Message-ID: <6348eli$9712121558@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: amateurerotica.guide@miningco.com Subject: XMAS Contest: Another Christmas Carol Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <349023dd.10027488@news.zapcom.net> The following contains depictions of consensual and joyous sexual stimulation. If you are under the age of 18, US law says you shouldn't be reading this stuff. If the educational system hasn't failed you completely, you should write your congressman and ask what they expect you to do when God has bestowed upon you the physical equipment and desire for sex at age 12 and society has made illegal all dissemination of sexual knowledge to people below the age of 18. If the system has failed you completely, call your congressman and demand that they put at least as much money into education than they put into spy planes that can't fly in the rain. This story is the property of the author and requires the author's written permission for commercial use. ANOTHER CHRISTMAS CAROL "And that's all I want," she sputtered defiantly in the way that wives do when they want something just like the neighbor woman has. "Not even a Ferrari?" "God, no," she spat, crossing her arms across her chest and scowling. It's no wonder Christmas grinches are male. Harrumph. So that's why I'm here at the "Lacy Swan Boutique" pawing through undies so light I imagine them costing somewhere in the range of a grand an ounce. At this rate the Ferrari would be cheaper. But then again, who ever heard of someone striding up to a counter and demanding from some crotchety old geyser "an ounce of Italian sports car, please. Sorry, it's all I can afford." But the conversation didn't stop with the Ferrari. Oh no. As if she was making a point my piddly little brain might understand, the little lady sidled up to me close enough that I could feel her breasts softly padding against my arm and made as if she was telling a secret, "Dan bought Lisa a set and you know what? She had an orgasm right there in Chez Pannise! Can you imagine it? Between the goat cheese studded with truffles and the Creme Brulee! He was evidently checking to see if she had worn her little gift and his hand just happened to brush against her clitty and bingo! The deed was done--just like that. I guess it was her thinking about that sexy, diaphanous cloud of silk cuddling her privates that did it, or rather it probably made up for the lack of foreplay in any case." And so here I was in something called a "boutique" keeping up with the Joneses while wondering if my delightful wife was suffering from a terminal lack of foreplay. I must have looked completely daffy, muttering to myself and holding panties made from the spit of some rare Asian caterpillar up to the light to see if they were translucent enough. "You like?" The voice startled me into some involuntary muscular contortions so goofy I almost shredded the panties into crotchless models. I figured they coulda charged more. "Yeah, but she wants like a whole set. You know: bra, garter belt, seamed stockings, the works," I mumble, moving my hand languidly over my body as if by this pantomime I'd be able to show her where the damn things went. "Ah...what size?" she asks, her eyes raking my body like a set of overgrown fingernails. "I dunno." I was about to say "what are my choices?" when I realized how stupid that would have sounded. Especially to this woman, who is a real looker. Asian, maybe Japanese. Short, kinda like a little miniature doll, her skin that translucent white like china. But she's sporting rather large breasts to go with those wide hips. It's like she was this voluptuous, statuesque model at one time and they melted her down a little, and all her curves are exaggerated on account of her small size. "She is like me?" "Ah, no." "In what way? Breasts bigger?" She demonstrates by cupping one and holding it out to me. "Smaller." She crushes them with her tiny hands. They sort of ooze out the side like squished marshmallows. "Yeah, smaller. And she's tall and slender." "Ah, and big nipples I bet. Those ones always have the big nipples." she informed me. "Yeah. You guessed it." They did turn me on. Maybe I married her just to have them all to myself. So she trundles off and rings someone up on the phone. As soon as she hangs up she turns herself into a sort of whirling dervish, running around the store picking up stuff and draping it over her left arm in a pile that's getting taller and taller. Finally she walks over to me, jerks the panties outta my hand, and adds them to the top of the stack. "Christmas?" She looks at me with big, almond rocca eyes. "Yeah, a present." Of course! Jeez, you think I'd be in here if Santa and the comely neighbor Lisa hadn't brainwashed her? "Lucky girl!" she says, patting the stuff--my stuff, although I don't exactly remember selecting it. The door rattles and then there's a little ding of a bell. In sashays