Commodities

Neighbor Duties.

Piper's Posts — Tue, 17 Dec 2024 05:39:00 +0000

Kelsie tours her new neighbor's home after he says, "Howdy."

Based on a post by RavenAngstrom Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010

Kelsie Bluebook jogged down the Ocean View sidewalk, boobily bouncing as she did. Her ass, scarcely contained by her shorts, clapped like the chorus of a gospel choir, and it was worshiped as such. Her hair was blonde with an e, her nails were fresh as a farmer's market, her eyes were the color of Blue No. 2 food coloring, industrial grade. Her sports bra was twice as strong as Atlas, for it had to hold up two colossal globes, not one.

Every morning, Kelsie went for a jog around the neighborhood. Every morning she became a new teenage boy's fantasy or elicited a 'tut tut' from the prudish nuns who lived up the street.

She trotted past her new next door neighbor, Chuck, letting his dog out for a walk. He gazed at her bouncing form, hazel eyes wide as the moon.

He was no slouch himself, as Kelsie could see from the tight grey sweatpants he wore while letting his dog out for the morning. His cock was the side of a grandfather clock's pendulum. As mighty as a sledgehammer. A woman needed a heavy machinery license to ride him. He could body shame a sperm whale.

Kelsie had to meet him. "Hiya," she called brightly from across the street, waving vigorously.

"Howdy," he replied.

It's a little odd to say 'howdy' in these parts. I'd better investigate, Kelsie thought. She looked both ways, then bounded across the street.

Music from the 2017 movie Baywatch starring the Rock and Zac Effron began to play in Chuck's ears. That was both because he saw Kelsie running over, and also because he'd rented the film on DVD last night and the soundtrack had been stuck in his head ever since.

Kelsie bounded up to Chuck's front door. The house was cute, with fresh siding and shingles. She could suddenly imagine herself living there and redecorating, but that was because interior decorating was one of her favorite hobbies. She imagined herself living in every house she saw; swapping light fixtures, repainting, changing the curtains to blinds then back to curtains when she realized the blinds looked cheap.

She would never do this work herself, of course. She'd hire a strapping young man who dropped his tools a lot so she could bend over to pick them up.

"Hiya," said Kelsie, even though she'd already said that.

"Howdy," Chuck repeated.

"There you go. Saying 'Howdy,' again. Why is that?" Kelsie asked, popping her hip and touching her finger to her mouth. It was her thinking expression. When she put on her thinking expression, men stopped thinking and told her what she wanted to hear.

"I'm from Texas," Chuck said. "We say howdy there."

"Even to strangers?" Kelsie asked.

"Especially to strangers," Chuck replied. This was true.

"I don't want to be strangers," Kelsie said. This was also true.

"No one does," said Chuck. This was a lie, but he said it to flirt with her. Some people like being strangers with others. Chuck had neglected thinking about hermits.

"What do you want to be?" he flirted.

"Neighbors," said Kelsie. She reached out her hand and shook his. It seemed very formal to her. She'd prefer he'd kissed her hand, even though it would have been weird. He was handsome enough to pull it off. Yes. Chuck was that handsome.

"Neighbors," said Chuck, wishing he had the guts to kiss her hand. But that would be weird, he thought, wisely choosing to keep his lips to himself. For now.

"Mind if I come in?" Kelsie asked. She filled him in on the stuff from paragraph nine, the interior decorator hobby and all that, as they walked into his sitting room.

"Nice space," she said, wishing he'd pull up the carpet and expose that beautiful hardwood floor beneath. And the walls were too white, a touch of beige would really class up the joint.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm thinking about tearing up the carpet to expose the hardwood floor. After I paint the walls first, of course."

She spun around, wanting to leap into his arms then and there. "I was thinking the same thing," she said breathlessly.

Time slowed for Chuck as Kelsie’s breasts spun to face him. So did the rest of Kelsie. Keep your mind on the rest of Kelsie, Chuck thought to himself. He was trying his darndest to be polite, but his juicy, swollen, throbbing, hardening, dripping cock of his had him by the brain stem.

So determined was Chuck not to look at her buxom, heaving, bountiful, beautiful breasts, he nearly missed what came next.

"What color?" Kelsie asked.

"Bright orange," said Chuck.

Kelsie paused. That can't be right. He was so perfect a moment ago. Her mind concluded this must be a joke. She laughed, a genuine beautiful laugh that took Chuck's soul and threw it twenty feet aloft.

His soul was aloft for two reasons. One, he had made a beautiful woman laugh, one of the greatest feelings in the world (after orgasming inside a woman (or man, if one prefers) while they whisper I love you in your ear while being young (which makes everything better)).

The second reason his soul was aloft: he was not joking about painting the room orange, and his heart was panicking like a lost child at a petting zoo with more rams than supervision.

"I'm kidding," said Chuck, saving the moment and a lot of money on terrible paint. He laughed along, a nervous laugh, like getting too close to a mountain cliff and a couple rocks fall as you scamper back to safety.

Chuck is so funny, thought Kelsie’s brain. "You are so funny," her mouth echoed.

They paused, admiring each other's bodies through their peripheral vision so not to disturb the social contract of not being obvious about checking someone out. Also known as not being a creep. But deep down, they wanted to creep all over each other.

Alas, they could not.

"Shall I show you the kitchen?" Chuck said.

"Oh, yes," said Kelsie. She looked around, not sure of the direction to go. The hallway from the living room branched in two directions, you see. It was a half split level. She could go up, but that was the way to the bedrooms. Around the corner was down, the way to the kitchen. But she couldn't know which was which, because she'd never been there.

She'd spied on the listing, of course. But it was so much different once you're in the house. The photos weren't clear at all in this case. The previous owner had done them himself. Always a disaster, she'd thought at the time.

Chuck put his hand on Kelsie’s back, guiding her down the stairs to the kitchen. Kelsie swooned inside. She hadn't swooned like this since she saw a Hemsworth brother out on one of her jogs. She didn't know which one it was, she didn't get close enough. But it was definitely one of them.

The kitchen sparkled like a ethically sourced diamond. Granite countertops, complementing the white shaker cabinets on a sensibly tiled floor, with a backsplash depicting the 1990's hit show Baywatch in a series of glass tableaus.

"I like it. The backsplash is interesting..." Kelsie trailed off. It was incredibly done, even though the subject matter was a little odd. The detail of the mosaic was exquisite. Shards of glass the size of a fingernail clipping were sprinkled in as chest hair on a four inch depiction of the 'Hoff.

It would almost be a shame to get rid of it, she thought. So much care went into this. "Did you buy the place specifically for the backsplash?"

Chuck laughed for real, a deep boom that no doubt echoed around in his testicles for days. "No, but I tried to watch the movie last night. Turns out I rented the wrong one."

"These damn remakes," said Kelsie. "Still, the movie industry keeps me employed. So I guess it's better than no-makes." Kelsie laughed at her own joke.

Chuck laughed too, a polite, extra hard laugh signaling he was into her.

No one would laugh at a joke that terrible, thought Kelsie. Maybe he's stupid.

Kelsie walked to the island. That's right, the kitchen had an island too. Piles of move in boxes were stacked on the counters. Kelsie strolled around the island, surreptitiously peering into the box for anything feminine. The pots were at least fifteen years old.

"I got those in college," Chuck said. He'd noticed she was looking in the box, but chalked it up to general nosiness. He was the same way. No drawers ever went unopened when Chuck was around. No box left unexamined. He'd root around until the job was done.

Definitely no wife, probably no girlfriend, Kelsie concluded. She was right. She could have been a detective, or a private eye. Instead, she worked at a movie theater. Until she broke into reality TV, of course. That was right around the corner, she told herself. But with an IQ of 85, the truth was, she was too smart for it. Not that IQ is a good measure of intelligence, but, you get it.

"So, what do you do?" asked Kelsie as he led her upstairs (if you recall, that's where the bedrooms where).

"I'm a fireman," said Chuck. "But the name is a misnomer. I put out fires, I don't start them. That's called a pyromaniac, and they're in a different department than us."

"I've been to the pyromania department several times, and it's always a drag," said Kelsie, batting his muscular arm with her dainty hand. She squeezed his muscles quite obviously, biting her lips as she did.

Chuck was used to people feeling his muscles. It was always a good sign. That was usually what happened before his dates took their tops off. But he only ever went to second base nowadays, after what happened to her...

Chuck flashbacked. He was saying goodbye to his wife as she left for the department store. She was going to grab more extra-large condoms. They weren't trying for a baby. And they didn't want to be trying for an abortion, either.

When the police came to his door a few hours later and said, "Mr. Ock, your wife has been killed in a Columbus Day shopping stampede, you need to come with us to identify the body," that's when he knew something bad had happened. He never celebrated Columbus Day again; he was an Indigenous People's Day man now.

He'd moved to Ocean View, California get away from all that. But you can't always outrun your past.

Chuck un-flashbacked. Somehow, they'd entered the master bedroom. His king size four poster bed was on the only thing set up. Atop it lay a magnificent tiger's pelt. It was a fake, because Chuck respected animals, but it was a really good fake, so it appealed to everyone.

"Wow!" exclaimed Kelsie. "That's one fantastic duvet!" She stroked it, causing goosebumps to erupt on her neck like moguls on a double black diamond run.

"Try laying on it," said Chuck. He didn't even mean anything suggestive by it, he was genuinely excited to show off how it felt.

Kelsie leapt backward onto the pelt, falling at just the right speed to ensnare Chuck's imagination forever. The sight of her beautiful body falling onto his magnificent bedspread was forever etched in his mind. It would be the last thing he'd remember before dying at a ripe old age.

Just when Chuck thought it couldn't get any better, he caught a glimpse of her panties as the wind caught her short shorts. His cock throbbed again, making his head spin as the blood drained out of his brain like the last drops of a bath.

Kelsie had been a cheerleader, and always looked forward to a chance to show off. Her slow motion fall onto a tiger pelt faux-skin was the perfect time. She didn't literally slow time, but she'd often heard men describe the experience of watching her fall in such a way. All of those men died with her as their last thought, at ripe old ages when they had forgotten everything else, even friends and family. But that's getting too far ahead.

The tiger skin was even more luxurious on her back. She made a fur angel in the pelt.

"That's exactly what I did too," said Chuck. He leapt next to her, wanting to make a fur angel of his own.

Alas, all his muscle came at a price. He was heavy (not fat though), and if Chuck had one flaw, it was that he didn't spring for a memory foam mattress. Instead, he sprung for a spring one, purchased last spring on the day the clocks sprang ahead.

As Chuck plummeted to the bed, an equal and opposite reaction caused Kelsie to fly upward an equal amount, minus friction, air resistance, and all that. She landed on top of Chuck.

Kelsie’s boobs breasted against Chuck's chest. His dick cocked against her pelvis. Their noses cracked into each other.

Realizing what he'd done in his reckless abandonment of Newton's Third Law, Chuck grabbed Kelsie and pulled her close, stopping her from tumbling off the edge like an outdated stereotype of a lemming.

You're a hero, Chuck Ock, he thought. Not as big a hero as if I'd stopped a terrorist, but a hero all the same.

He wants me, Kelsie thought. And I want him. She kissed his mouth (it was sensible, their heads were close together). He returned her kiss with a passion she'd never felt before. A passion like an old man has for his model train set that looks like a small mountain town in Colorado.

This was unexpected, Chuck thought. But nice. Very nice. His inner monologue had a Borat ring to it. Chuck's thoughts were easily polluted by popular culture.

He ran his muscular fingers down her back. She had curves like a timekeeper's hourglass, with a hell of a lot of sand in both sides. His fingers rounded her ass, tracing back around to her front.

Kelsie’s breath caught in her throat. Is this happening? Kelsie thought. Am I going to fuck my next door neighbor? I barely know him. But from the way he nibbled her ear, he knew her.

Just second base, Chuck thought. For Phoebe.

Chuck flashbacked once again. The cops were sitting on his sofa, delivering the news. "Her last words were, 'I hope my husband, Dr. C. Ock, Esquire (he had a law degree), moves on from me and finds a new love, even if it's a simple fling with his new neighbor.'" Then the cop patted his back, trying to comfort him.

Chuck had never figured out what his wife's final words meant. They had always puzzled him, like the show Lost.

Until now. She had wanted Chuck to be happy.

I hope he's okay, thought Kelsie. He's spacing out a little. She wished he'd make another move.

Suddenly, Kelsie saw clarity. Be the change you want to see in the world — Mamma Gandy. She remembered that quote from school. She misremembered the attribution, but hey, at least she could point to India on a map. Can you?

Seizing the moment, Kelsie slid her own hand over his cock. She confirmed her suspicious. It was a monster. Cocky McCockerson. Enough wood to last a lifetime. The cock of the walk. Dicky McSchlong. The Prince of Penises (King seemed a little judgmental, after all, there were probably a couple dicks better than his (there were, but not many (less than you can count on your hand).

Kelsie grabbing Chuck's cock was the go-head signal he needed. He un-flashbacked once more, his purpose as clear as a plate glass window. With his dead wife's blessing, he was now willing and able to enter Kelsie, please her, and leave her sated.

So he began.

His mouth moved South along her body, pausing to make base camp between her tits. There, he climbed from mountaintop to mountaintop and back, warming up her cunny with his finger as he did.

Kelsie savored his gentle touch. Combining his fingers with his tongue, he made two great feelings better, like peanut butter and chocolate. She pushed against his strong, muscular hand; manly callouses on his palms from saving lives, both human and puppy. She wanted more.

Chuck made his way South once again, having satisfied his lust for her twin mountains. His kiss jumped her naval like a show stallion. He kissed her clit, thank god he knows where that is, Kelsie thought, then ran his tongue along her lips.

A moan sprung from Kelsie, loud enough to wake Chuck's next door neighbor, if his next door neighbor hadn't been getting her cunny eaten out. Kelsie’s senses grew dimmer as the aching in her body overtook her. It was coming. It was coming. She was cumming.

Chuck wore his lover's legs like earmuffs, deafening him from her orgasmic cry. His ears popped when she removed them, draping her thick thighs over his shoulders instead.

"Don't quit on me now," Chuck growled, revealing his titanic hog. His voice was so low when he made love it was practically in the basement.

"I never give up," said Kelsie. "Fuck me raw, like W W E."

Chuck sprang into action, leaping to his knees in a single move.

So acrobatic. I wonder if he likes Cirque du Soleil? thought Kelsie. He slipped his cock inside her, and she groaned with pleasure, halfway to orgasm yet again.

"Do you like having your hair pulled?" Chuck asked, completely respecting her boundaries.

"I do," said Kelsie. He grabbed a fistful of her thick blonde hair, pulling like a horse's reins, steering her body to pleasure. His cock pushed in and out of her, and Kelsie’s breath grew short.

Kelsie felt her body tensing. Chuck's arms wrapped around her, lifting her into the air as easily as if she were a warm luffa. He was as strong as the bond between a man and his dog. Strong as the bond of an experienced arc welder. Strong as the bond in a bear market. Strong as the Bond in all of those movies and books by Ian Fleming.

Kelsie gazed into Chuck's eyes. They were so bright and loving. She could feel the joy in his heart, a joy she'd uncovered like the living room's original hardwood floors.

"Chuck?" she panted, as he pounded her (gently) like a dirty, dirty girl (respectfully).

"Yeah?" he replied, his eyes filling with lust.

"Are you wearing a condom?" she asked.

"I put one on while I was licking you," said Chuck. "I hope that isn't too forward."

"Not at all," replied Kelsie. Satisfied with his answer, and the rigorous fucking she was receiving, Kelsie came again, drenching Chuck's cock with her slick. She moaned as she came, grabbing her own tits as she did.

The sight of Kelsie squeezing herself set Chuck off like a rocket. Cum flooded Kelsie’s insides, stopped by the latex levee. Although neither had an STI, they didn't want to get pregnant. Not yet.

Chuck collapsed with Kelsie atop the tiger skin blanket. They held each other as new lovers do; tightly, afraid letting go will spoil the moment.

"Wow," said Kelsie. "You weren't kidding about this tiger skin."

"It's magical," said Chuck.

They lay side by side, enjo

Christmas Cockie Exchange: Part 4

Piper's Posts — Mon, 16 Dec 2024 05:41:00 +0000

A Ghostly Plea For Appreciation.

Based on a post by SandyMarl, in 4 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

A Christmas Ghost Story For Scrooge

Dana got ready to roll the movie as The Chix settled in. "What's the movie?" asked McNally.

"A Christmas Carol, it's the classic tale by Charles Dickens."

"Damn. Not a Christmas movie? Did I ever mention that I am so over Christmas right now? Bah Humbug!"

Annie snorted, "McNally, you make a better Scrooge than Patrick Stewart."

"I'll drink to that," McNally said as she tipped her stemware to wash down a handful of popcorn. "Let me say it again, Merry Fucking Christmas, because I am so done with Christmas."

"Merry Fucking Christmas" was echoed around the room, followed by giggles among gathered good friends as the opening scene played.

Annie was dabbing at her eyes as Tiny Tim cried out in the movie's final scene, "God bless us, everyone!"

As the credits rolled, Annie turned to McNally, "Well, Ebenezer Scrooge, do you still hate Christmas? Or did the ghost of Christmas Future shake you from your Bah Humbug! ways?"

"I don't hate Christmas; I just get worn out by this time of year. Christmas has been going on since before Halloween and that's way too long, even for a vibrant spirit like me," replied McNally.

"Are you still so entrenched in your 'Bah Humbug' world-weary ways Ebenezer McNally or is it possible that visitations of the cinematic Ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Future have softened your hardened holiday heart?" pried Patricia.

"Don't be picking on McNally, she's just been more emotionally honest. I have heard Scrooge speaking through all of you. Chix, take a look inside and tell me if Christmas hasn't lost its magic for all of us this year, or for that matter, several years running." Dana's call for introspection brought the room to silence.

Dana continued, "Let me play Ghost of Christmas Past; let me take us back to time when we were young, and Sander and I stretched our budget and bought this cabin and had The Chix and their boys up here around Christmas time? Remember those times?"

"Those were the good days," recalled McNally. "I remember Orlando mixing exotic cocktails for everyone to try. The guys kept making sweet drinks and urging us girls to taste one new one after another. I'm sure they were in cahoots, working on the theory that 'Christmas candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.'"

Patricia chimed in, "Yeah, I remember that year, I remember laughing a lot of silly laughs and being chased around the cabin and out into the snow by three horny abominable snowmen until I finally let one catch me and haul me off to his lair where he threw me on the bed and ravaged me."

"I sort of remember that too - only I think I enjoyed Orlando's cocktails too much too soon to fully remember every detail. But I have a vague memory of laughing on my way to a strange bed as I hung over Nelson's shoulder as I pounded on his back as a captured maiden, but not really feeling much distress. I remember trying to help Nelson undress me, but I was too giggly, so he just ripped my clothes off."

Dana reminisced, "Anybody remember the year we all wore those sexy Santa's Naughty Elf costumes?"

"I still have mine in a closet somewhere I think," snickered McNally. "We put on a pretty good show for the guys that one year when we performed in those outfits. Thanks to Annie for sewing them," McNally tipped her glass toward Annie.

"It was your choreography McNally, and your audacious moves that gave me the confidence to bump and grind along with the rest of the Chix. I'd never have been able to even think of doing something so feminine and sexy if it weren't for you McNally," complimented Patricia.

"I still get wet every time I hear Eartha Kitt sing 'Santa Baby' and I think of how hot we Chix looked and how mercilessly we teased those boys," chuckled McNally.

"Speaking for me," said Patricia, "I'd say all of that dance practice and the sexy dance tips from everyone else showing me how to strut my wares. Our sexy little routine was well worth it a little later that night." All The Chix giggled and nodded with Patricia, each recalling the thrill of having their men rush the stage and cart off the four costumed naughty little helper elves for a roll in the sheets.

"Dana are you sure you're alright with us bringing up these memories?" asked Annie in a cautious tone.

"Annie, I've already told you that good memories and present friends are what are important to me tonight."

"Allow me to play the Ghost of Christmas Present," said Dana in a soft voice. "If the Ghost of Christmas Past has drawn for you scenes of past holiday lovers, good times and Christmas cheer; what do you see when the Ghost of Christmas Present hovers above your lives tonight and points to your actions and attitudes of this present Christmas?"

The Chix again sat thinking in silence.

McNally answered Dana's challenge first, "Well, I've already told everyone my grim view of this present Christmas. There is a poverty of spirit where I operate; Christmas has become nothing but joyless deadlines for me. I'll confess, 'Bah Humbug!' is truly what the Ghost of Christmas Present is pointing at in my life."

"Or would Scrooge use a more contemporary phrase, maybe something like 'Merry Fucking Christmas?" needled Patricia.

"Yeah but..." Annie joined in, "...Those really were Merry Fucking Christmases in the past - literally. Those years when we all used to come up here with our hubbies and enjoy playing games and cooking together, remember? And it seems like every night ended in a night of passionate love making," she added wistfully. "Why did we let that slip away? Where did the holiday love magic go?

"I have a confession too, McNally has nothing on me, I'm just as much of a Bah Humbug personality as McNally - if not more so. Only I'm just a Scrooge still in the closet. I guess it's time I came out to my friends. It was me who first suggested that I'd be ready to exchange Nelson for someone to clean my house. Honestly, how Scrooge-like is that?

"The Ghost of Christmas Past showed that Scrooge rejected his old flame, Belle, to pursue a respectable wealthy status above love. Like Scrooge, I've let the passion for my old flame, Nelson dim, and for what? A respectable status of a well cleaned house? I've been saying 'Bah Humbug!' from inside my Scrooge closet.

"I chided McNally for her poor attitude when we first drove up this afternoon," recalled Patricia. "But then I fell right in with her complaining about my grueling holiday schedule and all I had endured. So, I guess that makes me not only a Scrooge, but a hypocrite as well. How's that for a bare-bones confession to the Ghost of Christmas Present?"

Dana's Christmas Ghost

"Excuse me," declared a mildly irritated McNally, "enough indulging in this group psychotherapy playing with literary ghosts. I can't stand it any longer, I've gotta find out from Dana if Sander's ghost is really visiting us here."

McNally's abrupt demand brought a heavy hush to the room.

All eyes were locked on Dana. "All I can say is that I came up to our cabin for the first time since the accident. I hoped I was ready, but I wasn't sure. The real reason that I invited everyone to join me was so I couldn't back out, even if I wanted to, since I had extended an invitation to The Chix. Patricia, Annie, McNally; you're my insurance as I forced myself to be a brave widow.

"I came two days ago for solitude. I thought I would be alone up here. I hoped I'd be brave enough to finally be alone with my thoughts. I was going to force myself to stay here until reinforcements arrived in the form of a carload of wild, raucous and fun-loving Chix.

"To my surprise, I had it all wrong. I was not alone here. Sander was waiting for me. It was good to find him here; he has been a comfort for me. I told him I was sorry for making him wait. He let me know that he understood why I waited. He assured me that it was alright for me to wait, coming only after I was ready.

"When Sander came to me the first night, he comforted me, bringing good memories of us in this place, like the Ghost of Christmas Past. He reacquainted me with faded memories of Patricia and Will, Annie and Nelson and McNally and Orlando all gathered in this place with me and Sander back in those days at the beginning. The images he brought to me made me feel grateful for all of you.

"I told Sander that those were lovely, warm memories, some of the best; but that they were far in the dim past. When Sander wrapped those memories around me; I felt warmth and saw a radiating brightness, happy for what we had once shared together. He said that that is why he had to brighten them for me; otherwise, neither I nor anyone else in those images would be able to clearly see them as they once were.

"I began to cry as those bright images of our past passions and fellowship with our friends began to fade before my eyes. I cried even more at the fear of losing him and everything good once again.

"He warned me that squandered time, tyranny of the mundane and careless love will steal from the human soul, draining the treasures of passion and good memories, leaving murky, pathetic sketches in place of those forgotten treasures. Sander let me know that I still had all of you wrapped around me to shield me with love. He was pleased that The Chix had taken such good care of me after he was taken from me.

"Sander told me he could not keep the past images bright, the power to do so was only given to the realm of the living.

"I cried in my grief and in my fresh fear of loss. I tried to hold him, but of course, I could not. I pleaded, 'How can I keep those memories of you and warm feelings bright?' I didn't know how to find the power to keep from losing all that was meaningful to me. I cried, 'Please Sander, show me, show me how not to lose you and everything again. Don't let me drain away into the murky darkness where all warmth and love have been stolen from the human soul.'

"I cried, kneeling on the floor. Sander said nothing as he stood close to me as a kind and gentle spirit with a comforting patience waiting for me to finish my hot tears. When I wiped away my tears and looked into his face, he pointed and guided me to look for my answer. I saw The Chix checking their messages, returning calls, checking their calendars trying to squeeze in a meeting, an appointment and a Christmas cookie exchange. I saw that we were rushing to the shopping mall, ordering online, checking our phones and returning home exhausted, drained of warmth and love, leaving nothing for those around us.

"I was shown Will, Nelson and Orlando taking the cars in for servicing because it was time. I saw these men checking their messages and making out-of-the way runs to pick up store items and a few groceries because their wives had sent them a text message. I witnessed The Dix on their own initiative coming home with a takeout meal that they served to their exhausted wives and then taking out the trash the night before pickup without a reminder. The guys were up late at night, opening the bills and writing the household checks and balancing the accounts, toiling like the loyal Bob Cratchit, Scrooge's unappreciated clerk. I had been shown Christmas Present. I was sad to have seen that exhausted misery spread to all of our present lives.

"I cried, 'Oh Sander, where is the joy and the love for our friends? Everyone looks so exhausted and joyless and without hope or purpose. Tell me Sander, what is going to happen to them?' Sander looked sad and did not answer me.

