("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: xmas.txt (MF, rom) Authors name: Ximenes (address withheld) Story title : Christmas and the Choir Mistress -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Christmas and the Choir Mistress By Ximenes (address withheld) *** A single man's Christmas takes an unforeseen and very welcome turn. A love story telescoped into 24 hours. (MF, rom) *** It's quarter to one on Christmas morning. The midnight service has finished, and the entire village has gone back home to drink or sleep away the hours until daybreak. In the church there's just me, tidying hymnbooks and setting the chairs and music stands ready for morning service. I'm not particularly religious; I sing in the choir, and I live almost next door to the church. And I'm strong and healthy, so I'm the obvious choice for church caretaker. Oh, and I'm still single in my mid twenties, so there's nobody else in my life to distract me. But I'm not alone in the church. Kay, the organist, is putting away music. The service finished ten minutes ago, and she's usually off home to her husband by now. So I go to see if she needs some help. I'd quite like to get home myself. I know the church like the back of my hand but, even so, there's something spooky about a darkened church at dead of night. Every rustle, each pop of the heating system, each contraction crack on the masonry - your mind goes into overdrive. Know what I mean? There's something not right with Kay. She's not really tidying away her music. Her eyes are red - she's been crying. She tells me to go home; she'll lock up when she leaves. But I know for a fact she doesn't have a key. So she can't lock up. Something's very odd. So I challenge her. She says she's going to bed down in one of the pews until morning - the comfy ones at the back with cushions; the ones near the boiler house and away from the howling draughts coming off the stained glass windows. Says she wants to do some practice before the service in the morning. "Kay, you've gotta be joking. Sleep here - on Christmas night? The service isn't until ten - there's loads of time to do a run-through before people arrive". I press her harder, and eventually the truth comes out - Jim's left her - done a runner that morning. She can't face going back to an empty house, and there's no relations close by. Doesn't want anyone else to know - doesn't want to lose face. Doesn't want to be the subject of village gossip. Poor girl - as if she isn't already. It's one o'clock. I take her by the arm and almost frogmarch her out of the church and down the road the few steps to my house. The place is small, but it's cosy and it's mine. To my surprise Kay accepts a stiff whiskey (she's never been seen to drink in public), and over the next half hour her story begins to emerge. Jim has a secret vice - he's a gambler. He's used half a dozen credit cards up to their limits, and Kay's just discovered that the couple are thousands of pounds in debt. Kay is a receptionist at an opticians in the High Street, and there's no way she'll be able to pay off the debts on her salary. She confirms the village rumours that "things haven't been all they could be" between her and Jim for some time. Jim's unlikely to be back soon because there's also local creditors he's borrowed from, and they're getting impatient for their money. Poor Kay - too honest and trusting for her own good. She married quite late - in her late twenties, and now, at around thirty-two, her world's falling down around her. And it's the bleakest possible outlook on Christmas Day. Mercifully, there are no children. Kay confronted Jim about the debts early on Christmas Eve. Things rapidly became very heated, and after a blazing argument Jim packed a case and walked out. It's quarter to two. Kay makes noises about having to go home, but I refuse to let her go. For a couple of weeks now she's been saying their central heating is on the blink and that their house is cold - she's been coming to church dressed as if going to the Pole. It suddenly dawns on me why - the gas must have been cut off for non-payment of bills. The house will be icy at this time of night. Besides, I don't want Kay doing anything silly. Everyone in the village likes Kay, and we'd be devastated if she did a suicide out of desperation. And again, organists are like gold dust around here. If we lost Kay it could be years before we found a replacement. Gotta be practical and think of these things. And I'm quite fond of Kay. She never makes fun of my stammer, which has always been my huge social handicap. She's quite short, "cuddly" - chubby without being fat. She's freckled, with a prominent bust and what my grandfather used to describe as "having two handfuls of arse". She's clean, decent, cheerful and bubbly (when she's not with Jim) - just the sort of person to make me feel confident and bring me out of myself. So I persuade her to stay at my place. I quickly tidy up the bedroom, and put her in my bed. It's had an electric blanket on for three hours, and I know it'll be warm as toast. Being a well brought up boy, I sleep on the sofa. She has nothing to sleep in, so I find one of my woolly mountaineering shirts, extra long and fleecy. Looks as if it'll come down to her knees - certainly adequate to cover her modesty. It's quarter past two and we've just finished the "no I couldn't possibly's" and the "are you sure it's not too much trouble's", and we're finally asleep. Well she is. I'm bloody uncomfortable, cold and stiff on the living room floor. I couldn't get comfy on the sofa so I took the cushions off it and laid them out on the floor. I've got a crick in my neck, and every time I turn over in the sleeping bag I bang my knee on the coffee table or stub my toe on the bookcase. It's three o'clock. I'm still not asleep and I've just heard