It had been a long day. Paul had gone to bed, and I was sitting on the sofa in my dressing gown, drinking another sherry. I wasn’t entirely sure how many I had drunk, but there was a distinct sway to the room. We had been and collected the turkey, and that was all prepped in the oven, ready to cook in the morning. We had peeled potatoes, scraped parsnips and carrots, shelled sprouts, and made stuffing balls.
The table was laid, crackers put around, and seats all decorated with Christmas covers. I had put some chocolate decorations on the tree, and after one last look around, I had decided enough was enough. Everything was ready; there was nothing more to do. I would shower early and then get the turkey cooked. Dinner was set for 2pm, with arrivals from 12.30 for champagne and canapés.
Paul, bless him, was shattered and had thrown in the towel at about 10 and had gone up to bed. I was worn out but buzzing. I had gone up with him and changed into my dressing gown so that I wouldn’t disturb Paul when I finally went to bed. I wasn’t quite ready for bed, and so I had a glass, or two, of sherry. It was now approaching midnight, and I was still on the sherry. I supposed I ought to head on up to bed; it was going to be a busy day tomorrow.
Something caught my ear; it sounded like bells, the sort Morris dancers wear, jingling somewhere. ‘There must be someone coming home late from a party,’ I decided. The bells jangled again, and then I heard what sounded like hooves. Oh, for goodness sake, Mica, get a grip.
“Someone has been a naughty girl,” said a voice, dark and deep.
“What?” I called out, and my eyes focused on a large man dressed in red on the other side of my room.
“Who are you, and how did you get into my lounge?” I asked, almost afraid to get up and confront him, but the sherry had given me a sense of bravado. I put my sherry down on my side table and started to get up.
“Oh yes,” the voice continued, “a deliciously naughty girl.”
I stayed seated. “What do you mean, naughty?”
He began to unbuckle a belt that went around his red coat, his fingers slowly removing the tines on the buckle and then slipping the belt through the loops. Rolling the belt into a circle, he placed it on the side table.
“Oh, where to begin. Your neighbour. Jill, that is a good start.”
Jill, yes, that had been fun. She had asked me to shave her pubes, and I had managed to get her off, and we ended up in bed. ‘”Yes, that had been fun,” I said with a smile.
“And then, you completed the set by fucking her husband.”
Ah, yes, Jim. Now he had been fun too, with a nice-sized dick that he had demonstrated a skill in using. My fanny tingled at the memory. My visitor was now undoing the large buttons down the front of his coat. Apart, it revealed a chest adorned with fluffy white hair, matching that of his beard.
“And,” he continued, “your son, Mikhael, fast asleep upstairs, his sock filled and his nose draped in a pair of your used knickers. You fucked and fucked and fucked him.”
Well, yes, I did. It sort of happened one day, and then again, and then with some of his friends, and now with Mik almost every time his dad goes to play golf.
The visitor sat down on the chair beside him and pulled off his long black boots, placing them at the side of his chair.
“And then your father-in-law, you fucked him several times.”
Yes, Phil. I had gone around to check on him while Paul was away in London on business. I somehow managed to touch his dick accidentally, and we ended up fucking. It seemed only right to go back again. Phil was quite accomplished. I grinned at the memory; my fanny was remembering too, and I was quite wet.
“I compile a list, you know, of those that have been naughty.”
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
“Why, to know who it is worth visiting, of course. I do love the naughty ones.”
He stood up again and undid a belt around his waist, and his trousers dropped a little. He wound the belt up into a circle and added it to the table, along with the belt from his jacket. He pushed his trousers down, and they fell in a puddle on the floor. He was quite naked, sporting a large-looking erection and a pair of balls that seemed to have tinsel on them.
He walked toward me, and for some reason, I found myself standing up. I undid the sash on my dressing gown, and it slipped off my shoulders, falling to the floor. I was standing naked in front of a large naked man in my lounge, while my husband and my son lay sleeping upstairs.
“Turn around, Mica,” his dark yet silky voice commanded, “and rest your hands on the couch.”
Compelled, I did as I was instructed and felt him approach me, his dick rubbing between my buttocks. A shuffle, and his dick was sliding over my fourchette and along my wet valley. A jiggle, a movement, and he was at my entrance. I pushed back, he pushed forward, and his dick was penetrating me, stretching my fanny walls apart. Slowly he pushed; it felt never-ending, his dick filling me, taking an age. Surely, I wasn’t that deep?
It felt like he was splitting my lungs; I had never been so consumed. I was filled, his glans pressing hard at my depth, my walls stretched wide apart. He eased back, and I gasped, my fanny voided, empty. He slid forward, his foreskin rolling down his huge shaft, his rim scraping my fanny walls, his glans riding my lubrication. I was full again, with no more room in my fanny and a pulse ticking deep within me. I took a deep breath.
He pulled back quickly and then slammed into me; my fanny quivered, an earthquake rolled through my body, his dick pressed my lungs, and I gasped loudly. Never had I been so thoroughly fucked. He was pumping in and out of my body faster than any man before. My fanny was stretching and constricting, his glans scraping my insides, and my gasps echoed around the room.
Rivers of pleasure coursed through me, flowing like mountain rivers in flood, fast and turbulent. My pressures strained and stretched me; electricity fizzed in my groin. His belly slapped hard against my buttocks, the crack sounding like a whip, my gasps adding to the symphony. His thrusting had my elbows flexing as he rocked me back and forth, shagging, fucking, rutting.
Somewhere a bell jingled, a hoof scraped, and a reindeer grunted, and antlers clattered. My fanny squeezed, but his dick held firm, his penetration deep and strong. I could hardly think; my body was writhing as my pleasures overcame any wonder at what was happening.
“Such…” he thrust, “a naughty…” another thrust, “girl,” was his mantra as he shagged me hard. My pressure burst, my body tightened and my lungs emptied with a scream. My orgasm exploded, erupting through my body as the man with the white beard pumped my fanny full of spunk.
“I hope you left carrots,” he said as his dick slipped from my fanny.
“What? Why?” I gasped.
“She gets upset if you don’t. She is already annoyed at being given a boy’s name.”
“Who?”
“Rudolph, she does like a carrot.”
“I haven’t got any left,” I gasped as I began to regain my composure.
“Oh, there’s some in the kitchen; they’ll do.”
How in the hell was I supposed to explain missing carrots?
