We Wish You A Naughty Christmas: A Christmas Collection

by Skye Warren

  “Ho ho ho,” I say. And I have a feeling I’m not wrong, either. “What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Samantha,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes. The blonde girl behind her bites her lower lip and ducks her head down. So shy. So sweet. So ready to be destroyed by my fucking cock.

  “What would you like for Christmas, Samantha?” I have no interest in the girl in my lap, but I humor her.

  She scoots her bony ass a little closer to my groin and I let her—because again, job description and all—and whispers in my ear: “I want to fuck that hot mechanic who works on Ray’s Auto Repair on Main. Think you can help me out with that?”

  “Think you’re pretty fucking illegal,” I whisper back, my breath coming out hot and short. I’m only twenty-four, so it’s not that big a deal, but I’m not even thinking about fucking her. I’m thinking about her blonde friend, who looks like an angel up-close.

  “I’ll be legal in two weeks. All my other friends have already turned eighteen,” she waves around us in frustration, toward her three remaining friends. Interesting. “My age doesn’t mean shit.”

  “It does to me. Next.”

  “But…”

  “Simple English, doll. Move your ass.”

  “I’m the last person in line!” She protests.

  “I don’t think so. Pretty sure Goldilocks right here has something to ask for, too,” I wink at her playfully—and why do I have to wear a stupid Santa costume, a huge white beard and a pot belly of fucking Buddha when I’m trying to seduce the hottest girl I’ve ever met?

  Goldilocks blushes so hard that I expect her cheeks to catch fire, and it makes my cock ache for her even more. She is obviously innocent. Inexperienced. And I could change that. Damn, I’d do anything to change that.

  “Everleigh? Oh, no. She doesn’t do bad boys.” Samantha flips her dark hair onto one shoulder and laughs nervously. Awkwardly. It’s always sad when the guy wants the friend, I guess. And I’m the bastard who is heartless enough to act on it, too.

  “I’m not a bad boy. I’m just a nice, old man,” I pat my fake belly and stare at Everleigh hard, and holy shit she looks like I just licked the length of her and bit her clit goodbye before driving into her tight little cunt. Yeah. That affected. So why do I get the feeling this is going to be anything but easy?

  “C’mon now, Everleigh,” I lure her with my index finger, brushing my lap. She stares at my calloused hands and I can tell she’s wondering what I can do with them. “Come tell Santa what you want for Christmas. Have you been a good girl this year?”

  She moves gingerly. Timidly. Like a girl who doesn’t want to make a mistake. And oh, what a mistake she is about to make. Such a good girl. I see it in her posture. The way her shoulders are square and determined, her back is straight and her ass doesn’t sway more than necessary. Her smile, prim and proper, though embarrassed, tells me that she is hesitating. She wants to, but doesn’t want to be slapped with a crippling label. I’m having none of this bullshit.

  “Everleigh, I don’t bite,” I flash a wolfish smile. Another lie I’m willing to spit out without blinking. I love biting. Biting is fun. It’s five past six and my shift is officially over. I spot Tiff walking from depths of her office space at the mall toward me and she doesn’t look impressed. Thankfully, Everleigh parks her ass on my leg. Finally.

  She’s perfect. The way her hair smells of coconut and vanilla and the way she shifts uncomfortably, so light and small. I can’t wait to have that body tortured above me as I lick her pussy dry. And now that I know that she’s over eighteen, it’s on. It’s so, fucking on.

  “Or have you been naughty?” I whisper into the shell of her ear, and fuck if it’s inappropriate. I don’t care if I lose my job just as long as I get out of here tonight with her phone number. “Tell me what you want for Christmas and Santa will make it happen, baby.”

  I watch Tiff from my peripheral. She runs with her impossible leopard heels toward us, her face lobster-red. And me, I’m running out of time with Everleigh. She needs to tell me now. But all she does is breathe too heavily and blink too slowly and fuck, what have I done, throwing away this perfectly good job for a girl who tagged along with her friend? Her friend is the one who wants to fuck me. I see it in the way Samantha now stares at Everleigh with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised, like she’s trash.

