Yours for Christmas

by Sue Lyndon

  Wrapped in his arms, he cradled me against his chest and stroked my hair. “You took my cock well, pet. How do you feel?”

  How did I feel? Ugh. Hmm. How did I feel? I fumbled for the words and felt his body grow rigid.

  “Tell me the truth, pet. How do you feel right now?”

  “My bottom hurts.”

  He laughed. “Good. It’s supposed to hurt. What else?”

  “I – I’m burning up. My clit, my pussy, I – I’m so wet. Please, Sir, will you please fuck me?” The last vestige of my pride fled, perhaps seeking refuse behind that imaginary door where I kept shoving my inappropriate thoughts about Dr. Taylor.

  Again, he laughed. “You are a little slut, aren’t you?” Two fingers spread my moisture over my engorged clit, rubbing in precise motions to stir my desire to the peak before stopping.

  I let out a frustrated cry and moved my hand between my legs. Before I reached my target, he shoved me down on the bed and sat on my knees. He gathered my wrists above my head in one hand.

  “Naughty naughty. You can’t touch yourself without permission.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. My desperation for release was so intense it was beginning to override my manners and submissiveness to Dr. Taylor. Squirming beneath him, I gave him my best death glare. He responded by using his free hand to lay a volley of smacks to the front of my thighs, spanking the flesh surrounding my pussy but not touching me where I needed it most. Tortured and close to tears, I ceased my struggles as he continued to slap my legs.

  “Spread those thighs apart.” He lifted his body up for a moment to allow my movement.

  He produced the scarf from earlier and used it to bind my hands to the metal headboard. My helplessness returned. What had I gotten myself into? Dr. Taylor was the real deal. An experienced Dom. How long would he leave me tied up and dripping with need?

  “Please,” I begged. Everything below my waist throbbed. My punished bottom stung with each small glide on the bedspread, the front of my thighs burned, the plug in my ass felt larger than ever, and my poor clit throbbed unbearably. Perspiration slid down my temple and I turned my head on the pillow, embarrassed that I was sweating.

  “If you come before I give you permission, pet, I will make you crawl around the bedroom floor while I whip you with my belt. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “No, Sir,” I whimpered. The more I obeyed, the quicker he would allow me a release. At least I hoped so. Tears welled in my eyes.

  “Now,” he said, moving back. “I’m going to get something from the closet. Remain in this position with your legs spread wide. Don’t even think about pressing those thighs together.”

  Mortified that he knew the level of my need, knew that I would have pathetically pressed my legs together and gyrated on the bed in hopes of reaching an orgasm even in such a useless position, I nodded and threw my head to the side in surrender. Please have mercy, I thought.

  A short time later, a blindfold was placed over my eyes. Nothing else happened for minutes. Silence hung in the air, and I was only aware of my uneven breathing and the constant throbbing below my waist. An eternity passed. What was he waiting for?

  Oh, right.

  Hope swelled in my chest. Maybe he — or, er, his cock — just needed to recharge. He couldn’t give me that hard fucking I craved with a limp member. I almost smiled.

  A sudden buzzing noise pierced the air and caused me to jump. I screamed. A wand was pressed between my legs, vibrating over my pussy and sending waves of hot pleasure straight to my clit. Each time I tried to thrust against the object, something sharp stung one of my breasts. A crop? I shuddered and tried my best to remain still, but it was impossible. I raised my hips once more and felt the bit of the crop slice down on my right breast. Countless times, the wand left me a second before I reached that peak I needed to climb to in order for the orgasm to take me under. I cried out each time in frustration, and each vocal protest earned me two licks of the crop.

  The buzzing sound disappeared. What now? Anticipation hummed through my senses until I felt nearly hysterical. Then my legs were pushed back and something huge and hard slammed inside my pussy. His cock. Dr. Taylor was finally giving me that hard fucking I’d spent an eternity begging for.

  The orgasm built and I feared his retribution if I came without permission. To my relief, he said, “Come for me, pet. Come with my cock filling up your pussy and the plug filling up your ass.”

  Star exploded behind my eyelids and I gasped for air as I finally crested the peak I’d been aiming for. My pussy walls convulsed around his length while he pounded into me with rapid strokes. The pulsing, scorching flood of arousal drained all the remaining energy out of me, and his cock jerked inside me as he found his own release.

  Chapter 4

  Two days. Two long days had passed since my interlude with Dr. Taylor. I glanced at my iPhone and knew his number would be listed under previous calls. Resisting the urge to stare at his number on the screen, I gathered up my purse and left my apartment. The cool air sent a shiver across my skin and reminded me of when Dr. Taylor scolded me for not wearing a jacket. Last minute shoppers scampered in and out of the shops lining the streets as I walked aimlessly through town. It was Christmas Eve. The few presents I’d purchased for family and friends were wrapped and sitting under the little tree in my living room. I would pass them out after the holidays. I was never organized enough to track people down the week before December 25th or visit the post office in time to mail the few that needed to be shipped away.

