The Christmas Truce: An Original Sinners Novella

by Tiffany Reisz

  “Just when I think I have you all figured out,” she said after the kiss, “you agree to a threesome on Christmas. Or a twosome if Kingsley dies.”

  “I won’t die,” Kingsley said. “I think. Can I have some water?”

  Nora fetched him a glass of water, which he drained and returned to her hand.

  “Merci, Maîtresse.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t die,” she said. “I might be needing your cock later.”

  “Are we sure he was serious?” Kingsley asked, moving his head to look past Nora to where Søren still stood at the fireplace, wearing an infuriatingly enigmatic expression on his face.

  “I don’t know if he was serious,” Nora said. “But I am. I’ll be upstairs waiting in bed, either to fuck or sleep.”

  She swished upstairs as only Nora could and would swish in the home of a Jesuit priest at 1:16 in the morning.

  Once alone Søren looked at him, one eyebrow slightly cocked.

  Kingsley sat back in the armchair and tried to look casual.

  “It was your idea,” Søren said.

  “I was joking, Friar Fuck.”

  “If you’re not interested,” Søren said, “we’ll sleep. Eleanor makes an excellent pillow.”

  Kingsley was up and on his feet approximately one light second later.

  “No, I’m interested. Only…you caught me a little off-guard,” Kingsley said.

  “It isn’t as if we haven’t done this together before,” Søren reminded him.

  “We haven’t been with each other in a long time. That’s all,” Kingsley said. “You and her…all the time. But the three of us? Not since before that year.”

  Yes, that year. Kingsley thought of it as “that year” or that year. Always in quotes or italics as if it were something fictional or foreign. That year he and Nora disappeared, left New York, left Søren, left each other and came back very different people than they had been before “that year.”

  “You certain you want me there?” Kingsley asked.

  “Eleanor’s quite fond of you for reasons that escape me.”

  “I didn’t ask if she wanted me there. She always wants me there,” Kingsley said, unable to resist any opportunity of poking Søren in his ego a little. “Do you?”

  Søren turned and faced the fireplace, and with the tip of his black shoe, toed the poinsettia back into place by the wood pile.

  “Who the hell is Bambi?” Kingsley asked, recalling the note on the poinsettia.

  “Me,” Søren said. “Short for ‘bambino’ since I was a ‘baby’ Jesuit when we met.”

  “Magda called you Bambi? And you let her?”

  “She saved my sanity more than once,” Søren said. “I’m not sure I would have survived seminary without her.”

  “You know, if someone just like you…” Kingsley said, “if you from the past, age nineteen, age twenty, came to me tomorrow in need, I would say to you, ‘I know who can help you—Mistress Nora.’ ”

  “You’re trying to make a point,” Søren said. “Don’t.”

  Søren sipped his wine, stared deep into the glass.

  “Magdalena never sent me a poinsettia,” Kingsley said.

  “She and I have history,” Søren said. “Like you and I. And not all of it is bad.”

  “None of our history was bad,” Kingsley said. “Not until the end, anyway.”

  “Eleanor disagrees.”

  “She’s sorry for bringing that up,” Kingsley said. “She told me tonight she was sorry.”

  “Did she?”

  Kingsley nodded. “Are you?”

  “Sorry? For what?” He sounded insulted by the very idea he could be sorry for anything.

  “Saying I’m only with her to hurt you? That isn’t fair to either of us.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  “For a man so easy, you are being incredibly difficult,” Søren said. “You’ve never required an engraved invitation to come to bed with us before.”

  Kingsley tapped his foot over that for a few seconds. “C’est vrai. Mais…it is Christmas. You want me at your threesome? Ask nicely. Gift-wrap it a little for me. Decorate it.”

  Søren plucked an ornament off the tree and hung it on Kingsley’s shirt collar, pressing the silver hook into his skin.

  “Son of a bitch!” Kingsley said, pulling the ornament—a tiny snowflake with a nasty hook—off his shirt. He touched his collarbone and a smear of blood remained on his fingers. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because that is how I decorate,” Søren said.

