secret Santa

(my Christmas treat for you all, it’s very long and happened last christmas but hope you will enjoy and find time to read… Happy Christmas x)

I do confess, for me Christmas can be a wild time, sometimes, not a constant frenzy of sexual elasticity but most definitely a little bit flexitarian.  I have discovered that word recently and feel it fits well when having to answer people who ask about such things, I just now say I’m flexitarian, which I might go into more fully some time, but maybe another time.

Meanwhile, secret Santas. I think this is a really weird tradition, though I don’t believe it’s really a tradition at all, just something recently imposed but seems people treat it as such.  You’ll probably be pleased to know this tale about them at all really, but it is about a Christmas surprise, for me most definitely.

Around Christmas time I can get quite hyper, despite my best efforts to stay calm and collected I do get excitable, though I suppose the sheer amount of chocolate and probably rich mince pies I eat doesn’t help.  But, my inhibitions, such as they are, though I’m more shy than some assume, they tend to become a little less… inhibited.

Last Christmas it was the night before Christmas Eve; Christmas Eve-eve I suppose you could say, I was out with friends visiting some pubs, me with my usual alternating alcohol in one, soft drink in another, being I have a poor constitution when it comes to intoxication, which is probably a good thing as for certain I’ll never become an alcoholic nor do I ever get sick binge-drinking. This night I was dressed semi-seasonal in a white and black tartan pencil mini skirt, black opaque tights, black shirt under a red baggy, woolly jumper, or sweater. I did say only semi-seasonal and red was my contribution, although I was wearing another item of red clothing but will get to that later.

There were six of us, essentially a girly night out though we weren’t averse to enjoying the company of the other side, i.e. boys wherever we went, and strangely there seemed to be no shortage, most of which not exactly welcome but nothing overly untoward and hair-raising, just boys will be boys and all that, especially at Christmas. I suppose not much different to girls being girls, though I bet we have far more fun, but then I’m biased. Inevitably in many a stop-off there was the ubiquitous mistletoe which we all admittedly indulged at some point, some more than others, with each other and with some of the strange guys we met. Usually a peck of course, anything else would have been way too bold and forward and anyway, very few guys were remotely worth even that.

There was a point in the evening in, I think, the third pub where we found ourselves stumbling into, in a lady-like way of course, during which I went to the loo which was not unusual of course but when I came out there was a guy holding mistletoe.  I did a double-take and then recognised him from the last place we were, he was with a group of friends too so I’d guessed they might be doing similar rounds to us, after all we were all mostly student  anyway and tended to frequent the same haunts.

He was grinning, I smiled back as I’d vaguely recognised him and would’ve been rude not too, to which he followed a simple short “hi” with grabbing me and kissing me smack on the lips. I fell back shocked and a little put-out well-prepared to slap him but he did it again and as it happened I did nothing but find myself respond, albeit reluctant at first but within seconds falling into the moment while yet another cheesy Christmas song was streaming through from the main bar. I think it might have been ‘I believe in Father Christmas’, I seem to recall that line. I know for sure this wasn’t Father Christmas I was being wrapped inside nor whose lips were on mine and whose tongue was now searching for mine, which was inside my mouth of course but a little more shy than clearly his was being. Nevertheless I did kind of respond though tongues with strangers, never, or at least not in the first few minutes.

We kissed in the corridor between the loos and the bar for what felt like ages all the while some random person would squeeze past going one way or the other, some looking decidedly smirky, others not bothered as though this was a regular and normal occurrence. Maybe it was in this place which was new to me as was being kissed by some random stranger in a corridor just outside the toilets.

The kiss stopped leaving him still grinning (was he grinning through the entire kiss!?) and me probably looking a little dumbfounded and dazzled. He came in again and once more our lips were locked in battle, or sort of, mine adjusting to the suddenness and surprise and the fact that I seemed to be starting to like it. After all, quite flattering being there’s loads of girls in the bar and yet here he was with me.  But I shouldn’t be doing myself down here, I was a catch! Surely, wasn’t I? Well, it’s in my nature to doubt myself.