"He began to fade into the darkness, and I begged with renewed tears, 'Sander please don't go, please don't leave me alone again.' But he was gone.

I crawled off the floor, lifting myself into bed and cried myself to sleep. I remembered his words, 'Squandered time, tyranny of the mundane and careless love will steal from the human soul, draining the treasures of passion and good memories and leaving murky, pathetic sketches in place of those forgotten treasures.'

"When Sander slipped away from me that night, I understood that he had shown me that the same was happening to Orlando and McNally, Will and Patricia and also to Nelson and Annie. His visit was a warning. Just as I lost Sander, everyone here is facing a Christmas Future where you will discover that you've lost all that really matters in life.

"Sander came again the next night. I was glad to see him. I wanted to know if it was too late for our friends to rekindle the love that had somehow drained away. 'Please, Sander, tell me that there is yet hope for them this Christmas Season,' I begged.

"He showed me some bright and warm memories from long ago, some personal and some with The Chix. He showed me those visions to let me know that I still had love and support from you guys. But I was haunted by those visions of Christmas Present that I'd been shown the night before. He was happy that I was so well cared for now. And yes, he was happy to know that I got surprised by some needed loving attention from a partridge, a turtle dove hunter and an old barnyard rooster who had a few tricks to make a French hen cackle. Yet, the peril of the bleak Christmas Present remains, unless friendship and love is cherished and attended, it too will soon perish, and I'll see my friends fade away into murky darkness as Sander had.

"Again, I looked into his gentle eyes and asked, 'There is still time isn't there? We haven't squandered our time, it's not too late, tell me sweetheart, there are warm and bright memories of love and affection still to be made, nourished and cherished.' Sander smiled his warm smile of assurance that I had missed so much, and I was happy.

"I woke, realizing that the sun was shining off a fresh morning snowfall and I threw off my heavy quilt. I sat up in bed, remembering that on our last morning together; Sander had been working on something secret that morning before the accident. I remembered asking him, 'Sweetie buns, what are you working on the hill behind the cabin?'

"He smiled that warm, smug smile of mischief on that last morning that we were together and told me, 'I've got a Christmas surprise to show you tonight, it has to be revealed once it is dark. So, you'll have to wait until we finish a few runs on the slopes this afternoon.'

"Of course, we never came back here together. I had forgotten about Sander's promised secret Christmas surprise until yesterday morning. When Sander told me he had a Christmas gift waiting for me after dark, he was holding an electrical extension cord behind his back with his mischievous smile stretched across his ski slope tanned face. 'I'll plug this in to brighten your night tonight, as a token of how you have brightened my life,' he said. Recalling some of his last words, I jumped out of bed and checked this morning; that cord is still lying on the deck where Sander left it last year.

Annie was crying, as usual, but so were Patricia and McNally.

Dana reached for her purse and pulled out her phone and looked at her messages and began to text, as The Chix took a few moments to rein in their emotions and check their composure before speaking or asking Dana any questions.

Annie brushed her cheeks, "Oh Dana, that is the sweetest, saddest story I've ever heard... Excuse me, I can't stop weeping... I don't even know if these are tears of joy or grief... excuse me, I don't know what to feel or say," she said as the flood gates reopened.

Patricia felt it was her role to wade in and tidy things up and drain the emotional swamp in which they all found themselves wallowing in. "Dana, it sounds like you've started to find some peace after last year's events. I am glad that you shared with us how you are coping with Sander's passing..."

"Patricia, Jesus Christ on a bicycle! Don't be such a cold and analytical mother hen all the time for us Chix. Dana's story is not about coping, it's about us - all of us and all that we once had and what we might lose, including Will, Nelson and yes, Orlando too. Dana, your conversation with Sander really got to me there..." McNally paused, looking emotionally rattled.

"I guess everyone can tell, your story about Sander got to me also," said Annie after managing to dry out enough. "I feel like McNally. Dana, what you said really touched me; I don't know what to say... Yes, I actually do, I want to say that what Sander said is right; my joy has been stolen from my soul, I feel drained inside, I have let the things I hold most dear fade away. I am Scrooge - and I'm sorry, but so are all of you."

Turning to Patricia, Annie asked, "Don't you feel what McNally and I feel? Don't you feel that you and I and McNally, and certainly Dana, have lost something precious? Together as The Chix, we are a sum greater the whole - and that has, or should, include our husbands. I believe Sander told Dana to warn us all before it is too late. Patricia, don't you feel like me that we should do something before the Ghost of Christmas Future makes the vision of an estranged and murky end to all that we enjoy a grim reality?"

Patricia teared up and nodded silently. Then lifting her head, she asked Dana, "Is there hope? Did Sander give you hope for us?"

"There is hope. There is still love here, and where there is love, there is hope. Sander showed me that the future can be changed by what we do now. Sander showed me that there is hope for us, hope for The Chix."

"And... And... What is that hope?" asked McNally. "And... And... And I got lots of questions about you and Sander up here in this cabin, but first - that was a gripping Christmas ghost story with Sander, but it seemed kind of weird that as soon as you finished driving your emotional steamroller full speed over our sympathies that you then broke character, ignoring us to check your phone. Isn't checking your messages part of that tyranny of the mundane that Sander warned you about? Who is so important that you were texting them rather than dealing with us in this room and our emotions?"

"The Ghost or the Ghosts of Christmas Future," was Dana's curt, cryptic reply.

"You asked about our future, you asked about hope; I don't know exactly how to answer those questions," said a thoughtful Dana. "But I know where I want to look for starters. There is Sander's unrevealed Christmas surprise waiting for me - or us, on top of the hill behind the cabin. It was Sander's last gift. Everyone, dress in your ugliest Christmas sweater and pull on some holiday woolies and come with me to see what's up there.

"What do you think it is, Dana?" asked Annie.

"I think it is wonderful and special, Sander was so good at that kind of thing. Other than that, as I said, I only remembered it this morning. I think that it's fitting that it happened to be left there to be revealed to me in the future. I think it's a sign."

Bright Angel On High - The Gift Of The Ghost Of Christmas Future

The four Chix marched up the trail behind the cabin, following in the footprints Dana pressed into the fresh, moonlit snow that was smooth and crisp and even. All the ladies came to the brow of the hill, ready to mount the crest, expecting to view Sander's waiting surprise. Dana let out an exasperated half sight, half scream. "Ah! I forgot - or didn't think to remember that I needed to plug in the cord that

Christmas Cockie Exchange: Part 3

Piper's Posts — Sun, 15 Dec 2024 05:40:00 +0000

Three French Hens and Lingerie.

Based on a post by SandyMarl, in 4 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Three French Hens

Rising the next morning after enjoying the contented sleep of a delicious bad girl; Dana mopped up the chocolate mess and had just put a new tablecloth on the table when she received a text. She saw that Patricia had sent her a message. She giggled aloud in her empty house, feeling that she knew what she was about to read. 'Dana, I hope you will be home tonight. I'd like to drop off supper and a surprise Christmas package for you. Let me know if you'll be available this evening - Patricia.'

Dana replied, 'I Will be ready for your surprise package. What Will I do with your generosity? I Will be so looking forward to tonight!' Dana didn't intend to spoil Patricia's 'surprise package' delivery; but by now Patricia knew that Dana was wise to the Twelve Days of Christmas themes arriving at her house, courtesy of The Chix 'Hubby Exchange'. Almost more than the expected sex with Patricia's husband Will, Dana was curiously excited to find out how Three French Hens were going to fit into her boudoir.

When Dana's doorbell rang, she arranged herself in the hallway mirror, resettled her boobs in her next-fanciest white lace bra that was almost concealed behind her low-cut, high-class dressy satin snow-white blouse.

When she answered the door, the kid at the door smiled as Dana greeted him. After an awkward, cheeky stare at her tits, he handed her the bag of roasted chicken and all the fixin's. Dana gave the kid an eyeful as his parting words were, "Don't cook tonight - Call Chicken Delight! Thanks for your order, Ma'am." The delivery boy took one last glance before leaving her porch.

Dana thought about calling after him, 'Have a Merry Fucking Christmas,' but thought that she'd save the teasing for the next fellow who rang her bell.

Will pulled up to the curb as the delivery boy's car pulled away. Will trotted to the open door where Dana was waiting for him. Will looked flustered. "Damn. I was supposed to surprise you with dinner. Looks like I'm the one who is surprised by dinner's quick arrival."

"And you left me holding the bag," said Dana in a provocative tone as she lifted the steaming bag in front of Will's nose. Will looked doubly flustered.

"Oh shit. Excuse me Dana, I forgot something in my truck." Will trotted back to the curb and grabbed a gift box and came back to where Dana was waiting for him with a half-undone blouse.

By the Third Day of Christmas, Dana had a good idea of how this exchange was supposed to play out. But she wasn't above playing along, or at least playing Will. Dana looked out the door, "Where's Patricia? She promised me an exciting holiday package." Dana was enjoying the recurring theme and the surprise packages being delivered to her door.

Will stepped inside, shut the door and bolted it behind him, handing a scroll tied with a festive green ribbon to the woman smiling at him, acting surprised. "What's this?" Dana asked as she cocked her head, taking the scroll from Will. "This is all so mysterious," acknowledged Dana with her eyes and smile flashing in obvious enjoyment of another installment of the unfolding mystery in her entry hall.

Dana unfurled the scroll, knowing what was written inside, yet once again feeling a warm flush sweep across her face as she red Patricia's words. Dana inhaled; a crinkle grew at the corner of her eyes; Patricia had sent her husband Will over to her as a gift to give her 'a night of holiday magic'.

In Patricia's written introduction she implied that perhaps Will's stag arrival was not a surprise to her, but Will was not aware that he was visiting her as the bearer of gifts that tied him to The Third Day of Christmas, part of the husband exchange plotted right after The Chix cookie exchange.

Patricia wrote that Will was 'prepared to fulfill her wish list', and that rumors were circulating among The Chix that she had made it to the top of Santa's naughty girl list. According to the instructions, all she had to do was 'Have a Merry Fucking Christmas.' Patricia signed off with, 'And Good Will to all and to all a good night.'

"Well, well, what do we have here?" she asked as she dropped her glance to the gift-wrapped box in Will's hands.

Will looked at Dana, "Did you read Patricia's introductory remarks on the scroll Dana?" Will of course had seen her reading it but was expecting more of a reaction from her as the purpose for his evening visit was spelled out for the attractive widow lady who had long been inside their close circle of friends.

"Oh yes. I've red and understood your introduction quite clearly." Dana used a husky, seductive voice to emphasize her intimate understanding of what was ahead for the two of them. "But I must know, what's in the box?"

Dana's unfazed manner, sexy outfit and flirty ease with him put Will in a randy mood, thinking that he'd lucked into some sexy games between Dana and his wife. If Dana didn't seem to mind, he was certainly game. And he brought his own Christmas toys. "You get to open the box after supper. Not before then - and no peeking!"

"It's you that has been doing the early peeking Will," Dana thrust her boobs forward, letting the half buttoned top fall further open to reveal her white lace cups filled with full tits as she shook them with the intention to set off a growing erection inside of Will's pants.

After the supper dishes were cleared, Dana made a play for the present. Will snatched it from her clutches, saying that "This gift was selected by Patricia, but she has entrusted it to me to give it to you. She seemed certain that you would find it appropriate for any kind of mischief that we might want to get into." Will smiled a sheepish smile, not sure about presenting such a gift to a lady friend. Relying on his wife's assurances that Dana would love it, he placed it in Dana's hands.

Dana tore into the gift wrapping and let out a gasp and then a giggle escape as she opened the box. "What's this?" Dana was beaming as she lifted the pink oval object from its case and held it in the palm of her hand.

"I've been told that you might be expecting something along the lines of a chicken or hen theme. What you hold in your hand is for your holiday evening pleasure - as am I. I am your rooster, er; may I correct that, I am your barnyard cock. I present you, my hen, a vibrating egg." Will had gained his confidence over dinner and was enjoying toying with his hostess as she marveled at the gift sex toy.

Dana didn't want to pry and outright ask Will if he and Patricia had used a vibrating sex toy before, but she was sure that it wasn't too difficult to guess how to use it.

Will walked behind where Dana sat, he brushed his fingers through her hair. "Do you remember way back when, when you and Sander helped me out by giving me some tips on the best way to make my moves on Patricia?"

"Umm yeah, I remember all of that pretty well. You weren't the fumbling geek that you thought you were, you just needed a little direction and a lot of confidence. I guess that Sander and I turned you into a star lover."

"Well, you may not have turned me into the latest and greatest Casanova; but at least you did give me great advice and let me practice with a real woman. Dana, you got me off to a solid start. Patricia is ever grateful to you for knocking off my awkward edges, if only she knew all the schooling that you put into my romancing behavior. Once I took your advice and employed your patented instructions of hot techniques to win a girl, I was off to the races. Patricia was able to pick it up from there." Will finished his remembrances with a small chuckle.

"Let's see, if I remember my early lessons; Lesson One: atmosphere is important. Come my fine teacher, join me on the couch and you can test me on what I learned from you." Will took Dana by the hand, escorting her to the living room.

"Lesson Two in winning a girl was what? Oh yes, I think I remember; take her slowly, don't scare her, make her comfortable with you and she will come to you on her own. Did I get that right?" Will petted Dana in a slow and easy casual caress, seeking feedback from his former romance instructor.

Dana nestled into Will, "That's right, but that lesson mostly applies to a man's first approach to a girl. We've both been through this together before. Given our mutual experiences, I think we can skip the slow part this time. I'm not scared, and a faster pace would be fine with me tonight, young man."

Will began to pick up the pace, undressing Dana as she enjoyed the confident attention from the man whom she once had to advise on how to undress a woman. Will had peeled Dana down to her set of snowy white lace bra and panties, he came in close to kiss her and told her she "looked like a pretty white snowflake, a unique beauty, yet the hottest of all the fallen snowflakes. If you catch my drift."

Dana smiled her appreciation at Will's compliment, "Patricia told me that I should expect to find a surprise holiday package - may I?" She asked without waiting for an answer, reaching up to undo Will's pants. Dana dropped his pants and underpants to his ankle and was not surprised to find his cock decorated with a green bow. "This must be the pretty package of which Patricia spoke," feigning surprise. "Oh look, you come with a label," Dana removed the bow from Will's willy and red the label: 'On the Third Day of Christmas, My True Friend gave to me, Three French Hens. Dear Dana, I hope you enjoy the Christmas package I've selected for you. Unfortunately, the Three French Hens couldn't get their travel visa in time to arrive with the business end of this package; so, I've taken the liberty to include one of their vibrating French hen eggs as a substitute. Ooh la la! Enjoy! And have a Merry Fucking Christmas! -- Patricia.'

Dana stroked Will's cock, extended in greeting, "We never got this far in our lessons on what to do with a girl. I Trust you've figured out a thing or two on the proper use of your tool?" Dana leaned in to give Will's cock a lick.

Will let her consume him, holding her hair as she slurped with her tongue, preparing his tool for some deep drilling. "Ooh la la," you make a pretty French hen when you have a pecker on your face," Will sighed as Dana sucked him and caressed his balls. With reluctance, Will pulled his cock out of Dana's lips, "Lest we forget, now that you've unwrapped your gift, I believe it is time we play with your new Christmas toy." Will returned to the table and picked up the vibrating egg sex toy and its remote control.

"This will be fun," said Will as he used the controls to turn it on and run the vibrating rheostat through its different levels. "You never got to this part of the lesson when you taught me about what turns girls on."

Dana pulled him close, "A girl shouldn't reveal all of her secrets. But at the time, I never imagined that there was a remote-control device that could be used to turn a girl on with the literal press of a button." Dana spread her legs, rubbing her labia with both hands, "Why don't you find a warm nest to place that egg in, and let's pick up this part of the lesson that we both somehow missed all of those years ago."

Will fit himself between her legs, wedged the vibrating egg between Dana's wet cunt lips. Dana held it in place with her right hand as she plucked at her excited nipple with her left hand as Will pressed the start button on the remote. Dana let out a giggle. "Cluck, cluck, cluck, this darling little egg is going to make me want to get laid."

Dana bent her knees, trying different positions and sensations. As her toy egg hummed, she purred. "Does this egg have any other settings?" she asked as she worked her clit, letting the vibrations warm her libido.

Will licked his lips as he watched Dana adjust to the new sensations between her legs, "Why yes, it does have several settings. How may I serve you my little chickadee?"

"What options can you offer an excited girl?" Dana asked as her eyes involuntarily rolled back as she pressed the vibrating egg to her warming, wet labia.

"I can serve you 'over easy', which is the setting I have you at now. I can pick it up a notch and deliver a 'poached egg' sensation, which should make you feel soft, gooey and warm. Or I can go right up to 'scrambled' level."

"My, my, all of those sound fun. Will, I want you to surprise me, you pick the setting. You can change it up on me whenever you want, make it interesting with variety." Will needed no prodding, he switched up the intensity of the egg Dana held to her clit; using a slow build, higher and higher and as she squirmed and squeezed her legs together on the couch. As Dana was heating up to her melting point, Will stopped the vibrations.

"You barnyard bastard, Will!"

"You wanted me to surprise you. Didn't you tell me years ago to not rush a girl?" Will offered a smug snort, knowing he had the remote and he was in control. Also knowing that Dana had once coached him to make the girl want to come to him. "I think I've learned your lessons pretty well, by the look on your face Dana."

"I was starting to get in the groove. You coaxed me pretty far along, I'm wet and I'm getting pretty frothy -- until you stopped. Will, I didn't teach you to be a cruel bastard." Dana was pouting as she reclined on the couch with her knees up, still holding her toy egg against her glistening labia.

"No, you didn't. I developed the joy of prolonged teasing on my own." He held the remote in front of Dana, rolling his thumb over the control buttons like the twitchy trigger finger of a gunfighter in a showdown. "I could start you up anytime I want from where I stand. Just because I stopped doesn't mean I can't start again."

"Well then, what do I need to do to get you to fire me up again? I can't let this egg that I'm nesting on get too cold. I'd be disappointed if I didn't hatch an egg-cracking orgasm with you tonight."

Will beamed with confidence as he looked Dana in the eye as he twirled the remote in between his fingers. "I confess, after steaming me up all those years ago with your romantic lessons, I've always wanted to see you get turned on like you are tonight. I love watching your pretty titties bunch and jiggle as you enjoy my remote toying."

Dana enjoyed hearing Will's confession and was secretly pleased that she could offer him a good, sexy show. "OK, here's the deal; you control the vibrating egg, I give you the show you've always wanted but you have to come over here and lick and suck my nipple as my clit gets buzzed."

"Now that's a deal I can't resist. First, I get to watch you get frothy all over again and then I'll come to your side and fulfill my other longtime fantasy by fondling your tits and sucking you until your nips are made hard and erect and by my stimulation. I'll work you tit, you work your clit and together we will bring you to an egg-cracking orgasm."

Will performed a masterful job of licking, sucking and nibbling at Dana's nipples while changing the sensations she was getting on her swollen clit with the remote. With a sudden convulsion and an eye-rolling, breathy squeal, Dana panted as she pulled the pink egg out from her inner thighs, dropping it on the carpet. "Oh damn. Damn that kind of snook up on me. Oh, damn that was exciting. That was a surprise." She pried Will's lips from her over-sensitized nipple as she let the reverberations subside inside her hen parts while she leaned back against the couch's arm feeling warmed from toes to tits.

Will looked her over, seeing a crimson sex-flush glowing on her upper chest, remarked, "You are some kind of red-breasted warbler hen."

Dana mover her arm down to grasp Will's semi-rigid erection, giving it slow, sensuous strokes as she subtly tugged his cock to position him in front of her spread legs. "Cluck, cluck. You wanna fuck?" Dana inquired through heavy eyelids of a post-orgasmic woman.

Will said nothing; he seized her ankles and threw them back toward her shoulders, exposing Dana's puffy pink cunt. With a stiff and eager pecker, Will drove hard and deep into Dana's upturned snatch, pinning her legs against her shoulders as he thrust his boner in and out of her with wet, succulent sounds. He swabbed her with hearty vigor, fulfilling years of pent-up fantasy desire to fuck Dana, the lady who had taken it upon herself years ago to give him the confidence to make it with a girl.

Dana sensed that this pumping penetration which she was enjoying was the carnal expression of this man's ultimate gratification after suppressing his desire to fuck her for years. She loved being able to fulfill Will's desires. By letting him take her so savagely, it served to only heighten her pleasure. She could only express her pleasure with long, loud moans finished with little barks with every pounding stroke that Will planted deep inside of her spasming naughty bits. Dana's involuntary moans built up again and again as Will plunged into her slippery depths, always ending with a little bark as his rod mashed into her cervix.

Will's grip on her folded-over legs tightened, his breath became fast and shallow as he pumped Dana with fucking fury. He released her legs, seized two generous handfuls of titty flesh, squeezed her tight as his cock flew over her nest of pubic hair, exploding in a glorious release of white, hot sperm. Will's ejaculate went splattering across Dana's bunched bosoms, up her throat and chin, coating her lips with thick, white ropes of jizz.

Breathing heavily, with eyes closed tight, he massaged both of Dana's melons as he rested, enjoying the flood of warm satisfaction coursing through his body.

Dana waited for a few moments until Will opened his eyes; then she opened her lips and ran her tongue along them to slurp up the cum he had deposited on her mouth. "Yum. You've been wanting to do me like that for a long time haven't you? I could tell."

"It was worth the wait Dana. You taught me well." Will's arms released their hold on Dana's tits as he fell into her chest with his face, holding her torso tight as she wrapped her legs around his back.

Awaking from an exhausted snooze, still entangled and stuck together by the sticky cum covering Dan's chest and Will's face; Dana stuck her finger in her mouth and then inserted it in Will's ear. "Wet Willy!"

Will flinched and then laughed, "Yeah, but my Willy wins for getting you wetter."

Dana spoke, "We're both kind of a sticky mess. It's like someone cracked an egg on me, it's like I have egg white covering my tits." Dana snaked her way out from under Will, taking his hand and getting him to sit up on the couch. "Come on, let's both get wet again," as she led him to her shower where they soaped and fondled each other before taking their time toweling each other off.

Dana didn't bother to dress, wanting to give Will an eyeful as a parting-gift as she watched him dress. They kissed a quick kiss on the cheek before Will walked out the door in the wee hours of the foggy December morning.

Dana went back into the living room to find her vibrating egg toy. She picked it up and found the remote control stuffed behind a cushion. She toyed with the idea of having another round just by herself or just going off to bed. She hadn't decided as she crawled under the sheets with the toy, but she was thinking about The Chix, The Dix, the great sex with the boys, the great fun, and the Twelve Days of Christmas.

She thought of

Jenna’s Cousin Mia: Part 2

Snowden Speaks — Sat, 14 Dec 2024 22:40:00 +0000

She's had the organist. Now she wants the Vicar.

A Series in 17 parts, by Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Mia weakly raised her hand and switched off the shower.

"That was amazing, Gordy-pie. Organists really are good with their hands!"

"Not so bad yourself," he panted. "Wow. I enjoyed that immensely! You're quite a lass, Mia."

"I'd like to see you play the organ," she said, stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel.

"I need to get my breath back first!" He laughed, as Mia began playfully drying him off. "God, you're an eager little beaver aren't you?"

"Hee hee. Yes, but what I meant was, I'd like to see you play the church organ. I've not been inside a church for years. Jenna said that St Michael's is cool."

"It's a nice church." I wonder what else she's told her? Gordon thought. "Why not come along to the Sunday service? You can see me in action there, so to speak. After the service, you can have a go on the organ if you'd like. Do you play any musical instruments?"

"Guitar and violin, but I've not practiced for ages."

"Ah, so strings are your thing? That's good. It'd be nice to have a violinist in the choir. One of the choristers plays the trumpet. Which keeps him from singing and I'm glad of it as his voice is bloody awful."

Mia sniggered. "You're funny, Gordy-pie. I really like you. Are all organists as fun as you?"

"Nay lass. I'm one of a kind. He pulled her close and kissed her neck and lips. He was an incredible kisser, and she was curious to know more about him.

"Are you married?"

"Long divorced," came his reply. "I'm married to the pipe organ, as they say." He wondered if Jenna had mentioned anything about their various liaisons over the past year, and was about to say something, when the bathroom door suddenly opened.

"Jen! Ever thought of knocking before entering?" Mia gasped, covering herself with a towel.

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes can I?" She turned to Gordon, who grinned sheepishly at her.

"Um, hello!"

"Funny place to have organ lessons, Gordon," Jenna said, as she watched him squirm.

"Gordy-pie was just showing me how good an organist is with his hands, weren't you?" Mia said, kissing him. "And you know what, he's amazing!"

"Oh I'm well aware of how good he is," Jenna replied, folding her arms.

Sensing disapproval, Gordon attempted to explain. "It just happened. I didn't know your cousin was here," he prattled. "I put the plant pots in the yard, went into the kitchen and she was just there, wearing nothing but a towel!"

"You don't need to explain yourself, Gordy-pie. We've not done anything wrong," Mia said. "We're both single. Why are you so uptight, Jenna? Is it because we're in the vicarage? Is that like, a sin or something?"

Jenna was in no position to claim the moral high ground. "No, no of course not. I was, just a bit surprised, that's all. It's fine. Just, try to be a bit more discreet, Mia. What if Simon had walked in?"

"Oh I'm sure the good reverend would approve," Gordon smiled, winking at her.

The perceptive Mia noticed his gesture and wondered what he was hinting at.

"Jenna took a deep breath. "Okay, well I'm going to have a coffee. I'll leave you to get dressed. Do you want a drink, Gordon?"

"A tea would be lovely. I'm parched. Thanks!"

"I'll have tea as well, please." Mia added.

Jenna left the bathroom.