  A flashing sign that said “coffee” caught my attention. I’d come across the café I used to work at. Hmm. Would anyone I liked be working there now? The relaxing aroma of coffee and baked goods hit me when I entered. Immediately I spotted Lucy standing at the espresso machine. She finished steaming milk in a canister, poured it in a cappuccino cup, and called out the order to a customer.

  “Angie!” Lucy’s face lit up and she gestured for me to come closer. Her hug knocked the wind out of me and I laughed, returning her embrace with enthusiasm.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “You missed me. I get it.”

  She giggled and pulled away. “I have missed you! What are you up to?”

  I shrugged. “Just out for a walk.”

  “I’m off in thirty minutes. We should catch up.”

  Spending the evening — or at least part of the evening —in Lucy’s company sounded nice. After staring at the walls of my apartment for two days, I was ready for a change of scenery, even if she dragged me to a smoky bar.

  Sure enough, Lucy did drag me to a smoky bar. I didn’t complain and happily downed a few beers . . . something seasonal called “Noel Ale.” It hit the spot as we chatted about the last month. Even though Lucy was a nerdy Chemistry major, she was my favorite co-worker from the café. I felt like a jerk for not hanging out with her since I’d quit right after Thanksgiving. I’d saved up enough money to get by until my new job started in January that I’d decided to quit and devote all my time to my last five classes.

  “Ah, hon, you should spend Christmas with my family tomorrow,” she said after I told her my plans for watching The Christmas Story and getting hammered on wine.

  I smiled. “I appreciate the invitation, really I do, but I’m having a late Christmas get-together with my folks when they get back from Europe in a week.” And I don’t want to feel like the poor girl who doesn’t have a family to spend the holidays with, I thought as I downed the last of my fourth beer.

  Later that night I kept busy in my apartment. I scrubbed every surface of the place until it sparkled, reorganized my closet, read over the training manual for my new job —twice—washed and ironed my laundry, and did everything else I could find to keep myself occupied and my thoughts off Dr. Taylor. I didn’t even care that I was spending Christmas alone anymore. All I car
ed about was the reason he hadn’t contacted me since our kinky afternoon.

  Two days.

  My pulse quickened as I remembered all the wicked things he’d done to me, and my throat suddenly burned. I cursed and threw the dust rag down. He probably had a new fuck toy now. I was just another submissive notch on his big scary Dom belt. My therapist was going to have a field day with me next month.

  Midnight arrived and I collapsed in bed, too exhausted to think. I hid under the sheets the next morning until hunger drove me out. 11:15 AM. Jeez. Almost noon. Merry Christmas to me.

  Was Dr. Taylor surrounded by his family at this moment, opening presents and drinking eggnog? He might not even have family in the area. Maybe he’d hopped a flight and was a thousand miles away. The physical distance my wandering imagination created between us was the ultimate Debbie Downer.

  Pancakes smothered in butter and syrup never tasted so plain, but I forced a few bites because my stomach hadn’t gotten the memo that Ang was feeling sorry for herself. I opened a bottle of Sangria I’d purchased from a local winery. Sangria was my favorite intoxicating friend, but I usually made it myself. If everything was going to taste like cardboard though, why go to the trouble?

  I showered and put on a fresh pair of pajamas before finding my place on the couch. When I flipped the television on, Ralphie was reluctantly modeling his pink bunny outfit. The Sangria buzz began and I took a few more swigs, straight from the bottle because I didn’t feel like dirtying a glass. The doorbell rang, causing me to start and spill some of the liquid down the front of my tee-shirt. Perfect. I grabbed a towel from the kitchen on my way to the door.

  “Dr. Taylor.” I felt the color drain from my face.

  “Invite me inside.” He held a large brown bag in one hand. Anxious lines decorated his face and his body grew tense as he stared at me.

  I threw my hands up and backed up. “Sure!” A crazed smile shot across my face. “Won’t you come in?” Might as well finish trampling all over my heart.

  When I turned around from closing the door, he was at my kitchen table, pulling containers out of the bag. What the hell. Curious about his visit and the containers, I watched in silence for a few seconds, trying to get a grip on myself.

  “What’s going on?” I threw the towel over my shoulder and leaned against the wall for support. The Sangria had gone straight to my head. Buzzity buzz buzz buzz.

  “Sit down, Angela.”

  I complied, too tired to argue. The sooner I sat down, the sooner he’d get to the point. At least that’s what I told myself. I didn’t obey because I was feeling particularly submissive and wanted to please him at the moment. Nope. Not a smidge.

  His eyes danced with excitement. “I brought you Christmas dinner.” He peeled the cover off a big circular container and shoved it in front of me.

  “Huh?” Shocked, I stared at the food and hoped he didn’t notice my mouth watering. It looked and smelled delicious. “Did you make this?” I didn’t know of any take-out places open on Christmas in the area.

  He met my eyes, smiled, and held up a finger. “Just a moment.” He disappeared and clanked around in the kitchen before returning with glasses of wine, silverware, and napkins balanced between his hands.

  So he wanted to see me again. Was this grand gesture supposed to make up for our awkward goodbye and two days of silence? As much as I wanted to be mad, watching him set the table, clearly out of his element, my feelings turned all gooey like cookie dough.