  “I want what Sammy wants,” she finally whispers back, her stare hard on her clenched-shut thighs. My throat bobs. It takes me a minute to get what she means. She wants to fuck me too? Yeah, she does. She just doesn’t want to admit it. And she’s definitely too classy to be blunt about it.

  “You wanna fuck Damien Ray of Ray’s Auto Repairs?” My voice is low and gruff in her ear, and she shudders in pleasure.

  Oh, baby, I wanna tell her. This is just the beginning.

  It’s her turn to swallow loudly.

  “I…ah…I like him.”

  You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. But you’re about to. You two are about to get pretty damn personal.

  Tiff is three feet from us now. I need to act fast. These girls obviously knew that I worked here as Santa and wanted to taunt me. But I’m going to taunt Eveleigh right back until I get her where I want her. On my fucking face, riding me like a cowgirl.

  But Tiff is too close for me to ask for Everleigh’s number, and again, I have to improvise. So I slip my hand into Everleigh’s jeans pocket and whisper in her ear. “Come in to the auto shop tomorrow to get your phone back. He’ll be waiting for you,” and smack her ass lightly to tell her it’s okay to get up and leave.

  And she leaves, biting her lip to hide her grin. So fucking innocent.

  Tiffany fires me.

  But it’s worth it.

  Because Christmas is coming early, this year. Tomorrow, I’m going to make Everleigh mine.

  Chapter 2

  The next day I’m doing a paint job for a Camaro I used to race with at the tracks. Belongs to a high school friend of mine. I’m in a good mood, whistling to a Rolling Stones tune blasting from the broken stereo in my office. My hands are dirty and my tan face is smeared with black oil but I know it will only make her want me more. I want my dirty fingernails to stain her clean panties and I want to mark her pussy with them when I finger the shit out of her.

  Her panties might come clean in the wash, but she’ll still be tainted…because I’m the kind of dirty that doesn’t wash off.

  I did some detective work after I got home last night. I went through Everleigh’s iPhone and read her text messages – all of them to her girlfriends or mom. Then I scrolled through her pictures. She was fully dressed and smiling in all of them. Even the selfies. Sometimes with braids that just served as a reminder to how innocent she really was, and never with anything more revealing than a tank top. No boys anywhere, though I deleted the names of dudes I saw in her contact numbers. She won’t be needing them anymore. Unless it’s her dad. She gets a free pass to keep in contact with her dad, because I’m nice like that.

  I wonder when she’ll come, what she’ll wear, but there’s one thing I know for sure. She’s coming. I have her phone. I’m the guy in her fantasy. She is coming today, alright. And in more ways than one.

  “Damien!” I hear Kline yelling at me from the front. I’m working at the depth of the shop, near my office, so I can listen to my music and so I don’t twist my head to look for her every two seconds, checking if she’s here, like some kind of a creep. This has never happened to be before. I’ve never been that guy. Sure, I fell in lust before. But Everleigh…goddamn, Everleigh is perfect. She looks so sweet and naïve without being prudish.

  And the way she felt sitting on my lap…it’s like our bodies were made for one another.

  I lift my head from the Camaro and grab a filthy towel, wiping my hands with it.

  “You got a visitor.”

  “Is it Bev?” Beverly is my ex-girlfriend. We broke up a month ago, and I’ve been avoiding her since. She was a part of wh
y I’m now broke now. Bev liked to party hard, and I kind of didn’t care enough to intervene, until it was too late. She was a part-time stripper and a full-time coke addict. Shit like that adds up. She likes to show up when I’m working sometimes, because I don’t take her calls anymore.

  “Not Bev. Some girl who looks like she ran away from Little House on The Prairie. Shy little thing,” Kline puts one hand on his waist and licks his lips when he thinks about her. He’s about to get his tongue cut off if he continues this line of thought.

  “Blonde?” I ask. I wanna make sure before my half-mast turns into a raging hard-on. Kline nods.

  “Hair real light and fine, like a baby’s.”

  I flinch, wishing he hadn’t said that. She’s too young for me as it is. I throw the dirty little towel on the hood of the Camaro and walk to the entryway without sparing my partner another glance.

