‘You can do this, can’t you?’ he said. ‘Put it in. I’ll hold the thong out of the way for you. Kneel in front of me.’
‘You’re horrible,’ I moaned, but I did as I was told, because I was quite excited by then.
I greased up the plug and reached around, straining to push it as easily as I could into my bottom. I’d done this a few times now and I knew it wasn’t impossible, but this plug was quite large and I had to huff and puff a bit and pull it out and try again a fair few times.
Dan held the thong aside patiently, uttering words of encouragement.
‘That’s it. Push. Get it in. Does that burn, love? Like it does when I fuck you there? That’s good, now you’re my little red-nosed reindeer. Without the red nose.’
I had a feeling something else might be red before he was finished with me.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘hands and knees, on the floor. Make your way back into the living room.’
I crawled along, Dan at my heels, until I reached the sofa on which I had thrown the riding crop.
‘Ah, here it is,’ he said, picking it up and holding it close to my face. ‘What do you think?’
‘Weird kind of Christmas present,’ I grumbled.
‘You might think so. But I’ve been dreaming of a red hot Christmas.’
‘Christmarse,’ I said.
‘Smart arse.’ He sliced the crop down on my bottom. It hurt a lot.
‘Ouch!’ I rubbed the affected area.
‘I like the idea of you sitting uncomfortably while you eat your turkey. I like it a lot.’
He began to beat a swift tattoo with the crop on my poor defenceless bottom while I bent forward and yowled into the cushions. That thing created a blaze in no time. I writhed and moaned but he gave me a good thirty solid strokes, all over my bottom and thighs, until I thought my skin was so tight it might burst.
‘You’re so mean,’ I howled, once he had put the thing down.
‘Tell me you don’t love it,’ he challenged.
Of course, I couldn’t.
‘It hurts,’ I prevaricated.
‘Of course it does. But that doesn’t mean you don’t love it, does it?’
I maintained a sulky silence, but only until he lowered his pyjama trousers and pushed, swiftly and surprisingly, into me from behind. The little plaited tail of the butt plug got wedged between his pelvis and my sore bottom as he thrust, creating an extra element of friction that I quite enjoyed. I also pushed back against him, revelling in the slap of his skin against my hot, aching bum and the way his cock jiggled the plug each time he plunged in.
‘Merry … Christmas …’ he panted. He curled two fingers between my soaked pussy lips, just in time for me to crash into a mighty climax.
He followed suit, clutching at the butt-plug tail, rolling his hips against my curved cheeks.
We slumped against the sofa together, hot, sticky bodies entwined.
‘What about your Christmas blowjob?’ I protested. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll want that now.’
‘Sometimes traditions can get a bit stale,’ he said, yawning. ‘It’s good to freshen up the routine.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Cream instead of brandy butter. White lights on the tree instead of multicoloured. Hot sex dressed as a reindeer instead of a blowjob. Shall I send that tip in to the festive style magazines?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t fall asleep on me,’ I said, alarmed, as his full weight pinned me to the sofa. ‘We’ve got to be at Mum and Dad’s for half twelve, remember. We need to shower, dress, breakfast, remove butt plug, all the usual morning stuff.’