  “Eat. Before it gets cold.” He arched an eyebrow and didn’t lower it until I’d taken a bite. Mmm. Homemade mashed potatoes with turkey gravy. He didn’t have to tell me again.

  “You’re a wonderful cook,” I said in-between bites. The food settling in my stomach soaked up the alcohol like magic.

  “Actually,” he corrected, “I’m the son of a wonderful cook. I told my mother I was spending Christmas with a housebound friend and she gladly put the plates together.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. The big bad Dom’s mommy had cooked up the meal for him. Unfucking believable. “A housebound friend, eh?”

  He swallowed and gestured at me with his fork. “ ‘Housebound friend’ sounds much better than ‘the girl I spent a kinky afternoon with two days ago.’ ”

  I smirked and took a sip of wine. “Don’t forget former student.”

  Darkness clouded his eyes and he leaned forward, looking at me like I was more appetizing than the turkey on his plate. “We have unfinished business, Angela.”

  I gulped. Unfinished business indeed. “Do we?” I asked sarcastically.

  That damn eyebrow of his rose again. “I won’t sugarcoat this. I can’t make you any promises. But I do want to keep seeing you, monogamously of course.”

  More wine. I kicked back the rest of my drink and studied him. His sincere eyes watched me with worry. Knowing he was anxious over my response gave me a sense of power. How strange. I wasn’t used to feeling powerful, but as I gazed across the table at Dr. Taylor, I realized the next step in our relationship — whatever kind of kinky, fucked up relationship we might have —rested in my hands. Did I want to see him again? Hell yes. But what if it didn’t last? Could I survive another heartbreak?

  Images of our afternoon together raced through my mind and my pussy became soaking wet. I squeezed my legs together, cursing inwardly. I recalled all the helpful, and not so helpful, things my therapist said. Take one day at a time was one of her favorites. Could I do that? Take Dr. Taylor, one day at a time, knowing it might not last?

  Yes. Absolutely. My body and stupid heart craved him too much. I couldn’t walk away. I couldn’t ask him to leave when the thought of his being a thousand miles away ripped me to pieces. This wasn’t France. I was stronger now. I could handle whatever unknown awaited me on the murky horizon.

  “I want to keep seeing you too, Dr. Taylor. I don’t expect flowers and presents and all that pageantry. Dating sucks.”

  He raised his glass. “To a new beginning, minus the pageantry.”

  Though my glass was empty, I clinked it against his as a shiver of excitement skated up my neck. “To a new beginning, minus the pageantry.”

  After we finished our meal, he helped me clean up the table and I fixed coffee. Having Sangria instead of my morning caffeine was making me sleepy.

  And what we had in mind for the rest of the day definitely didn’t involve sleep. Nope. Not a wink.

  END

  Christmas with Carol

  Jennifer Conner

  Christmas With Carol

  Copyright 2011

  Jennifer Conner

  For information on the cover illustration and design, contact bookstogonow@gmail.com

  First eBook Edition –October 2011

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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  Chapter 1

  Henry Burton couldn’t believe his holiday luck. He’d never been a big believer in the ‘Spirit of Christmas,’ but maybe that was about to change. All the years of practice, all the years of Mrs. Victorleer with her bloody voice lessons and the raps across the knuckles wi
th her wooden ruler when he missed a note were about to pay off.

  He heard the door open and saw the reflection of his best friend and fellow actor come up behind him. Kevin slapped a hand hard on his shoulder. “I heard the prima donna has to go in for surgery. I couldn’t believe it! I thought they’d have to drag his cold dead body off the stage before he missed a day.”

  “That makes two of us.” Henry ran a trembling hand through his hair and then reached for the hot tea on the dressing table. This could be his break. The big chance he’d worked so hard for. “I’m going to get on stage and…”

  “Don’t even say it. You won’t forget the words or be sick. You have been Robert’s understudy for two seasons. You can sing every song backwards and forwards. You deserve this more than anyone I know.” Kevin propped a hip on the edge of the dressing table and crossed his arms. “Most understudies get to fill in for the lead on weekends. But with Robert the Great, he would rather die than have anyone perform his role. Even if it meant everything to you, it would be someone stealing the spotlight from him. He’d never put up with that.”

  Henry shrugged a shoulder.

  “There’s more to this night than just the performance.” Kevin wiggled a blond eyebrow. “You’ll get to kiss Carol in the big finale.”

  “Yeah…” Henry took another drink of tea, his throat suddenly dry. He was a thirty year old man. College educated. Women told him he was good looking. But, around Carol his brain flooded out of his head and straight to his cock. He went back to a bumbling twit in braces.

  If he could just sing to her… stupid, of course he would get to sing with her… not to her, but with her. Maybe after the show he would tell her he watched her on stage every night. Her voice was glorious, filled with emotion and passion that was reflected in her pieces. If he could only get up the nerve to ask her out on a date. There was a guy around for a few months, Rick…Dick… something like that. But, the last few months the man hadn’t been around and Carol left the theater after the show alone.