The Twelve Hot Days of Christmas Page 13

  The second blow came as soon as I had relaxed, sending another wave of pain into my flesh. Master Stephen wrapped his arms around my thighs, eager to swallow as much of me as possible. With the third strike, the pain melted away. Ecstasy. I had reached its threshold. On the fourth strike, I crossed it and entered into lust-soaked bliss.

  I lost count of the swats after that. My only awareness rested in the mouth around my cock and a blazing desire for a blistered ass. Jack kept at me, pacing every move to keep me hanging in the limbo of bliss. He barked at me to fuck the face beneath me, then bellowed me to a halt when I neared orgasm. He commanded me to beg for cock—anyone’s cock; yes, I’d take any cock, as many as he wanted—then laughed as he denied me. All the while, the paddle rained blow after blow upon the now-burning skin of my ass.

  I squirmed in the delights of this agony, never certain I could take more, never sure I wanted it to end. But end it did, with a blow so mighty that it forced tears into my eyes.

  Jack laughed as he stepped away, fully aware of where that last blow took me.

  “Master Franklin, why don’t you sheath up and punish this naughty boy’s ass from the inside?”

  I shuddered at the request. Jack’s verbal blows took me places, too, it seemed. I glanced over at burly Frank. His leer told me said he’d been sitting there, stroking his rock-hard dick, just waiting for Jack’s order. He placed the edge of a condom between his teeth and tore the wrapping open as he ripped it out of his mouth, never letting go of the weapon he’d primed between his legs. He spit the foil onto the floor, rolled the condom and squirted lube onto it without letting go. By the time Frank swaggered up to me, I wanted his cock with every fiber of my soul.

  God, he was one hot bully. He could beat me up and steal my lunch money any day.

  The tip of his cock stirred a moan from deep inside of me as it pressed its way into my tight outer ring. That moan escalated into a wailing cry as Franklin grabbed my red-hot ass with both hands. Pain came to life, bellowing against this intrusion like a sleeping dog provoked. But I loved it. I took every screaming inch of the dick and let it fuck me. I relished the sharp dig of fingernails in my searing flesh. I loved it all.

  Jack watched our three-way, pleased with the work of wanton beauty he had orchestrated. Sensing his satisfaction, I wanted to give him a good show. I fucked Master Stephen’s mouth, eager to unload myself I pushed against Master Franklin’s cock, urging him to rough me up and drive farther and deeper into me. I moaned and writhed, ripe for climax. And I wanted to give it all to Jack.

  But Jack, without once breaking his stern gaze, picked up my jizz-soaked cracker, shoved it into my mouth, and turned his back on me. He left, abandoning me just as the pinnacle approached. Stunned, I wanted to call after him, but my mouth was filled with the spoils of my first orgasm. Master Stephen grabbed my balls. Master Franklin spread my ass cheeks wide. Overwhelmed, I came. Ecstasy spilled out of me in clenching spurts.

  My climax started a chain reaction. Frank shoved his dick deep into me and bucked his way through orgasm, grunting with every thrust. Come splattered my legs—Master Stephen. He must’ve been jerking off the entire time.

  And Jack missed every bit of it. I swallowed the cracker.

  * * * *

  Afterwards I sat outside on the steps, my backpack nestled between my legs, waiting for Michael. Jack didn’t need my orgasm to validate his dominance, I realized. He probably got off more by leaving me dangling one last time. It made for a hot scene, but it left me aching. I needed soothing. I needed Michael.

  With nothing more to do than wait, I opened the backpack and peeked inside. Books—paperbacks. I pulled them out one at a time to discover Michael had weighed it down with all kinds of schoolboy pornography. Frat House Studs. Plebes and Paddles. Prep School Perverts. Professor Nutbuster.

  Jeez, Michael had thought of everything. When he pulled up, I climbed into the car, onto him, and covered him in grateful kisses.

  * * * *

  Mornings later, I woke, Michael next me, angelic in slumber. Flat on his stomach, he slept with his arms crooked under his pillow, his head towards me. A beauty, his hair was cropped too short to greet me with sexy bed hair, but he always rose perfectly sculpted in lean, sinewy proportions. I drew a finger along his bicep, tracing its contours, swelling with love.

  Michael flickered awake at my touch, a deep breath bringing him to life. He stretched in place and smiled.

  “Morning,” he whispered.

  Overwhelmed with love, I said nothing. I gathered him into my arms, drew his body against mine, and kissed him. His lips met mine, soft and cushioned, his tongue following mine, following my lead like a perfect partner dancing. I caressed my way down his back to his ass and pulled his pelvis hard against mine. Our cocks mingled, things aroused by love but not yet hard with lust.

  My hand on his ass, I ground my hips against Michael, my cock beckoning his. Love made me want him. But Michael broke our kiss and pulled back, his back arched and inviting. I trailed kisses down his neck and onto his chest, aiming to reach one of his taut, tiny nipples.

  “No,” Michael interrupted, his hands pushing me away.

  “No? Oh, come on, baby,” I pleaded. He was too gorgeous to let go of.

  “You’ve got to save it.”

  “Save what.”

  Michael pointed to my throbbing cock. “That.”

  I stared at him in disbelief, ready to protest.

  But he shook his head and claimed, “Three down, seven to go.” Again, that wicked smile from days ago appeared. “Hope you have the stamina for it.”

  Slapping my ass, he rolled out of bed and bounced away into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. I groaned, painfully thwarted, but when I heard the shower start, I followed, hoping I could catch him lathering up.

  Except the door was locked. No way around it. I wasn’t going to get any, that he’d made sure of. My cock, valiant just moments before, wilted in sorry rejection. I stood at the door, hang-dog dejected and pitiful, waiting for Michael and his promise of what was to come.

  * * * *

  Michael pulled up outside of the Meathook, our lone leather club, well before the bar’s official hours of business. Mystified, I opened my mouth to question, but he stopped me. “Private rental.” My perplexity thawed into adoration. Like I said, Michael was the gift that kept on giving.

  Inside, he ordered me to strip and stash my clothes in a locker. Naked except for my boots, I was about to ask “what now?” when someone stepped up from behind and wrestled me into a rough embrace. A Spandex hood slipped over my head, its ply thick enough that I saw nothing. My captor stepped back.

  “Welcome back, boy.” The voice was muffled, but I recognized its gruff, scratchy tenor: Aidan, the only man whom I had ever called master. Astonished, I reached out, eager to touch him. My hand landed on his chest and was met with a pleasant chuckle.

  “Glad to see you, too, boy. It’s been a long time. But certain matters need attending.”

  A collar encircled my neck. A leash clicked into place. I shivered, staggered to return at last to Adian’s hand, and I followed the tug of the leash as if born to it.

  Voices met us in the large area that constituted the club’s play space. Vaguely, I recognized them.

  “Let’s get this open,” Aidan called. “I’ll need your help getting him mounted.”

  “Sure enough.”

  “Can’t wait!”

  Oh yes, I recognized them all right. Bruce and Andrew.

  “Let me get this latch,” came a third voice. Oh, cripes—Caleb! I was being given over to a trio of rugby players, hooligans every one of them!

  “Look, he knows. He knows who’s going to dish it out!”

  Robert, too?

  “Serves him right, not showing up to any of our games.”

  And Simon!

  “Some fan he is.”

  Five guys, every one of them an out-and-out bear. I was pumped.

  I was led up
three steps and guided into a pillory. I remembered the contraption from previous visits, a massive wooden wall of solid oak that held its victims in an incredibly strenuous position. You didn’t kneel at this pillory; you sat in it, held in place by hands, knees, and head, with your ass hanging three feet off the ground. You were flesh waiting for punishment and damn if I wasn’t finally its penitent.

  It took some angling to set me up, but once the boards were locked in place and the steps were pushed out of the way, Aidan gave me over.

  “Have at him, men,” Aidan commanded. “And do it fast. He won’t be able to hold that position long.”

  The group laughed. Bruce said something about a scrum. One of them manhandled my dangling cock and balls. God, I felt vulnerable. Propped in place by my limbs, my ass hung lower than the rest of my body. My cheeks felt so stretched, I could feel the air against my crack. I knew that every one of them could see my hole.

