The Christmas List
"Sarah King" Sa.Ki@btopenworld.com
It has been a tradition between us for several years to make a Christmas
List, and to make one item on the list something of an impossible dream. You
know the sort of thing "World Cruise" "World Peace" "Ferrari". The other
partner has to do their best to make the wish come true.
The year I put down "Ferrari", James hired one for Christmas Week so I got
my wish. He once put down "make me the best fuck in England" so I put an ad
in The Times personals saying he was (although not in so many words!).
Anyway, sitting with pen in hand at the beginning of December I pondered my
New Black Handbag
Silver knot earrings.
But what was the impossible dream to be this year? Well, here's a thought;
I wrote, "Make me the fairy on top of our Christmas tree". I smiled. That
would take some doing!
December passed in a blur of shopping cooking and preparations. We bought a
beautiful Blue Spruce tree and decorated it with baubles and tinsel and
lights, but when it came to putting that finishing touch, James said we had
to leave it bare as this year I was to be the fairy on the tree. When I
quizzed him as to how he would get me up there, he just smiled an enigmatic
smile and left me guessing.
Then it was all done, the gifts were wrapped, the house ready and it was the
night before Christmas. We dozed before a lovely fire, brandy glasses empty
and the warmth within. I woke from a dream of pine woods to find I was
blindfolded, and James' mouth close to my ear; "Wake up little fairy, my
Tinkerbell, wake up."
He pulled me to my feet and held me in his arms before the fire, then
stripped me of my dress of winter wool and all my clothes until I was left
standing in my stockings. Then he put on me a little jacket of some sort,
and a wrap-around skirt made of something scratchy. Finally he placed
something in my hair and told me it was my fairy crown.
He laid me down by the fire. but what was this beneath me? The scented
spears of spruce boughs, aromatic and cool laid thick upon the hearth. His
hands spread my hair across the branches of spruce. He arranged the little
jacket across my breasts and the skirt was lifted and spread either side of
my thighs. His lips traced a path from my mouth down between my breasts and
across my tummy to the shaven place between my legs, kissing, kissing all
the way. I stretched and groaned as he parted my thighs, wanting him very
much at that moment.
But then he was gone! I called to him and stretched out my hands for him.
"James! James? Where are you?" Something sprinkled over my skin like dust.
What was this?
Again I reached for him but then there was a Click! and a flash discernable
through the blindfold. He was taking pictures!
Then he was back beside me, warm and naked, peeling back the little jacket.
His mouth was hot and wet and sucked and flickered over each nipple in turn.
The fire seemed to spread through my skin and ignite in the deepest places
inside me. He moved between my open thighs and spread me further with his
knees. He stroked my waist and across my hips with his hands and then
reached around under my bottom and lifted my hips onto his lap and entered
me slowly, very slowly. We sighed together as he reached within me and then
he held me very still, firmly pinned and penetrated and he didn't move a
muscle for maybe a whole minute.
My pussy started to quiver at the filled and fulfilled feeling of his cock
buried deep. His fingers behind my buttocks moved in a rippling motion,
creeping towards the crevice between my cheeks. My spine shimmered and my
toes clenched on the ground behind him as he spread my ass and rested his
fingers on each side of my little puckered hole, which winked at the
Ripples of pleasure travelled inside me down the length of him and he
groaned at the intensity of the massage he was getting. He started to move
on the same beat, taking his timing from mine, my natural sexual rhythms
unforced and spontaneous, slow deep and full, and deeper he seemed to reach
inside me with each stroke. I felt, rather than heard, his breathing alter
to the rhythm, in and in and in he came, his fingers dancing at my rear and
his pubic bone pressing on my now swollen and tender clit.
God it felt so good, so right. He felt me expanding around him and he knew I
was close to coming. My body flushed and my hands clutched on the boughs of
spruce, releasing an intense perfume around us.
He called to me, his voice a growl; "Yes my Tinkerbell, my faery quean, come
for me, come for us, now!" and my voice joined with his as I felt his pace
quicken and strengthen majestically, and we came together in the passionate
song of the earth, a long long time.
His head bowed to my breast and he lay then along me, kissing my face, my
hair my mouth and we panted together, all around us the scent of pine and
our sexual breath. Tiny murmurings of love and thanks and satisfied desire
were exchanged in those incomparable moments after orgasm.
He removed the blindfold and threw it aside. I gazed at him, unfocussed for
many breaths and his smiling eyes were a tinkling blue beside me.
"Happy Christmas darling" and he lifted a hand and let fall over my breasts
a shower of silver stars until I was sparkling like a tinsel bauble.
Later he showed me the Polaroid photograph. Me, dressed in my crown and my
little skirt of silver net, all sparkling with fairy dust among the spruce.
The picture was at the top of the tree. Nothing else would ever take its
place, he said, and he would always believe in fairies.