"She's acting weird," Mia said. "There's something she's not telling me."

Oh boy, wait until you find out, Gordon thought. Your mind will be blown.

Christmas Cockie Exchange: Part 2

Piper's Posts — Sat, 14 Dec 2024 05:39:00 +0000

Two Turtle Doves, or Dildos?

Based on a post by SandyMarl, in 4 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Dana returned to the kitchen as Orlando was finishing drying the stemware. She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms in front of her tits as she tried to give a confident look, though a drunken squirrel was racing around inside her chest.

Orlando folded the dish towel, set it down as he stepped to her side. He reached around her waist and pulled her close, brushing her hair back, he whispered into her ear, "Strange as it is, there are some people who have a difficult time accepting good things that are given to them. You have been given a set of good and close girlfriends Dana." Orlando placed his fingertips at the base of her jaw, "Your pulse is beating hard, I sense that you are understandably nervous to find yourself in a position to accept or reject a special, intimate gift that has been tenderly offered to you." Continuing to whisper into her ear in a mesmerizing, deep masculine voice. "It is my hope that you will be accepting of all the pleasures and dreams which are before you."

Dana gulped, wanting some words to come out of her throat, but nothing happened. She wasn't sure if those stuck words ever made it onto her tongue what they would say to Orlando's proposition. She liked the idea that they could be a 'yes', but something held her back from giving an answer. She let her emotions bubble hot inside of her, waiting until they were ready to come out in their own time; she wished and hoped they'd be an accepting 'yes', but she wasn't sure.

The roaming fingers of her cooing partridge traced down the side of her neck, parting her collar from her prickly, heated skin. His fingers found her bra strap and followed it lower along the pathway that brought his touch to the slope of her tit. With one hand, the tips of his fingers ran along the upper rim of her black lacy cup while the other hand undid the top button of her blouse. Orlando breathed his warm, moist breath into her ear. "You've changed into something lacy since I've arrived," was Orlando's observation. "You have not given me a spoken answer as to whether you'll accept an intimate gift, but I have gotten your subtle answer by my discovery of your hidden charms. You are a charming woman," Orlando breathed into her ear in a husky voice, and then gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

Dana let out a small moan as she unconsciously tipped her head back, exposing her throat and lifting her tits as Orlando teased her flesh as he continued with his light touch running along the contours of her bra. Her gift lover recognized the moan, the short breaths, the exposed throat and the visible flush of her chest as the tell-tale signs of a woman drifting into seduction. Dana didn't have to speak; she had already extended an invitation in the wordless language of lovers for Orlando to take her wherever he wanted to go.

Orlando worked deliberately, unfastening each button as he pressed his warm lips to her throat followed by tiny, wet touches with the tip of his tongue. Dana let his attention wash over her skin, floating on warm waves that rippled through her insides. With the bottom button undone, he rolled his fingers around her cups, petting her ribs before setting his fingers between her fingers, lifting their entwined hands and guiding Dana out of the kitchen, floating toward the back of the house.

Lifting her unfastened shirt off her shoulders, Orlando tossed it over a chair in the corner and then pressed her with his palm, forcing Dana to fall back onto the bed. Dana landed on her back with a giggle, loving the feeling of being desired and taken. She placed her hands behind her head, accentuating her tits covered in the gossamer black fabric of her cups. She relished watching Orlando, waiting to see his next move.

Orlando reached into the side pocket of his jacket, tossing a small bottle onto the bed. "What's that?" asked Dana from her reclining pin-up girl pose.

"Consider it 'partridge oil,' my little chickpea. Some of us more experienced partridges find that a dab or two on a partridge's pecker makes for smoother night's nesting in our chosen pear tree."

Dana broke into a broad grin, "I never knew partridges were such considerate birds," she said.

"Not all partridges are, some will leave droppings on your car. But when a partridge finds an attractive limb or two, we partridges are known to be considerate nesters." Orlando tossed his jacket over the back of the corner chair and then stripped off his shirt, shoes and socks.

"Now, I believe this old, experienced partridge has found a pair of attractive limbs that interest me a great deal." Orlando crawled onto the bed, unsnapped Dana's pants and pulled them off as she lifted her lower limbs skyward. Orlando admired her matching lacy black panties for a moment before he swooped in and removed the pair just as he'd done with her pants. "Ah, there is a pretty little partridge nest at the top of a pair of attractive limbs," announced Orlando, more to himself than to Dana.

Dana felt shy, but at the same time pleased to be the object of a man's intimate attention for the first time in a long time. She lay on the bed, her cunny and pubic hair exposed to Orlando's admiring eyes while still trussed up in her bra. She squirmed over to retrieve the bottle of lubricant that Orlando had tossed onto the quilt. She shook it in front of the shirtless man lying next to her, teasing him she asked, "Don't you have to molt or something before this 'partridge oil' can be applied to your pecker?" She was pleased to see the fabric at his crotch stretched over a nice, rigid form.

"I'm getting the urge to roost, but I'd enjoy a little more playtime." Orlando tucked his targeted pear tree under the heavy quilt, slipping under to join her. He pulled her over to cuddle next to him. He slipped her straps off her shoulders, massaging and nibbling at her back as he unhooked the last of her garments, discarding it over the side of the bed. He rolled her onto her back, cupping and squeezing her tits as he kissed her arms, working his lips to the top of her tit, bunching her tit in his firm grip as he pushed her erect nipple into his mouth. He inhaled her exquisitely sensitive titty tip with a vigorous suction that filled his hot, wet mouth. His tongue darted and circled around her puffed up bits, sending sparks shooting into her clit. He worked her fleshy mounds over with his mouth, drooling over her melons and adding to the juicy wet sensation she was getting between her thighs.

As he lapped at her nipples, caressing, licking, squeezing and mashing her mammaries with his right hand, his left hand traveled across her belly, inching its way lower on her body. Dana opened herself, thrilled to once again feel the pleasure of a man intimately handling all of her excited girl parts. Her cunny was more than moist, her breathing shallow and her brain swimming in a warm fog. Dana arched her hips as Orlando's hand petted her bush; her little princess ached to once again be embraced by a dancing partner. It has been so long. Her warm, buttery inner parts were feeling more wonderful than she ever remembered.

Orlando's fingers passed over her dewy vulva with a firm pressure. His hand made a tight circular grinding motion before he spread her puffy lips open, probing along her slick walls, climbing up her canyon. Dana held her breath, she wanted to squeal before he got to her clit, but she held her silence with closed eyes, letting the anticipation of first contact build in her lungs and in her loins.

Orlando's fingertip crept up the underside of her rigid clit, painting her in her own sex juices. He circled her aroused bud, triggering a flash of blue electricity that shot under her skin to her toes. Dana's hips bucked; her ass arched as she pushed her sex trigger into her lover's fingers. He ran a couple of his fingers into her slippery cunny, drawing them up to her clit, bathing her in her own nectar. Dana burst into a series of brusque chirps, half-screaming, half-moaning as she was seized by convulsing and shaking legs. She choked out in shallow breaths, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Oh god, oh fuck. Oh, fucking fuck."

Orlando let her convulsions subside. Dana covered her eyes with her hands, gasping for breath as his fingers rested, half filling her pulsing cunny. "I could be wrong -- but I'm not; you have a lot more in the tank my little chickpea." Orlando stuffed his fingers further up inside her cunt as if he was taking the measure of her tank. He pulled out slowly, making sure he tickled her g-spot as he withdrew from her throbbing void.

"I might have forgotten about the next element in your Secret Santa swap tonight, except it is so fucking uncomfortable right now. I'm afraid you'll have to perform the final plucking of your evening's gift partridge. I will need the skilled digits of my beautiful assistant; would you please remove my remaining apparel. I have been instructed by the one who sent me, to inform you that there is a special package waiting for you underneath."

With the glee of a young girl selecting her wrapped package from under the Christmas tree, Dana rolled on her side, unzipping Orlando's white trousers and pulling them off. His erection was obvious under his holiday themed underwear, yet it looked as if his underwear was packing more than expected. Curious about his cock and whatever extras accompanied his package, she tugged his last bit of wrapping away to reveal the full package. Dana whooped in surprise, and laughed a hearty laugh, admiring the red bow adding a festive cheer to his stiff prick. "Oh my! Is this all for me?" she giggled.

Orlando shrugged, "I suggest you read the label. If it's not addressed to you, I've made a terrible mistake."

Dana picked up the card hanging from the red bow, dangling below Orlando's Christmas balls: "On the First Day of Christmas, My True Friend gave to me, A Partridge in a Pear Tree. Dear Dana, I hope you enjoy the Christmas package I've selected for you. I've decided to exchange more than cookies after our usual Christmas Cookie Exchange. Dana, Merry Fucking Christmas! -- McNally."

Dana let a little squeak escape, "This is all so very naughty."

Orlando thrust his hips toward Dana, "Yes it is. Would you do me a favor and unknot me?" he said, shaking his boner in front of her to get her to remove the bow and gift card from his masculine package.

Dana's eyes flashed with a mischievous grin, she wiggled her fingers in excitement before blushing as she reached to the base of the proud cock, lifting the elastic band at the base to un-decorate Orlando's extended organ.

"Thank you," was his response as his partridge cock was now as free as a bird. He searched the folds of the bed cover, looking to find the bottle of partridge pecker oil he'd tossed onto the bed earlier. Dana found it under her bottom, showing her find to Orlando.

"May I?" was her question as she managed a sheepish look up into Orlando's eyes.

"The pleasure would be all mine," he replied.

Dana reached out to grab his manhandle, coaxing him into bed. She crawled over him, letting her tits hang down, dangling in his face. She dropped her shoulders, let one nipple land on his lips, he gave her a lick, and then she plopped her other nipple to his lips, receiving a second exhilarating lick. She scooted down, grasping the base of his cock, about to apply a dab of lube, when she thought better of her idea.

She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, marveling at the inflexible piece of anatomy, trying to recall the fun of having a man's stiff cock penetrating her. It had been a while since she had even imagined enjoying the pleasure of a good fucking. She admired his towering erection, abandoned her last bit of hesitation holding her back and opened her lips and took him in deep. She moved her hands to his nuts, caressed them as she swabbed the hot pink shaft with her tongue. She sucked and stroked him, bringing him to maximum stiffness without a hint of gagging, feeling proud of her accomplishment.

Orlando held her head tight between his hands as she bobbed up and down in slow, long strokes with her lips. Orlando's hands reached under her, grabbing a handful of titties in each hand, massaging her boobs and making sure she had her plush nips squeezed between his fingers just the right amount of rough, stimulating pleasure.

Dana was getting lathered up again, her lady parts were plump and wet with the thrill of sucking a thick cock and the powerful handling of her tits, making her want that cock to leave her lips and tongue and find its way down to her labia and clit. Dana let Orlando's erection pull out of her mouth with a satisfying plop. She closed her eyes and made the deep humming sound of an aroused woman wanting and waiting to be taken.

Orlando positioned his hand under her hanging udders, holding them in his solid grasp; he tilted her onto her back. Picking up the bottle of lube, he poured a small stream over her steaming cunt, rubbing his shaft with a second slathering. Dana's humming picked up in pitch as the cold lube oil fell on her labia, but Orlando's warm hands worked it into her soft girly flesh and made her feel happy and aroused to be pampered with floral scented oil on her feminine folds.

Orlando had a well-oiled tool after a couple of strokes. He was eager to climb into his pear tree after great stimulating oral sex and the delight of handling Dana's attractive and suitably large and pendulous tits. He spread Dana's legs, pushing her knees wide after oiling her inner thighs. With a little bounce he crow-hopped between Dana's outstretched legs, landing on the gaping fruit of his pear tree. His partridge flew into her, surprising her with his sudden furious first fuck. He was thick and forced her apart, she felt stuffed; startled at the filling sensation, surprised at the penetration and swoopy with the undulating, gripping response of her unpracticed sex muscles to Orlando's perching inside her cunt.

Orlando gripped her hips, Dana's legs pointed up as he pounded her with scooping, hungry thrusts of his hips, poking, prodding, pushing his pecker deeper into her ravenous nether regions. Her screams began with his first humping thrust; each blow between her legs brought a corresponding scream, he was the hammer, she was the anvil. The hammer hit her with shuddering force, the anvil of her sex rang out with each blow in an echoing scream of unbridled pleasure. She was being pounded into a form of malleable feminine flesh as her lover worked her over.

Dana had been fucked many times before, she and Sander had made love, mad love, lazy love, hungry love and yet this was new for her. She let each throbbing thrust push her higher. She let Orlando's prick hammer her hard, pushing her to that orgasmic edge, an edge that was always a mystery. Dana never knew what was over the edge, at least not until she had been pushed over it and was falling into its abyss, filled with swirling clouds and tumbling waves of passion. She gave herself away, letting Orlando push her to the edge.

She was hanging at the edge of her orgasm, she felt her lover's muscles tighten along his lean body, his breathing was labored, her desire was to feel him cum inside her. She wanted to give herself to him. In giving herself up to his explosive ejaculation, she would be blasted into deep space. The lovers would be swept away together in a perfect climax.

Dana tensed in response to the man fucking her as he strained to gather his energy like a coiled spring planted deep inside her sex chamber. With a throaty groan, Orlando let his seed burst from his loins, flooding Dana with white hot fluid. She felt his release. His energy tripped her delicately balanced desire. Orlando's hot splash burst against the back of her vibrating inner hollow, exploding out through her lungs, rattling her pelvis as she shook and collapsed at its seductive power. The heat of her explosion radiated through all her muscles, warping the dimensions of her bedroom.

Orlando rolled off her, pulling the heavy quilt over the two of them. He pulled Dana close to him, spooning with her as he buried his nose in her hair, letting his hand rest on her tit as dreams of sugar plums danced in their heads as they snuggled into a relaxed sleep like a contented partridge in a sweet pear tree.

December's late sunrise was filtering through the blinds when Dana opened her eyes at Orlando's touch on her bare back. He ran his hand over her skin, rubbing the small of her back as she rolled over on her stomach. Waking up to a man's roaming hands was a forgotten pleasure for Dana. Her night's partner massaged her rump as she purred. Orlando gave her a light smack across her ass, whispering, "You have a beautiful pear-shaped ass, fresh and firm." He bent over and took a tiny nip at her flank, Dana flinched, then he kissed it all better.

"I regret that I have an appointment for later this morning. Please excuse me, but I will take my leave after a wonderful experience." Dana watched him dress from under a wad of sheets and blankets.

"Mr. Partridge?" she called as he moved toward the bedroom door, Orlando smiled and turned toward the nude woman lying in bed.

"Yes?" he asked in a jaunty tone.

"Tell McNally, 'Have yourself a Merry Fucking Christmas to one and to all', would you?"

Orlando chuckled, "That sounds like an inside joke among The Chix. I'll leave that one up to you to deliver that message, my little chickpea." Orlando let himself out of the house.

Two Turtle Doves

Dana was reluctant to rise out of bed; she wished she could linger under the covers with a lover all day. But she was resigned to the fact that the day had to move forward. She locked the door, put on a pot of coffee and made her bed. Her phone pinged. She went to find it and red the incoming text.

It was from Annie, 'Clear your calendar this afternoon girl. I'll be delivering a holiday surprise package to your house. You will need to be at home to receive it!' Dana's first thought was, how sweet of Annie.

She was expecting a visit from Annie when the doorbell rang mid-afternoon. Dana was surprised to see Nelson on her doorstep. "Is Annie with you?" Dana asked with a quizzical look and a realization that she was experiencing a flash of deja vu all over again.

Nelson stepped into the house carrying a small gift bag and handed Dana a scroll tied with a white ribbon. "What's this?" Dana asked as she cocked her head, taking the scroll from Nelson. "This is all so mysterious - again," she said with her eyes and smile flashing in obvious enjoyment of the unfolding mystery in her entry hall. Dana ran her eyes up and down the broad, well-toned frame of the dark-haired man whom she had known as a friend for many years.

Dana unfurled the scroll, feeling a hot flush ignite her face as she red Annie's words while her complexion blushed to contrast with the scroll's ribbon. Dana sucked in her breath; her eyes grew wide as she red what had just been handed to her. From what was written in the scroll, it sounded like Annie had sent her husband, Nelson over to her as a special gift. Nelson was here to give her 'a time of holiday magic.' Annie's introduction stated that 'Nelson was 'prepared to fulfill her wish list', and for this one time only, Santa would be unloading his sack and giving his gifts to one of the naughty girls on his list.' According to the instructions, all she had to do was 'to be swept away and be surprised by the goodies that were stuffed into her stocking.'

Dana took another short breath as she finished reading; she understood that the text Annie had sent this morning was but a pretext, a set up. Her lips parted as she realize

Christmas Cockie Exchange: Part 1

Piper's Posts — Fri, 13 Dec 2024 05:38:00 +0000

Husbands and cookies are exchanged, to add holiday cheer.

Based on a post by SandyMarl, in 4 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

The Chix Annual Christmas Cookie Exchange

McNally topped off each of the four glasses, then tipped the bottle to her lips to make sure she'd drained the last sweet drop of Gewürztraminer. McNally smacked her lips before inserting her tongue into the brown wine bottle's narrow orifice. "Umm, a sweet little rim job before I recycle this dead soldier," she announced to a kitchen packed with a few of her long-time friends. "This dark guy is so sweet, I just love him," she said as she continued her fellatio pantomime by wrapping her lips around the narrow neck as she encircled her fingers and made a couple of strokes up and down the bottle like she was finishing a masterful blow job.

Her friends watched her risqué display and giggled, except for Patricia. Patricia picked through the array of Christmas cookie cutter shapes laid out at the edge of the counter, dropping her eyes as she scolded, "McNally, you should be more thoughtful of Dana. Your tipsy little joke is in poor taste in front of our hostess, especially at this time of year." Patricia meant it as a sobering rebuke, as if any of the girls present needed to be reminded of Dana's recently widowed status, especially around Christmas.

McNally pulled the wine bottle's phallic dimensions from her lips, setting it down and turning to Dana, "Oh crap, I'm sorry. You know I had no intention of opening painful memories; I was only trying to lift the holiday spirits with a little bawdy humor... I was just thinking..."

Dana turned to McNally, "I know. I know you McNally -- boy do I know you. You're always thinking we Chix should loosen up our inhibitions and take a walk on the steamier side of life; and boy are you always ready with a risqué joke, a steamy story or a naughty pun."

Dana broke into a smile, and then spoke to her closest friends, "Hey Chix, you guys are so great! You're the only reason I'm able to get through this time of year. Without y'all, I'd be nothing but a blubbering mess this Christmas. Facing the painful first anniversary of Sander's passing is really hard. It'd be unbearable if I had to go through it alone. The support of my Chix means everything to me right now."

Dana forced a cheery voice and continued speaking after dusting the flour off her hands. "I insisted y'all come into my kitchen this year and fill it with holiday cheer, so it'd be like the good times we had before. I want everyone to make a big sugary mess for me to clean up and keep me busy. Our annual Chix Christmas cookie exchange is our tradition; it's now more meaningful to me than ever. I'm dreading the holidays..." Dana paused to collect her emotions before continuing, "... as the holiday season approaches, I fear being all alone, left to deal with the memory of Sander's skiing accident by myself. I need my Chix more than ever right now. I need something to keep my mind from dwelling on the anniversary of the accident."

Dana gave a congenial but forced looking smile to the women in her kitchen. "McNally, you go right on giving your Gewurztraminer boyfriend's long, brown glass cock a good sucking, it's fine with me and the rest of these kitchen voyeurs. Keep it up, all of you, be merry and I'll find a way to get by."

Annie wiped a tear off her cheek as she stepped to Dana, wrapping her arms and her baggy, ugly Christmas sweater around Dana, managing to get cookie dough crumbs in Dana's hair in the process. Annie hugged Dana tight, embracing her in a prolonged hold to convey her sympathy and shared grief at the loss of Dana's husband last year. Annie teared up again as she remembered gathering with McNally and Patricia to take down the tree and put away all the festive Christmas decorations in Dana's house as Dana planned Sander's funeral.

It was all so sad, so hard to deal with. Annie admired McNally's flair to disregard the implicit sadness hanging over their annual Chix Christmas cookie exchange; but didn't want to get between McNally and Patricia as they scuffled over the proper decorum in Dana's kitchen under the circumstances.

Annie let go and pulled away from her embrace, and as she did, she gasped, "Oh Dana, I'm sorry. Look what I've done, my dirty apron made a mess on your top. I'm sorry."

Dana laughed, "I should've expected this would happen, wearing black when I'm in the middle of a hen party with flour flying all over my kitchen. I thought I'd feel and look slimmer wearing black, a self-deluding effect to counteract my debauched cookie sampling today. I might as well just drop these little Santa cookies down my pants and let 'em stick right there on my hips," smacking her hands on her ass for emphasis.

Annie, trying to make up for the accidental flour dusting, began to brush her fingers across Dana's boobs, fussing and worrying she'd ruined Dana's pullover. Dana laughed it off, "Annie, stop fretting, it'll wash out, no problem. Relax. Let's all have a good time making a mess as we bake and decorate our cookies. There's something festive about a busy and messy kitchen. I just love it."

McNally watched from the other side of the counter as Annie dabbed and wiped the front of Dana's chest, "I know what you're getting for Christmas - one of those cordless hand vacuums; they market it as a bust duster." Everyone cracked up at McNally's pun, even Patricia.

The timer went off; Patricia stepped to the oven to check on the first batch of cookies. She pulled out the cookie sheet and put it on the cooling rack.

"Those look perfect," Annie announced.

"They're not perfect until they're decorated," responded Dana. "They're just plain-Jane naked right now. It's our job to get them all dressed up in their Christmas fancy-pants."

"Oh, Patricia, can you grab the box of sprinkles and glittery decorating doo-dahs from the cupboard next to the oven?" asked Dana. Patricia set the full box of decorating doo-dahs on the kitchen table.

McNally burst into song, "Doo-dah, doo-dah, Camptown ladies sing this song, all the doo-dah day!" McNally's three friends joined in a final chorus, "Doo-dah, doo-dah, all the doo-dah day!"

"Now things are starting to sound festive," declared Dana as she mixed bowls of red and green frosting. "McNally, there's a bottle of Riesling in the garage fridge -- I know I don't have to ask twice to get you to bring that one in and pour another round."

Annie said, "This is sounding and feeling like old times; like back in the beginning when we worked at Dix Chix. Who remembers which of us four started waitressing first at Dix?"

"Wasn't me," was McNally's contribution from the hallway, "I'm the youngest of the Chix."

"It could've been you; you've always had a reputation for starting early McNally," was Patricia's retort.

McNally laughed at the ribbing. "I seem to recall that Annie got hired a few days ahead of me."

"So, when did we become collectively known as 'The Chix?'" was Dana's follow up question.

Annie answered, "It was Patricia. She advertised to all the boys that there were some interesting Chix to be found in the backroom of Dix Chix Family Restaurant after closing. If a boy had the right stuff, he could find his way into the place and get a few drinks, no ID required."

"That may be true, but I got the idea from that new girl," said Patricia in a defensive tone. "The new girl suggested it was a crying shame that us four Chix had to close up on Friday and Saturday nights without having any cocks around to make it fun," was Patricia's recollection. "Being the studious college girl, Mrs. Dix trusted me with the keys and the liquor inventory."

"And who might have been the corrupting 'new girl' who put that idea of letting some cocks into the back room with those chicks?" asked Dana with a smirk.

"I hear she's still tending bar somewhere, perhaps more corrupting than ever," Patricia offered in an offhand guess.

McNally, a seasoned barmaid, filled the wine glasses scattered around the kitchen, "I just thought it was false advertising to have a big neon sign that flashed Dix Chix, yet only the Chix half of the attraction was available. I merely suggested to the old timer running the show that if we were working to close the place on Friday and Saturday nights, we owed it to ourselves to have a crew of Dix to go with the Chix. Like the sign said."

Annie asked, "Patricia, I've always wondered, how did you choose which boys got an after-hours invitation to the backroom?"

"I delegate," was Patricia's reply. "That's why I'm management material. I consulted a trusted source."

McNally gave a curtsey acknowledging her role, and then filled in the story line, "Guys are pretty simple. I'd give the cute ones a line; 'Winner, winner, chicken dinner - Would you prefer a breast or a thigh?' I then slipped 'em an offer, 'Come on by Dix Chix late some night this weekend for a chicken tender special -- tell 'em McNally sent you.'" The three ladies exploded into hearty whoops at McNally's explanation.

Dana took a sip out of her glass, thinking for a moment, "McNally are you responsible then for introducing each of us to our future husbands? I'd never thought of it like that."

"Ultimately the Chix chooses the Dix. At least, that's how I'd look at it. In collusion with Patricia, I merely helped sow some wild oats in that Dix Chix backroom. But I only sowed the seeds. It was the others who reaped the harvest. I must admit, I did have to run a lot of lame-cock also-rans through that backroom before some of them ended up sticking around for a while."

"Well, however you did it, Sander and I hit it off - after Patricia passed on him and I scooped him up, as I seem to recall. I guess I never thanked you for your fine work." Dana raised her glass in a salute to McNally.

"I'm happy it worked for you Dana," said Patricia, "I had my eye out for one of those solid, basic models, a kind of nerdy, engineering type. My philosophy was that those low-key kinds of guys wear well. I seem to recall McNally telling me that she didn't usually fish in those kinds of nerdy-fish ponds, but she promised she'd expand her repertoire to see if she could toss such a specimen my way."

"I remember when Will showed up at the backroom, he looked a little dazed and confused. McNally had to act fast to ease Will into the situation and then gently hand him off to Patricia," recalled Annie. "So, how'd McNally's low-key, nerdish fish land in your lap then Patricia?"

