Welcome to Day 4 of my Naughty and Nice Christmas vignettes. I have a couple of snuggle bunnies for you today, cuddled up and whispering their fantasies. Will they get to enact them? I’m not sure how much cheese you love over Christmas, but you should have your fill by the time I get to Day 12!
A Fantasy Christmas
She loved watching his naked form. From her place in the crinkled covers under the duvet she let her eyes linger, following the muscles in his thighs up to his semi-erect cock.
“Cold get to you, Sir? Better hurry up back inside these covers.”
She watched the muscles stretch in his forearms as he carried the tray, bit her lip at the concentration in his eyes as he placed the mince pies and hot chocolate by the bed. Watching his intense concentration on anything at all, however small, was her favourite pastime: the darkness of his eyes, the temporary sternness in his face — they unfurled a desire that spread its way from her core until it filled every part of her, down to her fingertips.
He managed to scoop the cat off the bed and place her on the floor without spilling a drop. The moment the tray was safely placed at the side of the bed, he slid himself back, icy fingers plunging straight between her thighs, stroking, cold nose pressed up against hers as other parts of his anatomy got hot and his face broke into that stunning smile.
“That’s so cold! Oh fuck, and wet.”
“Do you like being cold and wet?” he asked, offering her a bite of a mince pie. She opened up, allowing him to rest the yummy pastry on her lip as she bit at his treat. “Because, if you do…my other hand is freezing.”
She squealed as his icy fingertips ran down her back. “I want to be hot with you right now, Sir. Come right here and I’ll tell you all about being wet.”
As she squeezed her breasts in her palms, lifting them up and offering them to him like a serving wench would offer a fulsome platter, he spread himself over her, his weight, his flesh, everything about him making her ache, swelling her pussy lips around his trailing fingers.
He pulled his hand from the covers, wrapping one arm around her neck and shooing the cat away from the cream he’d used to top off the hot chocolate with the other. He scooped up some cream with his finger and pushed it to her lip, forcing it onto her tongue.
She grinned and swallowed the cream. “I have a little fantasy, Sir.”
“What is it?” His hands slithered down her arms and she gasped as he gripped both wrists and pinned them behind her back. “Is it that you’re captured by some mobster or psycho and taken to a dungeon where he blindfolds you and ties you so all you can do is hear him coming and feel every movement of his body as he rips your clothes off and begins to slide between your legs, telling you that you’ll never escape and no one will hear you scream…?” He flipped her fully onto her back, pushing his knees against her open thighs. His terrible, mock-terrifying eyes began to glint as he leaned in and kissed her nose.
“No. I’m an Eskimo. A naked Eskimo, lying in an igloo. And this necromancer disguised as a giant sea lion comes into my entrance and tells me I need warming up. And he puts…” Her breath caught in her throat as the warm spot made by the marshmallow dipped in hot chocolate heated her stomach. She stuttered an ‘ooh’ as the warm spots appeared over and over, his tongue following each one, licking her skin. “…and he puts his hot…” The marshmallow, covered in steaming hot chocolate, dripped over her nipple, followed by the hotter breath of Sir. She felt him suck, gently at first, then harder. Her body writhed beneath him.
“Does the sea lion warm you up once he gets inside, my little one?” His fingers, the skin heated by the mug, plunged her depths. “Does that make you squeal, my love?”
Her moan whinnied around his hair. “Oh, yeah… Sir. But he sea lion gets hotter in the ocean than I realised.”
She pulled the duvet up tight around her neck as he fed her the last of the marshmallow. His mouth fell upon hers, and he shared the last, melting part of her ‘Eskimo warmer’. She snuggled into his chest, tracing circles in the hair on his torso.
“Come on, then, let’s hear it, Sir. What do you want? What hides in that gorgeous head of yours? Are you a Roman slave-driver, enjoying his evening, fucking his slave-girl in between getting her to dip his balls in wine so she can suck them, then pouring more down her scantily clad body so it lands on his thrusting cock?”
“Interesting. But no.” He pulled the cover higher until their heads were barely sticking out.
“Do you want to be a hotel manager, only able to elicit payment for his rich, penthouse guest if you become her pet, paraded on a lead in front of her naked, rich friends, and told to get your treat if you can sniff it out from its hiding place — and it takes ages, and you have to lick it and suck it out, and lap up the crumbs?”
She murmured as he trailed the tip of his tongue down her neck and onto her collar bone, leaving her whining with pleasure as he sucked gently. “Mmm, it’s getting warm under here.” His face disappeared between her breasts, nibbling, tasting her sweet, sticky flesh.
He put his lips to her ear. “I want to be a knight. One who saves his damsel in distress.”
She dropped a chunk of mince pie inside the duvet. “Ooh, then, Sir Knight. Please rescue my backside from mince pie crumbs. They will distress me. And I’m sure you can clear them up well…with your tongue.”
Sir Knight vanished altogether. She felt his tongue brushing over her flesh; she wasn’t sure she cared if the crumbs were still there or not.
From deep inside her castle of covers, she heard his voice. “One who courts his Lady and keeps his weapon sharp and ready at her disposal at all times.” His mouth battled against the terrain, the valley of her navel, climbed the hill of her thigh, and over her mound, to seek her out. He found her innermost chamber. One hard moan let him know she was there with him.
She tried to bite into another mince pie — somehow — ever the dainty lady (no longer in waiting) as Sir Knight’s mouth sank around her pussy. He drank his fill, lapping at her drenched flesh like a cat who got his cream.
“One more thing, Sir,” she said, her face blushing pink, swooning on the duvet.
He stopped devouring her and looked up, worshipping her from beneath the covers. “Oh, don’t worry. I know what you demand of me.”
“Well, come on, then, Sir. Impale me with your sword!”
He grinned as he clambered upon her, and they rode together until the hot chocolate had long gone cold. From somewhere under the covers, someone said, “Now, what about that slave-driver..?” Pussy ate the rest of the mince pies.
Eat, drink and be merry under the duvet!