Under the Mistletoe

You are pouring yourself a coffee; you sense someone behind you but you don’t turn around but wait expectantly; closing your eyes and unbuttoning your blouse by the two top buttons, making your collar loose and revealing a little of the flesh of your shoulder. A set of lips softly touch the exposed left shoulder, two hands embrace you and cup your breasts and begin to rub the sides slowly back and forth along their outlines through the fabric; you can feel a hard pressure against the crack of your ass, you push slightly back to feel it even more. The lips move to the middle of your shoulder, then to the soft spot between your shoulder blade and your neck. You feel the warm spongy texture of a tongue tracing the outline of your neck up to your ear lobe. You try to reach behind to feel the firmness with your hand but it’s pressed into you. You can’t but help give a shudder as you feel the hardness start to slowly move side to side, rubbing its mass across the denim, seemingly desperate to wipe the fabric that’s keeping it away from its goal away.

The hands move from your breasts and down your sides to your waist, slowly pulling your blouse out of its trappings of the jean captor. The warm of the flesh slowly traces from your earlobe to the nape of your neck, along the outline of your neck and then to the base of your neck and blade. You feel two hands moving the bottom of the back of your blouse up past your mid back to your bra strap. The pressure of two lips distract you from the gently fingertips tracing the outline of your bra and then another on the edge of your shoulder.

The pressure on your ass disappears but you aren’t disappointed; through the thin fabric of your blouse you can feel hot breath moving down to your exposed skin of your back. You shiver slightly when you feel the initial touch of the moist warm of the tongue on your right side just below your strap; you take a sharp intake of breath as you feel the two hands reaching around and the friction of the fingertips sliding up and down your inner thighs, each pass moving deeper, closer to the zipper of your jeans.

The combination of the hot breath and the moistness of spongy flesh sliding along your and then down the middle of your back, inching slowly closer to the top of jeans makes you give an involuntary spasm of your quickly awakening pussy lips. There is a kiss on the left waist, a kiss on the right side of your waist and a long kiss in the small of your back – with a quick flick of the tongue into the barely exposed crack.

You can no longer resist, you open your eyes and turn around and see nothing, you no longer feel nothing except for the wetness that’s slowly seeping through the front of your jeans….

“Hey! What cha doing? Doesn’t look like you’re doing invoices?”

I heard your voice boom out from directly behind me, taking me out of my lazily typing fantasy, I hadn’t even heard you enter the damn office, let alone come and stand right behind me. As my eyes shot up at your smiling face I gathered that you had been there long enough to read my little slip of concentration.

It was five in the afternoon on a almost spring-like Christmas Eve; once again we were the only ones working still – the advantage of being single in the boss’s eyes – we didn’t have family expectations to balance with what had to be out on the twenty sixth, so no morally sound reason for us to not have it done. One would have expected us to be friends or at least on friendly terms in our similar situations, but we weren’t. The reality was that we were both junior assistant managers waiting for the boss to name who would get the empty vice presidental position that had opened up two weeks earlier. Overtime wasn’t a cooperative effort, it was a competitive one, one that I planned to win and then rub your face in it as I sent you for coffee; which I knew you would do to me if you got it instead of me.

I had slacked off for the past two days on purpose just so I could take advantage of working late that night, otherwise I’d have to contend with the neighbors asking me over for a festive drink and another introduction to one of the quickly slimming line up of available women in town. Not that anyone would be interested in me any way, I was considered a distant emotionally unavailable egotist who cared more about the bottom line than human relations – and that was my mother’s nice opinion of me, my acquaintences just called me an asshole without the expansion of reasoning.

I didn’t know why you were working though, I would have figured the Queen of the heartless bitches would have been out stealing Christmas presents from the orphanage or at least setting fire to the Salvation Army Santa’s beard, but here you were, deciding that you were going to be my own personal lump of coal. Lucky me.

“Actually,” I said, “This is private code for more bracing angles to that sweet little thing in the warehouse.”

You snorted, “ya, like that would happen – unless she’s into necrophelia.”

I growled. So I hadn’t had a date for a while, neither had you – I pointed that out and you bent over closer and with sweetly dipped words of dagger keeness whispered, “True, but when I’m called a dickless wonder it’s not because of a genetic short-sightedness – it’s a choice.”

I could feel my cheeks reddening slightly; not from you reading what I had written, or the slur against my manhood but more from the pleasant sensation that the smell of your body caused to run from my nostrils to my brain: red licorice and mocha coffee – what the hell was going on in my head? You were dressed in that non-descript grey blouse that hid your breasts to the point of non existence and knee length skirt that revealed not even a slightest of hints that you were even a woman; hell you even had your hair cut short and almost spiked to give you an androgynous look just in case the boss thought the position in the higher offices were ‘men’s work’. You wore almost no make up, though with your rounded baby-ish looking face, make up would have made you look like a nine year old hooker. I must have been over worked to let me even consider you as anything but a man eating shark and I quickly dismissed the notion in my head that I wanted to be the man you were eating. I hated when just the spirit of a season made me think that I was missing something and would settle for anything, especially something as repugnant as some slitless wonder like you.

I closed the word program that left only the invoice excel sheet exposed on the screen. “What do you want, anyway? Trying to sabatoge the numbers?”

“Hardly,” was the answer, “You do that quite handily all on your lonesome. I just figured since you aren’t quick on the draw and I’m going to be here a while longer making sure you don’t change my work…”

“Like I would do that,” I choked out through bared teeth, “I can count past ten.”