Patricia made a wistful smile as she rolled out a sheet of dough, "I guess I got what I wanted. Though, I've wondered some days if I should have dropped my line into a different pond. There've been some days when I wonder what life would've been like with a spicier, adventurous man... but that's normal, right? Don't we all have some days where we wish things were different?"

Annie, Dana and McNally were quick to assure Patricia that they all had their moments when they had a twinge of doubt about their choices in husbands. "Yeah, that's pretty normal I think," added Annie.

Annie went back to the mixing bowl where she was making rounded, nut-filled Mexican Wedding Cake cookies and dusting them with flour. "Nelson has always been supportive of me, I have to think that our marriage is better than some that I know of, but over the years some of the spark has dimmed. Maybe it's me, but honestly, if he wanted more sex, I'd consider letting the ol' boy find a fling with another woman, as long as she agreed to clean my house in exchange for Nelson's services."

Dana gave up a small squeak, "Serious?"

"Oh, just a quirky idea. It's not like we'd be on the brink of a divorce, we're perfectly compatible. It would merely be a convenient arrangement, Nelson the ol' goat, would get more action and stop pestering me and I'd get a clean house and more time. I think it'd be a fair exchange." Annie shrugged as she spooned out a lump of dough and patted it into a little ball.

Dana sighed, "Oh Annie. Annie, you should enjoy the little things from Nelson. You know what I miss most from Sander? It's little things like tangling our feet together in bed, I really miss the feeling of when Sander would reach across the bed and pull me over close to him. It didn't have to be sex, sometimes it was so good just to have him spoon into my backside and reach over to caress my breasts." Dana took a deep breath, "I'm just here to remind The Chix, like they say, 'You don't know what you got 'til it's gone.'"

Annie's eyes moistened again, "I'm sorry Dana, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I'm so sorry."

"They're good memories Annie, I don't feel bad. Just sad at Christmas now. Get back to making cookies and a mess; it's the only thing that'll save me, girl."

Patricia began pressing the cookie cutter into her sheet of dough while pressing this girl-talk topic a little further, "McNally, I'm kind of surprised you and Orlando have made it work so well all of these years. It has always seemed to me that you two traveled in different orbits."

McNally laughed as she put down her half-empty wine glass, concentrating on mixing up some chocolate frosting. "It's a beautiful cosmic dance between me and Orlando. We're a pair of heavenly bodies sharing our orbits when the gravitational attraction pulls us close. Otherwise, we each have our own interests as y'all know perfectly well. Orlando has his poetry, music and writing projects. I love lending my graphic and artistic vision to Orlando's projects when it fits. When we collaborate, we make beautiful art. When we're not collaborating on something, that's when I fill my orbit with my animals and other pets."

Patricia raised an eyebrow, "Do you care for your 'pets' as much as you do your animals?"

"Me and my pets share a sensual bond and an understanding. I will never abandon one of my animals. But my pets come and then my pets go, every pet in his own season. I enjoy a wide orbit in this life Patricia."

McNally took another sip, becoming introspective, "Hey you know what? I'd have to say that The Chix is my longest held orbit. It's so good to have you gals around for me for all of these years." McNally raised her glass in a toast, "To The Chix. To the long and strong bond of three great gals who have kept me in their orbit as the rest of this crazy world spins out of control. Merry fucking Christmas, to one and to all!" McNally gave a swift motion with her hand, directing her three friends to join her in her toast.

Everyone stepped to McNally's end of the counter, touching their glasses, creating a resounding chime as the glassware clinked. "Here! Here!" said Dana, "Let's make this a Merry fucking Christmas for one and for all!"

"I'll drink to that," offered McNally.

"Of course, you will," noted Patricia.

Annie gave her signature tipsy laugh, "I'll drink to that Patricia!" and took a gulp.

"May I join you?" asked McNally.

Dana laughed, "Wait for me! I'll drink to that too!"

McNally turned and walked away from the circled Chix. "Where are you off to McNally?"

"Time for the Pinot Noir - any arguments?"

"Yeah. What about the Pinot Grigio?" asked Dana in a mock argumentative voice.

"No blow back from me. I'll get both." With that McNally disappeared into the garage.

The cookie production line clicked into gear as The Chix rolled out a pile of baked cookie shapes and an assortment of buttery spritz cookies, chocolate drops, nut bars to go with the gooey lemon bars and shortbread. "My favorite thing in this whole kitchen, other than maybe the wine, is doing the detailed decorations with colored frosting and sprinkles," announced Dana.

"Here you go then Dana," said Patricia as she set two hot cookie sheets on the cooling racks, "you've got your work cut out for you with all of these shapes." Patricia brandished a pair of cookie cutters, "You have me to thank for 'cutting your work out for you'; you've got Mr. and Mrs. Claus, Christmas trees, wreathes, ornaments, stockings, snowmen, reindeer and candy canes galore."

"'Work cut out for you', I see what you did there," observed Annie. "You've been hanging around McNally too much."

McNally grabbed a couple of the round Mexican Wedding Cakes from Annie's station and then a candy cane shaped cookie off the pile of undecorated cookies.

"What are you working on McNally?" was Dana's question.

"I've been inspired by Annie's earlier comments and her idea of exchanging Nelson's candy cane for housework."

Annie chortled, "What? Something creative for me? My, my, what could it be McNally?"

"Avert your eyes; I'm making you a little surprise." Annie laughed and pretended to look away, but she and the others watched to see what culinary form McNally's inspiration took. McNally coated both sides of the candy cane in pink frosting and then covered the straight end of the candy cane with a thin white glaze. She grabbed two pecan halves from the bowl, placing them on top of the round Mexican Wedding Cakes and then wedged the decorated pink candy cane between the two, projecting upward. McNally handed the 3D cookie sculpture to Annie on a small paper plate. "Here you go girl, a little something sweet to enjoy stuffing into your stocking while Nelson is out with your domestic help."

The Chix all laughed, applauding McNally's skill at coming up with a naughty little cookie. "See, he comes with a pair of real nuts, and I've given his sweet candy cane a condom coating of sugar glaze. And if you've been feeling pressure to put out Annie, be assured that he only wants to cum in your chimney once a year."

Annie was laughing pretty hard, "You're so thoughtful McNally. But I've been a good girl all year; I think I deserve to get a bigger candy cane."

"Ho, ho, ho," chuckled McNally, "What you're asking for is reserved for the naughty girls on my list." With that, McNally grabbed a fistful of dough and rolled out a fourteen-inch cylinder, molded the tip to look like a cock and attached it to a tiny Santa cookie. The Chix screamed and giggled with perverse delight at the bawdy levity being infused into their traditional cookie exchange and baking extravaganza.

It was open season, every one of The Chix was striving to out-do one another, Rudolph's bright red nose was repurposed into a pair of glowing nipples on Mrs. Clause's boobs. The reindeer grew large erections and Christmas wreaths were transformed into edible pussies. Their fired-up imaginations formed many an outlandish and erotic cookie decoration as they polished off both bottles of Pinot.

"Whoa girls, we've outdone ourselves this year. That's a lot of cookies," said Dana as she surveyed the plates piled high with sweets and many obscene holiday cookies.

"That was a lot of wine, I believe we outdid ourselves this year too," was Annie's observation as she untied her apron and took a seat at the kitchen table.

Dana agreed, "I'll brew some coffee while the rest of you Chix take a seat and put your feet up."

"I'll take an Irish coffee," said McNally.

"Sorry, the bar's closed," said Dana, shaking her head. "At least until the next time - which I hope will be soon."

Each of the Chix had their fill of caffeine, the effect of th

Jenna’s Cousin Mia: Part 1

Snowden Speaks — Thu, 12 Dec 2024 22:38:00 +0000

Jenna's teenage cousin turns up at the vicarage.

A Series in 17 parts, by Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

It was the second Sunday after Trinity. Over at St Michael's vicarage, the morning eucharist had finished and Reverend Morris and his wife Jenna were discussing the upcoming events in the church calendar.

"Josh gets ordained next month, so that'll be a fun occasion. Big party over at his place. He's so excited for that day to come. It's been remarkable how he's come out of his shell. When he joined our church as curate a year ago, he was so nervous and shy. Now look at him." Reverend Morris said.

"He's a real asset to the church," Jenna replied, sipping a coffee, as she read through the church newsletter. "I like to think that I, helped build up his confidence a bit."

"Oh you certainly did, I'm sure," the vicar said, oblivious to what his wife was referring to. "Now, apart from that big event, there's not much happening in July. I'm adding the study of the Book of Exodus in the services. Last year's summer study of Genesis went down a treat,”

The sound of the doorbell interrupted him.

"I wonder who that can be?" Reverend Morris said, hurrying out of the living room. "If it's Gordon, he's early. He said he would call round at 2."

He opened the front door. A slim young woman around eighteen or nineteen, stood on the doorstep. Brunette hair that was in pigtails. Huge brown eyes like Bambi. She was dressed in a low cut pink peasant top, tight cow-print shorts and ballet shoes. By her side was a suitcase and hold-all.

"Hello. Can I help you?" Reverend Morris said.

"Um," the woman began, in a nervous voice. "Mr., um, Reverend Morris. Is, Jenna in? I'm Mia, her cousin."

"Oh really? Gosh, well do come in, you're very welcome! You look loaded up there, let me give you a hand." He ushered her inside and carried her luggage.

"Jen! You've got a visitor!"

Jenna looked up and her eyes widened. "Mia?"

"Hello CJ," Mia said, with a sheepish grin.

Reverend Morris blinked.

"Cousin Jenna," Jenna replied.

"Ah," He understood.

"What are you doing here? Last I heard you were at Salford uni."

"It's a long story," Mia sighed, as Reverend Morris gestured for her to sit on the settee. "Um, I quit."

"Oh no," Jenna said. "What happened?"

"Oh Jen, it was awful. I just couldn't settle into university life at all. I made a mistake choosing that Art and Design course. It wasn't for me. The lectures stressed me out, but worst of all was the bullying." She dabbed at imaginary tears in her eyes with a tissue. "Nine months and I just couldn't cope with it any longer, so I jacked it in."

Jenna was about to say something, but her husband cut in.

"You poor thing. God, if there's one thing I hate, it's bullying. Sad that it occurs in all walks of life. A nasty part of human nature."

Noticing the reverend had been completely taken in by Mia's story, Jenna cleared her throat. "What did your parents say?"

There was an awkward pause.

"You haven't told them, have you?"

"Are you serious Jen? Mum will go nuclear if she finds out. I'm just not ready to deal with that, yet. She was so proud when I got in that place. Dad will be more understanding but, look, I have a favor to ask. Can I stay with you for, a bit? I used up my last bit of cash on the train fare. I'm broke and I have nowhere to stay. I can't face going back to my parents. They'll treat me like a kid. Please? I won't be any bother. I'll do housework for you, I'll,”

"Of course you can stay!" Reverend Morris smiled. "Our vicarage is always available to those who need it. We have a spare bedroom." He turned to Jenna. "We had Bishop George staying with us during Lent, remember? I'm sure your cousin can't be a worse lodger than him. She looks like she's gone through a tough few months."

Powerless to refuse, Jenna reluctantly agreed. Oh Simon, you sweet, naive man. You have no idea what you're letting yourself in for! She thought.

"Oh you mean it? I can stay? Oh; thank you so much, Reverend!"

"Simon. You can call me Simon!" Reverend Morris replied. "It's nice to finally get

A Virgin’s Christmas Wish.

Piper's Posts — Wed, 11 Dec 2024 06:09:00 +0000

A lonely damsel gets a chance at neighbor’s Christmas ‘Yule, Log’.

Based on a post by virgin_sexpert. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time.

On Christmas Eve, I should have been out spending time with family or friends, but instead, I was in my sparsely-filled apartment, with a wine glass in my hand; all dressed up but nowhere to go. I put on my gold sequin mini dress thinking that I could maybe go out to a club.

But when the time came, I wasn't really feeling it. I had just moved to a new city; far from my family and friends; and although I had enjoyed the freedom of walking around in the nude whenever I wanted, it was getting a bit lonely. I never pictured myself in my early twenties and still single. All of my friends were either married, engaged, or dating. I was totally lagging behind. I was hornier than I had ever been in my life.

In college I could barely concentrate on class and I never took notes because I was always thinking and developing some sexual fantasy in my head that took my full attention. I go by ‘Mindy’. My parents named me Melinda, but I hate that name. I hate a lot of the things associated with high school. I was a wierdo. Then in college, I was a nerd.

At work in the library, I would have to take frequent breaks to my office where I would unwind to a few dirty pages of a dirty novel. Sex was on my mind, way too much. Every man that I would see throughout my day, became the leading male in my latest fantasy. I must have been the horniest virgin who ever lived! But no one ever knew.

I deliberately moved to a new city, just so I could start over. I changed my wardrobe and my hair style. But I had a very hard time changing my inner self.

I could have spent another night with my oiled up hand, or the new vibrator that I ordered online. Or I could have been a little kinkier and did some anal play with my handy-dandy pink ass plug, but I wanted the real thing, damnit!

I went on the pill, to make sex safer for my career plans. It grew my tits from a C cup to a D. And it also kicked up my libido. The holiday season really heightened my horniness, but it also heightened my loneliness. I wanted a man so bad. I wanted to hear a knock at my door, then open it and see a naked man on the other side, tied up with a big red ribbon tied in a bow, sporting an 8 inch stiff cock, just for me.

But I guess that was all just fantasy. When would my fantasies come to pass? Aren't I allowed to get at least one of them?

No matter how hard I wished and wanted something, it would never come to pass, so I decided to get up and go to a night club, downtown. Nothing ever came out of these things, but maybe tonight there would be some holiday magic working in my favor. Or maybe only losers would be desperate enough to be clubbing on Christmas Eve. But I was lusty, lonely, and stir-crazy.

When I opened the door to my 4th floor hallway, my neighbor was just coming home. His door and mine were near each other. The hallway turned perpendicular right between our entries. Our two apartments were at the northeast corner of the 4^th floor of the West building.

"Hey, how are you, Mindy?" he asked. His name was John. He was older than me by perhaps some years, and he was way out of my league. Oh, he was always very cordial to me, but it always seemed out of pity. John is a tall and comes from Scandinavian stock. His mailbox, in the foyer; says “J. Nelson”.

I bet tonight his beautiful girlfriend would be coming over, maybe in sexy lingerie; and they would spend the evening making love, talking, and drinking wine.

"Hi, John. I’m Good! and you?" I asked back with a flirty smile.

He looked so handsome, with his all-black ensemble, and red silk tie. I couldn't help but smile goofily, in the face of this great looking man. I didn't know what he did for a living, but every night I could hear him playing his acoustic guitar. I laid in bed with my hands in my panties; pretending he was serenading me. But of course he would never know that.

"Yeah, I’m Fine. Merry Christmas! Where are you heading out to?" I could feel his stare on me, and it was making me quite bashful and self-conscious. I’ve been working so hard to keep eye contact with people.

I knew I looked great in my form-fitting dress. It highlighted my warm olive Italian skin, long slim legs, deep red full lips, and dark wavy hair. Okay, I’m keeping focused on John’s gorgeous eyes.

"Oh, I think I'll get go to a dinner club, or something.” Then I sighed; “I am spending the holidays alone."

"Oh, Me too!" He started.

I was surprised at his answer, and I almost didn't believe him. How could someone this handsome be alone?

Then he shocked me; "Do you maybe want to spend it alone together? I just stole some nice wine from my company holiday party? I was going to come home and drink alone. But, you know; it's really not good to drink alone.” He winked and added; “Please, Mindy; Skip the bar tonight and come in." He was opening the door and gesturing for me to come in.

I followed him in without a word. I had only dreamed about ever going in there. It was better than I had imagined! There was lots of navy, platinum, and teak wood furnishings. His home kinda smelled of leather and a subtle hint of vanilla.

We sat in the elegant living room. I was offered his wingback arm chair, adjacent the leather sofa. When he situated himself, he first started out apologizing to me for being such an aloof neighbor. He said he sort of developed this bad habit when his previous neighbors were rude.

I forgave him, as long as he promised never to stop being friendly again.

We sat drinking his sweet white wine. He had lots of questions to ask me, in the matters of my life, job, and interests.

I told him that I was a teen freak, then a college nerd. I love literature to a fault. I’m even into comic book superheroes, collecting replica Lightsabers, reading classic novels, and watching way too much Netflix. I told him that I used to be a shy kid with ADHD, but it leveled out during my college years.

I seemed very lame to myself, saying those things out loud. I revealed that I was just recently liberated from the thick eyeglasses of my childhood, by a successful laser eye surgery. “Most people didn’t even recognize me without the horrible glasses.” But I added that it’s probably all for the better, as I would rather build new friendships.

"So,” I asked him; “What type of things are you into?"

"Lots of things, gourmet cooking, chess, running, watching way too much Hulu, playing the guitar,” He sipped a bit more wine, then added; “sketching, and tying up sexy women, to play with their nipples and tease their clits. "

I nearly choked on the wine that was almost down my throat. Suddenly my body temperature rose at least 10 degrees, and my hands began to tremble.

He looked at me, straight into my big doe-like brown eyes. "Do you want to know what else I am into?"

I tilted my head, as if I were under a spell.

"Beautiful, shy women, like you; who don't know how sexy they are. A woman who gets wet when a man looks her deep in the eyes, and tells her that.” His voice went deep as he slowly added; “I want to fuck every hole you have, and make you cum, again and again.“

I was flushed and trembling, when he asked; “So, I ask again, my dear; what are you into?" He took the glass from my trembling hand and took my hand into his, and laid a sweet kiss on it.

With a trembling voice I began: "I really like to write erotica, especially at night when I am listening to you play your guitar. I like to close my eyes and wish that someone was touching me, whispering how much they want to make love to me; " I closed my eyes and took myself to my inner thoughts. My eyes watered at his sultry words. I was being seduced for the first time in my life!

I could feel him getting closer to me, his lip brushed against my ear. "I really like this;" I said as I felt the heat of his breathing, on my neck.

"You are your own kind of beautiful, Mindy." He told me.

I opened my eyes, hoping that this wasn't just another dream. In the back of my mind I already started to ask myself the 'why' and 'how' questions, but why ruin a sexy moment? I was completely flattered and could not hide my obvious turned on state. Already I could feel the wetness between my legs.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" John grinned.

My smile widened. "Honestly, You are making me wet," I laughed. I was never that frank about sex. But then again, I never really had a chance to be.

"Do you always do this to women you invite inside." I asked, with keen interest and looking him in the eyes.

"Have there been women in here that I’m unaware of?” John returned my question.

I had to challenge my presumption. No, I honestly hadn’t seen him bring a date to his place. “I’m sorry, John. No, I haven’t any reason to accuse you of being a player. I just assumed you’d have women throwing themselves at you.”

“Ha!” he laughed. “No, I am just in the Christmas spirit, I guess. It's the season for giving. I find myself in solitary circumstance, and reflecting on the need to appreciate the opportunities I haven’t availed myself to. Start treating people better. Especially kind neighbors whom I should be kinder to. And I want to give you something. Something even your wildest virgin fantasies can't imagine."

"Now, how did you know I was a virgin?" I felt more exposed than ever.

"I didn't. But, now I know for sure," he laughed.

I blushed, but his laugh made it easier for me to relax and be vulnerable. Oh he was even sexier when he laughed.

"I know you probably think that no one notices you, but I notice you.” John wanted to build up my self-esteem. “I see you coming home, and you nearly always pull out the wrong door key first. You are always humming the same song to yourself, and you are always dressed so sexily. I especially like that purple dress; it makes your lovely breasts look great."

My cheeks were so bright red, I didn't even know what else to say back to him. I felt so sexy now.

"And I must say, I love this dress on you.” He paused, then added; “But for me to give you a proper Christmas Eve gift, you will have to lose it."

"You want me to strip?" I smiled. I was hoping he was serious, because my clothes were begging to come off. ‘Thank you God, for sending me this sexy horny man!’

"Yes! Have another glass of wine, if you'd like. But I want you to strip, and then walk right into my bedroom over there."

John is inviting me to his bedroom! I was nervous, but even more so, I was terribly craving cock, his cock. With alcohol running through my veins, and 'bold' becoming my new middle name.

I stood facing John. Then I stepped up on his wooden coffee table. Still looking him in the eyes with lust, I pulled the halter tie from the back of my neck. I was swaying to an imaginary base rift, as I held a tie string in each hand.

My shoulders pulsed alternately, which caused my tits to swing against my gold bodice. Now my nipples were erect and protruding. I leaned over toward John as my straps released. Still swaying and twerking to my imaginary music, I reached behind to unzip the low-back of the dress; all the while entertaining him with my pendulous tits.

Then I placed a hand on each hip, as I stood back upright. I turned in several steps as I rocked my curvy ass to him, Then I slowly slid each hand down my hips, the thin dress descending with my hands. Before releasing, I looked over my shoulder, to catch his reaction. His eyes clearly conveyed; ‘Keep going’; so I did. I was being a tease, and he was into it.

The garment dropped to my stilettos. I stepped out of my gold cocktail dress, leaving only my black lacy G-string and my high heels.

Suddenly my rhythm stopped. I stood with my ass to him. I stepped my legs apart just enough to let my cunny make an appearance. In dramatic silence I slowly slid the waistband of the G-string down, guiding it continuously to my ankles. I caught his delightful lust, as I smiled seductively, from between my spread legs.

I stepped a leg out of the G-string and pivoted back facing him. Then I raised my other foot, with the lacy garment clinging to my toes. I swiftly grabbed the skimpy thing and in one fluid motion I stretched it back with my other hand, and shot the black lacy thing against his chest.

Now in front of him, I stood completely naked; like I was almost every night on the other side of that wall. Yes, I had practiced this routine; often to the rhythm of his classical guitar selections.

"Fucking hell; Come here, my pretty little virgin. I want t

24: Jack and Nina.

Piper's Posts — Tue, 10 Dec 2024 19:52:00 +0000

Jack Bauer gives Nina Myers more than expected.

Based on a post by Talking Bowl. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Nina Myers stared at Jack Bauer, a mixture of fear and vulnerability in her eyes. Just moments before, Ed, who had been sent along with Jack to help guard her on the truck ride to the airport, had slumped over unconscious into Jack's lap, the victim of a ‘mickey’, which the rogue CTU agent had slipped into his bottled water. It had taken her tired mind, already rattled by Jack's previous violent interrogations back at HQ, a few minutes to process the full implication of the look on his face.

To see the faintest trace of a smirk that played across his lips, and realize that he had been in the process of outwitting her, even as she had thought she was doing the same to him. Her previous taunts faded from her lips, and she stared at him in fear, dry-mouthed, her heart thumping in anticipation.

For what seemed like an eternity, they did not speak. The only noise came from the dull roar of the engine, the rattle of the truck as it jostled down the road, the almost imperceptible sound of their breathing, and Nina's heartbeat, which, although only she could hear it, was almost deafening to her ears. Finally, she licked her lips, swallowed hard, and screwing up her bravado, said:

"You got me, Jack." The words came out in a husky croak. He did not speak or move. Clearing her throat and holding her head a little higher, she tried again.

"What are you going to do to me now, Jack? Kill me?"

"I would never give you the satisfaction," he hissed. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he started to move towards her, bracing himself against the pitch and roll of the vehicle.

"What, then?" Bolder still. "Beat the shit out of me? Leave me unconscious for the guards to find, and then say I slipped and fell?

"Or is it a mind-fuck;" (she caressed the word fuck, trying to make him savor it) "you want? Interrogate me a little more, try to make me piss myself, and hope I'll end up blubbering everything to you? Even you can't be that naïve," Nina sneered. "Don't forget, Jack, I'm as good at this as you are."

Jack smirked. "Not quite." He was halfway towards her now. "Don't forget who's in chains here."

"And why is that, Jack? Because I got away with something you never thought I could? Because I did it right under your nose and you never had a goddamn clue?" Fire glinted in her eyes. "Because you had the chance to kill me, but you just didn't have the balls to; "

Nina's words turned into a yelp as Jack's hand shot out from his arm, grabbing her by the throat. The momentum of his grasp was so great that it lifted Nina out of her seat, until she was standing tilted back against the honeycombed metal walls of the truck. He rammed his torso against hers, pinning her in place, and put his face so close to hers that she could practically taste his hot breath with her tongue. The musky scent of his skin filled her nostrils, bringing back lewd memories despite the pain at her throat. Voiceless, she croaked out;

"Jack; let go; "

"Beg me," he snarled.

"What?"

"Beg me, Nina."

"; please; "

"Please what?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Please what!" He tightened his grip, making her choke anew. "You may not work for me anymore, Nina, but you are still under my command! And as long as you are under my command! You will do! As I fucking say!" His face was flushed red, his breast heaving with exertion. "Now Please, fucking what?"

"Please; Sir; "

"What?" His voice suddenly dropped in volume to a husky purr, and he put his ear up to her mouth. "What was that? Speak up, I can't hear you."

Nina tried to speak, but could only make choking noises. Realizing he had made it impossible for her to carry out his orders, Jack loosened his grip on her throat, ever so slightly. Trying again, Nina gasped out:

"Please; sir; will you let go of my throat?"

Without a word, Jack let go of Nina's throat, but kept his body pinned against hers. Nina gasped as the air rushed back into her lungs. Her breathing was still slightly constricted from the pressure of Jack's weight against her ribs and diaphragm, but at least she no longer felt as if she were drowning for lack of air.

Silence again, more charged than before. Jack's mouth by her ear, hers by his. Breathing in tandem, as much out of force of habit as out of comfort in their close quarters. Nina became aware of the fact that Jack's pelvis was pressed up against hers. Was it intentional? You never could tell, with Jack.

"So you're not going to kill me, Jack."

He said nothing.

"And you're not going to beat me up, either."

No response. She thought she could read agreement on his face, but wasn't sure.