  “Stop flirting when I’m playing hard to get.” Kingsley hung the ornament back on the tree, bloodied hook and all. “I’m a little rattled. I saw you in your vestments. Now I’m supposed to see you fucking?”

  “I still can’t believe you went to Mass on Christmas Eve.”

  “I didn’t. I peeked in, that’s all. You were…different. Like a whole different person. It was bizarre.”

  “Bizarre? It’s been my job for fourteen years.”

  “You fucked me half to death on the floor of a forest. I’m allowed to find it bizarre when you’re standing at a pulpit talking about Jesus, wearing all white and shining like a fucking angel.”

  Søren dropped his chin to his chest. If Kingsley had to guess, he would guess Søren was counting to himself to calm down. Probably to one hundred.

  One-hundred thousand, that is.

  “Fine,” Søren said, sighing. “You win. Yes.”

  “Yes? Yes, what?” Kingsley asked.

  “Yes, I want you in bed with us. Now. Tonight. And yes, I want it to be like it used to be, though I know that’s an impossible wish. For one night, please, as a gift to me, let’s pretend that year never happened. So there it is, gift-wrapped. We can either stand here and keep fighting or go upstairs and pretend there’s not a war on for an hour or so. Your choice. Whatever you decide, please don’t blame me later when you regret it.”

  Kingsley stood in front of Søren and open a button on his black clerical shirt while Søren simply stood there, letting him do it.

  “You talked me into it, Father Stearns,” Kingsley said. “And I won’t blame you when I regret it. Because I won’t regret it.”

  Kingsley kissed Søren on his bare throat in the hollow under the Adam’s apple.

  “I am the same man in my vestments as out of them,” Søren said. “Whether I want to be or not.”

  Kingsley kissed Søren’s throat again.

  “You think we should go upstairs now?” Kingsley asked. “Our lady probably fell asleep waiting on us to make up our cocks.”

  “Our lady is probably at the top of the stairs eavesdropping on us,” Søren said.

  “Am not!” Nora yelled down.

  “She is in so much trouble,” Søren said slowly, smiling. Kingsley’s blood temperature shot up a good five degrees at the sight of that smile alone. There was nothing in the world sexier than the smile of a dominant about to destroy a submissive’s good mood.

  They walked upstairs and went straight to the bedroom where they found Nora, lounging on her back on the bed, feet propped against the headboard and naked but for a pair of red and white candy-cane striped knee socks. Kingsley put an arm around Søren’s shoulder as they both stared at Nora on the bed.

  “About time, gentlemen. I was going to start without you,” Nora said. It was perfect, the whole scene utterly parfait. Nora looked delectable in her cheeky Christmas socks, lying on her back in invitation. Søren had hung Christmas lights around his bedroom window and the room filled with their soft white glow. If Kingsley could freeze a moment and frame it, this one would hang on the wall over his bed so he could stare at it every time he fucked.

  “If Mrs. Claus looks anything like her,” Kingsley said to Søren, “it would explain why there are so many songs about Santa coming at Christmas.”

  Nora chose that moment to spread her knees apart and lift her hips in a languorous seductive stretch.

>   “It really is the most wonderful time of the year,” Søren said. He turned his head and glared at Kingsley. “Why are you still standing there? Can’t you tell she’s a little chilly?”

  “I’ll warm her up for you,” Kingsley said, slapping his hands together and rubbing them. As he walked to the bed he turned on his heel and made sure he had Søren’s eyes on him when he stripped out of his shirt. He dropped it and crawled onto the bed with Nora. He took her by the hips and dragged her to him.

  “Hello, Mr. King,” she said. “Do you like my socks?”

  “They’ll look very good on my back,” Kingsley said, dipping his head to kiss the soft smooth flesh of her stomach. Nora slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders. He found her mouth and kissed it.