  And there she is. The woman I got fired for. She reminds me that she’s worth it, and I feel my heart banging hard against my rib cage. She is wearing a long, plain black dress and a big wool coat. Gray. Unbuttoned. Her cheeks are pink with the cold and adrenaline and her white-blonde hair falls across her face, escaping a gray beanie. She could be a model. A high-end one, not the kind that ends up in the local newspapers wearing lingerie and swimming suits to pay the bills. Her beauty stirs something in me, something I don’t think Bev or Tiff or anyone else ever had any access to, really, and I find myself punching the back of my neck when I rub it and smile as I approach her. Even if we are going to fuck—correction, when we’re going to fuck—it is going to be just that. Fucking. Girls like her don’t marry guys like me.

  And guys like me don’t marry, period.

  “Merry Christmas,” her voice is whispery and husky. Mature for her small frame and youthful glow. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “I’d have left your phone at the reception if I didn’t wanna see you,” I say, leaning forward and kissing her cheek shamelessly. She gasps audibly and I suppress a chuckle. Then we stand in front of each other for another full minute, just drinking the other person in thirstily.

  “Mr. Sandman” by The Chordettes slips from an old radio station our receptionist, Barbara, keeps on all day and everything around us smells like car oil, burnt rubber of car tires and stale pastries. And it’s perfect. I like it just fine; I don’t want the moment to end.

  “Are you a senior in high school?”

  She nods too eagerly. “Yeah. I…I brought you a little present,” she surprises me again by reaching her pocket and retrieving something small. A box. Square and simple. I stare at it, perplexed.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” That’s an understatement. Now I feel like a dick for not getting her anything, but we barely know each other’s names. Everleigh blushes hard again, too hard, and shakes her head. “No. You don’t get it. Do you think…you can open that somewhere more private?”

  I nod and jerk my head toward my office. We walk there silently. That’s good. I need to process everything that’s happening, because I’ve a feeling the hunter has just become the prey. And I like that. I like that a lot.

  I close my office and lock the door, but she doesn’t even flinch. Little House on The Prairie my ass. This girl knows exactly what she’s doing. She takes a seat in front of my desk, so I take a seat on my executive chair and roll it forward. Both our elbows are on my desk. We’re close. I feel her warm breath fanning across her face. I see her breasts rise and fall to the rhythm of her quick heartbeats, even through all the thick fabric of her clothes. It’s a good thing she can’t see how scary looking my cock probably is right now. Purple, swollen and full of blood, saluting just for her.

  “Open your gift first, please. Then, I’ll get my phone.” Her tone is business-like. I open the box and see one condom inside. Simple. Well-known label. That’s it. I don’t say a word, but my whole body responds to this gift in a way I’m not accustomed to. It’s like she set me up in fucking flames.

  “My gift to you this Christmas is my virginity.”

  “I’m not taking your virginity. Not like this,” I hear myself saying and want to fucking kill myself for it. Since when, exactly, am I a good guy? I fucked a lot of virgins. A ton of them. They were always willing and happy to lose their V-cards to me, and I never had an issue with deflowering them, with taking their innocence. But for some reason, I don’t want Everleigh to look back at me and feel regret. I still wanna fuck her brains out, but maybe I could take her for a dinner or two beforehand? I know I have nothing to offer a good girl like her other than a good fuck. But for some reason, I still want to make it special for her.

  “It’s more a gift for myself, really,” she cups my hand with hers. She is so tiny. I’m so big. I’d annihilate her.

