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Ice Breaker

"Not even Christmas can save me from this level of embarrassment"

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Competition Entry: Festive Unexpected

Most people spend Christmas with friends and family. This year, I'm not one of them.

Before you misjudge me as one of those saddos, sitting in my underpants and T-shirt in a soulless flat nursing a pint and the TV remote searching for Die Hard movies, let me stop you. It's not because I don't love my family or want to see the kids’ faces light up when they open their presents. I adore that. I desperately want that back. My wife is gorgeous. Brilliant with the kids. We make a fantastic cooking team. And she has a healthy sexual appetite that almost meets mine.

And see, that’s the rub. That almost is how my family-free holiday began. In the pursuit of the missing element that I've tried, and failed, to encourage my wife to try, I fucked up.

Big time.

I sigh and pick up my pint from beside the dog-eared sofa. Stare at the TV on the wall opposite. It's not even my place, but Shaun said I could stay as long as necessary. It’s good of him and I don't want to outstay my welcome, but Miranda hasn't called, won't let me in the house, and blocked my number. For the first time in well over a decade, I genuinely don't know what to do.

I stare at the remote. Press the power button. Hit Search. Type D-I-E H-A-R… and stop myself. As much as it's not Christmas until Hans Gruber plunges to his death off Nakatomi Plaza, I can't face it. I power off the screen. Stare at the blank rectangle. Ponder. Cogitate. Reminisce.

They say if you're going to fuck up, do it in the most spectacular fashion, then everyone wonders exactly how it could have gone so wrong.

That’s me.

And the tipping point was a bucket of ice.


The office Christmas party is traditionally a hotbed of shame. Molly from accounts shagged Kieran last year and they've only just got over it. Jez lost track of which drink he’d spiked and roofied himself. The VP of acquisitions had his cock sucked by the VP of sales, which is pretty tragironic. We all assumed she was a prim fusspot, but she shed that misconception in the pub toilets by taking Tremayne's monument down her throat and his spunk across her generous cleavage. I've seen the video.

Me? Well, as much as I tout I’m happily married in a strong relationship and would never stray, turns out I'm a liar. ‘Cos ever since she started at the company, I've held an unhealthy fascination with Leanne Bishop.

She has this unassuming business demeanour that’s equally intimidating as alluring. And tits to die for; a rack she accentuates in scoop neck tops, without appearing slutty. She knows her stuff. Loves to delegate. But underneath the powerful veneer, from elegant heels and stockinged legs, to skirts that hug womanly hips where her brunette mane dusts, is the spark of a filthy girl who wants to be mistreated in the best possible way.

During meetings, my mind tends to drift as I flick my gaze up and down her body. Maybe those firm nipples need biting through her clothes? Would she like her hair pulled as she slobbers and deep-throats my cock? Would she let me spank her curvy ass over the conference room table, before pounding her as she snarls to be used? Deeper. Harder. More marks. Yeah, she oozes next-level fuckery.

My kind of animal.

Truth is, it wasn't just one sex act I couldn't convince my wife to try. It was one behaviour trait I craved, and sensed in Leanne:

Outright trust.

I wanted carte blanche with her body and mind. A playground where I could take her to peaks she wouldn't ever climb solo. Touches. Brushes. Caresses. The lash of my leather belt or sting of my palm on her upturned bottom, rope biting her wrists and ankles as she writhed and begged for more. The throaty moans of ecstasy as her orgasms rolled into one continuum. I wanted her to experience what she believed was the pinnacle of pleasure, only to be proven wrong over and over again.

Playful embers burned in Leanne, aching for the opportunity to be ignited. The viper tattoo coiled on her inner forearm gave away more than she probably realised.

We'd danced around this constant attraction since week one. Four months of respectful flirtation at the coffee machine. A shared laugh. An indignant nudge at risqué banter. Nothing beyond the odd suggestive comment and a few electric scuffs of skin against skin as I passed a cup of the best attempt at coffee the machine could muster.

But three G&Ts each in the chain pub the company chose for its annual party brought those self-imposed barriers crashing down.