the church bell ring. And four o'clock too. How many hours till we can get up? It's eight o'clock. Must have nodded off. I can hear movement in the bedroom above - Kay's stirring. I struggle out of the sleeping bag. Every muscle is aching and I feel shit. Put the kettle on, make tea. I run a bath for Kay, and she confirms what I guessed about her gas being cut off. She has had to wash with kettles of water for a fortnight, and a simple bath is like a luxury Christmas present to her. That alone gets me a tender kiss on the lips - too much to handle at this time of the morning. Kay bathes; I get us some breakfast. Nine o'clock; we're fed, bathed, dressed. We drive quickly to Kay's place. She puts on a change of clothes; I set up some timers on her standard lamps for security at night. I drop her off at church to get ready for the service; I go home and put my turkey joint in the oven plus all the trimmings got ready on Christmas Eve. The food I thought would last me Christmas and Boxing Day will now be eaten by two people today! Quarter to ten and I'm in church ready for the service. The church is packed; the old days of everyone tumbling out of the pubs for Midnight Mass have gone, and our congregation seems to have divided itself fairly evenly between the midnight and morning services. Kay catches my eye at one point and smiles at me; otherwise she is as professional and competent as ever. I feel like death warmed up. I croak my lines; I miss a cue in the anthem; I breathe in the wrong places; I sing badly. No matter; this Christmas my mind is on other things. There'll be other Christmases to get the music right. Now it's 11.15 and the service is done. Everyone scuttles off home to their turkeys. Kay and I lock the church and drift down the lane to my place where we're greeted at the door by the gorgeous smell of roasting food. I make coffee and while we're drinking it we do some quick planning. Kay can't bear the thought of going home to a cold, empty house on Christmas morning, and we agree that she'll stay at my place at least until after the New Year. By then she'll be facing creditors and I'll be fully back at work in my accountant's office. At mid-day Kay goes home and returns around 1-ish with a suitcase of clothes, presents, and bags of food for her Christmas meals - we'll eat mine today and hers tomorrow. Meanwhile I've been busy in the kitchen. Ten years of bachelorhood have made me at least useful in the kitchen, if not particularly stylish or innovative as a cook. Kay's changed, too - old jeans and a baggy sweater. She's let her hair down and looks softer, more girlish than in her formal choir mistress persona. We eat at about quarter to two. It's a long, slow, leisurely meal, which lasts all afternoon. There's nothing we want to watch on the telly, so she rifles through my CD collection and chooses things from it which she likes. Some Paul Simon, some mbalax from Senegal, Congolese soukous music. By the time we've eaten ourselves to a standstill it's dark outside, with my Christmas tree lights and lots of nightlights giving the lounge a romantic atmosphere. During one of the gaps between courses I've put a match to the logs in my fire grate, and now they're burning well. We take coffee and brandy into the lounge and collapse on the sofa together. She snuggles up with her back into me, her feet drawn up under her, her head leaning on my shoulder. I put an arm round her to hold her to me; the arm comes to rest on her breast. I wait for her to react, to make a comment, to push it away, but she doesn't. She folds my arm into her breast and locks me into her. I reach forward to kiss her and she leans back to meet my lips. We're chattering away as if we've been together for years. She's happy and relaxed and it's suddenly become one of the best Christmases ever. And it's not over yet! For the rest of the evening we veg out on the sofa watching whatever is least objectionable on telly. By ten o'clock we've got through a couple of bottles of wine, not to mention a large amount of brandy. I go up and put the electric blanket on. When I come back down, Kay has moved, clearing dishes into the kitchen. I sit at one end of the sofa; she returns and stretches out along the sofa with her head resting on a cushion on my lap. I cradle her chest with my arm. She feels different - she has taken off her bra and is naked under the sweater. I cock an eyebrow at her and she smiles at me and raises her head to kiss me. My hand is exploring under her sweater. Two heavy, soft, pliant cushions of flesh, warm and inviting. She groans as I roll and pull the nipples under my fingers. "Kay, if we make love tonight... er... are you protected?" "No," she says. "Shall I go up to the 'Waggon and Horses' and get some," I reply, very hesitantly - am I being too forward and making too many assumptions? Have I just overstepped the mark and ruined the day? "Oh please, I hadn't thought of getting them at the pub." YESSSSSS - she's up for it! So at quarter past ten at night I'm struggling into shoes and coat and trudging up to the pub to get a packet of three from the slot machine in their toilets. To get to the toilets I've got to go through the bar, and I feel conspicuous because I'm not one of the regular drinkers. And in the toilets there's someone who knows me from the village, so I make as if to use a cubicle until he's gone. Then I quickly buy the condoms, tuck them into my pocket and try to stroll nonchalantly back through the bar and into the street. Everybody in the village knows I'm single; if they see me with a packet of three every bloody nosey parker in this place will be watching my cottage to see who I've got in with me. Thank God I've set up some lights in Kay's place - if they saw her house dark and empty they'd put two and two together straight away! When I get back home Kay has done the washing up and there's a final glass of brandy waiting for us both. It's a quarter to eleven and we're both yawning. Kay gets up and pulls me to my feet. "Bedtime, pal," she says. And before I can say anything about who's sleeping where she pulls me towards the stairs. I don't need much encouragement! A quick flick round the room to switch off lights, and we're off upstairs. On a whim I take up a couple of candles with me. By candlelight we undress. The room is cool but not cold. As Kay strips she faces away from me, but she turns to me in her bra and knickers. In the warm, flickering orange light of the candles her face is glowing. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and the freckles on her face are matched by those on her arms and shoulders. They end abruptly at the point where her breasts swell from her chest. Her breasts are very white, almost transparent looking, with blue veins tracing random patterns across them. Her aureoles are brown, with dark pink nipples already standing out from them. Her breasts are large and full, and almost conceal a brown birthmark in the valley between them. Her waist is small and emphasizes the luscious swell of her hips. The hips in turn lead the eye to her generous pubic hair, a dark ginger in colour. I suddenly realise I've come to a halt while I drink her in, and it's beginning to unsettle her. "Well, do you like what you see? You're staring hard enough," she says. "I'm sorry," I mumble. "You look wonderful." She snorts. "Tits too big, bum too big, thighs too fat" she says, and I sense she's close to tears. This isn't how I intended it to be. I take her in my arms and kiss her for a long time while she wraps her arms first round me, and then under my shirt against my skin. "Let's go to bed. I'm getting cold" she says. We quickly strip off our remaining clothes and jump into the toasty warm bed, under the duvet. And as the candles flicker in draughts from my windows, we're in each other's arms straight away, kissing, rubbing, delving. We kiss and kiss for ages until we're panting for breath. I kiss and nibble her earlobes which turn out to be very sensitive and then her neck which is even more so. She writhes against me and a warm hand wraps round my penis, pulling it and willing it even more erect as I move my kisses down to her clavicles and her sumptuous breasts. Her skin smells of fragrant talc from her bath earlier. As I kiss the deep valley between her breasts and the round swell of their outside edges, she pulls my mouth firmly onto a nipple and holds me to her while I suck and lick and make little bites into the spikey nub and corrugated aureole. And then I hold her hips with both hands and move down to her navel, and trace with my tongue the delta of tight curls which lead me to her cleft. She opens her thighs wider and wider as I move down across the top fold of skin above the cleft, and she gasps as first my tongue and then my lips and teeth make teasing contact with her clitoris. She sucks a breath in as if in pain and the grip of her hands on my shoulders tightens involuntarily as I flick my tongue across her clit. And as I delve my tongue deep into the intense heat and wetness of her opening, she removes her hands, and bends both legs up high and crosses them across my back, locking me into her as I gently hold the petals of her lower lips apart and probe further and further inside. And when I break the embrace and come up for air she has a condom unwrapped and ready to use. She pushes me onto my back and nimbly straddles me, facing my feet and lowering her vagina above my mouth so that I renew my assault on her. And I feel the amazing warmth of the embrace of her mouth around my penis, which swells to meet her and I become terrified of ejaculating too soon. And Kay deftly slips the condom over my member and rolls it down to her satisfaction, then dismounts from me, swings herself round, and straddles me, facing towards me. And as I reach to grasp the breasts poised above me she takes my penis in one hand, opens her wetness with the other and guides me inside her, sinking in one liquid movement until I am inside her to the core. The candlelight is throwing deep shadows from her breasts over her torso and the moving golden light and black shadows emphasize the magnificence and generosity of her body. But we are also projected onto the curtains and thus to anyone passing, so I lean to each side and blow out the candles. In the pungent aromas of candle smoke and of our arousal I reach up and take her bounty in each hand, and we rock together in a triangle of ecstasy until I can't hold back any more. I warn Kay that I'm about to come and she encourages me; she locks her feet under my legs to anchor me to her and as I thrust upwards with all my strength she pumps downwards, and leans forwards for a kiss as we orgasm. It's a long time since I've done this, and I thrust and come and pump for all I'm worth. And at the height of it all, the seriousness of mating dissolves into helpless giggles as our lovemaking produces squelching noises which echo against the bare bedroom walls. We break apart, spent, and I remove the condom as I slip out from her. It's been the best, most fulfilling act of sex I've ever had, and I know that it's been special for Kay too. I feel more alive than ever before. Everything I experience feels more intense. I feel terribly protective towards this woman whom I've only got to know within the last twenty-four hours. I remember that I haven't switched off my alarm clock, and as I do so I notice it's close to midnight. And as Christmas Day ends we turn to each other and she pulls me to her, across her, and opens her legs to me as we begin another, drowsy, lovemaking. Christmas Days don't come better than this! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 27