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They talk about love at first sight. This was lust at first sight.

He was talking to someone else at the Christmas party, then turned towards me in mid-sentence – and stopped. Likewise, I froze, forgetting the people around me, a pussy caught in his headlights.

He moved over, looked into my eyes, then said, “Shall we go?”

All I could do was nod.

Once at his place, he turned to me and said, “Strip.”

Suddenly shivering, I slowly unbuttoned, unzipped, and shucked what I was wearing until I stood, naked, quivering with fear, excitement – and anticipation.

“Feet apart.”

I stepped wide.

He walked around my naked form, a light touch on the outside of my thigh, then my bum, a shoulder, a nipple…and suddenly I heard a drip, drip, drip, and knew, without looking, that I was leaking honey on his floor.

He was in command – and we both knew I would do anything he asked.

He brought me right to the edge of cumming five times, backing off each time. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I dropped to my knees, forehead to the floor, and begged, cried, and then pleaded, grovelling at his feet.

I heard him chuckle, and he said, “Let’s see if you mean it. Cum now because I allow it.”

And without touching or being touched, I came… hard, crying, writhing on the floor before him, cunt spasming, tits hard, tight, and aching, back arched, mouth open, screaming.

Then I heard his zipper. Scrambling to my hands and knees, I looked up to see the veins on his cock, throbbing. It seemed to swell, then swell some more. It was big, but I sucked it in deep, gagging and ecstatic. Grabbing my head, he fucked my face once, twice, and then came, filling my mouth to overflowing.

Collapsing, he cuddled me for a few minutes, then, miraculously, stiffened again. He pushed me into doggie position, then rubbed his cock between my cunt lips until I begged him to fuck me.

It was our beginning.

In public, we were the perfect couple. He always treated me lovingly and with respect.

And in private, we were just as perfect, but in a different way. Behind closed doors, I was his bitch, his cunt, his cocksucking slut, always naked and dripping, and I loved it.

He repeatedly brought me to the desperate, grovelling edge of cumming until finally making me cum. And after that, he would carelessly use me as his fucktoy, positioning me this way and that, doggie fucking my cunt, forcing his cock into my ass, or cumming on my face or tits, then compelling me to wear it. He used me any way that suited his whim at the time, and I craved it, I hungered for it.

But Advent was special. “Christmas is cumming,” he would whisper at the start of each Advent, “and so will you – but not until then.”

We had several years of bliss together. He loved me, and I loved him just as hard back. He was warm, funny, kind – and demanding in the extreme. He would tell me to do degrading, horrifying things, and I jumped to do them.

Once, while we were shopping, he took a carrot from a bunch we were buying, handed it to me, and told me to go to the ladies, wash it, then shove it up my ass, keeping it there until we got home. When we got home, he fucked me hard, on my back with my knees up, while it quivered in my ass, making me scream as I came.

We were incredibly happy – until he died in a motorcycle crash.

On the first day of Advent.

I don’t know how I made it through the horrible year that followed, but I knew he would want me to carry on as best I could. And I did – until the next Advent.

I went to bed that first night, convinced I couldn’t sleep, but drifted into the stupor between waking and sleeping. I was naked, as he had forbidden me to wear clothes except as necessary. I never wore panties or a bra, even in public. Especially in public because he wanted me hot, dripping, fragrant, and embarrassed.

In my semi-somnolent state, I could feel my cunt lips, slick and slippery, missing his touch, missing his permission. In my misery, I cried out that I would do anything to be with him again.

Then I felt the side of his finger sliding up inside my thigh, as he often had when he started.

I moaned and spread my legs wide, but felt nothing more.

Sitting up, I looked around, but I was alone, and the room was dark.

I tried to sleep, but my cunt was on fire, and my tits ached. I tossed and turned, hungering for more.

The next morning, I decided it was all a dream and tried to dismiss it, but the feeling of his touch lingered.

That night, I felt his palm brush against a nipple, to a similar effect.

The night after, a slow, sensuous stroke along my bum, reaching down almost to my perineum as I spread my legs, pushing up into doggie position to welcome his touch.

Each night, another touch, each more intimate and fiery than the one before, leaving me dripping and panting the next morning, aching, wanton, and needy – and unable to do anything about it. I had promised him that I would not cum unless he allowed it, and he had conditioned me so that I could not cum without permission.

The days blurred together in an agonizing haze of hunger and longing. My thighs were streaked with honey all the time, both in public and private. I stood naked in front of the mirror in my bathroom, and could see how tight and pebbled my nips were, and how taut and throbbing my clit was, and was helpless to do anything about it.

The days until Christmas dwindled, and my nights became dreamscapes of heat and lust, with no release. I had taken to going to bed earlier and earlier each night, wanting to feel his touch, even though it left me aching, hollow, and desperate. It was better than the drab, sad life I endured during the days.

Then, one night, just a week before the 25th, at the end of what seemed like endless edging by hands I could feel but not see, I swore I heard him whisper in my ear, “Christmas is cumming…” as he had done those Advents we had together. I woke with a start, panting, on fire – but feeling hope for the first time. Perhaps somehow he would give me permission, and I would be able to cum.

 `

Christmas Eve arrived. I showered, soaping carefully so as not to drag myself too near the edge by rubbing my body too hard. I saw honey dripping from my cunt into the shower drain and shivered.

Stepping out of the shower, I used a hair dryer to dry off, rather than touch myself with a towel. My whole body was trembling, and my cunt clenched at erratic intervals without warning, making my whole body spasm.

When I decided I was dry enough, I got into bed, stared into the darkness, and wondered what would happen and hoped…

`

I must have dozed off, because suddenly he was there. He gathered me into his arms, pressing his beloved body against mine. I lifted my legs, offering my molten cunt to his cock, and it slid in hard and fast, filling me. I choked with joy and hugged him tight.

“Oh my God, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I babbled.

“Hello, little girl,” I heard in my head. “I need you to do something for me before I have you cum.”

“Anything! You know that!” I sniffed.

“I want you to start living again, Melissa. You have a long life ahead of you. I want you to appreciate what you have and live it to the full. Can you do that one last thing for me?”

I burst into tears, then nodded, saying “yes” in a very small voice.

 “That’s my obedient girl. Now, Christmas has come, little girl – and so should you!”

Sobbing with joy, my head burst into stars, my sight faded into red, and my heart exploded…

The next morning, I woke feeling sated, luxurious, and at peace. Sitting up, I stretched, smiling.

I had been given the greatest possible gift – knowing that I was loved, and that it was okay to enjoy life again. Swinging my feet out of bed, I stood up, looking at the snowscape outside my window. It was Christmas!

I looked forward to the day, and all the days ahead, with eagerness…and anticipation.