Propped against the brass bar rail, I'd engaged her in small talk beneath the same tired mixtape of Christmas hits as every high street store since mid-November. I discovered what her gym regimen comprised. Why her dog wasn't as committed to the jogging lifestyle, so she'd given up taking him. Why Gary from Sales was a knobhead. Safe topics. The usual.

I listened. Nodded at appropriate moments. Innocently brushed her forearm and then built the courage to turn it face up to ask about the emblem tattooed there. It apparently signified her passion for biding time before striking, to get what she wanted. In business as well as pleasure, she confessed when I traced its spiral with my thumb pad before letting her slither free.

That simple focal point awoke something. Instead of being mere colleagues, we were suddenly much more. She turned her attention fully my way. My pulse thudded.

I bought the next round and eyed her over the glass. Her outfit didn't disappoint in the cleavage department and she noticed my attention.

“Why not take a picture? It'll last longer,” she challenged.

I grinned, whipped out my phone, held it above us and snapped before her hand could cover the cleft. She shrieked with laughter. “I can't believe you did that.”

“Your idea.”

“Yeah but… show me.”

I tapped the thumbnail and turned the phone around. Her face lit up and she reached out to drunkenly trace her cleavage. Her eyes bulged and hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oooh, impressive.”

I grinned. “You are.”

She turned my wrist back so the screen faced me. A full-size shot of my erect cock was on display and I hurriedly swiped it out of the way. “Fuck. Uuuh yeah, about that…”

She sipped her drink and eyed first my face, then drifted south. “Let me guess, big boy. It's not yours?”

“I… heh. Is that better or worse?” I studied her, light glinting off the silver nose stud. “What if it is me?”

Her tongue traced her upper lip. “Then we might have a problem.”

“How so?”

She tossed her hair back with a deft flick of vermilion polished fingertips and settled her gaze my way. “Because when I see something I want, I get it.”

I swallowed. It was probably the most overt sexual signal we'd shared. “Oh.” Flitting my attention to her tits again, I reconnected with the emerald spark in her eyes. “And what if it's not for the taking?”

Holding up my hand, I wiggled my fingers, wedding ring catching the subdued light. She dismissed it. “‘Tis the season for giving.” Then, leaning in so close her scent clawed my throat and breath tickled my ear lobe, she whispered, “I now know what I want in my stocking this year.”

Until that moment, I always thought air crackling between two people was a myth or the mainstay of storytellers. My throat dried out but I managed to croak, “Doesn't that depend if you've been good?” I downed the remainder of my drink. Confidence lubricator; inhibition destroyer.

She laughed. “Yeah, I'm a regular angel, me.”

Clapping my glass to the bar and tracing its rim, I tilted my head a fraction. Studied her and shivered. “Shame. Angels are boring.”

Miming straightening a crown, she giggled and whispered hoarsely, “I think mine’s broken.”

She eyed me and sank the remainder of her drink as they called our party for dinner.

Not gonna lie, the meal was torture. Leanne sat alongside me, the last seat on our side of the pushed-together tables. During the starter, she nudged my hand from the table top, grasped it and snuck it towards her inner thigh. She placed it carefully and rolled her legs apart enough that concealed heat spilled against my fingertips.

As gingerly as I could, I crept my hand closer to the source while still keeping up conversation and spooning in vegetable soup. Each millimetre ratcheted my heart rate until I feared someone would need to administer beta blockers.

Her inhalation when my fingers brushed her panties was thankfully covered by the clack of knives and forks and bubbly chatter. I recoiled, seared, but her sidelong glance was loaded with need and I slid to reconnect with the material. It was soaked.

Exploring her folds and appearing to remain calm from the waist up took more mental agility than I imagined. I pressed. Stroked. Pictured the stain blooming as I slipped a finger beyond one edge of the material and nearly came in my underwear. I dropped my spoon in the bowl and all eyes swivelled to me at the clatter. No way I could withdraw my fingertip from her slit without arousing suspicion so I sheepishly apologised to nobody in particular and repositioned my spoon properly.

When attention drifted away, I slithered my wet finger from her pussy and picked up my napkin with both hands from above the considerable tent in my trousers. Dabbing my mouth, she knew I was really breathing her scent and her eyes widened, staring down into her empty bowl.