a tall blond. The saleslady motions her over with a quick flapping of her hand. "Carol!" she acknowledges in a sort of huff, handing the stuff to her. Carol gives her a look that could have melted the runners on Santa's sleigh and then turns and wedges herself into the dressing cubicle. The saleslady smiles condescendingly at me. "It'll be all right" her eyes are saying. Or maybe it was "get a load of this!" because at that moment the door to the cubicle swings open wildly, banging against the wall, and out walks Carol chewing a wad of gum the size of a golf ball. She's tugging at the thingy that holds the bra together in front and finally yells "damn!" and her hands jerk resignedly to her sides while the bra dangles from her sloping and defeated shoulders. Wow! Those nipples! They're swollen mahogany thumbs raised to prominence upon sacred swelling mounds, animated by frustration and heavy breathing. I can't help it--I wax poetic in the presence of monumental nipples. "We fix this up for you," says the saleslady, grabbing the mechanism and tugging a while. Then she lets it go and says to me, "She's like this, your wife?" as her tiny little hand glides over a rubbery nipple and it responds in a flash, growing and throbbing. At least I imagine it throbbing. I'm speechless. My eyes wander and I see a little tuft of golden hair through the panties. It's like an arrow. I can't help but stare. The bra latch is finally fixed and the saleslady nudges me with her hips. "You like?" Yeah. She evidently sees where I'm looking and mutters, her hand cupped over her mouth "I tell her to shave. She does it but just a little bit. Don't you think that stupid triangle left there is silly?" I do not. Aware of the bulge growing in my pants, I ask boldly, "What about access?" "What?" "I mean, she'll expect me to get my hand in there somehow." "Try." She's looking at my crotch as she motions toward the bored Carol. So there I am in front of a somewhat reluctant goddess and I'm just about to slip my hand in her pants when the saleslady comes up and jerks the waistband about a foot away from Carol's impossibly flat stomach. "Plenty of room. Try." I slip my hand in. Then further. Past the wispy triangle. I'm dizzy. My hands shake. But I'm okay when my finger begins to glide through the moist furrow, bumping past her clit to a groove of swampy slickness. She's motionless. I'm surprised. I almost fall against her. She whimpers. Or I imagine it. She hasn't moved an inch since I have begun to violate her, but now her legs wobble. She spreads her knees apart as much as she can, an invitation I accept willingly. One finger, then two. Three? I palm her clit and she leans into me, her hot breath on my ear. Amazing, this dance. "Whatever happens, don't stop, 'k?" she whispers breathily. She flattens herself against my chest; I feel her nipples, those swollen thumbs smashed against me; her heart thuds. The tip of her tongue flicks my earlobe. The reverie is broken with a harsh "Don't stretch them! Carol, don't wet!" The agitated saleslady runs behind Carol and jerks the panties down. They scrape against my knuckles, flattening my hand against Carol's wetness. As if this were her cue, Carol starts bucking wildly against my hand. Her wet lips lap my earlobe and then suddenly she clamps down and the very tip of an incisor pricks my ear. My hand can barely follow the jerky undulations of her hips until she straightens, lets out a little yelp, and goes limp against me. My ear is suddenly wet, cold. My hand is drenched. I wrench it from between her thighs so I can hold her up. It smells good. She's like a sack of cement so I clamp my hand to her bare ass and the sensation brings me back to the unlikely spot where I find myself, a boutique, (Jesus!)and I look around and the winter sun seems a single thin ray bursting reluctantly through the grimy windows, and through this murky light the melancholy glow of the bins of translucent cloth like exotic treasure is even more striking than before, it's like glittery magic, call it the magic of Christmas, and it is in the shadows of this last dimness of light that I sense a single finger meander slowly along my thigh, like a slug and the slimy trail that slows it, until it rests against that perfect spot where my pants are tented ridiculously and then I feel just there a single little twitch, a tantalizing tweak of nerve endings that sends powerful sensations coursing wildly from my cock to my brain and back again and forth and it almost hurts, the forceful spewing fountain angrily wetting my own very utilitarian underwear. I stumble against Carol. Four hands struggle to keep me upright. When my breathing turns to normal I look over at the lady holding up the panties to the fading light and testing the waistband by pulling on it repeatedly. "Shall I wrap them? You want Santa and reindeer or just plain? Plain is better." -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |