The Twelve Hot Days of Christmas Page 3

  The other bird answered and they realized he too was in the room. High up on the curtain rod, his feathers were darker than hers and his body a beautiful shade of blue. He watched, unwilling to leave his vantage point, staring as Melinda and Brent attempted to corner the female.

  But she deftly jumped high into the air and joined her partner on the curtain rod. They cooed back and forth, inching toward one another. It was as if they both felt the need to repeat to the other, in their own little language: “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. Are you okay?

  “Now what do we do?” Melinda asked.

  Brent leaped toward the birds, waving his hands. “Ho, ho, ho!”

  Both birds flew off with a horrified wail, rising over his head and skillfully avoiding his attempts to snatch them from the air. In an instant, they were out of the room.

  “Smooth!” she laughed and the pair headed back into the main part of the house.

  They returned to the living room, seeing nothing at first, but they turned as they heard the birds call to one another, once more.

  “I’m okay. Are you okay? Trrrrr! Trrrrr! I’m okay. Are you okay?”

  Melinda, Brent just behind her, hurried into the dining room and found the birds on the dinner table. They struggled to step over the lacy tablecloth, their tiny claws snagging the fine material as they walked.

  “You grab the male, and I’ll get the female,” Melinda murmured as if the birds might understand the plan should she say it any louder. “On three.”

  Brent nodded.

  “One . . . two . . . oh shit!” Melinda cringed back, realizing she stood naked in front of the uncovered dining room picture windows, the bright light in the room leaving little to the imagination for anyone who might be standing on the street outside.

  Melinda jumped back into the hallway. “Did anyone see me?”

  Brent turned to the windows, feeling his body go flush beneath the heavy jacket and fake beard. “I don’t think so.” He turned out the dining room light, and then peeked out. “I don’t see anyone.”

  They both laughed, overtaken by the thought of neighbors seeing the two of them through the window, one of them stark naked and the other dressed as Santa. It was both embarrassing and exhilarating.

  Melinda peeked past the wall, the light from the other room spilling over and offering just enough for her to see a faint outline of the two birds. “Can doves see in the dark?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What should I do?” she asked, dismayed at the thought of getting dressed just to catch a bird.

  “Hurry up and grab yours, and run back to the living room!”

  “Okay . . . are you ready?”

  “Just give me the word.”

  “Now!” Melinda said and each gently grabbed a bird and expertly released their tiny claws from the tablecloth.

  They returned the docile birds to the living room, and then carefully placed them into their cage. They took a moment to admire the two willful creatures, watching them huddle up against one another, comforting in one another’s safety and well being with another long string of soft, purring sounds.

  Melinda pointed to the other presents beneath the tree. “Where did all of these come from?”

  “Santa,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Melinda said, smiling.

  “So, where were we?” he asked, pulling her close.

  “You didn’t see the mistletoe.”

  He looked around, spotting it over the sofa. A grin peeked past his fake beard as he slowly backed her toward it. They tumbled together onto the sofa, beneath the hanging icon. She landed safely on his soft, stuffed stomach.

  Their lips met, and she kissed him through his fake beard, the wiry white hair tickling her face. She giggled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I never thought I’d be making out with Santa!” she said.

  “No?” He rubbed up against her, getting hard. “You’re turning Santa on.”

  She felt him, her face going red as she slid to the floor and unbuttoned his pants. He sat back, relaxing, as she revealed his erect cock and wrapped her mouth around it. She closed her eyes, licking the shaft and sucking as she pulled back, taking the base of it in one hand.

  He moaned lightly as she twisted and rubbed, enjoying the balance of his hard, solid mass and its soft skin against her tongue. It was warm and slightly salty, and she breathed heavily as she serviced it with her mouth, caressing him with long, loving strokes.

  Gently, he nudged her further down as he joined her on the floor and slowly turned on her, making his way to her moist pussy with his tongue. The fake beard was soft against her shaved skin, and a shiver ran through her as he tickled her clit with tender kisses and quick laps. She spread her legs, prompting him to enter her further with his tongue, and she sucked harder as he rolled and licked the hard, spongy spot inside her.

  They knew each other’s bodies well, knowing just the right spots on which to concentrate, each building the other’s excitement with equal skill and fervor. They increased their intensity together, moaning and writhing in ecstasy, moving as if in a slow, passionate dance. They followed one another’s lead, their moves growing stronger and deeper, reveling in the gift they each gave, and relishing in the sensations running through their bodies.

  She felt him go even harder as he paused, moaning loudly and exhaling passionately as he came in her mouth. The jizz was thick and salty, and she continued to suck until he cried out, the sensation overwhelming, and pulled away.

  “You’re an animal,” he said, and then moved to finish her.

  She rolled on to her back, the fake whiskers tickling her as he went in deep. He caressed her body, and then found her hands with his, clasping them together, licking and rousing her selflessly and enthusiastically. She felt her body tense as she moved toward climax, her legs spreading wider, her hands clenching.

  She let out a loud cry, the release coming quickly and intensely, her muscles turning into jelly and relaxing as he collapsed at her side. They both breathed heavily, hearts racing, as they lay beside one another on the cool floor catching their breath.

  “How was that?” he asked.

  She thought about the night she had planned, and how differently it had turned out. She glanced over at the doves, now silently cuddled up against one another, and turned back to her husband, who lay in a wrinkled, food-spattered Santa suit. She smiled contentedly. “Perfect.”

  Three French Hens

  by Cameo Brown

  Clucked

  Mirelle studied the ardent expression of the young man beneath her—Mark or Dark or Dork or something was his name—watching his desperate need inch toward tortured ecstasy as he neared climax.

  She straddled his waist, falling forward to stroke his smooth chest as he clutched her breasts, enjoying the way he submitted to her desire in order to satisfy his own. He gave her his finger to suck and she drew it in, just as she would a hot, hard cock needing relief. She suckled it.

  His gasp turned into a moan.

  She lifted herself against Mark’s engorged cock, the first inklings of her orgasm tickling her clit and eliciting another thick stream of cream from her pussy. Mirelle tightened her ass as he pumped into her, his eyes closed, moaning.

  She rocked with him, thrusting up and down, her nails now digging at his flesh, leaving red, angry marks. He didn’t seem to care.

  Her pussy spasmed, biting his solid length as it penetrated her soft folds, scalding hot from the exquisite friction their union produced, and he spurted inside her, showering her eager eternal womb with his warm jism, its energy pouring into her.

  This is the part she loved, the part preserving the sanctity of her immortality.

  His essence washed over her.

  “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” he shouted, bucking beneath her.

  “No, silly mortal, god-dess,” she corrected, her orgasm looming. What would it matter? He would
remember nothing of their encounter anyway.

  His thoughts and memories flowed through her ichor. His wants and needs swamped her intellect and her mind floated away into oblivion.

  Everything he was or ever would be dissolved into her being, and she fell into the dark abyss of his humanity, reveling in her ability to return from the depths of ultimate knowledge, immune to the bonds of uncertainty keeping so many humans hostage there.

  She came.

  Sparks showered her brain. The sudden release of tension combined with the serene rawness of his cock penetrating her created a high of pure bliss, a hit stronger than any drug. She rode him wildly, forcing him to offer more than she knew he had to give. Forcing him to please her thoroughly and completely.

  She didn’t let him relax until she’d milked every last drop of pleasure from his prick. Only then did she allow the human, his job finished, to fade into a deep, forgetful slumber. When he awoke, he’d only remember he’d visited their diner, The Hen’s Tooth Grille, and nothing more.

  Mick would wake in the same booth in which she’d seduced him, the one where he’d sat all evening nursing sweet tea and a broken heart after his girlfriend—Pailey, Jailey, or something—jilted him and went back to apologize to her ex-roommate, or some such nonsense. Mirelle didn’t pay much attention to what came out of his mouth. She much preferred watching what grew in his lap.