It was during this second kiss his hands found new purchase, on me, which were on my waist but now had found themselves wrapped around my buttocks enticing with tiny squeezes like I was some kind of play-dough.  I didn’t complain though it seems, much to even my surprise, just more curious and then aware of actually liking it. We spun around to where my back was now to the wall and our lips still playing suction games. He was several inches taller than me, me being 5’2 and an ’ish and him I guessed to be 5’10, perhaps 11.  He continued kneading away at my bum and hips clearly encouraged by me not overtly stopping him. I was definitely feeling the effects, not so much of alcohol as I’d hardly had any by this point but this strange and unexpected turn of events, one effect being arousal.

What the hell, it was just a kiss, and yes a bit of fondling, and it was Christmas after all and I was out to have fun and this was indeed fun.

Again, but only briefly, we stopped kissing; both mainly to catch our breath and it was then I noticed he had the worse Christmas jumper on ever, red of course though a different red to mine, more garish, and a Santa face wearing antlers with the most stupid grin. There might have been an elf, I wasn’t sure, I saw some green but who knows, the lights in the corridor weren’t exactly conducive to any kind of in-depth artistic critique.

On this what was now a third kiss (was he taking liberties?… was I?) his hands continued their pleasure-play over my hips and bum, the hem of my skirt, though he wasn’t so bold as to let them slip under my jumper, which I was quite pleased about and may have curtailed what was going to happen, despite what actually ended up happening. Then the kiss stopped, his face changed from a mere grin to sheer mischievous. Perhaps he was a naughty elf, though he didn’t have an elf hat nor elf shoes but he did look a little impish. He then took my hand and led me down the corridor away from the main bar to where I didn’t know, beyond the toilet doors, passed another anonymous door which went to wherever it went, I never found out, until we found ourselves in an enormous room at the rear of the pub. It was in semi-dark with just the lights peeking in from the street and a few like dim ones at the far end where a bar stood empty, and unattended. Unattended because this room was clearly not being used tonight and was a function room for functions, even in my current state of befuddled I worked that out. It was decorated for Christmas and there were tables and chairs dotted around, all empty of people and activity; except for us. I’d suddenly felt like we crashed a ghosts convention disturbing the true spirit of Christmas, a stillness that this time of year can express for thinking of others less fortunate than ourselves.  I did think of others, my friends in the main front bar who may or may not be wondering where I was, but I guess if they were worried they’d have texted me. For a moment we both seem surprised, taking in the solemnity, the vast emptiness, the half-light and, I guessed on his behalf, also looking for other signs of life just to be sure we wouldn’t be undisturbed.

There was no one else here. I was strangely enchanted by this room, as though I was suddenly privy to some secret, long-lost moment in time to which I’d been given exclusive access. Well, and him too, both of us when I remembered I wasn’t quite alone, and his hand still held mine, and mine holding his. It seemed to me that even he felt a little in awe, but not for long as he took me to a table where he half-sat me down on its top and began what we clearly hadn’t finished before, more kissing; and as we kissed his hands became more probing, adventurous in their explorations. In between kisses I turned my head to the left as I was being somewhat leaned back against and onto this table and noticed what I hadn’t before, a Christmas tree.  It was subtle with very tiny light adorning it, blue lights reminding me of snow and far north things and for some reason the northern lights. In the corner of the innocuous anonymous room in a town somewhere in Wales was this small piece of magic lighting up my eyes and drawing me into and making me also think of Christmas carols; Silent Night, that I remember came to mind, one of my favourite.

Not before long did I, we, once again find ourselves buried in kissing and touching, his hands mostly as mine were bracing myself against the table which slid a couple of inches scraping the wooden floor making me slightly worried someone might over hear or just stumble upon us. No one did, not then, not at all while we were there. His hands seemed to enjoy my small, bony hips, letting them wander up my back beneath my jumper along my spine until the swished around under the wool, and being baggy there was plenty of room, to my breast which he gave some serious attention through my black, cotton shirt.  I wondered if this was getting perhaps a little too familiar considering we’d only just met and actually, just realising I didn’t even know his name. Did he even know mine?