After the waiters had cleared away the crockery, Leanne’s hand skimmed my thigh. Inched onto my lap. She scratched the mushroom head of my cock through the layers of fabric and placed her palm over it to grind and rub as they served the main course. I swear one of the staff raised an eyebrow as I leaned aside to accept my Christmas dinner, but couldn't be sure.

Leanne continued to torment my unending hard-on throughout dinner. Every time it began to wane between knife and forkfuls of food, she returned one hand to my lap. Walked, stroked, tapped or ground her fingers against me, ensuring I sprung back beneath her touches. I feared pre-cum had seeped through to stain my trousers.

When I finished my main, I drifted my hand between her legs again. Smeared leaking arousal from the bare strips of skin above her stay-ups across her underwear. I applied pressure to the centre and dug a pair of panty-covered fingers into her sopping pussy, gently fucking her as far as the material would allow.

She was desperately trying to remain calm for the benefit of public decency, but I could tell she was falling apart inside. The shape her mouth made, the whiteness of her knuckles gripping the table edge and shallowness of breaths gave her away between shaky laughs and one-word retorts for the benefit of appearances.

When her thighs clamped my hand, I knew she was close. Her body trembled until she released me, her chair scraped back and she made a show of leaving, scurrying to the bathroom.

Conversation flowed, much like I assumed the juices around her fingertips, the back of her head propped against a stall door, body arched as she finished what we'd started.

I met her sidelong glance when she returned. Relief was evident, and I smiled.

Even though she'd cum, it didn't seem enough. Dessert was as tense as earlier courses. Between spoonfuls of sorbet, she ran her fingertips up my thigh and circled the crown of my concealed dick. I thought I'd lose it at one point and would have to somehow explain the stain, but she mercifully held back, pre-cum simply oozing into my underwear.

By the time we’d paid, I was a wreck. Between the alcohol and raging erection, sneaking off to a nearby hotel was inevitable. As bad as it sounds, guilt didn’t even register. Or maybe it did but was eclipsed by lust.

The effervescent check-in clerk delivered picture perfect, blue-eyed hospitality; speared blonde bun, crisp business dress, and warm smiles, despite the way we giggled and tried not to paw one another beneath the eyeline of the countertop.

She flicked her eyes back and forth between us, light catching her garland of tinsel. “Do you need the room for the whole night?”

Leanne slapped my hand from squeezing her butt, tugged her phone case aside and took out her credit card. “Yes please...” she leaned in to squint at her name badge. “Holly.”

I giggled again and whispered to Leanne, “Festive. Like the spiky bush.”

Holly raised her eyebrow and I stood to attention. It didn’t occur to me until much later she might have thought I said I’d like her spiky bush. She processed the transaction and slid two key cards across, explaining, “One activates the power in the slot when you enter.” I reached to take them but she had them pinned to the desk beneath unpolished fingertips. We made eye contact. “Enjoy your stay.” Releasing them, I took both and we headed diagonally across the lobby to the lifts.

Eighth floor gave us enough time to slam against the mirrored back of the lift car and grope furiously under clothes, lips locked, tongues searching. Our bodies fused as floor numbers scrolled up and we didn't part even when the doors did, my fingers curled in Leanne’s drenched slit.

As the silver doors began to slide shut, I pulled away and shoved my foot out to interrupt them. Exited backwards, sucking my fingers clean.

She followed me through the fire door and three-quarters of the way down the flock-papered corridor to where I tapped the card against the lock of 808. The fact that almost opposite our door was a small alcove containing a vendie and an ice machine must have registered despite the sexual fog that closed in as the door hissed shut and latched.

The keycard didn't make it into the power slot. We didn't make it to the bed. Kicking off shoes, hopping to remove my socks and tearing off my trousers took longer than Leanne unzipping her skirt and hauling her top off to stand in just lingerie ahead of me.

Neither of us moved for what seemed an eternity. The last bastion of virtue, before it broke up under the waves of desire. Magnetism struck, and I paced into her space. She squealed as I span her around and marched her past the foot of the bed to the full-height window, slamming her palms into it above her head.