  Mirelle’s climax ebbed, bringing with it flashes of the young man’s life. Her pussy stopped fluttering on his cock as they rolled by like a series of movie clips.

  Alarming visions flitted across the back of Mirelle’s eyes, growing more and more disturbing. Her eyes snapped open.

  “Sisters! Come at once!” she barked and slid off the man beneath her, who snored already, and charged into the communal living area joining their three boudoirs.

  Martine was the first to appear: naked, giggling, and slapping away the groping hands of her amour. He grinned like a fool and smacked her ass as she stumbled into the living room. She glanced back and waved at her lover with her fingertips, blowing him a kiss. He pointed to his dripping erection with both index fingers and mouthed, “Hurry.”

  Minette showed up a second later, her hand between her legs and her eyes half closed. She stumbled toward them, stopping every couple of steps to massage her depths a little more and grunt, pleasuring herself along the way. Minette fell into Martine’s arms, her release imminent.

  “Uh. Uh huh. Uh huh! Uh! Uh! Oui! Oui! Oui! Oooo la la!”

  Minette slumped against Martine, a languid, peaceful smile replacing the earnest concentration darkening her features just moments before. Martine kissed the top of her sister’s head, giggling.

  “Are you quite done?”

  Minette removed her hand from her pussy, sighing, and wiped it off on her nude hip. She nodded, her reddish curls bobbing like an erect penis on a marathon runner as mischief oozed from her sparkling green eyes.

  “Sisters, you remember Robert Waldridge?”

  “Rob? I could never forget such a man,” Martine said, flirting, and placed her hand over her heart, even though there were no men around to appreciate the effort.

  “Robby!” Minette squealed, jumping up and down and clapping in front of her perky breasts.

  Mirelle glanced at her sister’s heaving bosoms and noticed their nipples pebbled as much as hers, Martine’s pink and Minette’s dark brown. Good, now she had their undivided attention.

  “I’ve gained knowledge,” she continued, lifting and opening her thigh so her sisters could see the evidence of her and Murk’s activities. She beckoned to them. “Come see for your lovely selves.”

  Martine and Minette touched Mark’s creamy, dripping come. Minette held it up, rubbing it between her index finger and thumb. She sniffed it as her pale, divine skin absorbed its knowledge, and wrinkled her nose. Martine plopped a glob into her mouth, sucking it off her finger.

  “Oooh,” she cried, screwing up her pretty face. “This man is a fool and a dolt. Why do you fuck him, Mirelle?”

  Mirelle rolled her eyes. As if mental capacity was ever a consideration when it came to fucking. Sometimes her sisters amazed her—how many years had they been alive? Suddenly, unshed tears brightened Minette’s emerald orbs.

  “Oh no, Mirelle! Our Robby is going to make a terrible mistake!”

  Martine’s chocolate-brown eyes widened as Mark’s come opened his secrets to her and the truth unfolded before her as well.

  “What do we do, Mirelle? We can’t let anything so horrible happen to our Rob!”

  Mirelle nodded. Much better. Now they were all of the same mind, and, being skilled in the ways of love, she knew exactly what to do.

  “Sisters, it’s time for a cruise to the Caribbean.”

  * * * *

  Bella Raye Noringer stood outside the Port of Miami and stared at the colossal ship, the Sea Empress, wondering if she weren’t about to make the biggest mistake of her life. Though she’d let a porter take her luggage, she didn’t have to get on the ship, she told herself. She could still call this whole trip off.

  When she and Mark planned this Christmas holiday, she’d thought it would end with a romantic proposal on a beach somewhere far away from the dismal Chicago weather. She never thought she’d be standing here alone, trying to decide whether to take a trip planned for two as one.

  Finding him in bed with Hailey six months ago certainly limited her choices from “going with Mark” to “going or eat the cost of the trip.” Canceling meant losing a great deal of money—money she didn’t have.

  Over the last few weeks, she’d convinced herself she needed a vacation and a chance to rebuild her self-esteem by strutting her stuff in front of as many single, horny men as she could find. Now the time had come to board the ship alone, and she didn’t know if she had the courage.