  The kiss was hot and wet and deep and went straight to his head and to his cock simultaneously. He kneed Nora’s thighs wide so he could nestle between them. He pushed his erection against her, and she murmured a soft sound of pleasure into his mouth. She reached between them and even while kissing, managed to unbuckle his belt, unbutton and unzip him and then his cock was in her soft, smooth stroking hands. She rubbed the shaft, teased the tip. Fluid leaked out and she caught it on her fingers and massaged him with the wetness...without once breaking the kiss. Nothing might have broken the kiss except for her sadism. She wrapped her full hand around him and stroked upward, pulling slow and hard. As he started to moan, she bit into his bottom lip. The pleasure coupled with the pain was so intense he almost ejaculated onto her stomach.

  “Fuck...” he groaned, then laughed at his own reaction. Nora grinned wickedly up at him.

  Søren stood at the side of the bed watching them which made everything better and worse. He leaned casually against the bedpost but there was nothing casual about the hungry look in his eyes.

  “She’s not very well-behaved,” Søren said. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

  Nora opened her mouth to object, but Kingsley slapped his hand over her lips to silence her. She groaned against his palm. He’d warned her he wanted to top tonight. If she needed reminding, he’d remind her.

  Søren had opened the large steamer trunk he kept at the end of the bed, the “linen” trunk which hid all his toys of torture. He pulled out rope cuffs and a rattan cane. Kingsley almost objected to the cane. He was no angel but a cane could do a world of damage, but when Nora saw it, she smiled. Her tongue slipped through her teeth to kiss his hand. He silenced her again with a kiss on the mouth. But she kissed her way from his lips to his ear.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered. “It can be a black and blue Christmas.”

  “Children,” Søren said. “Do we have something to share with the class?”

  “Nothing,” Kingsley said.

  “We were discussing the condom situation,” Nora said, lying smoothly.

  “And what is the condom situation?” Søren asked.

  “I have condoms,” Kingsley said. “That’s the situation. Also...throw me those.” He pointed at the rope cuffs in Søren’s hand. Søren tossed them to Kingsley who caught them in the air and then, quick as a flash, he had Nora’s wrists bound to the bar of the headboard.

  He looked at her underneath him. Naked, her body smooth and pale enough that the white Christmas lights strung around the bedroom window shimmered on her skin, in her eyes. Her breasts rose and fell with her quick breaths, and her nipples, reddish pink, were already hard, hard and irresistible. Kingsley wrapped his hand under and around her left breast and lifted it roughly, sucked the nipple deeply. He was keenly aware of Søren watching his every move. He met Søren’s gaze while suckling her breast. It was nothing but eye contact. Intense, heated unbroken eye contact. He took Nora’s right breast in his hand and fondled her nipple. Curious just how closely Søren was watching, Kingsley pinched her nipple hard enough to make her flinch. Søren inhaled sharply, if quietly, at Nora’s flinching. Kingsley would have laughed if he didn’t have Nora’s beautiful nipple in his mouth.

  “Kingsley,” Søren said in a deceptively calm tone. “I think you’ve forgotten something.”

  “What’s that?” Kingsley asked, sitting up on his knees and still groping Nora.

  “You’re still dressed.”

  Kingsley left her on the bed while he slipped off to finish undressing. He stood in front of Søren and took his jeans off. The socks too. He was a firm believer only women could pull off the “naked except for socks” look successfully. Nora was proof of that. Søren only blinked once during the proceedings.

  “I’ve seen it before,” Søren reminded him as he tapped the rattan cane against his calf.

  “Seen it,” Kingsley said. “Touched it, sucked it, jacked it off while fucking me too many times to count...”

  “Hey, me too,” Nora said from the bed.

  “Is your pussy wet enough to take my cock yet?” Kingsley demanded.

  “It’s—”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s going in anyway.”

  Søren smiled his approval. Nora spent most of her twenties getting threatened with their cocks.

  Kingsley climbed onto the bed again, knelt between her thighs as he rolled on the condom. With his fingers, he pushed open her inner lips of her vulva and gazed down at the glimmering wet red flesh. Nora lifted her hips in invitation. Kingsley put the tip of his cock inside the entrance of her pussy.

  “With your permission?” Kingsley said to Søren.

  “Granted and encouraged,” Søren said.

  With that, Kingsley thrust his cock into Nora who took every inch. Kingsley grunted with pleasure as he was enveloped by her hot vagina.

