I had resigned myself to a solitary Christmas – something I’d become accustomed to since Lauren and I split up three years ago. A well-stocked wine cellar and a fridge- freezer packed with Ready Meals would see me through to the New Year.

But her email changed all my plans.

Expect an express courier delivery circa 12 noon today. Make sure you’re in to receive it as its perishable goods - for your exclusive enjoyment over Yuletide. Have fun! L xxx

Since our amicable separation, my wife had enthusiastically embraced the Sapphic Sisterhood. This Christmas she’d booked to go on an All-Girls cruise of the Caribbean, which the holiday company unashamedly labelled: ’Dykes’ Delight’. Participants were recommended to include a strap-on in their luggage.

My estranged wife knew I hated turkey, so I figured she’d sent me a goose. A rare delicacy up here in Butte County. Pouring myself a large brandy to go with my mid-morning coffee, I made a mental note to trawl internet kitchen sites for cooking tips.

At 12.05hrs my Christmas present arrived. A good-natured Latino lad carried a large brown cardboard carton from the back of his van and carefully placed it on the front stoop. A huge red and white FRAGILE label was plastered across its top, surrounded by a series of ventilation holes. Had Lauren sent me a live goose?

The youth held out a black plastic tablet. “Just scratch your initials on the screen, boss.” Moments later he was off down the drive.

I carried the box into the kitchen, setting it down on the table. If indeed, it was a goose, it was certainly a very large goose: box and contents weighing all of five stones, I guessed. In my head I heard Jamie Oliver sagely advising: “A bird of up to seventy pounds will need to cook for at least five hours, basted every twenty minutes.”

My empty brandy glass, sitting on top of the box shook slightly. Had Lauren sent me a sedated bird? As well as spending most of my Christmas Day basting the corpse in the oven, would I first have to take the poor creature out into the yard and wring its neck? As I poured another refill the box juddered violently.

I took a kitchen knife and carefully sliced through the carton’s securing tape. I gingerly lifted the lid. Beneath layers of pink and blue tissue, curled up and fast asleep in a foetal position was a real-life Christmas fairy! On her tiny feet were white silk slippers, with white fishnet stockings cladding her fragile little legs. Her white muslin tutu had risen up, revealing that she was wearing no panties. Above her waistline, a white silk bustier enclosed her tiny waist, with its scooped-out bodice giving a tantalising glimpse of her small breasts. Slowly moving her head sideways, she opened her eyes to gaze endearingly up at me with a lovely smile of recognition.

It was some years since I’d seen this young lady: Elizabeth – more recently abbreviated to Eli – and only child of Karen, my wife’s closest friend. I recalled how Karen went into labour on the night we were watching the Patriots win Superbowl 2002. Eli had always been petite. 

I carefully lifted her out of her box, closed the lid and set her down on its top. Folding one tiny stockinged leg over the other (giving me an even better view of her silky-smooth pussy) she whispered: “Happy Christmas, Uncle Nicholas. Mum and Auntie Lauren say you’re to do whatever you want with me over the Yuletide.”

“Really? Well, that’s extremely generous of them, Eli. But how do you feel about it?”

She fluttered her tinsel-dusted eyelids. “You mean having sex with an older man?”

Taken aback by this eighteen-year-old’s candour I stuttered: “Well, yes… since you put it like that!”

“I love it. All of it.” Then a big lascivious grin. “In fact, the dirtier the better!” After this last remark, she parted her tiny legs, placed her two middle fingers on either side of her little quim and spread it open it for me. “Only problem is my cunnie hole is very tiny,” then added with a giggle: “and Mum says you’re rather big!” I nervously stroked the semi-erection which had grown inside my jeans as she added a delightful coda: “May I call you Daddy?”

I tenderly stroked her cheek. “I’d love that.”

After a liberal brandy reinforcement, we decided to settle down to a gentle fellatio session on the sofa. Eli knelt on the floor in front of me. As I was soon to discover, my little Christmas Fairy was an expert in the cock-sucking department. She ran her tongue around every millimetre of my swollen cockhead and savoured my first drops of pre-cum. Then her lips slowly explored the length of my shaft. But it was when she pushed her face onto my swollen ball sack and began licking it that I realised I couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Please shoot your lovely creamy spunk all over my face, Daddy?” Eli implored. Her words triggered a copious orgasm, with ripples of my semen coursing down her pink cheeks and overflowing onto her tiny titties, which had now popped out of her bustier. She glanced down at them before scooping up a fingerful of my semen to suck it. Then she smeared some over her pink lips and pouted them suggestively, inviting me to kiss her. It was one of the most sensuous cum-kisses I’d ever experienced.

She wriggled out of her bustier. Bare-footed and naked she padded across to the sideboard, poured me a large brandy and brought it to my side, where she snuggled up against my body. My limp cock was still exposed. Eli fondled it lovingly and giggled. “Shall I suck him some more to make him hard again, Daddy?”