I was finding myself increasing excited and enthralled by this whole affair, this craziness that I’d found myself part of, this private party in our very own function room with our very own tree and random lightshows from cars headlights that pulled in or out of the car park beyond these walls. I bit into his lower lips in a rush of tension as he grabbed my boob and I felt my nipple growing erect and tender. This was merely an encouragement for him, and probably me too, and as we really got into the kissing his hands were mysteriously finding themselves, well, all over me. He reached down and once again grabbed firmly my buttocks and spent time there lifting me partly onto the table so much so my feet lost contact with the floor now and my legs were swinging, or would have been had I not an entire man in a cheesy, awful Santa sweater groping me senseless.

He pulled my jumper and over my head and off entirely now and run his hands again over each boob, small though I am he seemed very focused on them. His lips were now exploring my neck as I tilted back my head actually loving that particular feeling finding the neck such an outrageously enticing erogenous zone. My nipples were growing excited in my bra along with the rest of my body now almost overheating. Down to my waist his hand slipped and slid and was under my tee before I knew it and over my bare tummy, feeling intensely warm, his hand and my tummy and soon enough over my bra feeling the black balconette lace and again kneading each one in turn so as not to leave either out. I thought, how considerate.

Meanwhile I’d lost track of his other hand. As it happened he clearly hadn’t when I felt it running over my pencil skirt down to its hem and edging it upwards along my legs. Before I could respond and with little I could do anyway considering both my own hands were still being used to hold me up onto the table, he had edged it high enough to get his hand beneath to between my thighs, to where I knew I was even warmer than the rest of me, and likely wetter. His whole hand cupped my mound and I almost screamed. I didn’t luckily not wanting to attract unwanted attention, and before I might’ve even considered resisting I found my body and mind responding positively, rhythmically almost to the motions of his fingers and grip as this alone managed to spread my legs open a little.

Needless to say it took me by surprise as by now had almost every minute over the past however long it had been since I came out of the loo and found him there, mistletoe in hand.  I wonder where that mistletoe went. I felt his grip, the heat form his long fingers through my tights and knickers making me moisten inside even further.

Clearly my skirt wasn’t yet high enough for him so he pushed it forcefully all the way up til it crumpled up around my hips. I wondered if it would’ve been easier if he or I had unzipped the back and I took it off?  I didn’t suggest it, as being stripped or semi-stripped in a pub was perhaps not the norm, certainly wasn’t for me anyway.  In what felt like one continuous move as he pulled his hands away he had hold of the waistband of my black tights and proceeded to pull them down, away from my hips and roughly down my legs encouraging me to discard my boots which I did by edging the heels of one against the other then toeing the other free, followed of course by my tights. Ok, so perhaps I might be getting semi-stripped in a public house.

I’d hardly got my breath back and he was there again before me between my legs I had no choice but to open for him. I looked down knowing I still had my knickers on at least, my red knickers.  See, I said I would get to them eventually, as he did too, he also found his way to them and again took great pleasure in cupping my mound, my sex, completely and playing his fingers into them, almost into me, ensuring if they weren’t moist already they were getting that way.  I struggled only to get more comfortable, though each time I did I felt my legs open even wider, which was probably his plan all along. Of course, who was I fooling.

Even in this half-light, on looking down to where my legs were wide open and he stood between I saw he was unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans very fast and expertly. I suppose he was well-practised. He yanked them open and there was his bulge which I guessed from the size of it was aching and straining to get out of their prison. Then there it was! He pulled down his shorts and it popped out, seriously erect and seriously big and seriously very close to my inner thighs, by mere inches.

His hand was freely masturbating me, feeling me, enjoying my warmth, the passion between my legs I had opened for him. I looked across again at the tree, its tiny lights still twinkling but now perhaps in a little embarrassed sort of way at what it was witnessing. I’m sure if it could it would have averted its gaze.  Could they have been or was I totally losing it by this point?

Standing back again I looked into his quite nice face if not now very mischievous, reached and grabbed the elastic of my red knickers and pulled them clean away without asking. What would I even have said, yes please, please take off my knickers?  I was no so ridiculously exposed to his eyes, his hands and of course his bulge that was now expanding and unleashed into an impressive erection, skin peeled back and glistening at the tip. It was no longer a case of you show me yours and I’ll show you mine, he had just taken it all for granted and made sure I showed him mine

Again, between my thighs, spreading me, my intimacy opening showing him the way he wanted to go as I perched there semi-naked in a state of undress on that table in and all-but empty function room while the hubbub from the bar just behind the double-doors we’d come through was just background noise.