I circled her waist. Sank my teeth into her neck and she lolled her head aside to let my stubble scratch, bites peppering her smooth skin.

She rested her forehead against the glass as my hands slid to her panty crotch and rubbed wetness through them. I grew fully hard, pressing into her before nibbling my way to her shoulder and down her back, pausing to release her bra clasp, then tracing curves out to where the waistband of her panties nestled.

Sinking to my knees, I dragged her underwear with me, the bra tumbling to the floor as she repositioned her hands, one forearm across the glass in front of her forehead, the other snaking to her exposed gash.

My teeth found her exquisite arse. I grazed and bit, leaving darker circles that the moon and twinkling lights of the city ahead of us couldn't illuminate.

The intoxicating miasma of her arousal enveloped me as I peeled her cheeks apart and buried my face between them, tongue searching for and finding her drooling slit. She groaned against the window and stepped her stance a foot wider, fingers circling her needy nub.

I grabbed her ample flesh, lifted and let it bounce around my cheeks as I drew my hands away and crashed them into her buttocks. She howled and hissed, “Again,” as the heat released fresh arousal that I lapped clean.

Choosing a different area of her globes, I launched a volley of spanks and thought my cock was going to burst through the confines of my underwear at her encouraging cries. My heart thumped, I soothed the heat of the handprints and added more, begs rising from each gasp.

She dripped onto my tongue and I scooped everything I could reach, nose buried in the tight knot of her arse until I hauled free.

Standing, I stripped my boxers off, aligned my rigid prick with her folds and guided it up inside her. She groaned and rubbed her clit as our hips connected.

I set the pace, building thrusts until she huffed against the glass that she was cumming and her snatch rhythmically clenched around me. I wrapped her in a tight hug, slid one hand up to her opposite shoulder, nestling her throat in the crook of my elbow, and pulled.

Her hands flapped alongside us as she shrieked and continued to cum while I pounded into her sopping heat. Each thrust timed with the tugs at her throat practically lifted her to tiptoes as I growled in her ear, “Someone's on the very fucking naughty list,” and spurted inside her.

I don't know how long we stayed joined that way, just a sheet of glass between us and whoever the fuck cared to look across. But only when our legs shook did we disentangle and make our way to flop on the bed and snuggle up.

We explored our nakedness with fingertips and kisses. Rejuvenated until desire welled again and I crawled between her legs to feast on the sticky mess we’d made.

Lapping at her core, I scooped globs of spunk laced with her cream. Crawled up over her, sharing the mixture in dirty kisses, a loaded tongue at a time, until she was clean.

I began fluttering my tongue over her slick pussy lips and reawakened clit. Licked and devoured her as she arched off the bed to meet my face. It took a while to bring her to a second climax and I enjoyed teasing her almost to the edge and backing off, time and again.

She grew frustrated and more needy with each denial until she was writhing for me to finish her.

With a grin up at her lidded expression, I wrapped my mouth over her cunt and kissed furiously, probing my tongue deep, nose slathering her clit as she came beneath a series of rhythmic hard rasps, fists bunching the sheets.

I drank. Basked in her afterglow until she insisted I let her suck my cock. Who was I to argue? I knelt up and she repositioned on all fours, toying and nuzzling my gradually engorging hardness until it was ramrod straight for her to impale.

At a suitable pause to de-cramp our limbs, I fished over the bed and grabbed my belt from the floor. When she resumed sucking, I doubled up the leather and cracked it across her backside in time with each slurp. The vibrations of her moans at having her bottom whipped soon had me teetering on the edge of painting her throat.

She backed off and teased me, giving me a taste of what I'd done to her, until my cock was a twitching mess of pre-cum and saliva. I cursed but let her control. Lashed her behind, interrupting the smooth complexion. When her eyes slid up to mine and signalled I should cum, she jammed my meat down her throat and gurgled appreciation as I groaned and pulsed, thrashing her already striped bottom.

