest from my parents’ church standing a few feet away and he quickly backs up, knocking over empty chairs and tripping over them as he turns and runs in the opposite direction.

  “Shit. Now we’re going to have to find a new church. Again,” my father sighs as we watch their priest c
ontinue running until he rounds the corner of the house and disappears from the yard.

  “So, if sex with three people is a threesome, what’s it called when you have sex with all the people?” Alex asks, darting around us to yank Scheva away from a terrified woman clutching tightly to her chair before Scheva can straddle her.

  “I believe that’s called a gang bang,” I tell him dryly, my eyes going back to meet Sam while he cowers under the wooden “O” canopy, waiting for me.

  “How exactly are you at fault for whatever is happening with Scheva?” I ask my father, my eyes staying locked on Sam’s before I feel the need to collapse in the middle of the aisle and start crying louder than the frostbitten strippers.

  “Remember that little mix-up with your Aunt Bobbie’s medication right before Valentine’s Day when you went for that job interview?” my father asks as Scheva rips open the front of Alex’s shirt and buttons go flying.

  Even though I’d like to forget that job interview and how my aunt accidentally gave me an Ecstasy pill instead of a Xanax to calm my nerves, I can’t. The day I asked a stranger wanting to hire me if he’d have sex with me, took off half my clothes, and then danced on top of his desk will be burned into my brain forever. As the images of that day flash through my brain, I immediately understand my father’s words and glare at him.

  “She was all nervous about giving her maid of honor speech later and she started crying!” my father complains. “You know I don’t like crying females. I grabbed your aunt’s bottle of pills from the counter and made her take one. I can’t get the fireworks to shut off, and now I can’t get her to shut off.”

  Taking a second to close my eyes and give myself a few deep, calming breaths, I reopen them when I no longer feel like crying or killing people. Pasting a smile on my face, I smooth my hands down my dress in between ducks of wayward fireworks shooting across the yard.