  “I study hard all week. I pick up shifts at the local diner, Lou’s, whenever I can to help my mom pay the bills. Believe me when I say that I’m a good, sensible girl. Driven by logic. My only vice, if you can even call it that, is going to the tracks every weekend when it’s open. I put money on races. When you drive, I always put my money on you,” her voice is so small but so determined, my balls are about to explode under the desk. Fuck, she’s sexy. Now I see how she and her friends noticed me too. I would have remembered if they walked into the shop. “I watch you, Damien. I watch you all the time. We all do, but I feel like I want all of you, and just you. I don’t just want any guy who shows me a bit of attention. That’s the difference between Samantha and I. Samantha has a lot of boys on her mind. I have one…and it’s you. After I get back from the track, whether you won or lost, I always have to slip into the bathroom in the middle of the night and hand wash my panties because I don’t want my mom see what you’ve done to me. Then I go to bed with nothing but a t-shirt and touch myself all night long. But it’s never enough. Even when I push my fingers all the way in,” her voice turns into little pants, and fuck if I don’t pant with her. She masturbates and thinks of me, while I’m only a few miles away, happy to give her the real thing. “They’re not as big as your fingers. They’re not rough like you. I don’t have much of an imagination, Damien. I need you to give me the real thing. To make you my reality, even if just for one day. Please?”

  I hear her chair scrape back and she flips her long black dress to her lap, opening her thighs slowly. Painfully slow. My eyes drag down and land on her pussy. Natural, unshaved and unwaxed. Virginal, and glistening with her need for me. She bites her lower lip, looking up at me through thick lashes.

  “When do you get your lunch break?” Her voice is begging.

  “I have no fucking clue, but I’m going to have my meal right now,” I get up from my chair. This is insane. The kind of shit you read about in Penthouse magazine, not reality. But it’s happening to me right now, and what do you know? Maybe Santa really does exist.

  I cross the room in two giant strides, and drop to my knees in front of her with a thud.

  “Scoot to the edge of your seat, Everleigh,” I ask. My voice is thick and strained. So is my cock. I feel the dampness of my pre-cum rubbing against my erection. She does as she’s told, her shoulders easing back and her coat falling from her body. So graceful. So lovely.

  “How far can you open your legs, Everleigh?”

  She clears her throat, opening her legs wider. More pink peeks at me shyly, and I can’t take it anymore. I must taste her. I duck my head between her legs and dart my tongue out, flicking it along her slit just to get an idea of what she’s like. She’s sweet and she’s soaked. Fuck, I’m going to have fun with this one. I press each of my thumbs against the corners of her pussy lips and open her wider for me, until she looks like velvet. I find her shy little clit too, peeking from between the folds and I smile at it.

  “Are you sure you wanna do this, Everleigh? This is not the type of shit I want you to regret. Normally I wouldn’t care, but you’re a sweet kid.”

  “I’ve never been so sure in my life,” she says. And that’s all the confirmation I need.

&n
bsp; I start out by kissing her right inner thigh, building that pressure, teasing her. I kiss her thigh like I’m kissing her mouth, with tongue and everything. Occasionally, I lick the corner of her pussy but never touch where she needs it most, her moans growing more desperate. Then I move to the other thigh. I don’t dare even think of that pussy until the first drop of her juices hits the metal chair she’s sitting on. Then another drop. Then it leaks to the floor and I know she’s ready to smother my face with her pussy.

  I drag my tongue from the bottom of her pussy, near her asshole, all the way to her clit. Then I open her wider with my thumbs and nibble on her pussy, giving her wet kisses and soft, teasing bites and feeling her thighs shaking uncontrollably against my head. Her white-knuckle grip on her metal chair almost makes me laugh. If it wasn’t for my own desperation for her, I probably would’ve. I slide one finger into her tight cunt as my lips close in on her clit and I suck it hard, dragging it deeper into my mouth. She lets go of the chair, grabs my wavy brown hair and drags me deeper between her thighs, practically roaring. “YES! Please, Damien, please!”

  I bite her clit a little harder than I intended in an effort to shut her up. “Don’t tell me what to do, Everleigh. Sit back and enjoy. I’m the teacher. You’re the student.”

  Her first orgasm comes the way I wanted it to. In intoxicating waves.

  Boom.

  I feel her rocking desperately against my head. Back and forth, back and forth. And when the orgasm starts to subdue, I push two more fingers at once and frantically circle my tongue around her clit again.

  Boom.

  She yells again and boy, for a good girl, her screams are pretty loud. Her whole body turns to jelly and when she is coming down from another high, I fly her back up to heaven with a third orgasm that rips through her like fire.