  Someone readied me with lube. Fingers intruded, two, then three, slicking my fuck shaft. I gasped when they voided me.

  “You want it, don’t you?” Caleb challenged. I nodded, moaned, then begged outright when the tip of his cock began to tease my hole.

  “Please, yes! Oh, please!” The hood magnified my voice. Its sound rattled in my head like headphones turned up far too loud.

  Caleb breeched me. My hole burned as it stretched to take his rubber-covered log of a cock. He held me by the ass cheeks, working his cock slowly until I took the length of him without resistance. Increasing his pace, he savored fucking me, moaning every time he pulled back. My tight hole was ecstasy to him.

  Bruce barked at him to step off and stop hogging “the little fuck toy.” I quivered as one cock left me and another took its place. Unlike Caleb, Bruce was a pig. Like a glutton at a table of food, he fucked me as if every thrust might be his last bite.

  Until Andrew, the bear, claimed a turn and slid his delicious cock into me. All muscle and fur, he was a connoisseur and, like Caleb, he relished every thrust.

  By the time Robert and Simon completed the first round, I was oblivious to who had had me at any one time. One after another they plundered me, round-robin fuckers all. The pace increased and became ferocious. All finesse vanished. Men became ramming, rutting beasts and, hanging there, my limbs grew weak, I struggled to continue.

  “Enough!” Aidan commanded.

  Whatever cock had me slipped reluctantly out. Spent and numb, I didn’t know whose it was until I heard Bruce mutter obscenely in my ear.

  Without a cock propping me up, without a body against me, I sagged. Suddenly, I shook, my body too weak for the stocks.

  “Hold him!”

  Arms steadied me. “I gotcha.” Bruce. I collapsed against him.

  Aidan and the others worked like a pit crew, unlatching the pillory, returning the steps beneath me, and spotting me as Bruce carefully dragged me from the stocks. However piggish his fuck, thankfully his rescue was tender and attentive. Under Aidan’s guidance, Bruce helped me onto a padded table. Gathered around me, everyone cuffed me into place, legs spread, arms at the side of the table. This would be my next trial.

  Three plus five makes eight, I thought. And Aidan will make nine. There were ten lords a’ leaping. Despite the blindfold, the homestretch was in sight, I wondered who Michael would save for the last.

  * * * *

  Fingers brushed my nipples. Light caresses teased, then squeezed. Toying with me, Aidan spoke.

  “You did well. Impressive.”

  Other voices faded, left. It was just Aidan and me now.

  “You’ve become quite the bottom since our time together.”

  Bottom, yes. But submissive only once, to one man alone. Aidan, fifteen years my senior but all knowing and all commanding, immortal to me.

  “Michael tells me you’ve been a stern and commanding husband,” he continued. “Now, did I train you for that?”

  I sighed. “No sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  Aidan chuckled. “Of course you are. That’s why it would do no good to punish you for it.”

  He pinched my nipples just to prove it. I moaned loudly.

  “Instead, we’re going to have to work it out of you.”

  He grabbed my half-hard cock by the head and squeezed it. Hard. I lurched and cried out.

  “But we’re not talking some namby-pamby massage, you know. No, we’re talking something just a tad rougher than a happy ending.”

  Aidan abruptly slapped the length of my cock. Again, I lurched. But this time, my cock swelled to attention.

  “Yeah, you need it rough all right.”

  Aidan grabbed my sack. His fingers circled where it met the base of my cock. He tugged until he had enough room to wind a length of string around it. His touch felt so deft, so familiar, so expert. I had to remind myself we hadn’t played together in years. If I could only see his face.

  But it was Michael’s visage that came to me instead. My beautiful Michael. Love flooded me.

  The string held me tight, its pressure a delicious sweet spot between my balls and my cock. My dick bobbed, eager for more. And recovered from its exertion, my body came alive, ready to soak up every sensation. I felt destined for bliss.

  A pinch, right at the base of my cock. Another one, right above it. I knew that sensation—clothespins! But tiny plastic ones that, unlike their nibbling wooden counterparts, bit like black flies in springtime. Each bite burned, then left throbbing pain in its wake.

