Christmas Presence

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You’ve got to use your imagination to picture the full humiliation.

It was Christmas Eve, and I’d let myself into Charlie’s apartment. I knew his office Christmas party would go on a while, so I figured he’d be in more than a good mood by the time he made it home. I was bound (literally) and determined to extract a proposal out of him tonight. We’d been dating three years and my mom was antsy to plan a big white wedding. So I’d let out all the stops.

I had slathered my naked self with body shimmer. Last year Charlie asked me to get my nipples pierced, and, ever the good sport and hopeful bride-to-be, I had readily agreed. Each shiny ring had a bright red bow attached. Before I fastened the handcuffs, I’d strapped my ankles together, adjusted the ball gag, and put an entire tube of K-Y jelly up my ass. Too bad I wouldn’t be able to see Charlie’s face as he unlocked his door.

After a rather uncomfortable time, I was beginning to think I should unlock the cuffs when I heard the tell-tale sound of the elevator door opening. There was a jingle of keys—but quite another sound—the sound of two well-lubricated men laughing and joking. Shit. Charlie was definitely not alone. See how the best-laid plans can go awry?

Hastily, I crawled into the powder room in the entry hall. Pushing the door closed with my nicely rounded and sloppy ass, I closed my eyes and prayed. How dumb could I be? The key to the cuffs was still on the hall rug where so recently I was on display. I huddled next to the sink and my worst fears were soon confirmed.

“Charlie, I’ve got to take a leak. Where’s the head?”

A deep, mature voice. A voice exuding power and class. An English accent. I knew that voice. It was Charlie’s boss Mr. Waring. Henry Waring, who’d come into town for the annual Christmas party at his company’s top-producing office. Charlie had been beside himself with the thrill and honor of it all.

“He’s flying himself in on his private jet, Robin,” he’d babbled. “I’m gonna pick him up from the airport,” he’d glowed, tying his Christmas tie for perhaps the fifth time to get the knot just right. I’d lain in the bed, resentfully thinking Charlie was a bit of a suck-up. “Clean up the apartment real good before you go, just in case.” I’d been so pissed off at the order, his words didn’t have a chance to sink in. “Just in case” meant the big man himself might be coming over. Double shit.

The door opened, and there was Henry Waring, his short dark hair flecked with gray, ankara escort his perpetual tan broken by a puzzled flash of white teeth. He hastily shut the door.

“I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, my love,” he said in his sexy English drawl, “but I suspect Charlie didn’t arrange you in here solely for my pleasure, did he?”

I shook my head, felt my face turning as bright red as the damn bows on my tits. Mr. Waring’s eyes cruised all over me, and my whole body took on a vibrant flush.

“What’s that, old man?” shouted Charlie from the kitchen. Old man? Who was Charlie kidding with his English slang? He’d been born in suburban Long Island.

“Nothing, Charlie. I’ve just remembered. I’ve left the Ipcress file in my office. Be a good lad and go back and get it. Hate to trouble you, but it’s most urgent.” Mr. Waring winked down at me.

The Ipcress File. An old Michael Caine movie if I wasn’t mistaken. Charlie would be at the company all night looking for it.

“Don’t worry about me, Charlie,” boomed Mr. Waring through the closed door. “I’ll just pop my feet up and watch the telly. Leave out the single malt, there’s a good boy, and I’ll be right as rain. Then when you come back we can discuss your promotion.”

Charlie’s muffled agreement penetrated , and not before long we heard the front door slam. Mr. Waring had thus far not unzipped to relieve himself, but I was dismayed to see him begin to do so. I closed my eyes and turned toward the wall.

“I can still see you,” he said meditatively. “Quite a pretty package.” I heard his pants drop to the floor, the clink of the belt buckle on the tile, as he kneeled down.

“Don’t mind if I do, my love. It’s been a very long day. Your Charlie is a bit of a bore, what?”

I felt the huge mushroom head of his penis poking determinedly at my butthole. Surely he wouldn’t–?

But it seems he would. I was filled beyond any expectation by a very long, very thick dick. He sunk in effortlessly and sighed.

“Delightful. So tight yet so slippery. I commend you.”

What could I say? Obviously nothing, as the ball gag prevented me from screaming in frustration. He reached around and began toying with my ribboned breasts. As he inched out of me, I found myself in the embarrassing position of butting desperately back into him. He picked up the pace and I matched him thrust for thrust. When he finally reached down to pinch my clit, I lost it, drooling and groaning around the ball gag. I quivered escort ankara from head to toe as his cum shot into me, gallons of hot English cum.