I was shaking, not with panic but anticipation. I knew I knew what was happening, what was going to happen, what I knew I now wanted to happen. I wasn’t disappointed as he closed on me and I felt and watched his erection slipping inside me between my now welcoming thighs. Tight I felt myself stretching open, it felt ok as I breathed into it, into him. We kissed and I felt his entire length, or so I thought it was, move inside my hips and kept moving in tiny thrusts each one becoming progressively deeper, harder, firmer.

I accepted and received him feverishly by now as we cast no shadows in a room dominated by a single shadow, ours merely getting absorbed with the rest.  I too felt absorbed, in this happening, this exchange of nothing better than naked lust, total surrender and abandon as we both knew for sure that it’s highly unlikely afterwards we’d ever meet or possibly even see each other again. So we absorbed all we could from this one encounter, unplanned, spontaneous, unashamed. I’m sure he was also hoping come the morning he wouldn’t regret like I was. I’m sure I won’t, though I may feel a little guilty I won’t be wishing it hadn’t happened.

It did, had, happened, in that room we fucked him naked inside me having pulled up my shirt to reveal my bra now askew and certainly exposing one boob and nipple in its entirety to his kisses and travelling tongue as he almost bent double to take it into his mouth.  I adored the shivers it sent down to my hips further enticing me on and on, him also, on and on, in and in, our cavorting had gone beyond even caring whether we were alone or not, even though we were but for the increasingly uncomfortable-looking tree.

I felt him moving, warming, against my thighs, his sweat brushing mine, our initial flows of desire already mingling and anticipating more of something more. I couldn’t stop myself wrapping one leg around him, holding him or trying to, urging him deeper even though I knew I couldn’t get him any more inside me but he tried and sometimes momentarily felt as though he was as he forced my legs open more.  I let him, I let him, I let him do it, this man with no name fucking this woman with no name as I don’t think I even told him mine: and then my orgasm broke my resolve even further, making my hips grip his sex so tight and my breath leave me winded, My breast shook, I almost wanted him to stop with the almost unbearable sensation from cumming but he quickened his pace and thrust ever-longer and determined. It was honest, open, unsullied by small-talk or trivial details as he whispered, “I see you love being fucked then”. All I thought was, oh my god you’re right, though I didn’t say it, I didn’t say anything, just mouthed yes though not sure he even noticed in the fervour.

He felt thicker now, he’d grown even more inside me. He eased me back onto the table now laying me flat and pressed down, holding my wrists down over me, together and dug deep of his last reserves as I heard him whisper again, “I forgot to bring condoms”.  I replied, rather flippantly probably, “oops, so did I, oh well”. We were now both overcome by our pent-up enthusiasm that neither of us cared and even if I’d known at the start I wouldn’t have as he finally cum, flooding my thighs or that’s how it seemed as he seem to almost experience death throes.  I also cum again, unavoidably, triggered by his ecstatic release which he freely emptied into my thighs and I freely accepted.

We were unstoppable, as was his orgasm from what I seen as his body totally spent gave way and pulled back though still inside mine growing softer and slipping out.  As he did I tried to close my legs but wasn’t quick enough and some inevitably trickled out onto the table and down my leg. The white creamy substance, the sperm he gave me, from one stranger to another: a Secret Santa indeed.

After the fall, as in our fall from any sense of decorum, we put ourselves respectively back together; me slipping on a spare clean pair of knickers of a different red, I always carry a spare (just in case…) and tights while adjusting all my other bits and finally retrieving my jumper; him tucking his now less than substantial but marginally more satisfied-self back into his pants. I checked my watch and realised it was still only just after 9pm, and I didn’t even have the excuse of being drunk. I glanced over at the tree still twinkling so innocently despite what it had just been party too, still soft blue light not suddenly gone red in a blush. I gave it a smile and hung my red knickers on one of its branches: a gift for putting up with us.

This was all me, my own doing, no one or nothing else to blame except my own unbridled horniness. That was last Christmas so you see, this Christmas has a lot to live too, but there’s still plenty of time, and opportunity, yet.

© 2018 Emmaleela