  Bliss would have to wait.

  Aidan covered my cock in those nasty little things, lining them up in columns that covered the length of my hard, pulsating meat. Pain became delectable. Pervert nirvana—I had crossed that threshold yet again.

  When the last clothespin had found its spot, something tickled me. The ends of string. But not the string around my balls. A zipper. Aidan had my cock in a zipper. The clothespins were connected to a length of string and he was going to pull them from my dick!

  I whimpered, giving Aidan cause to laugh at me.

  “So you know the pickle you’re in! You always were a perceptive lad.”

  I felt his fingers toy with the ends of the string. Panic rose in me; I wanted to beg him not to do it. No, please! Please, don’t! But he had been my master. Did I want to disgrace myself? No.

  I took a deep breath. I braced myself.

  And screamed through my hood as the clothespins ripped from my cock one by one.

  It felt like an eternity, but I knew pulling a zipper was a lot it was like ripping off adhesive strip: it was over in blink. It took mere seconds for outright pain to dull into a sweet throbbing sensation.

  But Aidan wasn’t done with me yet. A thwack sounded and small stinging tresses kissed my cock, wrenching me from euphoria. A flogger specifically designed for the nether regions was now Aidan’s weapon of choice and he lavished it upon me, lashing my dick until I cried out.

  He stopped, letting me rest. But the moment my heaving breaths slowed and my whimpers faded, he resumed his assault. Three times he pushed me and three times he made scream. But all extreme things must come to an end, and soon the flogger had finished its task.

  Spent, I went limp. Exhausted, I thought I could take no more.

  But hands jolted me alert. My cock, lube. Someone climbed onto the table, straddled me, and hovered over me.

  Aidan? Never. He had always taken me from behind.

  “Master?” I asked.

  Hands gripped my head. Someone behind me, at the head of the table. A kiss came to rest on my forehead.

  “Not your master,” Aidan answered.

  He rolled the hood from my head as the body above me sank onto my burning cock. Sight blurred, squinting against the return of light, I fought to see who had me now.

  Michael. My dear, sweet Michael.

  Aidan patted my cheek and, chuckling, left me in Michael’s able hands. Neither master nor pig nor bear, Michael stroked himself as he rode me. He looked sweet and glad, but soon his expression would grow tigh
t with urgency.

  I ached to reach up and take him by the cock. Or grab his hips and drive myself into him. Or pinch his nipples until he shuddered. But I could do none of it, bound as I was. I could only let Michael ride me, let friction overtake me and lead me to ecstasy.

  It didn’t take long. I closed my eyes and cried out his name—“Michael! Michael, Michael, Michael!”—as I pumped myself empty.

  Afterglow descended as my body relaxed, its exertions finally over. I opened my eyes and found Michael gracing me with that sweet smile of his.

  “Season’s greetings,” he teased.

  I laughed, a man reborn and no longer a Scrooge. Michael. What would I do without him? Michael, my tenth lord a’ leaping.

  Michael, my one and only.

  Eleven Pipers Piping

  by Heidi Champa

  “Saving the best for last, are we?”

  Before I could answer, James pulled me into the darkened bedroom. His body pressed me into the old wooden door. His knee settled between my legs, pushing up between my thighs. I could feel his hard cock resting against my belly, his breath hot in my ear. He was the last one. The last piper. It was hard to believe I had been with them all. It seemed so unlike me, so foreign to the woman I was the other three hundred sixty-four days of the year.

  But on Christmas Eve, at this party, at this house, I turned into someone else.

  James slid his tongue over my neck, capturing my earlobe in his hot mouth. My clothes were shedding like wrapping paper onto the floor, and before I realized it, I was lying naked on the bed.

  James undid his tie, the one I had given him three years before, with the picture of Santa on it. He grabbed my wrists and pulled them towards the wrought-iron bed frame. I didn’t resist him. I couldn’t have. He tied my hands tightly to the cool metal, his face hovering close to mine. He was close enough to kiss, his lips almost grazing my skin. But as I struggled to reach his lips, he pulled back with a sly smile.