  “You know, mon ami,” a soft, feminine voice startled Bella. “Beautiful women always get what they want, and you are so very beautiful…”

  Bella’s jaw dropped. A gorgeous blond woman with ocean-blue eyes positioned herself beside her. Vivacious with golden waves cascading out of a silky blue scarf and down her shoulders, the woman’s countenance could only be described as regal.

  Smartly dressed in tight blue jeans, a red blouse with a sailor collar showing off her voluptuous curves, and deck shoes, she looked every bit the typical rich trophy wife, except her beauty was natural and her red-lipped smile sincere. She captivated Bella.

  “So very beautiful,” the vision said, her voice like rich, smooth caramel.

  She leaned over and kissed Bella on the cheek before sauntering away. Bella watched her retreating form, following the swaying hips until she noticed the woman walked toward a man in the crowd. A very familiar man. Her heart pounded and her thighs clenched. It was the sexual threat himself—her brother’s best friend.

  Rob Waldridge.

  Her breathing quickened. What was he doing here? Did he know about her and Mark? He’d probably offer her a hanky and pat her on her head, which is not where she wanted him to pat her. Her nipples hardened. Just looking at him made her think naughty thoughts, but it wasn’t her fault. Not really.

  Hunky Rob Waldridge, with a solidly muscled six-foot-two frame, dark brown hair, and incredible hazel eyes, fed her deepest fantasies for years. Since their teens, she’d heard rumors about Rob’s creativity and prowess in the bedroom. Nothing specific, just enough to pique her curiosity. And she was more than a little curious.

  How many times had she masturbated to visions of what she thought he might do to his women? It wasn’t like she’d ever know, though. To him she was nothing more than her best friend’s younger sister.

  After years of hope and frustration, at twenty-eight, Bella decided waiting on Rob to notice she had tits and a nice ass–if she did say so herself–qualified her as certifiably insane. Mark came along at the right time, and Rob faded into a distant, sexy memory. Until now.

  Jealousy poked at her, but she dismissed it. How c
ould she begrudge anyone’s happiness simply because it evaded her? The woman’s words rang in her ears.

  Beautiful women always get what they want.

  What did she want? Maybe on this trip she’d find out. Adjusting her satchel and her attitude, Bella headed toward customs and whatever lay ahead.

  * * * *

  Firm, creamy tits magically appeared in Rob Waldridge’s field of vision as he straightened from plucking the lacy handkerchief from the ground. He blinked in surprise.

  He tried hard to look the other way, but not too hard. For some reason, these breasts seemed to want his attention, or maybe he only hoped they did. Only a second before, he’d stooped to help an elderly lady retrieve her wayward accessory, and now he couldn’t take his eyes off the magnificent cleavage bouncing gently in his face with every breath of the owner.

  “Rob, aren’t you glad to see us?”

  A flirtatious giggle followed the wispy words spoken in a delicate French accent, and Rob’s gaze immediately snapped up to find ebony eyes dancing with mischief.

  “Martine,” he breathed, taken by her mortal beauty as always.

  From the velvety black bob framing her heart-shaped face to dainty toenails polished in a baby-pink hue, Martine oozed feminine charm.

  As taught, Rob reached for her hand and she extended it with an elegant swish so he could kiss it. She rewarded him with an impish smile before yanking him to her and crushing his lips with hers, kissing him breathless. So much for dainty and feminine.

  “Robby!”

  A squeal, equally accented with a French lilt, interrupted their interlude. Rob broke the kiss and inhaled, trying to get some air to his oxygen-starved brain. Martine sometimes didn’t realize her own strength.

  “Robby, Robby, Robby!”

  Rob took the opportunity to extricate himself from Martine’s snug embrace just in time to catch Minette, who launched herself at him in a burst of exuberance.

  Minette’s arms circled his neck and her legs captured him around the waist. Martine patted her hair into place as Minette rained tiny kisses all over Rob’s face.