Welcome to day 9 of my ’12 days of Steam’, and a dozen steamy teasers for the stories in my new collection for the holidays, Naughty and Nice.
Today, I take you to that welcomed (or dreaded!) event – the Christmas lunch that never ends because no one goes home! Poor Rachel is saddled with the job of entertaining, while her very own Santa Sir, Dan, is away. But then she gets some very special messages…
This was a fun one to write! 😊
At midday, Santa Sir’s very special Elf Girl looked at the table. Everything was ready for all the guests. Ten of them. She hated cooking for loads of people. It was one of those things she’d detested for decades because it always made her panic that it would go completely and spectacularly wrong.
Red faced and grumpy, she looked at herself upside down in a spoon and stuck her tongue out at her weird reflection. She spoke to her upside-down self. ‘I wish Dan was going to be here. I miss him. I don’t like him being away on Christmas Day.’ She jumped as someone began thumping on the front door. Just as the first bang nearly knocked the door off its hinges, her phone binged.
Her insides jumped when she realised it was a message from Dan. This is your special Advent calendar from Santa Sir. Keep your phone with you. And with it was a video of her absent darling, blowing her a kiss. She blew one back, even though she knew he couldn’t see it, and then kissed his image on the phone’s lock screen.
The door nearly rattled off its hinges again. There certainly, and most unfortunately, wasn’t time for her to squirrel herself away in order to stroke herself to orgasm at the very thought of him. She sighed.
At one o’ clock, typically later than she’d planned, and which made her feel everyone was judging her for being useless in the kitchen, everyone sat down to eat. The chatter was more like thunderclaps that startled her out of a daydream every now and then. She was still thinking of that video of Dan’s kiss. As she served up roast potatoes, she imagined his lips between her legs, kissing their way over every part of her flesh, making her wet, and his tongue surprising her as it plunged inside. She served the meat, imagining her mouth wrapping around his cock and licking, kissing, sucking, until he was on the brink of release.
‘Rachel, are you all right, love? You look a bit flushed.’ She jerked her head up at hearing her name, and found her mum giving her a concerned frown.
‘Um…’ She swallowed hard. ‘Yep. It’s just the oven. Hot over there.’
Her phone binged. Under the tablecloth, she sneaked a peek at the screen. There was a picture of a log cabin. The message with it said Fuck me (in there), it’s cold out here. She nearly choked on her pig in blanket. Eating a sausage right now. He had great timing!
At two o’ clock, the meal was finally almost done. Dessert was exploding metaphorically out of everyone, but Uncle Bert was still packing it away, somewhere. She expected to see cheesecake squirting out of his finger ends, like a human icing kit. She rolled her eyes. Maybe, if a cow flew over the moon and a pig with wings tapped on the window as it flitted past, he’d stop shovelling food into his face so she could eventually clear the table. She really didn’t want to have to sit here all day.
Her phone binged. It was all she could do to stop herself spluttering her own spoonful across the table. Her eyes darted underneath the tablecloth, as Aunty Vanessa’s loud comment of, ‘I wish people weren’t so inconsiderate with these mobile phone thingies. Why can’t they shut them up when people are eating?’ rattled around the dishes and bounced off the glasses.
A shot of a bare lower belly, unmistakably Dan’s, was staring back at her. She would recognise his shape, his hair, everything about him, anywhere. In this photo, it was adorned with squirty cream. She knew exactly what it was meant to suggest, and she stifled a smirk. Its message: Thought you might need something creamy to go after all that turkey and stuffing. One hand slid under the table, down into her knickers.
‘Could you cut me another slice of dessert?’ Dad asked.
‘There’s plenty of different ones still on the table, Dad. Just help yourself,’ she croaked. ‘It’s what I’m doing.’ She gulped another mouthful of Christmas pudding.
At three o’ clock, on the dot, her phone binged. Everyone else was sitting in front of the telly, absorbed in the first words of the Queen. To the sigh of Auntie Mildred, cooing about ‘Her Majesty’s lovely brooch’, Rachel took herself into the corner of the room and pretended to straighten a Christmas ornament as she looked at her phone. A picture of a bed, covered in imitation snowflakes, laid there on her screen, with a message: You on that bed with me deep inside you would melt those snowflakes quicker than any sun.
While the guests were now enamoured by the seasonal film on the television, she wrapped her leg around the door frame and rubbed her pussy hard against the wood. Up and down, up and down, as she imagined how Dan would do that inside of her on that bed. Her naked back on the snowflakes, and Santa Sir making her hot enough to melt a blizzard as he thrust into her… She sighed. It wouldn’t be long before she would have to start preparing Christmas tea for everyone.
At four o’ clock, her phone binged. All was quiet as the guests sat, glued to the film. Everyone turned and looked at her. Or to scowl at the gadget in her hand. She gulped and looked at her phone.
‘Anything good?’ Cousin Ian asked. ‘It keeps going off, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh, just Christmas wishes,’ Rachel replied, staring straight at a cartoon picture of what she recognised in his own weird line art style as something vaguely resembling her own pussy. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to her. She giggled. She doubted anyone else would be able to tell what it was meant to be. With it came a message: Are you wet now, my delectable Elf Girl? I want to spank this, and lick this, and most of all I want to fuck it. I’m missing you. She murmured to the phone, ‘I’m missing you, too.’ She went out of the room and locked herself in the downstairs toilet.
‘You all right?’ someone called. She couldn’t quite tell who it was. And she didn’t care much. ‘Have you got a belly ache? I’m expecting one soon. It’s all that fat in the roast. Think you overdid it a bit. Mind, I’m not complaining.’
She blanked out the inane and backhanded compliment. It was another kind of ache altogether that she had. On this occasion, she couldn’t resist removing her knickers and sending Dan a return picture of her underwear, with the words: Yes, Santa Sir. I AM wet.
Well… I wonder how wet she can get…?
Want to read the rest of this story? Or maybe all twelve stories in the collection? You can read more and buy the book at your favourite e-book store. Just click your chosen button below.
We’re getting closer to the end of my ’12 Days of steam’. Tomorrow I’ll have a whole story for you, which a bit on the softer side.
Until Day 10, happy reading!