20th December: Ding dong!

Hurrying along the hall, I open the front door. On the step, a neat rectangular box waits to be claimed. I scoop it up and glance around for the delivery driver—they’ve already vanished, but I hear the vroom of a van accelerating away.

It feels heavy at one end. I set it up on a table, cut away the outer layers, ease free a glossy black box, and salivate at the prospect of a dram of fine single malt.

Within the packaging debris, I spy a small envelope, lift the flap and slide out a card.

Darling. Enjoy until I am with you for Christmas. Love xxxx

._.

21st December: Ding dong!

I wonder if there’s another surprise for me today as I swing the front door open, but there’s no sign of the delivery until I twist to one side and see it perched on the windowsill.

Tiny compared with yesterday’s, just a stiff brown envelope. In the kitchen, I run scissors under the flap, see a plastic sleeve, and give it a quick jerk, splitting the halves hiding a dongle.

I wake my laptop and push the dongle into a slot. A window flashes open, and there she is, my love’s face. As I watch, she slides back, slowly revealing her nude shoulders, soft breasts, flat tummy, dark triangle of bush, and finally her long legs.

Her soft, sensual voice breaks the silence and the hundreds of miles between us. “Darling,” she purrs like a contented cat, “you had my gift for your stomach yesterday; this is for your soul.”

One hand slips across her thighs and disappears between her legs. The other hand lifts to her pursed lips, she blows a kiss, and then the video stops.

._.

22nd December: Ding dong!

A new brown envelope sits on the windowsill, and I muse about the pleasure she is giving me with her little games. I dash indoors, quickly slice it open, find the sleeve and pop the dongle into my laptop. She’s there again, her eyes locking on to me from the screen.

She retreats a step. This time, the outline of black straps frames her shoulders. The reveal is slow and deliberate: a lacy bra, adorned with a small pink bow between the cups. The sight is provocative and intimate. My desire for her sharpens.

Another step back reveals the waistband of black lace panties, their swirling floral patterns crowned with a delicate pink bow at the centre.

“Darling,” her voice soft and sultry, “you can remove these on Christmas Eve.” A final blown kiss—and she’s gone.

._.

23rd December: Ding dong!

I don’t bother looking down, and I don’t need to. It’s on the windowsill for the third time. Driven, swift, and certain, I slide the dongle home in record time—my pulse racing, desire for her surging through me.

Shivers race down my spine, but it is not her ocean-blue eyes that hold me. My gaze is caught instead by the heart-shaped shard of pink cut glass, locked in a gleaming steel frame that seals her mouth and bulges against the swollen curve of her cheeks.

Matching pink fingernails grasp the steel, tugging slowly as she backs away from the lens. A gentle plop marks its exit, deflating her cheeks. She shifts back, displaying the same straps, bra, and panties—but this time with a matching suspender belt and stockings. I feel my underpants stretch tight with the expanding force within.

Then, she turns around, bends forward, her tight buttocks framed in black, the crease of her sex impressed into the cloth. A hand grasps the hem, pulling them down to expose perfect white flesh.

Her free hand lifts the shiny metal cone in line with her sphincter and pushes down. I watch her flesh resist until, silently, it slips inside her body, and she exhales triumphantly.

Her face peeks out around her flank. “Darling, you can take it out on Christmas Eve.” A blown kiss flies to me, but I need so much more.

._.

24th December: Ding dong!

I open the front door, but there’s no delivery this time. Instead, she is there—my love, suitcase at her side. In a heartbeat, one hand claims the case handle, the other circles her waist, pulling her tight against me. Nothing else matters: not the neighbours, certainly not the old biddy opposite, only the intensity of our first kiss.

We move as if in a slow dance, turning in the hallway. I kick the door shut, closing off the world, and together we spiral inward. Halfway down, we pause—eyes locked, souls joined. My fingers fumble at the buttons of her winter coat and slide it from her shoulders.

Time holds. I clasp her hand and lead her towards the stairs; we ascend at a trot, urgency in every step. Two strides across the landing and we reach the sanctuary of my bedroom.

I step back, her cold hands cradled in mine, gaze fixed only on her. Then her grip shifts subtly, pushing me off balance until gravity takes over and I tumble onto the bed.

Above me, she moves gracefully. Fingers trail down her blouse, slipping buttons free, her eyes never leaving mine. In one fluid motion she wriggles her hips, the skirt sliding to the floor, blouse peeled away—revealing herself in the exact ensemble she wore on screen.

Her arms extend, and fingers pluck at my trouser’s fastenings. My gaze fixes on her pink fingernails as she pulls the zipper, then grasps the waistband and strips me naked from the waist.

With a hand on each knee, she lowers herself gently to kneel between my thighs; long fingers delicately grasp my hardness and lift it to the vertical. I watch her head lower until her lips encompass my glans, and the whole length slides into her mouth. I can’t help but moan, a long drawn-out “aagh” of pleasure.

Peering along my trunk, I watch her stare back, our eyes locked together as her lips slide up and down my engorged shaft. I can’t take much more; it feels as if I’m about to explode. My words carry urgency: “Please, darling, I want to fuck you. I want to fill your pussy.”

She smiles, a hot loving crease around her eyes, before making one final rotation of her tongue on my most sensitive place, then crawls up, straddling my thighs. One hand pulls her panty hem aside, the other grasps my shaft, then she lowers herself onto me, and I cry out as my foreskin pulls back inside her. We are joined in love.

I try to thrust, but she has control, lowering her body onto me, and our lips meet as she flexes and rotates her hips, driving me towards completion. Inside her body, every time she moves, I feel the plug in her other hole bear against me.

My finish is sharp, exquisite pleasure, thighs pumping, lifting her off the sheets as my muscles spasm.

While I lie panting, she whispers in my ear, “Darling, when you are ready, you can take the plug out and fuck me in there.”

Contented, drained and in love—I think this is going to be the best Christmas ever.