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Coughing, she pulled off me and slurped up the remaining dribbles of creamy spunk then rolled onto her back. I dangled the belt, tickling her skin. Alternated that with kisses and gentle caresses of her shimmering form, soothing any marks.

As I crawled over her prone body, I trailed the leather up her arm. Grabbed her wrists and secured them to the bedframe with the belt. Nice and tight.

She wriggled. I kissed my way from mouth to feet, dragging stay-ups off with my teeth. After taking time sucking her petite toes one by one, I stood.

“Now you’re mine, I'm going to find out how much teasing you can take. Drip ice onto you. Let cubes melt on your skin. Push some inside this sopping hot box.” I patted her cunt. “And when you beg, really beg, I might let you cum again.”

She stared after me as I crossed the room, grabbed the ice bucket, hauled the door open and checked the corridor was clear. It was silent, so I nipped across.

The fact I didn't have the keycard on me registered too late as the latch clicked.


I tore across the corridor in the vain hope I could save my dignity. No dice. Standing there bollock naked with just an ice bucket as cover, I rapped on the door and hissed, “Shit! I'm locked out.”

The rattling headboard preceded Leanne's muffled voice, laced with overtones of panic. “I can't fucking get free.”

“Fuck. Shit.” My heart hammered. “I'll see if anyone's around who can get reception up here.”

Covering my cock with the bucket, I self-consciously snuck to the next door along and knocked.

No reply.

Same across the hall. And in fact all the rooms on our corridor. It was early on a Friday night so either everyone was still out, or they'd asked to switch rooms because Leanne and I had been so loud. Only one seemed occupied but presumably the sight of me through the peephole was enough to put them off my pleading.

Housekeeping had been and gone.

I was stuck.

Double fuck.

With a sinking dread in the pit of my stomach, I paced the corridor. Exhaling, defeated, I stole to the lifts and pressed the call button, hopping from foot to foot.

The lift was mercifully empty. Colder though. Enough to raise goose bumps. My anxiety rose with each floor that took ages to slide by, peaking when it dinged at G and the doors slid open.

One hand covering my bum, the other holding the ice bucket in place, I took a deep breath and set across the lobby, feet slapping on the cold marble-effect flooring, to gasps and sniggers and pointing. And phones. Lots of phones videoing the crazy naked guy. I like to think I'm in decent shape for my age, but wasn't accustomed to flaunting my body, especially for randomers.

At the desk, to her credit, the cute receptionist kept a straight face. Mostly. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I'm locked out. Please would you print me another key.”

Her natural lashes fluttered. “Can't your lady friend let you in?”

I fixed her a stare. “Not at the moment, no.”

“Oh.” Something in my expression must have registered because she brought her hand up to stifle a giggle. “Ohh.”

“Yeah. Oh. So if you could please make me another card, I can…” I stole a glance behind me at a drunk couple crossing the lobby, laughing. The woman, tottering to a halt on wedge heels clearly too big for her to manage, paused, swayed and took a photo. She gave me a thumbs up and hung off his arm, whispering in his ear as they carried on to the lift. Returning my attention to the receptionist, I finished. “I can then be on my way.” She smiled sweetly. “Please, Holly.”

“Terribly sorry, sir, but we aren't able to reprint keys without ID. Company policy. Do you—” she stood on tiptoes to peek over the counter and smiled, “have any ID in there?”

I gritted my teeth. “No, I do not.”

“Oh. Then I'm not sure I can help.”

More phone cameras clicked behind me. “Please, Holly. Isn't there some way?” I took my hand from covering my arse and placed it on hers. She flinched and I met her gaze. “Please?”

Flashes went off behind me, and I resumed covering what little modesty remained. She chewed her lip. “Well, maybe I could come up to your room and verify your ID there.”

I breathed out. “That would be amazing, thank you.”

She didn't move for a long moment, then called over her shoulder to the open office door. “Mel, can you cover for me?”

A mousey lady with more makeup than face emerged and paused. Clearly, naked men wearing ice buckets weren't a common occurrence. “Oh, uhhh sure.”

“Thanks. I'm going up to let him in since I can't issue a spare card without ID.” Something passed between them. A look. Maybe I was being played, but I didn't care as long as I got away from the stares.