"Then what are you going to do to me?" A slight note of fear in her voice, more than she would have liked, which she tried immediately to push away.

He turned his face and looked her dead in the eye. His left hand crept around the back of her head, cupping it for support. He leaned in closer and, a trace of the arrogant smirk still on his lips, hissed at her:

"Anything. I. Want."

Nina knew it was true. He could do anything at all to her, and would most likely get away with it. Even if he were found out, who at CTU would defend her at this point? It took all her inner steel to avoid breaking down in tears at the thought.

Jack's face drew even closer to Nina's. His breath felt warm on her face, yet his eyes still glittered with hatred. For a second, she thought he might strike her. Bite her. Spit in her face.

Instead, to her surprise, she felt Jack's lips burning on hers. His tongue battered its way into her mouth as he kissed her violently. This time, there was lust mixed in with his anger, and the mixture sent a shiver through Nina in spite of herself. Almost instantaneously, she was furious both at him for taking advantage of her like this, and at herself for – she had to admit it – liking it.

There was no doubt Jack was enjoying it too, in his own perverse way – the steadily fattening bulge in his jeans, burning against Nina's thigh, was proof enough of that. Not much blood going to his head right now, thought Nina. Seeing a chance to regain her edge in the situation, she kissed him back with gusto, trying to turn him on as much as possible. Just give him a nice big hard-on, and pretty soon he'd be weak enough to ease up on her. Ask her if the shackles were hurting her. Reach for the key and undo her, and just when he thought she wouldn't try to get away –

All of a sudden, Nina felt Jack simultaneously disengage from her mouth and crotch. The hand that had been resting at the base of her skull only moments before yanked her head back by the roots of her hair, so far that she could barely breathe. Jack stood up, by now gasping for breath. His face was red; his erection strained the seams of the well-worn denim clinging to his lower body. Yet he seemed completely in control, both of himself and of her. Nina's mouth and pelvis burned at the withdrawal of his venomous lust, at the same time as her mind cried out in fury at being foiled by his ever-calculating mind.

"You thought you'd get off that easy, you piece of shit?" Jack shook his head in mock amazement. He leaned his face back in to hers and hissed:

"I fucking own you. Do you understand me, you little cunt?"

“Yes."

"Yes what, ass rag?"

"Sir! Yes sir!" Nina shouted. Her humiliation fueled her arousal.

Jack let go of her hair, shoving her head forward so hard that Nina was sure her neck was broken. She saw him kneel on the floor and go through Ed's pockets, searching for the key to the cuffs that bound her wrists and ankles together. She willed her facial muscles to remain neutral, but permitted herself an inward smile of triumph. Santa Barbara all over again. She had him by the balls.

Jack found the keys, tried several of them before finding the right one, and undid the cuff attached to her broad leather belt and the one that connected her ankles to her wrists via a narrow metal chain. He disengaged those bonds completely and tossed them on the floor. She shifted slightly, anticipating the release of her hands and feet, but to her surprise, he left those cuffs on, throwing the keys over his shoulder, where they bounced off of Ed's inert body and skidded across the floor.

Gingerly bracing his body against the truck's motion, Jack walked back towards Nina, the small smirk back on his lips. His left hand grabbed the chains binding her wrists and shoved them behind her neck, so that her hands were practically behind her head. Quick as a flash, she saw his right hand reach for something, heard the well-oiled flick of a blade popping out of its sheath, and before she knew it, Jack had a knife at her throat. MicroTek Halo, she registered.

"Now," he said, all business despite his barely concealed rage. "If you try to pull any more shit on me, or disobey me in any way, I will hurt you in ways you could only imagine. You'll fucking pray for death before I'm through with you. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he said. He gently caressed her cheek with the butt of the knife, a twisted mockery of a tender lover's gesture. "Now lean back so that your head is touching the wall. Slowly."

Trembling, she complied. As she did so, she noticed that her lower body tilted out over the seating bank, pelvis forward, legs splayed, as though she were presenting herself to him. Jack had planned it that way, no doubt. How like him, she thought bitterly.

His left hand released her wrists, then traveled down to the front of her drab prison uniform. The hand holding the knife never left her throat. One by one, he undid the buttons, his thumb and forefinger working to pop each button gently yet firmly out of its hole. When he reached the buckle on her belt, he paused, as though contemplating his next move. Still acting one-handed, he loosened the tooth of the buckle from its leather hole so that the belt hung slack around her waist, then pulled it slowly down her thighs, almost to her knees.

"Put your knees together."

She did so, wordlessly. He cinched the belt tightly around her legs, so that her loins touched each other. He chuckled softly to himself.

"Just think. If you'd kept your knees together before, none of this would have happened."

"Jack; " she began to protest, forgetting herself.

"Shut up." He barely raised his voice, but she knew he meant it. She obeyed, but her eyes glittered with anger and frustration.

Jack continued his slow, methodical unbuttoning of her uniform top, until he had undone the very last button. Then, in one supple motion, he yanked down her uniform bottom around the belt, exposing her plain white cotton panties. He then stood back up, replaced the point of the blade where it had been before, and pushed the fabric of the top far enough off her shoulders to expose the straps of the cheap standard-issue bra they had permitted her in prison. He smirked again, reading her mind – he knew how much she liked nice underwear, and how much it humiliated her to have to wear cheap, unflattering crap. Before she could even gasp in shock, he had cut both the straps with the knife, so that the bra hung loosely around her tits. He pulled down the fabric on each cup, one at a time, so that each nipple was just barely exposed. Nina's nipples had been fully soft in the steamy heat of the truck, but as Jack knowingly circled his thumb around her right one, they both watched it harden at his touch.

"Is this what you're going to do to me, Jack?" Nina spat in a low voice. "Tear my clothes off and fuck me in the back of this truck?"

Jack said nothing. The hand with the knife slipped around behind her neck until his hand rested between her neck and shoulder, as though embracing her, but with the blade still pointed where it could hurt her if need be. His other thumb left her right nipple and started massaging her left one. He gazed directly at it, both pleased and fascinated by the effect he was having on her body in spite of itself. Nina's face flushed, but she continued:

"How do you think you'r

Snowden Speaks — Tue, 10 Dec 2024 13:40:00 +0000

Easter at St. Michael's: Part 2

Gordon is reunited with an old crush.

Based on a post by Blacksheep, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

The monthly Mother's Union meeting was taking place at Gladys Wilcox's bungalow. There was much to discuss, mainly tomorrow's Easter Sunday service. However the main topic of conversation was the vicar's phallus.

"He was just standing there, starkers! Swinging, I tell you, swinging. It was like a boa constrictor poking out of a tree. I didn't know where to look!" Mrs. Harris exclaimed.

"Wish I could've been there," Mrs. Wilcox replied.

"Really, Gladys!"

"Well at our age there's not much opportunity for those sorts of thrills is there?" She grinned and glanced at Norman the churchwarden, who said nothing and awkwardly sipped his coffee. Being the only man there, he felt uncomfortable sitting through this, but Mrs. Wilcox had insisted he attend.

"How come he was naked?" Another woman asked.

"Said he'd been having a shower, but I know a lie when I see one. If you ask me, him and his wife had been; you know;"

"Having a quickie?" Mrs. Wilcox replied. Norman almost choked on his coffee, remembering that 21st birthday surprise the vicar had arranged for Jenna in the church, sixteen months ago.

"Yes, exactly!"

"You know something, Maureen, I was chatting to Maud Finch, on the bus the other day. Now she lives on Haddock Street, in one of those council houses that overlook the railway line. She tells me that groups of drunk young men are forever going up on that opposite embankment and mooning at passing trains."

"Has she made a complaint?"

"Why on earth would she want to do that?" Mrs. Wilcox spluttered. "I said to her, I'll call round later this week and I'll bring a pair of binoculars!"

Over on the other side of town, at 64 Stovepipe Avenue, Gordon Leesmith yawned and sat up in bed. He squinted at the alarm clock. It was ten thirty.

"Oh Gord, you lazy bugger," he said to himself, stretching his arms. He hadn't intended on having such a long lie-in. Myah had gone to work hours ago. She'd been working Saturdays the past few weeks, covering for Kate, a work colleague who was recovering from major abdominal surgery.

Gordon staggered out of bed and scratched his belly as he peered out of the window. The weather seemed reasonable today. The past week had seen some very unsettled conditions, with sunny spells and frequent heavy showers, so typical of British springtime.

"I'd better get a move on. I promised Myah I'd cook tonight and there's not a bite of food in the house." Gordon didn't relish the prospect of going to the supermarket during the Easter weekend. Every shop was crammed. Besides, he wanted to head to the church and spend an hour practicing on the organ ready for tomorrow's special service. He'd have the church all to himself for once. He relished this temporary period of calm. Easter was always busy for the organist. As well as his full-time job repairing organs, he'd had to play the Wednesday Eucharist, the Maundy Thursday service, yesterday's Good Friday evening service and on Sunday, it was the big one. At least he could rest his fingers on Monday's bank holiday.

"Can't wait to jet off next month," he muttered, as he hurriedly dressed himself and brewed a cup of tea. He'd booked a week's holiday in Tenerife for himself and Myah. Their first holiday together and they were really looking forward to it. Gordon wasn't one for culture, eco-tourism or trailing round ancient ruins. Sun, sea and all-inclusive hotels were his idea of paradise. Myah had never been to the Canary Islands. He hoped she wouldn't be too bored just lounging on the beach or by the pool all day. He'd booked an adults-only hotel, the four star Golden Vista in Playa de las Americas. It had excellent reviews on TripAdvisor.

Meanwhile, at the vicarage;

Reverend Morris was in turmoil. "Maureen Harris has got a right mouth on her. Who needs social media when you've got a pensioner who's Britain's answer to Hedda Hopper?"

"Simon, you're worrying unnecessarily," Jenna said. "You've not done anything wrong. You were in your own home and you didn't know she was there."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm the parish vicar and I just accidentally exposed myself in front of an elderly member of my congregation. Can't say I'm too thrilled about that."

"Maureen shouldn't have walked in. She was in the wrong. Said she knocked, but when nobody answered, she should've given up and gone."

"And I should've locked the front door! I bet she's told everyone at the Mother's Union that she saw me nude!"

Jenna shrugged. "So, she saw your cock. I bet many other ladies wish they could've been so lucky!"

Gordon parked up on the Tesco Express car park. As expected, the place was heaving with people rushing to get last-minute groceries. Tubs of cut-price garden fence paint were piled up outside the store. As he was looking at these, he heard someone call his name.

Widower gets a special visitor on Christmas Eve.

By PaulStevens. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy stories.

Dan felt like a small child, sitting up watching his phone for alerts that his midnight delivery had arrived. It was like he was waiting for Santa or something, well in his case, more like a Mrs. Claus. Not that Elly was as saintly as the real Mrs. Claus, but she was getting him out of a jam with his 9-year-old daughter this year, and that made her saintly enough.

In Jane’s last difficult months of life, Elly was her faithful friend. In the months since Dan lost Jane, Elly continued to help him navigate the challenges of raising 2 kids alone.

For Elly, it was a blessed distraction from her own failing marriage.

Finally, Dan heard his phone buzz, and looked down to see the text; 'Here', on his screen. He hopped up and went to his garage and let Elly in the side door, before leading her into his shop, where he knew they would not be overheard, should someone be awake & snooping.

"Evening Elly, did you get my delivery?” Dan asked. “Everything look okay?"

"Yes, absolutely.” Elly said, cheerfully. “It looks fantastic, thank you so much for assembling that. You were a life saver, just sorry I missed you. Gracie will be thrilled when she sees it in the morning."

Dan was mesmerized, staring at the glorious pair of jugs protruding from under Elly’s red silk blouse. He quickly recovered himself. "Glad I can help! Assembling dollhouses I can do, clothes buying and fashion, not so much. Did you have any trouble at the mall?"

Elly smiled, "Nope, as I told you, I was buying for Gracie and Josie anyways, picking up a few things for Samantha was no problem, and you do fine. Seriously, I'm not great at trends either, but at least they'll all match each other, so they can suffer together. I got some of Sam's stuff a size up from what you said by the way, her birthday isn't for ages, and she won't make it to the fall in the size she's in." Elly said handing Dan a stack of packages that, he noticed she had wrapped neatly for him, another thing off the list, tonight. “I hope you don't mind?”

"Oh, not at all, I hadn't noticed, clothes were clearly not my department. Jane usually;" he stopped; thinking of his late wife; and fighting back the grief, "anyways, thanks."

"Hey, Dan don't feel bad, like I said, you're doing great. These are minor things considering what you three have been through, given Jane's passing. Speaking of clothes, I also brought this," she held up a paper grocery bag, "for Owen, I noticed his clothes are getting a tad small, when I picked him up the other day. I had my sister put together some of my nephew's old clothes, these should hold you for a bit. If you want more; let me know, she's got plenty. She's just going to donate them, if you don't need them."

"Wow, sounds great, and thanks for everything, Elly; you've been a life saver."

Elly smiled, "right back at you Dan, if I had to hear from Charlie, one more time about how I can't handle a dollhouse because I can't use tools, I was going to scream. Not that I can't, I just had zero time or space to do that without ruining it for Gracie."

Dan chuckled, "Charlie should know plenty about tools, that guy is the biggest one I've ever seen, how he ever got you, will always boggle my mind. As for the dollhouse, no problem. You should see the stuff in my living room, it looked like Santa's workshop in there, this month."

"Umm; a workshop full of toys and Christmas eve delivery, you sure you're not Santa?" Elly winked.

"Late night gift delivery, perfectly wrapped I might add, thank you for that by the way, saved me time tonight. You sure you aren't Mrs. Claus?" He said, smiling.

"Nope, just a friend helping out a friend, and as for the wrapping, same with the buying I was on a roll, figured you wouldn't mind, besides, given I missed you tonight, it’s the least I could do. I'm just glad my sister invited us to stay with her, so I could drop these by last minute."

"So, you are at your sister's place for Christmas?"

"Yeah, Isabelle didn't want me being alone this Christmas, especially with Charlie being such an ass about the divorce all year. So, she convinced her kids how fun it would be to have their cousins stay."

"Well, should make for a joy-filled morning for sure. Let me know how the house goes over."

"Will do, same with those clothes."

"Elly, no kid is excited about clothes," Dan said, chuckling.

Elly rolled her eyes, "Umm, 9 year-old girls are, hence why you needed my help."

He swore she said; ‘men' under her breath.

"You're right, of course, thanks again," then looking at his watch he said, "and let me officially be the first to wish you a merry Christmas, Elly."

"Oh god, is it midnight already? I need to get back, or the kids will think I am Mrs. Claus. Merry Christmas, Dan." She gave him a quick wave as she slipped out the door. He locked it behind her and went to bring the presents to the family room tree. Smiling at the care with which they had been wrapped. He noticed she had left the tag blank, probably so Sam wouldn't be suspicious that the writing was Ms. Elly's.

"Like she won't be suspicious the clothes are this nicely wrapped," Dan thought to himself with a chuckle, as he filled out the tags and put them under the tree for the morning. He smiled at the tree and couldn't help think of his departed Jane, and how much she loved Christmas. He took a moment to give into the grief that he had fought back in front of Elly.

Jenna helps a nervous choirmaster.

Based on a post by Blacksheep, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Reverend Simon Morris scanned through a long list of church notices. Holy Week was such a busy time for the parish vicar, and he still hadn't finished his special sermon ready for Easter Sunday.

"Palm Sunday was really well-attended," he said, typing something on his laptop. "Now there are one or two church notices I need to read through."

His wife Jenna walked into the living room. "Oh before I forget, Simon, Judith Anderson from the Sunday School had a word with me after the service. She wishes it to be known that her grandson Kyle is trans, and now wants to be known as Ellie.

John Pollard from the Men's Society has split up from his wife and wishes for her name to be removed from the church hall coffee rotation, too."

"Ah, right, thanks. I'd better make a note of that. Are Gordon and Myah up to speed on the Maundy Thursday service's music? I know he normally does a choir and organ practice then, but;"

"Already emailed them, Simon," Jenna replied. "Relax. Everything is under control."

"Choir practice for you tonight? I must say, I think it was a genius idea of Gordon's to combine our church's choir with the Guild Voices, just for our Easter service. Our choir is small, so it'll be nice to have a bigger group of singers for the holiest day in our Christian calendar."

"Oh yes, the bigger the better," Jenna replied with a smirk. She'd just joined the Guild Voices, a mixed-voice choir of around twenty-five singers who performed several concerts a year. The choir was formed with the aim of singing the whole range of music both accompanied and acapella; both religious and secular, from the renaissance pieces of Byrd and Tallis to great oratorios such as Handel's "Messiah." In addition to traditional works, they also performed classical versions of popular music. Jenna was enjoying the weekly recitals, and not just because of the music. The choirmaster was a chap called Derek Blackledge, and on more than one occasion, Jenna had noticed him staring at her.

"Last year, the Guild Voices performed at Evensong at York Minster," Reverend Morris said. "Gosh, I'm so looking forward to our Easter Sunday Service! We'll definitely have a bigger congregation than St. Peter's;"

"Ooh, do I sense a rivalry between churches, Simon?"

"Well, a bit unChristian of me to say, but I can't stand that Reverend Conway. He completely blanked me at annual clergy conference last month. I don't know what his problem is."

"Not all vicars are as wonderful as you, my love."

He smiled and resumed typing. "They've just got a new organist there too. Conway was raving about him. Younger bloke, seems to have the women of St. Peter's all hot and bothered. Edward, I think his name is."

"Ha, he won't be anywhere near as good as Gordon is," Jenna said. "Nobody plays organ as good as he does."

"I don't think it's his playing they're interested in! Apparently he resembles the actor Robert Pattinson. I suppose that's one way to get more younger people attending church services."

Jenna almost dropped the cup of coffee she was holding. "Fancy that." She stifled a gasp. I can't believe it. That was the organist who played for the King at Liverpool Cathedral last year! She thought. He was a cutie for sure; had a nice cock too, as I recall. Small world. Never imagined he'd end up here in our town.

The Guild Voices choir practices took place every Wednesday evening in a function room at the town hall. The room was spacious and blessed with good acoustics, a piano and a box organ. Jenna arrived earlier than normal, and gathered up her music books off the car's passenger seat.

"Hope none of the others are there yet," she smiled to herself.

Derek Blackledge was alone in the function room, adjusting a music stand. He was a tall, stocky man, around sixty years of age. He was wearing a pale blue open-necked shirt, black trousers and rimless glasses. His buzz-cut silver hair was balding. He had a round face and a wide, flat nose, which as Jenna had overheard another member of the choir unkindly say, "made him look like he'd been bashed in the face with a frying pan." That wasn't strictly true, and Jenna didn't think him that bad looking at all. He spoke in a clipped, staccato sort of way.

Derek looked up as Jenna entered the room. In the four weeks she'd been a member of the Guild Voices, the stunning redhead had certainly livened up the group of mostly boomer-age singers. Jenna was one of the most beautiful and charming women he had ever met, and he couldn't understand what she saw in her husband, the much-older Reverend Morris. The good vicar was a kind and decent chap, but seemed duller than Skegness in January.

"Uh; evening Jenna! You're very early! I was just;"

"Hello Derek. Yes, didn't realize just how early I was!"

"Nothing wrong with that. I admire your dedication. Would you like a brew?" He walked over to a small table in the corner of the room where there was a coffee machine and a kettle.

"Yes please. Tea. White, no sugar."

He made some more idle chatter whilst he waited for the kettle to boil. Glancing round, he noticed she'd seated herself on a chair and crossed her legs. The black dress she was wearing was quite short and had ridden up nicely, exposing a generous amount of thigh. A most welcome sight for the long-divorced choirmaster who'd had zero success in the world of dating since going back on the market.

"This our last rehearsal before Easter Sunday," Derek prattled, pouring the hot water into a mug. "It just seems to have crept up all at once. I'm looking forward to performing in St Michael's Church, with your choir. I hear your organist is very good."

"Oh Gordon? Yes he's brilliant. He won't let you down."

"Great to hear. Now I just need to ensure that the Guild doesn't let everyone down."

Looking at the stocky choirmast

Sweet Melissa

Snowden Speaks — Sun, 08 Dec 2024 08:48:00 +0000

Mountain Christmas in the arms of an old friend.

By PapaBear76. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

"Wait. Please stop. Turn your cute little ass around and come back here..."

A couple of days before Christmas, my girls and I loaded into my aging Jeep Cherokee and headed for their grandparent's home in the mountains. Upon finding out that my socialite ex-wife was "doing Christmas in Hawaii" I had been on top of the world. See, I love the rest of that family with all my heart.

My own family was almost gone. We lost Dad some years back. My brother and his family moved to South Florida and our mom was wasting away in a nursing home, her mind long lost.

I had married the middle of three girls. She was "the pretty one". She had modeled and done a bit of acting. Something snapped in her when our youngest, Katie, was four years old. Rebecca, the ex, wanted to chase the glamour again. With a sudden demand for mature models, she took off. We divorced and she took up with some douche-bag producer. They seem to make money. They jet around and meet celebrities. She sends money for the girls. She was missing the growth of two wonderful young ladies. Good riddance.

My former in-laws, Charlie and Joan had a beautiful place up in the Rocky Mountains. They bought and paid for it long ago when mountain land was cheap. I love to visit and take my two girls, Judith and Katie. I pick my times when Rebecca will not be there. It's not that we don't get along. I just can't listen to her prattle on about their travels and celebs she met. It ranges from annoying to nails on a chalk board.

The eldest girl was Elizabeth, Betty to the family, was tall and slim like her dad and Rebecca. Her features were slightly masculine but pretty. In her life she had had boyfriends and girlfriends. Mostly she kept her relations away from the family. Most recently she had a long running thing with a handsome older man named Daniel. They seemed happy together. Betty smiled more than I ever knew her to.

Then there was Melissa, the youngest. Missy, to the family. She wasn't tall and slim like her dad and sisters. She was short like her mom and carried some extra weight. She actually had a nice figure under the clothes she wore. I had seen her in a classic one-piece swimsuit. She was impressive. Melissa was a buxom little lady with a small waist and a round bottom. Most of her winter wardrobe went straight down from her bust to her hips. This made her appear to be shaped like a beer keg. But oh, what a face. She was genuinely cute with her mom's light blue eyes, eyes that I could easily get lost in.

We made our last pit stop before climbing the mountains. With the snow everywhere, our trip was taking much longer than normal. I escorted Judith and Katie to the ladies room of a clean truck stop. I waited, then walked them back to the Jeep and locked them inside with snacks. Then I went in and took care of my own business. That's our procedure. Too many horrible people in the world these days. Judith saw to letting our tabby cat, Tabby use her litter box in the floor of the car. Finally, we were ready to get back on the road.

Although it was midday, we wanted to wait about eating more than just a snack until we got to Charlie and Joan's house. There would be lots of food and Christmas treats. There was more snow on the road. I put the Jeep in four-wheel high range. I had good tires. It would be slow but easy. With Tabby back in her carrier, the girls got under blankets in the back seat. The heater in the car works great. Eight-year-old, Katie said looking at all the snow made her cold. Eleven-year-old Judith returned to her headphones listening to "God knows what." Katie smiled. She was happy that she was going to "Grandma Joanie's". Clearly, Katie was enjoying her childhood more than Judith was her own. Judith had been old enough to question her mother's leaving. She was now facing her twelfth year and the changes it would bring.

On most of the road, the highway department had done a fine job. In other places, the Jeep was doing it's part like a champ. As we traveled, my mind went back to Sweet Melissa. Thank you, Greg Allman.

The first time I got to spend any time around Melissa, I knew that I had married the wrong sister. There was something about her. Anytime I was near her, I felt this force acting through the core of my body. It was like gravity or magnetism. I could feel something inside me reaching and pulling me to her. The look in her eyes or the touch of her hand was magical.

The last time we were together, I messed things up. At least, I think I did. It was over a year before. I had been divorced for a couple of years. Melissa was still married, although they had filed for divorce. Her dork husband had gone back home to his mother. She and I, sort of, paired off Thanksgiving a year ago. We laughed and joked. We flirted uncontrollably. After a few drinks, we went out to Charlie's combination workshop and man-cave.

Once out there and in private, we suddenly had nothing to say. We both knew why we were there. We kissed for the first time, then the second through fifth and so on. Something came over both of us. I turned her around and hugged her from behind. I moved my hands slowly so that she could stop me at any time. I massaged her full breasts and all down her torso. I firmly pressed my fingers against her crotch. I felt the contours of her elegant, plump pussy. When she showed no objection, I kissed her neck and slipped my fingers into the sides of her jeans. I started pushing them down. "Steven, you can't be serious. We can't." I pushed her jeans to the bottom of her round cheeks. I gently pushed her to bend over the stool at her father's workbench. I was not aware of when my cock got hard, but it was ready. I aimed it at Melissa's crotch. With a shove, I was fully inside her. She moaned and whined. "I can't believe you did that. I can't believe we are doing this. Oh!" She was very wet and soft. Her round soft cheeks were cold against my thighs, while her pussy was steaming hot. I quickly shot my load into her warm pussy. She yanked her pants back up laughing. "You are a horrible, horrible person. God!" We kissed again. "You know I'm still married. And, you are my brother-in-law."

"Just by technicality. I haven't been a brother-in-law for two years and I've wanted you for so long." I said.

It was ever so brief, a quickie. But it changed things so much. The wall between us that kept us at arm's length had been broken. It was a safety curtain that made it OK to touch and talk and say, "I love you" without it meaning more than family and friend. Now things were awkward and reserved. The line between us wasn't just blurred, it was gone. We hardly ever talked, and I had trouble looking at her.