“Hmm. What did Charlie say your name was? Robin, isn’t it?”

I nodded my head weakly. I was a mass of satisfied jelly.

“Did you drive yourself over, Robin?”

Again I nodded.

“Excellent. I have an alternate plan for the evening. Do say you’ll join me.”

I would have followed this guy and his cock anywhere. They say power and money are aphrodisiacs, but Henry Waring had more than just power and money going for him.

“Now, love, where is the key?”

I cocked my head toward the hallway.

“Silly me. I expect you’d like me to remove that nasty gag, wouldn’t you?” He bent to do so, wiping my lips with Charlie’s Santa hand towel.

“You have a lovely mouth. Make it useful.” He thrust his cum-covered cock toward me, and I obediently licked him clean. To my immense satisfaction, he became hard again in no time. He held onto my curly auburn head as he deep-throated me, splashing my tonsils with more of his delicious juices.

“Have you ever been to Vegas, Robin?” he asked helping me to stand at last. My whole body was racked with pins and needles, the ribbons untied and dangling foolishly from my nipple rings.

“No, sir.”

“Do call me Henry, my dear. I’m feeling exceptionally lucky tonight. A regular Christmas miracle. Perhaps a few days at Bellagio, what? I keep a suite there.”

“But I don’t have any clothes.”

Henry snapped his fingers. “Not to worry. A few phone calls ahead and you’ll be taken care of.” He appraised me critically. “A size fourteen?”

I swallowed. “No, Henry, a sixteen.”

“But a designer twelve,” he grinned. “Forty DD? Size 9 shoe?”

Wow, the guy was a connoisseur of the female form. Again I nodded.

“Just grab your coat and boots, my dear,” he said, walking through Charlie’s apartment speed-dialing. He poured the scotch Charlie had made for him down the sink. Scribbling a note for my ex-boyfriend, he packed me up and we got into my car. I was naked under my camel-hair coat, and Henry stroked me absently as I drove out to the airport. He mumbled into his cell phone the whole way.

His jet was under lights, a crew scurrying to get it ready for our impromptu trip.

“Good evening, Mr. Waring. We’ve filed your flight plan with McCarren. You’re fueled and ready to roll.”

“Indeed I am, Ken. Come, Robin, we’ll chase ankara escort bayan the sunset west.” He gave my hand an affectionate squeeze.

I spent the trip with my head in his lap, face down, of course. Every now and again he put the jet on autopilot so he could bring me the same kind of satisfaction I was giving him. A limo from the Bellagio was waiting for us on the tarmac. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Waring, miss,” said the driver obsequiously.

“You may be the first to congratulate us, Pete. This lovely young lady has consented to be my bride.”

My mouth dropped open, and what with all the work it had done lately plus the gag, my jaw was pretty sore.

“Yes, Robin, I told you I was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” he smiled, rubbing my plump lower lip. “I’ve been meaning to marry for some time. Must have someone to leave the business to after all,” he shrugged. “You’ve rather fallen into my lap, so to speak. Charlie’s loss is my gain.”

Who could argue? Even when the lawyer met us in Henry’s suite with the marriage license and prenup I signed gladly. There was a slinky little wedding dress to step into which barely held my boobs in check, and a bouquet of roses, holly and mistletoe. The wedding chapel was in readiness as we pledged undying love to one another early Christmas morning.

“Do you take birth control pills, Robin?” Henry whispered, when we were pronounced man and wife.

“I do.”

“Throw them away, my love. This time next year I expect to be stuffing my cock up my pregnant wife’s ass. It’s always been one of my fetishes.”

“I hope you fuck my cunt as nicely as you’ve fucked my ass,” I said sweetly.

“Nicely?” he growled. “I’ll show you nice.” And he did.

This Christmas we flew into my old city for the annual company Christmas party. As Henry predicted, I am very pregnant and he is very happy, his longed-for fantasy complete. Charlie greeted us at the airport with a rueful smile and finally got me alone midway through the festivities.

“You’re looking great, Robin.”

“I’m looking pregnant.” I took a sip of gingerale. I was dying of curiosity. Whatever had my husband written the night he’d snatched me away? So of course, I asked.

“Mr. Waring—Henry—thanked me for the best Christmas present he’d ever gotten. I confess, I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. I mean, I saw the ribbons and the bondage stuff, but it took me awhile to figure out what had happened. I guess I missed out, huh?”

I smiled mysteriously. “You’ll never know.” I caught my husband’s eye across the office floor and winked. I knew he had a little light bondage planned for later. For an international tycoon, he is a surprisingly sentimental man.

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