Holly tapped the screen and put a blank card on the programmer until it beeped. She disappeared into the office, emerging from a Staff Only door into the lobby. I didn't need an invitation to follow.

Possibly on purpose, she took her time walking ahead of me, shapely behind tucked into the short stretch black skirt. More torment, more photos, right up until the doors slid shut and silence filled the void.

I exhaled. “You must have seen all sorts of spectacles, right?”

She smiled and hovered her finger over the floor number. “Mmm-hmm. But nothing like this.”

I groaned. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I'm going to dine out on this for months.”

“Shit.” I eyed her as she pressed the button. “Listen, do you absolutely have to come in? You could, y’know, just open up and let me in?”

She raised an eyebrow and let a sly grin escape. “What's it worth?”


Her eyes roved to my nipples, the faint vee of my abdomen and to the ice bucket. Lingered there. Slid her stare up as the lift continued to rise.

It signalled arrival on 8. The doors glided open. We continued to lock eyes until the doors released and shut. She hit the override button and backed out, opening and holding the fire door for me. I shuffled past, brushing her body as the pool of light from the lift was swallowed again, the car summoned elsewhere.

She held back. Three feet separated us, either side of the silent, mood-lit corridor. At least the carpet was warm. She tilted her head and sing-songed, “I'm way-ting.”

My heart thudded. I eyed her. Said nothing.

“Or we could just head back downstairs…”

“No! Fine.”

Glancing up and down the empty corridor, I fixed her with another stare and crept the ice bucket away from my groin.

Her eyes lit up as she took me in. My cock twitched. Rose to half mast and I quickly covered it. “There. Can we…?” I flicked my head towards the room.

She bit her lip. “Hmmm, I don't know. Sounds like whatever’s going on is pretty… big. My payment should match.”

I huffed. “Jesus, you're enjoying this. What the hell do you want?”

Hollow words formed on her lips. “Touch it.” I could almost see the thoughts rampaging through her head. “Make it hard.”

My breath hitched. I made eye contact once more, catching a spark raging behind her features. No way she was letting this go.

Sighing, I let the ice bucket swing away.

She licked her lips and whispered, “Fuck.” Then added, “Stroke it.”

My cock had already swelled. On autopilot, my hand drifted in and traced one edge of firming skin with a fingertip as it bobbed and sprang higher. It engorged, until fully hard under my fingers.

She leaned back against the opposite wall. Trailed fingertips up and down her sides. The acrylic in her skirt whispered as she brushed it. Tugged it so the hem crept higher, upper bare thighs slithering into view. I was so going to hell, but couldn't stop staring as the crease of her lime panties appeared.

Almost without thinking, I gripped my cock and started stroking. Her eyes widened and skirt inched higher to her waist. Her hips were centrefold precision. Lithesome. She slipped fingertips into her underwear and her mouth slackened as she made contact.

Sighs and gasps told the story as she flicked and circled, wetness staining her underwear. My focus zeroed there as the dark spot bloomed. Her attention was similarly locked on my fist, pumping the shaft fast and hard, thumbing pre-cum over the head that peeled up from the hood with each stroke. Her sighs turned to soft moans that fuelled my motions, rhythmic clicking filling the corridor.

Whether it was the risk of being caught, latent horniness from devouring Leanne, or the heat of the act, it was only a few more strokes until I was teetering on the edge. “Fuck,” I hissed. “I need to cum.” Out of options and not wanting to make a mess, I pulled the bucket in front of me and angled my cock towards it.

Holly shook her head. “Don’t waste it.” She crooked a finger and beckoned me across as she withdrew sticky fingers and slithered her knickers down to just below her perfectly shaved mound. “Even though you prefer a spiky bush.”

Such a tantalising vista, bare mons curving to slick lips. She held the material stretched in front of her with one hand. I inhaled, stepped close and aimed my shaft at her slit while her fingers resumed tapping and circling her slick, exposed nub.

My groans rose and the point of no return crested. The first spurt pooled at the flared head and spilled through my fingers to the carpet. The second and third arced and splattered against her fingertips, dripping into her outstretched underwear. She jerked as each hot rope landed and then went stiff, mouth dropping open. Her pussy lips fluttered and she massaged my cream into her spasming slit, biting her lip to stifle moans.