When we arrived at Charlie and Joan's, my heart fell. Elizabeth's Subaru caked with dirty ice was on the side of the drive. Charlie's big Blazer was at the head of the driveway. He had cleared a spot for me. How would Melissa have gotten there? Was she not there? Did she stay away because of me? We unloaded our bags and the cat carrier. Then Charlie helped me with the gifts. Hugs all around.

I stood in the living room holding my former mother-in-law in a hug. "It's so good to be here, Joanie, I've missed you so much." My eyes kept dashing around.

"We've all missed you, Steven. Thank you for coming and bringing the girls. This is going to be a great Christmas." Joan said with some happy tears.

I spotted movement in the dining area. Melissa brought platters of food to the table. "Are you guys hungry?" She asked without looking at me.

"Yes. We skipped lunch to come and eat here. Everything looks wonderful." I said and followed her back into the kitchen. I touched her shoulder. "I didn't get to hug you yet." We embraced and held each other for a minute. No one else came into the kitchen. I tried to kiss her, but she turned her head and I just got cheek. "Girl, we've got to talk. This awkward stuff sucks." I said in her ear as Elizabeth came into the kitchen.

The unaccounted-for dildos.

A Series in 17 parts, By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

At St Michael's church hall, Jenna was making the most of her day off from work. That was the good thing about being part-time. Getting Mondays off. The downside? Monday was the day her husband started writing his sermon. In desperation, she'd agreed to help the ladies of the Mother's Union out at the church hall. It was more interesting than listening to Simon read out long paragraphs. The MU ladies were elderly, but fun to talk too. And boy, did they love to gossip. As a vicar's wife, she'd become privy to all sorts of information. However, Jenna wasn't one for such tittle-tattle, and would just politely humor the nosey old dears.

"Excuse me, a stressed-looking delivery man said, knocking on the church hall door. Parcel here for St Michael's Mother's Union?"

"Hi! I'll take that off your hands," Jenna said. "I have a feeling this is the box of long overdue advent calendars everyone's been moaning about."

"Nothing to do with me," the man replied. "Blame the guys at the other end. We're short-staffed."

"I understand," Jenna replied, signing for the parcel. "You're doing a wonderful job. Have a wonderful Christmas!"

"Uh; cheers," the man muttered, not used to compliments.

"No use selling these at the Christmas Fair seeing as that was yesterday, and we're four days into December." Jenna said, as she set the box on a table. "What can we do with thirty advent calendars? I know. I could extract all the chocolate pieces, recycle the packaging; put the chocolate in a big bowl and the children could help themselves at next week's service;“

She opened the box and got a shock at what was contained within.

"Holy; she;“

"I say, Mrs. Morris, whatever's that?"

Jenna jumped as one of the Mother's Union members returned from the hall kitchen.

"Er, hello Mrs. Grimes it's a;“

"A horse's saddle? What ruddy great twerp donated that?"

"Um;“

"We've had some strange donations over the years, but this! It takes the biscuit! Just look at this!" She rummaged in the box and pulled out a riding crop, mask and blinkers. "A job lot of horse tack! Did Frankie Dettori donate it?"

"Perhaps?" Jenna replied, trying to keep a straight face as the elderly woman held up an enormous purple dildo, shaped like a horse penis, and looked at it in utter confusion.

"This must be for giving liquid medicine to horses."

"Last year, someone donated a bus stop sign, a chamber pot and a false leg," another woman piped up. "The bus stop sign was really popular. We got fifty quid for it."

"How ridiculous!" Mrs. Grimes replied. "We can't sell this at the Advent tombola. No horsey folk round here. You might as well take it down to the charity shop; or mail it to Aintree racecourse;“

"Er; I'll stick to the charity shop, Mrs. Grimes. Think of the postage cost."

"Ah, yes. Good thinking. Right, well, I'll leave it up to you then."

"I'll get rid of it," Jenna said, then spotted an invoice. Unfolding it, her eyes widened. "Shit; I must get this stuff to Norman before anyone else sees it and realizes what it actually is!" She chuckled. "I bet Gladys is behind it! Absolutely shameless!"

Jenna admired the old lady. "I hope I can have fun like that if I live to be as old as her. She's got the right attitude."

Hurrying out of the church hall with the big box, she didn't look where she was going and bumped into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she spluttered, as the box fell to the ground, some of its contents tumbling out.

"That's quite alright, you look loaded up," the man replied. "Ah! Simon's dear wife. Nice to meet you again, my dear!" He shook her hand.

"Oh; Reverend Fletcher! If you're looking for Simon, he's at the vicarage, writing his;“ She froze as he bent down and picked up a horse mask and dildo.

"My, my. Is this a Secret Santa for the good vicar, eh?" Reverend Fletcher chuckled.

"It's not mine," Jenna replied quickly. "It was delivered to the hall by mistake."

Multiple organs are played at the All Saints Sunday Eucharist.

A Series in 17 parts, By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

It's been a while, but now we return to our good friends at Saint Michael's CE church;

"Dear Brothers & Sisters," Reverend Simon Morris stood in the pulpit and began his sermon.

"Well first of all, special thanks to Gordon for that fine voluntary and hymn, and to My wife’s cousin, Miya, for playing the Gloria. We have an organist and an organist-in-training! As I'm sure you're aware, my wife Jenna, has kindly agreed to stand in for Raymond Wilson, the organist at Oakwood Road Methodist Church, who is recovering from surgery.

Also as you may have noticed, we are joined by Reverend Horatius Fletcher, an old friend who mentored me back when I was studying for my degree in theology many, many years ago!"

The man in question was sat behind the vicar, at the side of the organ and clad in full robes. He looked a lot older than he probably was. He smiled and nodded. "You were a good student; well, most of the time!"

A chorus of sniggers erupted from the assembled congregation.

"Did he step out of a Dickens novel?" someone whispered. "He's got the perfect name for one."

"From the look of him, he was an old 'un when Queen Victoria were a mere slip of a girl!" came the witty reply.

The fella in the pew behind them added; "Aye, he listened to one too many sermons. That's what we'll look like by the end of this service."

"And now we turn to events in the Christian calendar.” Reverend Morris continued. “We've entered November, & the month of remembrance: All Saints, All Souls, and, of course, Remembrance Sunday. It is always necessary to remember important events which have gone before, because, as has been said, those who don't remember history are doomed to repeat it. This year we studied on Sundays, and in our Bible reflection group, the Book of Exodus;“

There was much coughing and shuffling of feet as the congregation braced themselves for another of the vicar's famously long and tedious sermons.

Over at the organ loft, Miya was thinking some less-than-holy ways of spicing up this dull part of the service.

"I was so nervous playing the Gloria," she whispered to Gordon, who was sat next to her on the organ stool. "My first time playing in front of the congregation."

In the four months she'd been practicing, Miya had learnt a lot, but there was still a heck of a long way to go.

"You were fantastic," Gordon replied, reassuring his much-younger girlfriend. "I knew you could do it."

"The next hymn;” Miya paused. “I'm not sure if;“

"Want me to play it?" Gordon offered her a break.

"If you don't mind."

"No worries." Gordon adjusted his music sheets. The next hymn was The King of Love My Shepherd Is, set to the tune of St Columba.

"Think I need to relax my fingers a little," Miya continued. "All that pressing down; I need something to squeeze. My palms have gone sweaty and hot." Her right hand slipped over to his thigh and squeezed it.

"Now lass," Gordon muttered. "Why do I get the feeling you're itching to play a different organ?"

She gave him that grin; the one that meant serious naughtiness. How he loved that grin.

Meanwhile, the vicar's sermon continued. "As St Paul wrote in Ephesians 2: 'Jesus is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility, His purpose was to create in himself one new humanity out of the two, thus making peace, and in one body to reconcile both of them to God through the cross.' The Cross of Christ makes peace possible. The Cross of Christ can make brothers out of enemies."

With one hand, Gordon pushed her closer and slid his tongue into her mouth. Miya could feel his hands trailing the skin of her arse, exploring under her skirt.

Her gasp was soft, but keen. Gordon's lip twitched in amusement.

She lead his fingers further into the wetness underneath her knickers.

"Oh, Gordy-pie, I want you in me;“ Miya moaned in delinquent need.

With an arched brow, the organist huskily whispered, "Oh yes? Which part of me do you reckon?" Miya giggled.

Virgo invites classmate over, to pursue a more honorable deflowering.

By Millsy Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

"Why is there a dice on your telly?"

"Oh, no reason,” I winked at her.

She plucked it off the top of the TV and threw it onto the bed. Up rolled the 6.

"Want to try again,” I asked.

"Where's the prize list. What do I get for a 6,” She smiled, setting her wine glass down and laying back on the bed.

"There isn't one. What do you say, three each. I do the odds, you do the evens?"

"Pen?"

I wrote mine down and put the paper upside down on the dresser. I'd gone for a gentle break-in. 1 was a three minute snog, 3 was a tit sucking, and 5 was a full strip down to nothing. Basically it was nothing that she hadn't already done. I had no idea what she'd written down for the evens, and she laid her piece of paper down on top of mine. "Who goes first,” She asked.

"You do. And if you don't want to do it you can back out at any time. No pressure,” I assured her. I placed the dice in the palm of her hand. "Roll it, baby."

It came up a 4.

"Hmm.. that's one of mine,” She smiled, turning over her piece of paper and folding it so that I could read only what she had written for 4.

"Undress your partner?"

"That means you. I get to undress you, totally. Stand up,” She commanded me. Somewhat hesitantly I obeyed; then she gently kissed me on the lips as her hands deftly worked at my belt buckle.

"What about you,” I asked as she pulled my shirt up out of my jeans and began to unbutton it.

"Well, you've already seen me in the nude, and more, so if you don't roll a 4 it gets to be my turn to see you naked and there's nothing you can do about it. Unless you want to chicken out now,” She added as she slid her hands up my exposed chest and slipped the shirt off my shoulders. Of course, she didn't know that a 5 would see her stark naked as well, but with that she'd have to undress herself. In moments my shirt was on the floor, and her tongue traced lightly across my chest as she sank down onto her knees, my crotch at eye level as she popped the button on my jeans and unzipped me slowly. I gulped, and I looked out my bedroom window and across the main road, suddenly aware that my curtains were open and there was a possibility that we were being watched.

"I'll close the curtains,” I said as she undid the laces of my trainers.

"No! Leave them,” She said as she inched my trousers down, my hardening cock straining in my boxer shorts. If it got any harder it would be peeking out the top, and she'd be able to see it in a moment. My jeans fell around my knees, and I stumbled onto the bed after a gentle nudge from her that enabled her to then throw my trainers and my socks across the room. "Stand up again,” She said, still on her knees in front of me, my penis now stretching my boxers damn near to breaking point. "Almost there,” She murmured, licking her dry lips as both hands began to ease the elasticated waistband of my shorts down. My cock was pulled about inside as she eased them down, bent into an uncomfortable angle as her hands tugged my shorts down off my hips, then she moved both hands into light contact with my cock through the thin fabric of my shirts and peeled the cloth over the head of my shaft, exposing me. After that my shorts were on the floor around my ankles, then on the window sill, and she kneeled before me, my cock almost in her face.

"Now that's a good looking dick,” She murmured.

"Seen a lot,” I wondered aloud.

"Internet access” she admitted. “Only good for stealing music and hardcore porn,” She laughed, and I felt her cool, minty breath wash over my prick, making it jerk involuntarily. Would she touch it? Would she kiss it, suck it, wank it into her mouth? I mused as I looked down at her and she looked back up at me in blazing, lustful eye contact. I felt her hand on my thigh, moving upward, then her fingers touched mine and pressed the dice into my hand.

I rolled a 1, and showed her my list. She stood up in front of me and we snogged hard, my naked cock rubbing against her jeans as her hands roamed all over my body in the clinch, grabbing at my naked ass, pinching my nipples, her tongue next to frantic as it explored my mouth and my hands were inside her sweater, squeezing her tits through her bra as we moaned into each other’s mouths. She avoided touching my cock with her fingers as it stood erect, trapped between us, but still I could feel the juices building up in my balls from the arousal that she was driving me to. I broke away and she picked up the dice from the bed.

She rolled a 2, which was also a snog, and lay down on the bed, beckoning me on top of her. I covered her body with mine and latched my lips onto her face again, and this time her fingernails were digging into my ass as I lay on top of her, pulling the cheeks of my butt apart as she writhed beneath me, my cock pressing down against the V of her crotch. I groaned as her fingers traversed the crack of my ass, grinding my hips against her in a dry hump that also brought a few moans from her own mouth that were smothered by my tongue. The next roll was another 4 and I went to work as she lay on the bed.

Virgo’s desired damsel gives a surprise ‘window-cam’ private performance for him.

By Millsy. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

We snogged on her doorstep again, and when she disappeared inside I ran home, straight back up to the loft, and trained the telescope on her bedroom window. Tonight she stood in front of the computer desk with the bedroom light on, facing the window, and unbuttoned her blouse, peeling it off her shoulders in one smooth shrug and allowing it to drop to the floor behind her. She was standing there in jeans and her straining white bra, and I unzipped my trousers and awkwardly pulled out my stiff and aching cock as she reached behind her to unclasp her bra.

I saw her big tits full frontal then for the first time, and I watched rapt as her hands cupped them, thumbs stroking the still hard nipples in exactly the way that I had wanted to touch her just moments before as she closed her eyes and licked her lips. Did she know, I wondered, that I was watching her? Was this a show? Had she twigged that the second loft window, the one that I hadn't let her look through in the telescope gave me an unobstructed view of her window? Or was she just doing what she liked to do, touching herself up after she was turned on, whether by the strangers on the internet or by what we had done tonight, and had simply forgotten to close her blinds?

Did it matter, I asked myself as my hard cock jerked again at the sight of her unbuttoning her jeans, unzipping them, easing them down past her hips, her panties inadvertently coming down her legs with them. The triangle of her pubic mound stared me in the face, then disappeared as she bent forward, eclipsed for several seconds by her hanging tits as she stepped out of her jeans. I swallowed as she stood again, now totally naked, and she threw her long black hair back over her head and put one foot up on the foot of the bed. I watched her hand slide between her legs and hug her crotch, watched it move up and down as she rubbed herself, watched her pinching her teats with her other hand as she closed her eyes and fantasized about fucking me. Did she know I was here with my cock in my hand, wanking slowly? Did she know that we were right at that moment doing exactly what she did with her internet lovers, that I could see her the through the telescope the way that she could see the webcam cocks that had gotten her off so often in the past?

Then she turned and touched the keyboard of her PC, and the monitor sprang to life. She sat down still naked at the desk and typed away. My laptop burbled a warning of an incoming message.

"What are you doing,” called the screen.

"Thinking about you,” I replied.

"That's sweet,” She responded. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"

"Nothing planned,” I fired back.

"Come over at eight?"

"Love to. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course,” Rebecca replied.

"Can you send me a photo of you?"

She lolled a reply, asking me if I'd forgotten what she looked like already, then I watched her browse through a folder before forwarding me a small 100k jpeg. When I opened it I saw a picture that she'd obviously taken with her mobile by simply holding it out in front of her and guessing. It was skewed and grainy, but the more I saw of her the better looking she seemed to be getting.

"I like that one,” I thanked her.

"I chose one of the better ones. I don't seem to be very photogenic, to be honest. Then she warned; “Now, no jerking off over it. I know what you boys are like."

In a way I was shocked at the way she just blurted that out, but one thing I was learning about Rebecca was that she had a very mischievous sense of humor and wasn't afraid to use either innuendo or overt and frank sexual language.

"Well I'm completely flabbergasted at your tone,” I sent back. "As if I would do something like that? Bloody good idea, by the way. See you on the bus."

"Good night,” Came back, then we both shut down our screens more or less simultaneously. I watched her for a while longer as she sat naked at her desk, exploring the drawer. After a moment out came a shocking pink colored tube that it took me a few seconds to recognize as a vibrator. She slipped it into her mouth and turned out the light."

"No,” I silently screamed, denied the delicious sight of her spearing her pussy with that sex toy, then my cum sprayed all over the floor, catching me completely by surprise.

I was late again for the bus, but this time when I boarded there was a youngster sitting next to her. I put my bag on a seat that a friend had kept for me, then I quickly moved back down the bus before the driver pulled away from the bus stop. I leaned over the third former sitting next to Rebecca and kissed her hard on the mouth for a full five seconds before winking and returning to my seat before the driver yelled at me again. I left her red faced, while some of the younger kids whooped and laughed. I did it purely because I didn't want her to think that I was keeping our relationship secret. I didn't care who knew I was seeing her, though I had no way of knowing at the time that this act would see me suspended from school in the lunch break.

"Morning,” I grinned at my mate Steve.

"What the fuck was that,” He asked. "You and Rebecca Lewis?"

Astronomy geek turns voyeur, and discovers a busty classmate’s bedroom window.

By Millsy. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

I lived at the top end of the village, my bedroom overlooking the main road and, of all things, a cemetery across the other side. Beyond that was the mountain that separated our valley from the next one across, so you'd think this was not exactly the ideal domain for somebody who held an unhealthy interest in space and astronomy while he was growing up.

What we did have, though, was a loft conversion with two large windows - one on each side - that tilted open so you had a clear and unobstructed view of most of the night sky from inside the house. While most people had to put their stargazing telescopes outside in the garden, mine was up there in the loft warm and dry all year round.

It was a nice 'scope with a 250x magnification. What that means is that something five hundred feet away would seem almost within touching reach of you as you gazed at it. I don't know how much it cost - £300, £400 maybe - as it was part of a long stream of space related Christmas presents that spanned several years from when I was 8 or 9 years old to the time that this tale relates to, when I was a nineteen year old getting ready to graduate from sixth form with my A levels and go to university. Water rockets, star charts, planetarium balls, computers and cameras had for years been my birthday and Christmas presents, and while the telescope was still a few years old, it was my most prized possession.

And not just because you could see details of the moon's rugged terrain with it, or make out the shape of the horsehead nebula in the constellation Sagittarius. Oh no. Since I had become sexually aware it had quite often been turned away from the night sky, and tilted much more earthward as a growing curiosity of not only what was above me, but also what was around me, began to plague my imagination. It had started with furtive spying on other kids playing on the mountainside, lighting fires with stolen matches, on older teens drinking and snogging and touching each other up supposedly out of sight of the village and their parents. Then once that had paled it had turned even more ground-ward in search of voyeuristic delights.

As I lived at the top end of the village the loft had a commanding view across the large, rectangular plot of allotments that lay behind our house. Around these allotments were other houses, all tightly packed terraced dwellings arranged around the perimeter of the allotments that took about ten minutes to walk around with my dog in the mornings. From the loft, with the telescope angled below the horizontal, I could see inside peoples’ gardens, kitchens, bathrooms and, obviously, bedrooms. The angles limited exactly what you could see, but with many houses I had what could be considered a fairly interesting view.

That's when I fell in lust with Rebecca.

Rebecca was like me; imperfect. I was skinny, geeky by nature, more interested in technology and astronomy than playing football and rugby and would rather be out with a radio controlled car than a pushbike. Rebecca was a little overweight - though certainly nowhere near obese - and spent most of her spare time in her bedroom either playing The Sims on her computer or wiling away the nights on the internet. I knew this because I could see her through the telescope. I didn't have a full view of her bedroom, but I got enough of an angle on her room that I could see her desk and dressing table, and maybe a third of the bottom of her bed. It was a bit of a mess, with clothes scattered everywhere, books and papers and hair care containers all over the place, but that was no different to my own. Occasionally mine was tidied, usually shortly after my parents had gone ballistic on me, but more often than not it looked little better than Bex's. I didn't notice after a while, though, because all I was interested in was her. The lens no longer looked out into space, but deep into Bex's bedroom.

She was a little younger - not by much, though, and had long black hair, most often tied up in a ponytail, and pale milky skin because like me she would rather stay indoors than go out. I don't suppose she had many friends - I never saw anyone else in her room while I was spying on her - and her habit of locking herself up inside rather than going out probably contributed to not just her pale complexion, but also the extra pounds that she carried. Don’t get me wrong here, Rebecca was not a fat girl, but she did carry that extra baggage that comes with growing up and it hadn't burned off due to the lack of exercise that her internet regimen dictated. She had also been one of the b-grade pupils through her years in comprehensive school, and that's why I hadn't noticed her before - we shared no common classes. Pupils were segregated into achievers and under-achievers from the age of thirteen, but Rebecca had clearly worked hard to move out of the lower band and into the uppers, which I reckoned might also help to explain her lack of close friends. She had outgrown her old ones by leaving them behind in their second grade classes, and the ones in the upper band had their own cliques and she hadn't found a way to be included in those.

As is common with some overweight girls, her face was rounded and relatively plain. Soft. When you looked closer - as I did on the bus on the way in to school every day and during Math which was the single cross-over lesson that we both endured together, you could see that beneath the puppy fat there was a very pretty face waiting to break out. Most don't notice these things normally, but when you begin to really focus on somebody the potential becomes so apparent that you wonder why the rest of the world doesn't see it. What attracted me to Rebecca, though, was not so much the awareness of how this girl could grow into a good looking woman, but that her secrets were every bit as dark as mine.

You see, the telescope showed me things about her that you would never normally imagine. It started when I was scanning the back bedrooms of the houses that overlooked the allotments, hoping to find a couple going at it like rabbits with the lights on and the curtains wide open - something that had happened just twice in about three years of below the horizon stargazing. Then one evening my lens settled on the glow of Becca's computer screen, and her profile highlighted in off-white light in the darkness as she MSN'd to complete strangers with her right hand while she felt her own boobs up with her left. My God that got me so hard it was painful, even though all I could see was a ghostly hand moving over her bra as the position of her desk and chair in relation to my view was at a bit of a difficult angle. I couldn't make out what she was typing, or who she was typing to, but I could see from the images that flashed up on her screen exactly what the subject matter was, and that made my stiff meat harder still.

Men were sending her grainy photographs of their cocks, and while they did that she was navigating through an array of folders and pulling up mobile phone pictures of her own hidden treasures. On one occasion I watched her spread her legs and put the mobile down there, before plugging the phone into her computer and uploading a beautiful picture of her fur lined pussy being invaded by a dainty finger, relaying it then on to some unknown lucky bastard over the broadband. She was very careful not to show her face on-line, but her tits and fanny were flaunted to all comers with wanton abandon. I longed for her MSN address as I watched her on those rare occasions when she was online and hadn't closed the blinds, my own hand working my hardness slowly as image after image of hard dicks and gaping pussies flashed up on her screen. Sometimes images of women with cocks in their mouths or men fucking away at their engorged, distended cunts made it up onto the monitor as anonymous wankers from all around the world traded dirty photographs with the object of my secret obsession, while I in turn wanked myself off into the microfiber cloths that I used to polish the lenses on my telescope.

All the while she sat there, leaning into the screen as she sent and received photographs, her hands working on her tits or moving purposefully between her thighs and out of sight to me. We wanked together, Becca and I, though she knew naught of me, remaining blissfully unaware of my hard, erect manhood being stroked in rigid salute of her as she laughed and sighed in a world of her own until my semen spurted into a cloth, often catching me by surprise as I watched her bare legs and feet propped up on the edge of her desk as she leaned back in her chair, the laptop showing a webcam of some stranger also wanking himself off as she chatted over MSN with him before the days of Skype made typing old hat.

How I longed to hear her voice whispering those fuck-me lines, encouraging me to pump my cock harder, to spurt my semen over her full teenaged tits or her open slit, wet and slippery from having just been fingered by red painted nails. I lay awake at night long after she had switched off and gone to sleep herself, replaying the images in my mind, my eyes closed as her husky, lust laden voice urged me to finger her, to eat her out, to ram my hard cock inside her, to flood her womb with my seed or spill it down her gulping throat. I showered every single morning, desperately trying to think of an angle that could get me closer to her as I readied for school, paying more attention to my appearance than I had ever done in my life, depleting Lynx shower gel bottles at an alarming rate and going through a tube of toothpaste a week.

Then one day in Math class when I was trying to conceal a raging hard-on beneath my desk, it suddenly came to me. This was the last lesson of the day, yet it was only lunch time. Normally I'd walk the four miles home instead of waiting for the bus, but most people that lived our way either spent the afternoon in the sixth form common room or in the library. So this time I stayed behind, leaving my bewildered friends to walk home without me, claiming that I was staying behind because I was having trouble with one of my subjects. I looked for Rebecca in the common room, found it deserted, then after lunch

Jenna Gives Up Sex For Lent? Part 2

Snowden Speaks — Tue, 03 Dec 2024 16:43:00 +0000

But she finds new Uses For Old Organ Pipes.

A series in 17 parts, by Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

The third Sunday of Lent had arrived. Reverend Morris was counting down the days until Easter in the same way a prisoner counts down the days until their release. He was dreading today's morning Eucharist after the embarrassment of last week.

"I still can't believe I was stupid enough to mix up that erotic story with my sermon!" He exclaimed. "Why did I print it out?"

"Ah relax, Simon. It was a fantastic first attempt, and that vicar from Manchester seemed to enjoy it!" Jenna replied, making herself a coffee.

"Yes I know but, well I suppose you're right. Nobody made a complaint. I'm just glad the youth & children were already dismissed to their classes. I'd have had a load of outraged parents begging for me to be defrocked!"

"No damage done," Jenna smiled. "And you truly do have hidden talents. I had no idea you were so good at writing erotica. You should try it again sometime!"

This Sunday's service passed without incident, and most of the congregation were no doubt disappointed that the vicar's sermon had returned to its familiar, boring self. Afterwards, Gordon peered over the top of the organ and smiled as he noticed Jenna.

"Morning!" He said.

"Hello Gordon!" Jenna replied. "How are you getting on with, you know?" She winked.

"Ah that," he laughed. "You weren't kidding when you said use lots of lube, were you? It's fun, but," Gordon lowered his voice. "It doesn't match up to you. I miss our organ lessons."

