|
Getting Into The Holiday Spirit
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
© Charles Boyer 1994
May be electronically distributed as long as proper credit to the
author is maintained...
------------------------------
Getting Into The Holiday Spirit
These are the times that try men's souls, I thought, as I finally
pulled into a parking space. The mall was full, as it always is
the day after Thanksgiving. Inside, everywhere, there were
people almost literally pushing and shoving their way to the
latest bargain, one that would turn itself into a gift of love a
month's hence. The irony of this scene always gave me a chuckle,
especially the way it faithfully replayed itself each and every
year. And we were in the middle of it.
Kat and bought gifts for a couple of our friends, and when the
other wasn't looking, a couple for each other too. Finally, we
were done. As we left, Kat remarked that she was awfully tired
of turkey. "Me, too," I stated, not looking forward to a meal of
re-warmed leftovers.
Kat had another idea. "Let's have another Thanksgiving feast,"
she said, "just you and me. We'll dress up like we did at your
folks last night, and I'll make us something we'd both
like. It'll be a celebration of us." I readily agreed. Kat
asked me to visit some friends while she prepared, and then to
come to the dining room table dressed for what we both like to
refer to as a "high dinner," a French tradition for special meals.
For me, that meant semi-formal dress: a tie, jacket, dress pants;
the whole nine yards, so to speak. For Kat, it was a long black
evening gown, stylish and revealing, the pearl necklace I bought
her in the Dutch Antilles and the Kenneth Cole black leather
pumps she had bought herself earlier in the day. She was the
picture of beauty as we ate. The candlelight from the table
framed her exquisite features in a soft warm frame, making her
seem like the most luscious entree at the table.
Dinner was marvelous, smoked salmon, asparagus, corn souffle and
an exquisite wine she'd found last year in Europe. Kat had
learned her lessons well in Paris, her family had taught her how
to cook well enough to where she had been able to start her
lucrative catering business a few years back.
"Dinner was wonderful, Kat." I said, pushing my plate away.
"Would you like a cappuccino to top this off?" I started to get
up to carry the plates and leftovers to the kitchen.
"I'll make us a drink," she said, "and don't worry about the
dishes. Just relax in the living room."
"Okay," I said, with a satisfied sigh. I walked towards the
couch, relaxed by the wine. I was definitely in the holiday
spirit.
A moment later, Kat was in the room. She was only wearing sheer
black stockings and garter belt, that and the black pumps. She
was statuesque. Fleetingly I reflected that the French had voted
Catherine Deneuve the "standard" of beauty, and had even gone so
far as to commission a statue of her. Too bad they'd never seen
Kat. I started to stand to take one of the glasses from her, but
she stopped me as I attempted to leave the couch.
"Sit back." she said. In her hands she had two glasses full of a
dark liquid I couldn't make in the dim room. The fireplace sent
dancing light through the transparent liquid, but I hardly
noticed the glasses or the fire. All I could see was Kat's
fabulous body as she approached. My cock was springing to life
and when her scent arrived, it sprang to full life. Moments
later, Kat sat coyly across my legs.
"I thought you might want some dessert before coffee." she said
with an impish grin. She sat atop my legs. She looked into my
eyes, locking them into place into place with hers. She started
casually pinching the head of my cock through my slacks. Like a
determined prisoner, it had found it's way though my boxers and
was roaming free inside my pants. I felt a wetness on my thigh,
and knew that I'd have to have those pants dry-cleaned sooner
than expected. It was a fleeting thought.
"I love you." I said with all the conviction a man who means it
can muster.
"I know," she replied. "And I love you too." We both knew those
as objective facts. We'd been through nearly all of it -- no
relationship is completely charmed. But each one has those
magical moments, the ones you make metal tapes of and play in the
VCR of your memory over and over again. It was one of those
moments for us, and it was just beginning.
Kat kissed me lightly, briefly, softly. Then she leaned beside
my face and whispered in my ear, "Lie back. I want you for
dessert." With that, her tongue encircled my ear canal, teasing
me. I felt a strange sensation in my ass -- weird. I obeyed.