Her orgasm ran its course as the last of my jets splashed across her soft mound. I squeezed the remaining droplets from the tip of my cock into her panties and brushed the material with it. She shivered and I stepped back to lean against the wall opposite, eyeing the tail of her dying climax.

We let the moment hang like my gradually shrivelling cock, just watching one another. Then she snapped back to reality and set off down the corridor. I was mesmerised by her pert bum cheeks swaying ahead of me. With each step, she made herself more presentable, tugging up panties and down skirt, until no outer evidence remained of our indiscretion.

She reached 808, wanded the card and swung the door open for me. There's no way she could miss Leanne bound to the bed and, despite her promise, I know she looked because her eyes widened just before she settled attention my way.

I scurried in and thanked her over and over. She just grinned, said it was her pleasure and called into the room, “Have a wonderful evening.”

And we did.

After apologising profusely to Leanne and having a laugh at my expense, we enjoyed raucous, unbridled, deliriously hot sex, more spanking, more biting and, yes, ice play.

Leanne responded especially well to cubes popped in my mouth, melting and dribbling into her scorching snatch as I ate and lapped, nose crushed to her clit. She also loved when I positioned a cube between her teeth, detoured to another part of her body then returned to kiss it from her grasp and torment her skin with it.

When her umpteenth orgasm of the night erupted, I fastened my cold mouth to her quivering cunt, and slid my hands up her body to grip and slap her tits. My belt bit into her wrists as she twisted against the unyielding headboard, gasping.

Yeah, next-level sex.

When I released her, she immediately rolled onto her front, stretched up onto all fours and presented me her already exquisitely marked rear to, and I quote, “ruin”.

Turns out ruin meant raining handprints until she dripped on the sheets and begged for me to fuck her “slutty tight arse”. What red-blooded man could turn down such an offer? Not me.

I spread her burning cheeks and buried my tongue in her behind. Slathered juices from her slit up into her darkest hole, using one, two, three fingers to prepare her for my cock. When she sank her face into the pillow and held herself open for me, I reared up, offered the head of my raging erection to her star and eased inside.

Tight didn't come close to a description. Despite the considerable natural lubricant that I kept topped up with saliva and her juices, it took a while for the fat head of my cock to breach. She emitted the most satisfying, muted, “Ohhh,” into the pillow when I popped the ring of muscle and I had to fight not to lose my load right then.

We didn't move. Adjusted to the sensation, entirely new to me, goodness knows whether it was her first anal rodeo. I suspected not. When she wiggled her arse, I continued to slide inside, the going considerably easier, until our skin met. I hissed and held her hips. She let go of her bum and I grabbed her wrists, pinning them to her sacrum. Her whimper drove me on and I lost all control.

Pulling out maybe half way, I relished her gasps as I set up a steady rhythm. The tightness was unreal and I kept spitting into her crease and driving the saliva inside with the next thrust.

Leanne turned feral as I picked up speed, rocking and slamming her hips back against mine. I let go of her wrists and yanked her hair. She groaned. Even more when I slid my hands up her back, leaning over to circle her throat. I tightened my grip, more a symbolic gesture than anything else, but the result was apocalyptic. She cried, “Yess,” into the pillow, shoved herself onto all fours and banged back into me over and over as I sucked air in through my teeth.

It was savage and freeing to enjoy her mewls bouncing around the room, and I slammed home one final time, cock pulsing and spewing ropes deep. I groaned in sync with the releases. We flopped forward, she rocketed fingers to her clit and crushed, spinning herself into an orgasm that transferred its winking rhythm to the muscle clamping my cock in her behind.

I'm not sure how long we stayed joined, my grip gradually softening until I reversed and slipped free of her arse. She groaned again and flopped onto the bed.

We ended the night there, cuddling and idly stroking skin for over an hour, glowing; strangely intimate considering we didn't know much about one another. 