"Me too. We're halfway through Lent. Stay strong. You'll get through it!"

"I'll try my best! Oh, are these of any interest to you or Simon?" He handed her two tin organ pipes, one smaller than the other. "I know you're into arts and crafts. Thought you might have some use for these. Some of the old pipes have been replaced."

"These are nice!" Jenna said, holding up the pipes. "Great condition."

"They make great wall ornaments. I see loads of them for sale on eBay. Some go for really high prices."

"I'll see if I can get creative. It'll be a fun spring project for me. Thanks Gordon! Oh before I forget, you couldn't do a favor for a member of the church, could you?"

"Certainly!"

"Gladys asked if you could call round and fix a new door handle on her kitchen door. I know you're really good at D I Y; you fitted new wall sockets in the church hall."

The organist's face fell. "Um, oh right. Yes. I'm sure I can."

"Great! She'll be thrilled. Right, I'd better get going. Simon's taking Christopher out for some father-son time, so I'll be home alone. I'll see if I can get creative with these old organ pipes!"

Gordon gulped. The thought of calling round to see Mrs. Wilcox terrified him.

"My God, the old girl will pounce on me like a lioness ambushing a gazelle!" He noticed the churchwarden heading up the aisle. "Norman! Could you do me a favor?"

Jenna arrived back at the vicarage, wondering how to spend the rest of the afternoon. She looked carefully at the two organ pipes, running a finger down the smooth, dull metal.

"Hmm, this larger one, it could be just the right size!"

Can Two Broken people make something whole, again?

In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Neighborhood Party

Cathy & John were holding a Christmas Eve open-house next door; and expecting half of the neighborhood over that evening. They were a high standard in generosity, for the rest of us neighbors to try to emulate.

I made my appearance, around 8:30 , and stoically accepted the offered condolences which were definitely putting me in the wrong state of mind. After only half-an-hour I knew I had to get out of there, even if it did piss off Cathy.

John seemed to catch my mood, and dragged me outdoors to enjoy a cigar in semi-peace. With a heavily spiked eggnog in hand, and a more than decent Rocky Patel Decade burning nicely, I was willing to stick it out a little longer when he headed back indoors.

“I should skin you alive for that little stunt, you know.”

I heard a voice coming from poolside, and headed that way to face the music. Sandy was sitting there alone, a large, mostly empty glass of wine at her side.

“I know. I was bad. But I’m done now.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped.

“I just wanted Erica to have a decent Christmas, and wanted to help you out a little in your effort to sell your house.”

She cackled, and it wasn’t a pretty sound. “You too? You just barely met me and you’re so damn eager to get me out of the neighborhood.”

Her words surprised me. “Not at all. I’m just trying to fight back a bit against the unfairness of the world. What are you doing out here alone, anyway?”

“I can’t stand the way they look at me. Like suicide is contagious or something. They don’t know what to say; they all avoid me, or look at me like I was a leper or something.”

“People can be assholes.”

She smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”

I sat beside her and drank my 80 proof eggnog in silence. We watched a small group come out and start talking while they lit up their cancer sticks.

“I know you mean well, Alex. But you can stop now, Ok?” she said softly.

“One last thing.”

“Please. Enough already.”

“Steve called. Everything’s cleared up with the insurance. You’ll get your check next week.”

She looked at me like I’d grown a third eye, completely stunned. “Really?”

“Really.”

She finished her wine, gulping it down, then sat back. “Shit. Six fucking months they drag it out and then suddenly, like that,” she snapped her fingers, “they’re willing to pay up?”

“Steve’s good.”

She leaned forward and held her head in her hands. After a few seconds I could see her body was shaking. She was crying, silently.

“I’m sorry it took so long. If I’d been a better neighbor, we might have taken care of this months ago.”

She sat up abruptly, and I could see the streak of the tears on her face. “Don’t. Don’t apologize. Just don’t, Ok?”

“Ok.”

I sat awkwardly, while she wiped her eyes and turned away from me, staring out at the backyard. I leaned over and took her empty glass. “Can I get you a refill?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, please. Thanks.”

“Be right back.”

It took a few minutes to navigate the crowd around the bar, and to endure the late arrivals expressing their sorrow over my “loss”. Like they know anything about loss. Shit. I was happy to get back outside, away from the doe-eyed suburban mommy’s pity and their awkward mumbling husbands.

I plopped down next to Sandy. “Jesus. Next time you can make the booze run.” I told her passing the wine glass over.

She gave me a twisted smile. “You volunteered, remember?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“That’s what you get for being a Good Samaritan.”

“That’s it for me. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

She chuckled. “Somehow I doubt that.”

My cigar had gone out, and it would have been a shame to waste it. I ventured into the smoker arena long enough for a light, and immediately regretted it, catching the sidelong glances they gave each other, knowing what they were thinking. I didn’t spend a moment there longer then I had to, hustling back to my solitude and Sandy. The only kindred soul at this soirée who might feel a tenth of the loss I that was consuming me.

There was one last thing I wanted to do, but I didn’t know how she’d take it. I thought that maybe, just maybe, with one more glass of wine under her belt, she might acquiesce.

“Sandy?”

“Hmm. I don’t know if I like the sound of that. Are you up to something again?”

“No. Maybe. Not really. I mean, well, can I show you something next door?”

She gave me an odd look, which lasted quite a long time. “Can I bring my wine?”

“Of course. It’ll only take a minute.”

She stood, and followed me out the gate. We walked around the fence to my driveway and into my backyard. As we crossed my patio she piped up.

“Just because I’ve had a few drinks, and just because you did something nice doesn’t mean you’re going to get anywhere with me, I hope you know.”

Her words slammed into me like a bucket of cold water. I hadn’t even thought about anything like that. I turned and looked at her. She didn’t look bad. Not at all. She cleaned up nicely, and even if she was ridiculously skinny, I could see she was an attractive woman. Funny that I’d never even noticed. I stood there trying to think of how to reply.

“Jesus, Alex. I’m just teasing you.”

It took me a few seconds to reply. “That was the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Of course. Believe me. I understand.” Her sardonic reply was more surprising than the original tease.

Caught without a response, I entered the house and led her to the living room.

“What did you want to show me?”

I turned on the light in the living room, and moved out of the way.

“Holy crap!”

I gestured toward the piles of gifts. “They were for my girls. I don’t know what to do with them.”

“That’s all for your girls?” she asked, looking on in wonder.

“Yeah. I kind of over do it.”

“I’ll say.”

“I’d like Erica to have them. She doesn’t have to know they’re from me. They can all be from Santa if you’d like. If you don’t take them, I… I don’t know what I’ll do with them.”

“It’s too much, Alex. It’s a nice gesture, really. But it’s too much.”

“Please. No strings. Do it for Erica.”

She stood silent for a while, before she turned to me. “Why? Why now?”

“I don’t know. Look, they’re just sitting there. I’ll end up donating them to some charity or something. I’ve got a ton of gifts, and nobody left to give them too. You’ve got a sweet little girl who has one present under the tree and could use a bit of joy in her life.”

She wandered around the room, nudging the gifts with her foot, not answering, taking the occasional sip from her glass. She eventually wandered back and stood beside me.

She stood quietly for several seconds, apparently pondering a reply. “It’s not fair,” she finally muttered.

That wasn’t what I’d expected. “No shit. Life’s about as unfair as I could ever imagine,” I answered honestly. “Good people get hurt for no apparent reason. Jack-offs seem to glide along easily without a care in the world. Innocent little girls have their lives cut short meaninglessly. Good-hearted neighbors have their lives crapped on as if it was some big cosmic joke.” I could hear my own voice getting louder and more frustrated. “Life’s a fucking kick in the ass, and every time it looks like something nice might come out of it, some cosmic comedian pulls the rug out from under you. What kind of God destroys a family for no good reason? Huh? Answer me that!” I was almost shouting by the end of my tirade.

“I…I think I need to go home now.” She turned and started walking away.

I chased after her, “Please, can you take just a few? Please. It’s killing me to see them here.”

She stumbled a bit, then paused. Without turning she said, “Bring over what you want around midnight.” Then she slipped out the back door.

I took a few minutes to compose myself after she left. I’d made a complete ass of myself. Oh well. About par for the course. I decided to make another short appearance at Cathy’s to at least say my goodnights. My nosy neighbor caught me the moment I made it in the door. “John told me you were around, but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I ran into Sandy, and we broken people sort of hid out in your backyard.”

She looked at me quizzically. “I was kind of surprised she came over. She didn’t say a word about what we did this afternoon.”

“Lucky you. I’ve still got the scars,” I teased. Then I told her a little about our discussion, including the insurance situation and the deal with the gifts.

“Thank God. Maybe she can finally stop working 16 hours a day, and spend some time with her daughter. That’ll be nice. I was wondering what you were going to do with all those gifts. I was afraid you were going to make a memorial out of them, leaving them there year after year, until the dust was an inch thick over them.”

Her words stung a bit. “I’m not that bad.”

“No, you’re not. Although you had me worried there for a bit. It’s just a hard thing to take. I understand that.”

“I guess it’s not a problem now.”

She smiled. “I guess not. Erica’s a lucky little girl.”

"I don't know if I'd say that, but at least she might have a nice Christmas."

"I'm glad you came over tonight. A lot of our friends were worried for you. Your appearance was a nice Christmas gift for them as well."

"I can't say I really care too much. I know it sounds harsh, but how they feel isn't really high up there on my list of priorities at the moment."

"That's Ok. It's still nice that you came."

"I appreciate your inviting me. And for being the nagging neighborly meddlesome busybody you've been for the last couple of weeks."

She laughed. "That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me in a while, and in the nastiest way. I guess you are feeling a little better."

I sighed. "A little. Although I doubt Christmas will ever be the same for me again."

She moved in and gave me a hug. "It'll never be the same. But it may still, someday, be Ok."

I hugged her back, quietly. I doubted it.

Back home, I dressed down to sweats and a t-shirt, torturing myself a little by watching The Little Drummer Boy, Briana's favorite. Life was so fucking unfair. My girls were gone. It was Christmas and I was alone. I'd never, ever, spend another Christmas with Briana and Allora. Never.

An hour later I was at Sandy's back door with three huge garbage bags full of gifts. It had taken me two trips. I knocked softly and a few moments later Sandy let me in. She'd gotten rid of her party clothes as well, answering the door in a plain robe. She looked tired. I guessed that she'd been waiting up for me.

"Erica?" I asked softly.

"Asleep," she confirmed, taking one of the bags from me.

Quietly we headed to her front room and started spreading out the gifts. On each one, I removed the existing tag and she put a new sticker 'from Santa' on it. She asked me what was in each, but I couldn't remember all of them. Still, I was able to fill her in on the majority. She must have had some plan in mind, because she organized them according to my descriptions of their probable contents, separating them in neat little piles. After about 15 minutes I looked over and saw her shaking her head.

"What?"

"It's too much."

"That's what my ex said every year. I never got a complaint from the girls."

She gave me a wry smile. "At least one of us is going to have a pretty spectacular Christmas."

"Isn't that how it should be?"

I saw her nod, and noticed that her eyes were glistening again. I decided to leave it alone.

Until those moments, I really hadn't seen Sandy as a woman. I'd related to her as a person in need. But between her dressing up at the party, her comments on my patio, and the way she was dressed in just a robe, I'm almost ashamed to say I was scoping her out.

She was rail thin, with short dark brown hair, almost black. She wasn't very large on top, but when she was moving around on her hands and knees, arranging presents, I got a few glimpses inside the top of her robe, and saw the swelling of very feminine breasts. Her legs were as thin as the rest of her, but with decent calf definition. Some of her movements were less than ladylike, and I saw myself peeking up the bottom of her robe, looking at her pale inner thighs, or glancing at her round rear giving form to her robe.

Her face was cute. Small turned up nose, narrow mouth with bowed upper lip, and natural eyebrows fuller than was popular, above big brown eyes. Those eyes were extremely expressive, and somewhat mesmerizing.

I found myself looking at her too often, and she eventually caught me at it.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I answered quickly. Trying to cover myself I explained. "You just look happier than I've seen you until now."

One corner of her mouth turned up. "I guess for once you're seeing me when I'm not completely pissed-off at you."

We finished with the gifts and I carefully stood up and gingerly stepped around the pretty wrapped up presents. I turned and held my hand out to Sandy while she did her best to maneuver around them without stepping on any. She almost made it before stumbling at the last minute, kicking a pile over and falling toward me. I caught her and held her up, pulling her backward with me until the wall halted my retreat.

She stared up at me, my arms still wrapped under hers, holding her closer than I intended. Her hair smelled like strawberries.

"I should be furious with you," she said, leaning into me.

"I know."

I pulled her upright, but she clung to me, pressing against me.

"We don't need anybody." She sounded angry again.

I shrugged, hard to do while holding a fragile woman in my arms. "I don't have anybody."

Her look softened. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'll be Ok." I closed my eyes, and thought once more of my kids. I could feel myself on the verge of losing it again.

Without warning her lips were on mine, gentle at first. Then I felt her fingers dig into my skin, and she was kissing me fiercely, her teeth pressed hard against my lips. I pulled her tightly against my body, opening my mouth to hers, returning her ardor.

It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. She was clutching at me, kissing me, hugging me, hitting me, scratching me, while I stood there holding her, absorbing it all. I waited for her to calm down, and when she didn't I reached down and lifted her by the ass, holding her tight, while her legs encircled me. She bit my lip hard, and I could taste blood, while her claws sank into my shoulders.

I could feel the anger and frustration in her, the desire to strike out somehow at the unfairness of it all. I echoed those feelings, accepting them, expanding them, and returning them in kind. Yes, I was angry too. Furious. The taste of my own blood on my lips just served to fuel the fire.

Like everything else, having her vent her anger on me, while I was the only one in the world trying to help her was patently unfair. I was hurting too. I had lost so much more. So very much more. I was tired of being treated like dirt.

Holding her by the rear in one hand, I grasped her hair from behind, pulling her hair back making her gasp. I lowered my mouth to her slender neck and bit her, sucking on her flesh. Both of her hands went to my head, entangling in my hair, and pulling my face down against her. Her hips ground against me, while her bare feet beat a tattoo against my back.

Sandy pulled my head back by the hair, and I loosened my grip on hers. She stared into my eyes, hers flashing with pent up emotions.

"Damn you!" she gasped. She leaned in and pressed her lips against mine again, still fierce and unrelenting.

I turned and pressed her against the wall, trapping her there with my body. My hand lowered and slid into her robe, meeting nothing but bare flesh. I grabbed her breast and squeezed, causing her to moan into my mouth. Her hands weren't idle and she was pushing the top of my sweats down, using her feet to push them down in the back. She squeezed a hand between us, her other wrapped around my shoulders, and I felt her fingers wrap around my hardness. It was hard to believe how I was responding to her and her tantrum, but there was no doubt.

I took over, pushing my sweats down, letting them slide down to my ankles, drawing my boxers with them. I was naked from the waist down and exposed. Our lips had never separated, and she sucked hungrily on my tongue, while I tore open her robe, roughly. Like me, she was naked underneath, except for a pair of loose shorts. She had my cock in her hand, and aimed it at her moist opening, pushing the leg of her shorts aside. I lowered her, easing into her, until I was fully sheathed.

She groaned. Her hand now free, she grabbed me by the hair and tugged back, drawing her lips away. "You bastard," she gasped.

"Bitch," I growled. I pulled my hips back and thrust into her hard, pushing her into the wall, eliciting another gasp. I felt my own anger welling up inside of me. I knew I wasn't really angry at her, but she was the unintended victim of my fury. I slammed my cock into her hard, grinding against her. Pulling back, I did it again, even harder, doing my best to push her right through the wall. She gasped as if I'd struck her.

"That's right, fuck me," she whispered harshly. "Go ahead, fuck m

Jenna Gives Up Sex For Lent? Part 1

Snowden Speaks — Mon, 02 Dec 2024 16:41:00 +0000

Vicar's wife, Jenna, decides to give up sex for Lent!

A series in 17 parts, by Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

The Jenna series started with ‘Jenna Goes To Church’, followed shortly after with ‘Jenna, the Vicar’s Wife’. It resumed recently with Jenna’s New Year’; and now it continues with a Lentil 2-part story. Other episodes will follow.

It was the last Sunday of Shrovetide, known as Quinquagesima. At St. Michael's Church, Reverend Morris had amassed a pile of old palm crosses, intending to burn them on Ash Wednesday.

"Shouldn't be long before the first members of the faithful arrive," he said to his wife Jenna, who was adjusting the flowers at the side of the pulpit.

"Oh before I forget, I've got something for you to burn on Ash Wednesday," she smiled, handing him a pair of her panties.

"This is an unusual-looking palm cross!" He replied. "I think I'd better burn this separately from the others! Is there some reason why you want your undies reduced to ash?"

"Well Simon, I've been thinking. And I've finally decided what I'm going to give up for Lent."

"You're giving up wearing underwear?"

"Ha-ha. Tempting, but no. I'm giving up sex."

Reverend Morris almost dropped the box full of crosses. "What? Sex? No, you can't be serious!"

Jenna nodded. "I'm 100% serious, my love. Lent is supposed to be hard, and you're always going on about how part of being a good Christian is making sacrifices and so on. It's traditionally a time of fasting and abstaining from something to repent and focus our hearts and minds on the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ."

"Yes, but within reason, Jen! I don't expect you to suffer hardship as bad as that!"

"I can do it, Simon. I'm committed to seeing it through. It's only forty days."

"B-but, that's six weeks!" the vicar whined, looking as if his entire world was about to end. "I, I'm not sure I can, er, go without for so long!"

"Now Simon, you're a man of God. You're stronger than most. I know you can do this. And just think how wonderful it will be when Easter comes, everything in calf, bursting out in spring glory, sap rising, mating seasons beginning, shoots thrusting upwards, days getting longer, "

"Vicars dying of horniness, " Reverend Morris sighed.

"Exactly. And it won't just be you going without. The other chaps of this church will have to go without as well!"

"Oh my goodness, Jenna. There's going to be a lot of frustration building up in this church! When you say no sex, does that mean, "

"No physical contact whatsoever, my dearest! No blowjobs, no kissing, no cock in cunt, nada! Just like social distancing."

Reverend Morris' lip was trembling. "Not even a kiss?"

"Nope. I'll be sleeping in the spare bedroom until Easter. I can blow you a kiss. And whilst we can't do anything involving physical contact, there are other naughty ways we can get through Lent."

"Like what?"

"Use your imagination, Simon!"

He thought for a moment. "So I'll ha

Charity Begins Next Door: Part 1

Snowden Speaks — Mon, 02 Dec 2024 03:55:00 +0000

Life isn’t fair. So when you fight back, fight dirty.

In 2 parts, Based on the post from Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I married young, and had two perfect daughters, but my marriage was far from perfect. We had been young and in love. I was entering the community college and Denise was starting her senior year when we decided to tie the knot. Her family’s ready acceptance of me was a huge factor - the family I’d never had, making me feel like a real member of theirs. I can admit it now; I probably loved being a part of the family as much as I loved Denise.

Our split up was inevitable, two teenagers who knew nothing about life thinking their infatuation with each other would make everything else workout. I wasn’t an all-star, super jock, Rhodes Scholar with a 12" swinging cock. I was just your average student, A and B grades, spending some bench time on the football team to get my letter, and losing my virginity at 18 to the girl I’d eventually marry.

When times got rough, we didn’t know how to handle it, and struck out at each other. Her family often stepped in and helped out when they could, but time after time, the great sex wasn’t enough to make up for the difference in our wants, needs and ambitions.

In the end, we gave up. Sometimes I think it’s a miracle we made it through 5 years. Our devotion to our children allowed us to finally see past our own issues, and work out a remarkably amiable truce, with our girls at the center. Even though Denise and I couldn’t live together, it turned out we got along a lot better divorced. We shared our daughters’ time, lived only one neighborhood apart, and worked together as a team to make our personal differences have as little impact on our girls as possible.

I had initially shared an apartment uptown, but eventually bought one of the smallest houses in the same school district, just to make things easier. It was a lot more than I needed most of the time, but when the girls stayed with me it felt like a home. And we only lived a couple of miles apart.

The neighborhood was nice, predominantly younger families, in older, smallish homes. Most of the people were cordial, kept up their property, and after a few years I knew many by name and would exchange greetings at the grocery store, or when out shopping. I had become suburbanized.

This was our fourth Christmas since the divorce. Denise was living with Eric, who I wish I could despise, but he was a decent guy with a great job and lousy taste in sports teams. He doted on my girls without trying to take my place. It had taken a while, but we’d developed a friendship, which wasn’t a bad thing.

My child support was pegged at just over $1500, with the kids on my health insurance. Even though we weren’t married long enough for alimony to kick in, I was paying another $500 a month just to make the kids’ lives better. And for me, that was all that really mattered.

The expense had been rough at first, but with little to concentrate on other than work, my performance skyrocketed. Two promotions in three years had made the financial aspect much less problematic, but increased travel had made the ability to be available for the girls less guaranteed. Denise was good about it, and worked with me. In return I picked up some more of the girls’ expenses, including music lessons and a piano.

At Least we still had Christmas

Christmas was special. We celebrated Christmas as an extended family. I’d come over early, and we’d have a big family breakfast and open all the presents together. I really went all out to make sure the girls got their favorite items. At six and eight years old, they were still young enough to have simple wants, and the magic of Christmas was as real as it gets. The in-laws would come over in the afternoon with more presents and we’d have a good old fashioned Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It was nice to be part of something.

I got a Christmas shut-down at work and Denise didn’t, so we agreed that they’d stay with me from Christmas to New Year’s, and any time she could get off, we’d usually work out something to get her time with the kids. It was understood that I wouldn’t leave town, at least not for more than a day.

Summer was great with the 2 weeks I got to spend with them, and we’d usually spend it on the beach. Christmas was still different. Christmas was magical.

I always was given the girl’s wish list, but I’d also start my shopping in late November for the must have items of the season. And I wasn’t stingy; I’d buy them all up, just to make sure I didn’t miss any. Stores, online auctions, Craigslist, I’d use any way possible to get my hands on the hottest presents. The first two years I’d caught hell from Denise for buying everything on the list, leaving nothing for them to get. Now I received a separate list of things I wasn’t allowed to buy.

So it was that I had just finished wrapping my forty-fourth present, all in glitter Barbie paper for Briana, and in Hannah Montana paper for Allora. December 5th, my earliest date so far to finish the bulk of my shopping. Sure, I’d pick up a few more things, including something for Denise and Eric, but my girls were taken care of. The presents were carefully spread around my living room, where they’d remain on display until just before Christmas, when I’d bring them over to Denise’s in a big ceremony.

The call came from Denise’s mother, Sharon. It took me 11 minutes flat to get to the hospital. I was still too late. Denise and Briana had both died en-route. Eric had passed away only ten minutes before I’d arrived. But Allora, my perfect little Allora, was fighting for her life, in critical condition. She’d always been a fighter, would never back down from any challenge. She’d beat this too, I just knew it.

It was a freak accident, with a car dodging out of the way to miss a coyote on the road. An 18 wheeler behind the car did his best to avoid the car in front of him, but ended up fishtailing, and taking out a suburban in the next lane over. That vehicle crossed the median and hit my ex-wife’s family van head-on. Six dead already and one little girl still fighting hard for her dear life.

Sharon and I kept a vigil over the little towhead, and when the doctors came out after 6 hours and declared the worst was over and she was in stable condition, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like children.

We stayed by her side, one of us always present, and Sharon called me when my baby woke up and spoke. For three long days we watched her slowly heal in the hospital, the worst of her bruises, cuts and contusions blossoming on the second day, and only just starting to fade again. I’m not a religious guy by nature, but I found myself on my knees beside her bed, praying to God to take care of her, and giving thanks for pulling her through this horrendous disaster.

At 4:18 pm on December 7th, she passed away.

No warning, no reason, she was there, and then she wasn’t. The doctors suspected a clot. I suspected incompetence.

I finally understood how a person could get so down on themselves that life might not even feel worth living.

I went home and shut myself off from the world. After a while I took the phone off the hook. Hell, let’s be honest, I ripped the fucking wires out of the wall so I didn’t have to listen to one more bleeding heart tell me they were “sorry for my loss”. The cell phone was easier. I just turned it off.

Several people from work came by and assured me that I could take as much time as I needed. They’d bring me food, and news, and would leave as soon as they felt they’d spent the minimum time required socially by the situation.

Denise’s family took care of the funeral arrangements. They attempted to call, and even stopped by for my input. I gave them a check for $10,000 to take care of the girls, nearly wiping out my savings. What was I going to spend it on now? I couldn’t bring myself to go to the showing but I did take a shower and put on a suit for the funeral. It was a bleak day, gray skies, 20 mile an hour winds threatening to tear the top off of the outdoor tent. The ground was soggy from rain the previous night. Just perfect.

"Thanks, God. Piss on a guy when he's down. Well, fuck You too."

I shook the required hands, and kissed the offered cheeks until I just couldn't take it any longer. All these fake people. Fake emotions. Tell me how sorry they were then go home to their perfect little families and eat meatloaf. Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.

Fourteen days. Two solid weeks in that dark house. I wouldn't turn on any lights. No TV. I didn't bathe, I didn't shave. I sat in my chair or I lay in my bed and wallowed.

I had a few visitors after the first couple of days, but I'd rarely let them in, and before long they had the decency to stop showing up. Only Cathy from next door wouldn't let me sink into complete oblivion. Every day, at least 3 times a day, she'd check in on me. I wouldn't have let her in, but she had a key to the back door for emergencies and wasn't afraid to use it.

She'd open the windows a crack, and goad me into getting out of bed and at least sit in the living room. She'd bring food, which she'd set in front of me, and refused to leave until I at least tried it. I insisted on getting my key back, and she handed it over willingly enough. And showed up again the next day. She'd made copies. Meddlesome bitch. Again, she badgered me into eating her breakfast.