  “Christ,” he muttered as she clenched around him.

  “Tried to tell you I was wet enough for your cock, Mr. King,” she said in a taunting tone.

  “You keep talking, and I’ll gag you with my socks,” Kingsley said. “Or my cock. Whichever.”

  “I have a better idea,” Søren said. He crawled onto the bed and bent over to kiss Nora. It was a deep long kiss and Kingsley watched as their tongues touched and mated. All the while, Søren still held the cane in his hand. The longer Søren went without using it on either of them, the more Kingsley became aware of it. Kingsley continued ramming his cock into Nora, but he kept his eyes on the cane. He took her breasts in his hands, held them and squeezed them as he fucked her…but he kept his eyes on the cane. He rubbed his thumbs over her hard nipples, teasing them until she moaned into Søren’s mouth...

  But he kept his eyes on the cane.

  “What are you planning to do with that?” Kingsley asked, his voice strained as he pumped into Nora.

  Søren broke the kiss and turned his head.

  “Help you,” Søren said.

  “Help me?” Kingsley smiled. “How?”

  Søren sat up and snapped the cane. He flicked it quickly enough Kingsley heard it slicing the air with a brisk hiss and flinched out of instinct. But Søren didn’t strike either of them with it. He brought it down gently on the small of Kingsley’s back.

  “Like this,” Søren said. He used the cane to prod Kingsley to thrust into Nora again. But slower this time, at Søren’s pace, not Kingsley’s. Kingsley pulled out when Søren lifted the cane an inch off his body and only thrust into Nora’s pussy again when Søren and the cane indicated he could. As he was forced to slow his thrusts, he made each one count more. Nora lifted her hips to take him as he slid into her wet hole all the way to her cervix and withdrew slowly, knowing that Søren was watching his cock enter and leave her and enter her again. Nora’s head fell back in her ecstasy and Kingsley nearly died from having his every movement controlled by the feather-light touch of the cane on his back.

  It shouldn’t have felt as erotic as it did. Just a cane tip against his hip telling him exactly when and how hard to fuck. But it worked some kind of magic on Kingsley. He felt used, like he was nothing but an object, a toy, and he was being wielded by Søren for Nora’s pleasure.

  And he fucking loved
it, Søren controlling his every move, his every breath, his cock, his orgasms, his come.

  “She’s enjoying this too much,” Søren said as he looked down at Nora. “She’s not allowed to come yet.”

  “Have you told her that?” Kingsley asked. Nora was breathing so hard and so rapidly, he doubted she could hear a word they said. He was close to coming, too, and he could barely speak. His hips were tight and his cock straining and still the cane pushed lightly against his body, mastering his every move.

  “We should probably stop before she comes,” Søren said.

  “What about me? Can I come?” Kingsley asked, and he didn’t care what Søren said. Asking him for permission to come was more arousing than any old orgasm.

  “I suppose,” Søren said.

  Søren flicked the cane again, flicked it hard, brutally hard. Flicked it out and brought it down against the back of Kingsley’s thigh.

  The pain was sudden, burning, blinding. He thought Søren had split his thigh open to the bone.

  Kingsley cried out in pain. Every nerve in his body fired at once. His back arched and he lost total control of himself. He thrust into Nora and came, the orgasm obliterating all self-awareness, all self-restraint. As he slowly returned to his senses, he was vaguely cognizant of the sound of arrogant laughter.

  “You think that’s funny,” Kingsley said as he pulled out of Nora and rolled onto his back.

  “If you were any more of a whore,” Søren said, “you would be...”

  “Me?” Nora asked. She was grinning broadly, the proverbial pussy who ate the canary. Kingsley was the canary.

  “Exactly,” Søren said and bent to kiss her on the lips again.

  “You two are going to kill me,” she said.

  “And that,” Søren said, “is why the French call ‘orgasm’ the little death.”

  “Fuck the little death,” Kingsley said. “That was almost a big death. Warn a man next time before you’re going to force him to come his brains out of his cock.”

  “My name is all the warning you should need,” Søren said.

  “He has a point there, Mr. King,” Nora said, stretching and sighing.