I knew I had to compartmentalise. Not grow attached. Confine it to a one-time act—an all-out expression of lust—and somehow go back to being ordinary dad and husband the next day. Simply be content that I'd ticked off most of my sexual bucket list in one night.

It was still tough dragging myself away. Leanne begged me to stay the night. Followed me into the shower, soaped us, rinsed, sank to her knees and blew me to completion in her mouth as the water and spray cascaded off us.

I stepped out and dried myself, watching her masturbate, curves deforming against the frosty stall glass as her sighs intensified, shortened and turned to groans.

In turn, she watched me dress as she dried off in the room. I thanked her for an incredible night, wished her Merry Christmas and that I'd see her in the New Year at work. Sighed when the door clicked shut between us.

Walking back towards the restaurant, I hailed a taxi and returned home. To normalcy. To safety. To comfort.

To a shit storm when videos of me in the lobby went viral.

No amount of explanation covered it. Understandably so. I was utterly wrong, weak and shamed, and had broken my marriage promises. I'd let everyone down.

Miranda turfed me out, threw a bag of clothes at me and slammed the door.

And that was that. Solo Christmas. Just me, Shaun, Bruce Willis and microwave meals. I thumb the remote. Debate switching it back on but sit there nursing my pint and woes. Wishing I'd been better. Stronger.

I check my phone. Again. In case I zoned out or it didn't ring and she left a message.

It hasn't rung. She hasn't left a message.

Taking a swig, I nearly spill it when the doorbell plays a snippet of Ding Dong Merrily On High. Fucking Amazon, I bet. Shaun orders so much shite off the Internet.

Trudging to the door in just my underwear and T-shirt, I haul it open. Stare down the two steps to snowy street level. Reflexively run my hand through hair that's long since taken a stage dive.



I try to gauge her mood. The street behind her is clear. No piles of my stuff she's dropping off. No envelope in her hand containing divorce papers. “Do you… do you want to come in for a drink? It's freezing out.”

She shakes her head. “No.” Looks up and down the street before fixing me with a gaze halfway between exasperation and concern at my unshaven appearance. “Listen. I've not forgiven you…”

“I know. Shit. I'm sor…”

“Shut up and listen. I've not forgiven you. But the kids… they keep asking and I'm running out of excuses why you're not there and they need their dad at Christmas and it's not fair on them and I guess,” she pauses for breath, “I guess I miss you too.”

I brighten and gush, “Fuck I miss you all so much. Please give me a chance. I promise to be better. More attentive. More… everything.” I swipe at a tear.

She holds up her hand. “Don’t make promises you can't keep. I've not forgiven you. But let's take it a day at a time. Okay?”

I can't stop the tears flowing and that sets her off until we both compose ourselves, wiping cheeks, just a few feet yet miles apart. I sniff. “Is… is now good?”

She nods. Breathes in. “Now’s good.”

“Yes! I'll… go get… you sure you don't want to come in?”

“Shaun tried to air fry a Pot Noodle, remember? I'm good.”

“Right. Yeah. I'll be as quick as I can.” I turn to go in.



She casts her attention up and down the street again. “I never realised those things you mentioned over the years meant so much to you. I should…”

“No, forget about it. It's my fault not yours.”

She swings her gaze up to me. “But it's not is it? Not solely. You've tried and I've not been open to change and then you did,” she waves her hand, “your thing. And although it hurts, I recognise it’s an expression of frustration at our… rut.”

“Miranda, we're not in a rut.”

“No, we are. And we need to work on that. Make time for one another outside of our crazy work lives. Try some other things.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Other things?”

A tiny smile forms. “Other things.”

It's my turn to grin. “So I can order those fluffy handcuffs?”

She looks at the floor. Then up at me. “Tell you what. Get me some for Christmas and I won't rule it out. No promises, though.” She wags a finger.

I let go of the doorframe, race down the steps, and she squeaks as I embrace her in a haphazard hug. “I promise to give you the night of your life. That's a promise I can keep.”

She wriggles free. “Yeah yeah okay. But…” she points up the steps and I follow her finger. The door has latched shut. Her gaze falls to my underpants. “Have you got a key in there?”

Written by WannabeWordsmith
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