And she'd talk. God, how that woman could talk! I got tired just listening.

All the neighborhood gossip, town gossip, political gossip, school gossip - she was plugged in everywhere and knew it all. Who was doing what, or whom. Griping about people who still had Thanksgiving decorations up, or had Christmas blowups in their front yard. Church fiascos and neighborhood vendettas, she would sit there, drink her tea (or bourbon and coke if the sun had set) and fill me in.

I didn't care.

It had been two weeks since the accident. I'd lost more than 10 pounds, and really just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. But Cathy wouldn't let me. She made it her personal mission to cheer me up, get me to respond, bring me back to life.

Then one day she let me have it with both barrels.

She walked up to me and slapped me across the face. Hard. "Damn it Alex! Snap out of it! Life is hard. And it isn't fair, but as bad as you have it, there's always someone who has it worse. Often in your own backyard if you have the eyes to see it."

"What do you know about it?" I snapped viciously. "I notice your kids are alive."

"I know my mother died when I was six, and my father left when I was thirteen, leaving Mike to raise my sister and me. He was seventeen years old. But he manned-up and did the job the best he could. That's what I know. Life is hard."

"Life is hard. Life's a bitch and then you die. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When God closes a door he opens a window. If I hear one more God-damned cliché I swear I'll kill something," I growled.

"Alex, you got a raw deal. You had two perfect little girls, and now they're gone. Your past is shattered. Your little bit of immortality is lost. And as bad as you've got it, I'd remind you others have it worse, and they just press on. You need to as well," Cathy told me, kneeling beside me and holding my hands.

The woman barely knew me. A middle-aged mother of three with grown kids, and a workaholic husband. Her life was her home, keeping it immaculate and decorated for every holiday and season. Now it seemed I was her newest project. Why should I matter that much to her? Couldn't she see I didn't want her help?

"Sure, starving Ethiopians, children in Nigeria dying of aids, Tibetan monks martyred, it's a tough world. Boo hoo."

"You don't have to look as far as Ethiopia or Tibet. There are people right here, right on your own block that are really struggling. Open your eyes. If you don't like the unfairness do something about it. Even up the odds a bit. Make a difference somewhere. Get back to living."

Something she said must have gnawed its way down to my subconscious. I spent my usual 14 hours or so in bed, but when I awoke I was thinking about her constant comments about someone in my own backyard that had it worse.

I cataloged each person on my block, in my head, and nobody really had it that bad. Sure, Neil, three doors down had lost his job, but his wife was still working, and he was looking. The Harris's on the corner had a boy in Iraq, but as far as I could tell he was still Ok, and they had three more at home. The Martins, one down from the corner, fought all the time, and even had the cops called in on them once but they were still together. What did Cathy mean?

I expanded the radius of consideration to include the blocks surrounding us. Then it hit me. Across the alley in back, two houses past Cathy's own. Six months ago. Barry Morrison had driven into an empty field behind the local middle school and eaten a bullet. I didn't know much about the family - I just knew there was one.

When Cathy came over, I had showered off the top two layers of grime and sweat, and was drinking a Coke in the living room.

"Good morning, Alex, beautiful day outside. Why don't we go out on the porch?"

"The Morrisons. Tell me about them."

She placed her mug of tea in the microwave, warming it up, then walked out my front door and sat in one of my rocking chairs out front.

Irritated, I followed, and sat in the chair beside her. "The Morrisons?"

"Sandy and her daughter Erica. You won't see much of her; she's working two jobs trying to keep the house over their heads. They're still fighting with the insurance company over payment. Suicide clause won't pay under two years. He had insurance for years, but just around two years ago he changed the terms. She's been trying to sell the house, but it's underwater, and nobody's buying."

"How's the little one?"

"Erica's not doing so well. She's seeing a counselor twice a week, and hardly speaks anymore. The school's talking about holding her back," Cathy explained. She sounded sad.

"Do we know anything more about why he did it?"

"No crimes, he wasn't fired, no embezzling, it's not clear what it was about. Apparently he'd been depressed for quite a while, but the underlying situation is still a blank as far as I know."

"Harsh on the family, going out like that," I told her, finding the whole idea hard to grasp.

"To say the least. The poor woman is worn to a frazzle."

"And how does this all matter to me?" I asked.

"It doesn't. It doesn't have to matter to anybody. They're on their own. Alone."

"No family help?"

"Not that I know of. If they're around, we don't see much of them, that's for sure."

"Cathy, how the hell do you know all this stuff?" I had to ask.

"People just like to talk to me. I'm a very good listener," she told me with a big smile.

We sat quietly enjoying the crisp air, finishing our drinks.

"You're a good neighbor too, Cathy. Thanks," I said softly.

"That's what neighbors are for," she said, reaching out and patting me on my arm.

That's what neighbors are for.

Cathy brought me dinner again and I realized I was starving. She beamed at me when I finished the whole platter.

"Let's go for a walk, Alex. You could use a stretch of the legs."

It had gotten chilly, and we bundled up a bit. She took the lead and we walked down the block and turned up the neighborhood. We headed back up the next block and she regaled me with the entire history and habits of the inhabitants of each place we passed. She might have been a good listener, but I had to wonder when she ever was quiet long enough to hear anything.

It was obvious when we got to Sandy Morrison's place. The "For Sale" sign was a dead giveaway. The unkempt yard and overgrown bushes indicated a lack of care for months. It couldn't help with the sales prospects. The door paint was faded, and there were no Christmas lights or decorations set up. I thought the Realtor wasn't earning their commission, letting the place show like this. Through the window I could see a desktop Christmas tree, maybe two feet tall, lit up all in white.

Strangely, Cathy stopped speaking before we got to the house, and didn't speak again until the end of the block. "Sad," was all she said.

We took a round-about path back to my house, and our conversation had returned to the safety of weather concerns, community issues, and such, carefully skirting any discussion of the Morrisons.

I was feeling the chill after the walk, and invited Cathy in for a cup of coffee, Irish fortified if she so desired.

We drank our coffee in front of my gas fireplace, warming our old bones. Damn that neighbor of mine, and her good intentions! She'd not only gotten me to think of something other than my own misery, and the unfairness of it all, but she had me thinking about those poor girls behind me, and what they must be going through. Damn it! It wasn't fair.

I guess I still wasn't ready for pleasant company. Angry at the world, I threw my mug at the wall, shattering it, and leaned over with my head in my hands, doing my best to hold back the tears. Big boys don't cry.

Cathy stood and ran her fingers through my hair for just a moment before leaving out the back door. Kind enough to leave me alone to wallow in my misery a little longer.

December 22nd. Just three days until Christmas.

When Cathy came over that morning, I was already up and dressed. I had my working duds on and coffee and bagels ready.

"You're up early," she commented, helping herself to the java.

"It's almost 10," I reminded her. "Not so awfully early."

She laughed. "Seems to me anything before noon is quite early as of late. Got plans?"

I nodded. "Thought I'd head over to the Morrison's and see what I can do about the outside of the house. Clean it up a bit. Make it a little more presentable if they're really planning on selling it."

"That's mighty neighborly of you."

"It'll give me something to do. I need to get out of this damned house."

After our coffee, she walked with me across the alley, all my yard-work gear in a wheelbarrow. The grass wa

Jenna’s New Year: Part 2

Snowden Speaks — Sun, 01 Dec 2024 16:38:00 +0000

The February Church Trip continues.

A Series in 17 parts, By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

A statue is fine, too.

"What a night," Gordon groaned, as he sat down at the breakfast table with Ahmed and Barry. "I've never endured hell such as this. You'd get better treatment in prison than this hotel!"

"Fancy a ghost choosing to haunt your room," Barry chuckled. "Not sure who I should feel more sorry for, you or the ghost!"

"It's not funny Barry! I was almost bloody shitting myself. It was terrifying!" Gordon snapped back.

"Aye, the sight of you in your y-fronts is enough to terrify anything!"

"That must be why it never followed you into our room," Ahmed interrupted, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Presently, Jenna and Reverend Morris entered the dining room. "Morning boys! Ooh, so you saw the ghost too? Simon and I saw him, the headless preacher!"

"Yes, he just appeared in our room when we were er,” Reverend Morris began, and then he started to blush.

"Unpacking our bags," Jenna continued. "There he was, just standing by the side of the bed. I was so scared!" She added, lying of course.

"We didn't see any ghost, but the washbasin in our room doesn't work," Josh said. "The water won't come out. Just black stuff!"

"Same here," Gordon replied. "I got a sink full of soil!"

"According to an old bloke I met in the lounge, it's not soil at all, but gunpowder." Norman said, placing a plate loaded with what looked like inedible food on the table.

"Gunpowder? That's bollocks," Barry laughed. "You're not going to eat any of that are you? I'd say there's more toxic waste on your plate than in Chernobyl."

"Hmm," Norman poked at the carcinogenic-looking sausages, which were virtually cremated. The bacon, if one could call it that, was not so much swimming in oil but drowned in it. The scrambled egg looked worse.

"Don't eat any of that scrambled egg," Gordon said. "Apart from looking like dog puke, it tastes like it too."

"Thanks," Norman grimaced, pushing the plate away. "Suddenly I've lost my appetite. I think, I'll skip breakfast and buy something to eat later.

Reverend Morris looked at Jenna and shook his head. "Well, maybe the trip to the museum will be more, enjoyable?"

She smiled back and squeezed his thigh under the table. "I'm sure it will."

The small group boarded the minibus, ready for the short journey into the center of Epworth.

"What's this place we're going to?" Jenna asked, as Reverend Morris checked his smartphone.

"Well unfortunately, the Old Rectory, which is the birthplace of John and Charles Wesley, is currently closed for the winter season. It reopens in April."

A chorus of groans echoed through the bus.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Oh this just gets better, Vicar. What travel agent offers holidays to see a museum which is closed until April, in January?"

"Oh Simon, this is so disappointing. I really wanted to see the birthplace of the Wesleys!" Jenna sighed.

"I know, I know. I'm disappointed too. As a compromise, there is another museum a few miles away, called Epworth Fields Museum. It's small, but there are some great 17th and 18th century exhibits there, so that's where we're heading."

"I'd have more fun wandering round Tesco," Gordon muttered to Barry."

"I'd have more fun with the vicar's wife," Barry replied.

"Oho! You've changed your tune. What happened to 'dream on, she's way too old for you?' You're older than I am!"

"Yes well, that was before." Barry paused.

Saint Michael’s Church has a new First Lady, named Jenna.

A Series in 17 parts, By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Candlemas Romp

This Sunday had brought the heaviest rain so far of 2023. The weather had caused a notable drop in the number of people attending this morning's church service, Reverend Morris noticed.

Today was Candlemas, which commemorated the ritual purification of Mary, forty days after the birth of her son Jesus. This day also marked the ritual presentation of the baby Jesus to God in the Temple at Jerusalem. It reminded Jenna of her own sacred ritual of fertility, Mentula Cōleī Baptism’. She’s thankful to be so blessed by God, to have such devoted church elders guiding her spiritual development.

After the service, and the usual tea, biscuits and chit chat in the church hall, Reverend Morris was eager to return to the vicarage. His wife had given him "that look"; and he knew what that meant. It had been a week since they'd made love, and as he had a feeling Jenna would be more than up for "a little afternoon delight," as she termed it.

Outside, the late January winter rain was still lashing down. Despite the vicarage being a five minute walk from the church, the vicar and his wife had neglected to bring an umbrella with them. By the time they arrived home, they were both soaked to the bone.

Reverend Morris' hair was wet, and the legs of his trousers clung damply to him, and the back of his black shirt was also soaked. He figured he was going to come down with a nasty cold if he didn't get into some dry clothes right away. Jenna evidently had the same thought, and they went straight upstairs to the master bedroom.

She opened the wardrobe doors, and he switched on a bedside lamp. Shivering, they stripped out of their wet clothes.

When they were nearly undressed, they glanced at each other. Their eyes locked.

Still, they didn't speak. They didn't need to.

He took her in his arms, and they kissed lightly at first, tenderly. Her mouth was warm and soft and vaguely flavored with communion wine.

She clutched him, pulled him closer, her fingertips digging into the muscles of his back. She pushed her mouth hard against his, scraped his lip with her teeth, thrust her tongue deep, and abruptly their kisses grew hot, demanding.

Something seemed to snap in him, and in her, too, for their desire was suddenly marked by animal urgency. They responded to each other in a hungry, almost frenzied fashion, hastily casting off the last of their clothes, pawing at each other’s wet bodies, squeezing, stroking. She nipped his shoulder with her teeth. He gripped her pert buttocks and kneaded them with uncharacteristic crudity, but she didn't wince or try to pull away; indeed, she pressed even more insistently against him, rubbing her breasts over his chest and grinding her hips against his. Their wet, tussled hair and slippery bodies wrestled to seduce each other into submission. The soft whimpers that escaped from her were not sounds of pain; they clearly expressed her eagerness and need.

In bed, his energy was manic, and his staying power amazed him. He was insatiable, and so was she. They thrust and thrashed and flexed and tensed in perfect harmony, as if they were not only joined but fused, as if they were a single organism, shaken by only one set of stimuli instead of two. Every vestige of civilization slipped from them, and for a long while the only noises they made were animal sounds: panting; groaning; throaty grunts of pleasure; short, sharp cries of excitement. At last Jenna uttered the first word to pass between them since they had left the church:

"Oh my God!"

And again, arching her slender, graceful body, tossing her head from side to side on the pillow: "Yes, yes!" It was not merely an orgasm to which she was saying yes, for she'd already had a couple of those and had announced them with only ragged breathing and soft mewling. She was saying yes to life.

The vicar repeated the word as if chanting a sacred incantation,"Yes, yes, yes!"as he emptied his cum into her a second time.

Spent, they stretched out on their backs, side by side on the disheveled bed. For a long time they listened to the rain on the roof and to the persistent thunder, which was no longer loud enough to rattle the windows. Wind howled around the side of the house.

Jenna lay with her eyes closed, her face completely relaxed.

"Lovely service this morning, Simon!" She said at last. "Great choice of hymns."

"It certainly was. I think my sermon went down well. Shame about the weather."

"Hmm, I don't know - I think the rainy weather makes me much hornier than normal!" It isn’t even February, but my winter ‘cabin fever’ has already set in. Get ready for more of this ravishing sex, my stud!

"Happy Candlemas, Jenna," Reverend Morris replied.

Jenna & the Church Trip: Part 1

“Thine be the glory hole!”

More light-hearted goings-on with vicar's wife Jenna. New year, new naughtiness, and a dull coach trip organized by the church might turn out to be more fun than expected! God works in mysterious ways. For Jenna’s husband, it was relief from a nymph wife who had few other ways to occupy herself, besides sexual romps, at all hours of the day and night.

"I'm so pleased that Alpha and Omega coach holidays have re-started their short breaks," Reverend Simon Morris excitedly exclaimed. "I've just booked us on the three-day trip to Epworth!"

A heroine goes back in time to a sticky-fingered situation.

By Mark V Sharp, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

"In her, shoot fast," Principal Chief Massasoit directed, using what words he knew so that he would not surprise or confuse his strange hosts, "I want in her, my first use to take."

"First use?!" Miss Americana managed to whimper, in horror, in between the moans and yelps Squanto's big thrusting cock was forcing out of her. But she didn't have long to contemplate that.

"That is no problem at all, my lord!" Squanto replied. Relaxing himself he thrust his enormous hardened cock deep into Miss Americana and, with a groan of ecstasy, unleashed his potent Pawtuxet seed upon her defenseless womb.

"Oh, Great Justice!" Americana groaned, her eyes rolling up in her head, as she felt the pulsing of his great cock inside her, and knew it meant that his sperm was flooding into her.

He pulled out and then stepped aside, his long cock dripping.

"I have lubricated her for you, my Sachem," he said, gesturing towards Americana's cunt, which, gaping slightly wider than before, was also already releasing a long tendril of his semen to dangle down between her thighs.

"Very good!" Massasoit said. He stepped forward and took up his own position behind her. Reaching out he stroked her toned bubble-ass, and shook his head. "This," he said, squeezing Americana's bulging silky cheeks, "is a very rich gift, indeed!"

With that he pushed himself up against her leaking cunt, and also entered her.

"Oh, my God," Miss Americana whimpered, as she too discovered Squanto was not to be a unique case. Her entire body shivered, as the great chief's enormous copper-colored cock sank deep up inside her helplessly quivering cunt.

"That's a sin!" one of the Pilgrims sitting near her chided, and continued eagerly to watch.

At the sight that their chief had accepted the gift and that peace had been restored, the waiting column of Wampanoag warriors let out a great whoop of glee. Then, hoisting their burdens, they marched into the Plymouth settlement. The Pilgrims greeted them warmly, food was handed out, the Pilgrims contributing their meager stocks of beer and bread to the natives' largesse. Soon the great feast was in progress, with Wampanoag and Pilgrim dining and chatting together, sampling the first dishes as the Pilgrim women and their daughters and servants worked to prepare the main courses.

And through it all, bent over at one end of the great table at which the First Thanksgiving was being laid, Miss Americana continued to get nailed. Massasoit's great cock, in his eagerness, lasted only slightly longer than Squanto had. But there was plenty more where that had come from. He was followed by Samoset, the Sagamore of the Abanaki tribe, who kept closer tabs on the strange new colonists while the Sachem was busy with other matters. After Samoset, the Sachem's honor guard took their turns; and after they had finished, every warrior in the entire column came up one by one and also partook in Miss Americana's flesh.

The Pilgrims, with their Godly morals, piously abstained, but this did not stop the Pilgrim men's faces from showing deep jealousy, that their native guests got to enjoy two great helpings of Thanks-giving bounty instead of just one.

In between their own turns upon Miss Americana's body, Massasoit, Squanto, and Samoset took their own seats at the table of the Elders, and with it, a privileged view of the action up between Americana's muscular shivering thighs, as the pale-skinned beauty got nailed by one long uncut native cock after another after another. Between her spread thighs they could also see her enormous breasts hanging down low and swaying wildly over the table as she squealed and squirmed under her furious and unchecked invasions, as if her enormous milk-filled udders were blessing the heavily-laden table with their own generous bounty.

"Does this disturb you, Pilgrim?" one native who had also picked up some English asked. Sitting down after his own turn inside her he found an open seat before Americana's enormous swaying udders, smoking a post-coital pipe. "I thought your God does not approve of this sort of thing."

The Pilgrim shook his head. "Nah," he said. "God makes everyone for a purpose. I think it's pretty clear what he made this one for."

Then, leaning forward, the Pilgrim seized one of Americana's giant breasts and held his glass up under it. He squeezed, discharging a rich squirt of milk from the heroine's hanging fruits into his cup. He took the cup back, threw it back, and then licked some of the delicious white super-milk off his lips.

"Well, that and this!" he said, as he held the glass up.

Seeing yet another way in which the mysterious woman could be used in a celebration of plenty, other Pilgrims soon came forward to also eagerly sample the fuck-quivering cow's produce. Americana, too busy squealing as she got nailed by one big native cock after another, could do nothing to resist as her big breasts were squeezed and squeezed until finally even those bottomless udders were drained dry.

Eventually, the entire feast had been consumed and everyone was full and sated. Even Americana's belt-boosted strength eventually failed her, and after eighty or so consecutive fucks up against the table her knees finally buckled and she sank down, a quivering wreck. She had taken so much cum inside her that rivers seemed to flow down her thighs, and a huge puddle had formed, which her knees landed in with twin pearly splashes like comets entering an ocean of gooey white fluid.

But though she was spent, she had not even begun to exhaust the collective vigor of the Wampanoag delegation. Flipping her over, the warriors positioned her on her back at the edge of the First Thanksgiving table, which, the feast having been largely consumed, was now otherwise covered in a great mass of empty used bowls, plates, and tableware. Then, having positioned her, they continued nailing her almost-limp body face-to-face upon the table, as, around them, the dessert course finally began to be served.

The tight order of the early stages of the feast had by now broken down, and Elder and commoner, Indian and Pilgrim were now all mixing freely. Copious quantities of beer had also flowed along with the food, and everyone was now quite contentedly drunk, as while the Puritans were against many things, booze was not actually one of them.

"I say Reverend," the short Pilgrim commented to William Brewster, as they stood side by side near the entrance of a house and watched Americana's continuing show. "Everyone has eaten their full, except for the harem girl. It seems rather unsuited to a great Thanksgiving like this to leave one, even a harlot and serial adulteress such as she, unsated."

"True," the Reverend said. "But the food has already been cleared. What is there for her to eat?"

"There is, one set of sausages that have not been touched," the tall Pilgrim said, finally dropping what they were angling for. "I know that putting them where the Indians are putting theirs is a sin, but what about her mouth. Does that, you know, count?"

"Hmm," the Reverend Brewster said. "Normally I would say yes. However, this is a special festive day, and she was clearly sent by Providence itself to perform exactly this, function, so perhaps, just once." As he saw the brightening expressions on the two Pilgrims' faces, he shook his head, and raised a chiding finger. "However, for the sake of the harmony of our settlement," he added, "it is not just God who must be consulted."

As it happened, the Reverend's own wife was at that moment emerging from the house behind them, carrying two freshly-baked pies. The Reverend's sons, Truelove Brewster and Wrestling Brewster, trailed behind her, carrying another pie each.

"What say you, Mary?" the Reverend asked her, knowing full well her sharp ears would have overheard everything.

"Hmm," Mary Brewster said. She glanced at the other Pilgrim wives scattered about the festival, of which there were not many. Between the composition of the original complement of settlers and the terrible toll of deaths that had occurred over the previous winter, there were now a great deal more men than women in the colony. The few other wives looked at her, significantly, saying nothing but their expressions communicating much. Nodding with understanding, Mary turned back to her husband.

"I know that men build up a great deal of, pressure, if they are not given release," she said. "So, I would say it is fine if the unmarried or widowed men sate themselves while sating the whore. It might reduce, future problems. But the married men will be sated by their wives, or else!" She lifted up a finger and glared.

"Of course," Reverend Brewster said. He could not quite keep the disappointment out of his voice that he would not be among those allowed to partake.

But before he could give general approval for the new plan, Mary caught one of the other wives widening her eyes to get her attention. The silent wife nodded a couple times, significantly, towards Americana's moaning lips, and then looked at Mary meaningfully. Mary nodded.

"There is one other condition," she added, hastily. "We good women of the colony have had to endure our husbands watching the whore get nailed, in silence. We have done so, for the future of our settlement. However, we must get compensated." She looked at her husband, her eyes boring into him. "So after the unmarried men have fed her their main course, we will feed her dessert, of the pies we have long had prepared between our legs, but rarely if ever had eaten. Is this clear?"

The two junior Pilgrims' eyes widened, as if they had never imagined such a thing.

"Good heavens!" the tall one said, fingers going to his own lips.

"Is, is that permitted under Heaven's law, Reverend?" the short one asked.

"Uh," Reverend Brewster said. He wracked his memory of the Good Book, trying to think of a clear passage one way or the other. "To be honest," he said, "I'm not sure if the Good Lord considers that sex, or not,"

"Then there should be no problem, should there?" Mary asked testily.

"I guess not," he said, deciding to err on the side of marital harmony over strict doctrine for once. God's forgiveness, after all, was infinite. His wife's, on the other hand,

Of course, before the natives 'peace offering' could be used in this manner, clearance first had to be gotten from Massasoit. But the Great Sachem, in a very relaxed state having thoroughly drained his own scrotum over the course of five separate sessions within Miss Americana, was in a magnanimous mood, and with a simple nod of his bronzed head and wave of his hand signaled his approval.

So it was that as the pies got laid out, cut, and consumption began eagerly, one by one Pilgrim men began to ascend the table. As with the Indians, they went in strict order of rank, and, his own wife Rose being one of the casualties of the previous winter, this meant that Myles Standish was first in line.

"Open wide, and say your grace," he advised her, as having preemptively removed his pants, he came in for a landing on her moaning tongue.

Miss Americana whimpered loudly as his cock entered her mouth. Pure instinct took over almost immediately. Wrapping her lips tight around his respectable but, compared to some of the monsters that had been in her cunt that day, modestly-sized cock, she began to suck it enthusiastically.

"Oh, yes!" Myles said. He lifted his eyes heavenward, as she slurped and slurped upon him. "T-truly, this wench was sent by the Lord!" he said, before erupting down her throat and giving her, her first load of cum to swallow.

It would, of course, not be the last. As the lesser Pilgrims had pointed out, while everyone else had had their fill, at this First Thanksgiving Americana had had none. Now, they made up for that. One after another, unmarried Pilgrim men climbed up and, sometimes still eating pieces of pie as they did so, inserted their fresh sausages down between her lips. Americana moaned, and blushed, and sucked each one as vigorously and worshipfully as she could, as if they were truly her gifts from God. One warm protein shake after another poured down her throat, finally filling up her until-now-empty belly, and each and every one she gulped down with a vigor equal to the holiday. Then after each one finished she opened wide and, extending out her tongue, began putting preparatory licks upon the next incoming cock that inevitably replaced the last one in the never-ending cornucopia of cock she was being served.

In the meantime, watching all this, and knowing that based on Mary Brewster's pronouncement they would not get their own full Thanksgiving repast any other way, one by one the married Pilgrim men snuck away from the party with their now equally enthused and eager wives, into the bushes or the backs of the more remote houses, to do what married couples do. Although, given the inspirations provided by Americana's marathon performance, they generally put a little more effort and creativity into it than they typically had. One by one, flush-faced and hand-in-hand they returned to the center of the festival, in a few cases with the seeds of another few thousand modern descendants quietly germinating under the Pilgrim women’s' hastily re-lowered skirts.

So it was that, when