Kat opened my legs slightly and got herself between them. She
undid my tie, then each button on my shirt. Her nails danced
ever-so-lightly across my skin, causing goose-bumps as each nerve
strained for her touch. Then she was at my pants. First the
belt, then the hasp, then the zipper. It seemed to take forever
and it seemed to happen in an instant. My cock, now free, stood
proud and erect. Another drop of clear pre-come formed at the
tip. Kat dabbed it with a fingernail and licked in onto her
tongue.
"A vintage year, Monsieur!" she said with a sly laugh. "Perhaps
as good as the '69?" Her eyes danced like the devil on a deep
blue sea, laughing at their own joke.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Maybe the best yet, Mademoiselle," I
replied.
"Ahhh. We shall see. But then, maybe it gets better with age?
Cocktail?"
"Certainly," I replied, expecting her to hand me one of the
glasses she brought.
Instead, Kat pushed me back onto the sofa and took my cock into
her hand. She licked it up the shaft from base to tip and then
encircled it with her tongue. It felt like a pleasure-snake was
wrapping itself around me. I closed my eyes and let my cock
become my world, the only thing in my life. Kat was in control
as she took me into her mouth, the head, the shaft, slowly,
slowly, slowly down until I heard the pop as I slid into her
throat and she took me all the way. She squeezed her mouth
around my cock and started dancing her tongue to the music. I
felt my balls shrivel and my skin sensitize -- I was going to
come, and soon.
Before I could say anything, Kat released me and slid her mouth
upwards, keeping the pressure as she went. She was at the top
again, where she saw me with closed eyes and a smiling
half-glazed look on my face. She reached upwards and scratched
me lightly on my chest, enough to get me to open my eyes and look
at her. She smiled at me, holding my cock beside her mouth.
"This is mine," was all she said.
I knew it could never be anyone else's.
Again, she took me into her mouth and into her throat. For what
seemed like eternity, she kept me on the edge of orgasm. There's
a moment right before a man starts to come when his cock feels
*sweet* to him, usually just an instant before the torrent of
jism erupts from his manhood. Like a magic witch, Kat kept me in
that zone for a long time -- in fact, the length of Enigma's
first album. Every time I thought coming was imminent -- maybe
ten, eleven times, she'd take her mouth off of me and gently but
firmly pinch the head of my cock until the feeling subsided
enough for her to continue. Occasionally, she'd make a joke, or
kiss me. Then she'd start again. After a while, all I could do
was moan.
This had repeated itself when Kat announced, "I'm ready for my
cocktail now." I had no idea what she was talking about. She
reached over and took one of the glasses. I tried to do the
same, but she wouldn't let me. "Yours comes later, lover." She
kissed my hand.
The liquid was a cordial, at least it was in one of that kind of
glass. Kat took all of it as a shot and sat the glass down.
Then she took my still-hard cock into her hand and brought her
head to my small one. She pressed me onto her lips, through them
and suddenly, I felt a warm gush of liquid rushing down my prick.
It rushed onto my balls between them, even onto my anus. It felt
like fire -- a warm friendly fire. Kat's mouth was right behind,
chasing the liquid on it's journey. She kept her mouth open,
though, and was breathing hot breath onto me and the liquid.
This further warmed it, and I felt an incredible hotness. She
reached down as far as she could go, where she closed mouth for
an instant and took in a breath through her nose. Then she
started her journey back upwards, this time sucking air in. The
incredible hotness was immediately replaced by a divine coolness,
a cold like an ice cube. Again, she reversed herself, down with
the hotness... I couldn't help myself and she didn't try and stop
me. I came like never before. I felt a pulling from my toes to
my hair as my body tried to exit itself through the head of my
cock. Nothing but gush after gush of hot white semen escaped,
but indeed, a lot of that came forth. Kat sucked mightily,
trying to swallow it all, but the torrent was too much for even
her divinely skilled mouth. It escaped her lips and splashed my
balls and legs. I was out of breath, exhausted. I lay there
like a heaving hulk while Kat licked the last bit of come and
creme de menthe from my skin. She didn't leave any anywhere.
Amazingly, I grew hard again. Kat looked at my resurrected cock
and smiled. "Mmmm..." she said, reaching for it with her lips.
I pushed her away. "No, sweetness. Your turn....." I said,
seeing the remaining glass of Creme De Menthe....
TBC
--
*************************************************************
*** Time is the fire in which we all burn. -- Soran ***
*************************************************************
--
|
|