You rolled your eyes and gave my shoulder a soft reassuring pat, “And one day I hope your dreams will come true…but what I came in for was to see if you wanted a hoist of eggnog to this...” You looked around my office dramatically, “Magical season of togetherness and harmony….and because if it doesn’t get drunk the smell of that shit will keep us out of here for a week.”

I didn’t want to but as you swayed a bottle of rum around my face, I decided that I couldn’t see the harm in one drink. I followed you out into the main receptionists area and saw that you had already had the carton of eggnog out and two long stemmed crystal wine goblets out on the desk.

“Pretty classy,” I popped out with, “Considering the company.”

You gave a shrug as you poured a little rum into each goblet. You then poured the eggnog and finally said, “Well, it is the season for illusions. Here you go.” You handed me a goblet and and as we clinked our goblets together you added, “Eat my shit and die.”

“I would but the smell would remind me too much of you,” I returned and we both drunk the filled goblets down quickly, neither of us taking the eye off the other.

“Another?”

I thought for a moment, I had all the time in the world, what would another eggnog hurt? Besides if the only reason you were here was because you were a paranoid cunt, then I even had more time to waste.

“Sure, what the hell.” You nodded and the next goblet was half and half. The third was half and half, but after than, it was a thimble of eggnog and after raiding the boss’s private stock, a premium rum replaced the left over bottles from the office party that you had found initially.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, it was almost ten. One more and then back to work, I couldn’t believe that it had been almost five hours that we had wasted just drinking in silence. Suprisingly, you suddenly spoke something other than ‘another one’.

“So…” you said drawing the ‘o’ out in a manner that suggested that whatever you were about to say was going to lead to a response that would immediately bore you but you were forcing yourself to ask anyway. “Who’s the poor woman you’re writing to?”

I took a long slug of my now straight rum goblet and answered, “No one. Why? Jealous that I may actually have a sex life or that I have an imagination?”

“Hardly,” you droned, “I just couldn’t figure out what any woman would see in your sorry uncreeative middle management ass, that’s all. So it’s for your own pleasure, is it?”

“I don’t need to fantasize,” I quickly retorted and spat out before I could stop myself, “I awake up, jack off, shower and I’m good to concentrate the whole day. Getting off isn’t about pleasure, it’s about getting the itch out of the way so that I can concentrate on the day. I write that shit so I don’t have to conjure something up when I only have twenty five minutes to shit shower and shave before I’m out the door.”

“And that’s why you’ll lose this promotion to me,” you said prefunctorily.

“Oh really, and how’s that?”

It was your turn to take a large drink before you answered. “I don’t masturbate until I get home at night – that little restless in my pants makes me work harder so it doesn’t overtake my thoughts. Plus I don’t need to think of anything to get off, it’s just something to be done and I get a full nights sleep.”

“Gee, it’s almost ten, you must really be fighting down the itch,” I said sarcastically, “It must be utterly devestating for you to be here with a twit like me.”

“You read my thoughts exactly.”

Enough of this shit, I thought to myself, and finished my drink and told you that I was going to get back to work. You said it was about time I moved my lazy ass, I went to raise my head and shout why the heavens had forsaken me when I noticed what was directly over your head: A mistletoe.

“Well, well,” you said as you followed my eyes with your own, “Mr. no attention escapes my attention finally notices. But now the question is, what does a ballless wonder do about a woman standing under a mistletoe?”

I hesitated, and you took that to mean that I was considering actually kissing you. Just to add insult to injury for my reasonable lack of enthusiasm you put your hands to your cheeks and said through puckered lips, “Or do you need to go home and practice on your pillow?”

I struggled with my conscious for but a mere moment; in the end deciding that humoring you would be more expedient to getting the fuck out of here if I didn’t have to listen to your chides of chicken shit or worse. I leant over and gave you a peck on the cheek.

“What the fuck was that,” you sneered, “that was about as festive as kissing your granny after she’s eaten too much fiber. Show me that you have a set on you…or are you all words and no action?”

I put my hand on your neck and exerted little bit of pressure to pull your head towards mine; neither of us blinked but looked into each other’s eyes, unwilling to let the other see any weakness. At the last moment I closed my eyes when my lips touched yours. At first our mouths just touched with the lightest of feeling against the other for a couple of seconds and then parted for a second and then back together again, this time with a little bit more force. I let my tongue slide out and brush against your lips, circling them, tasting your essence of eggnog and rum and feeling the texture of someone who had a tendency to bite her bottom lip.

Your lips parted and your tongue snaked out into my mouth, exploring deep. I brought my tongue and let them collide as each explored the others territory. It seemed like an hour before I broke from your lips and let go of your neck.

“Now what do you think about that,” I said more rhetorically than questioningly and went to walk away with a smug sense of satisfaction.

Apparently you had different ideas, you gave a sharp blast of air that I imagined lifted your bangs off your forehead. “Knew you were all talk.”

I stopped and turned back around, you were still standing underneath the mistletoe, you’re arms crossed and a slight bemused look on your face. “Excuse me?”

You shrugged your shoulders and commented, “I just figured that since you could type like a stud, you could certainly do it…I guess what they say about those who can’t become teachers is the same for people who write.”

“Oh, I can back it up, babe,” I snarled back and then just looked at you as you moved your hands to your hips and spread your legs apart a little, stretching the fabric enough to have it tight against you; it was the first time in three years that I could tell that you weren’t hiding a bulge.

I came and stood toe to toe with you and put my left arm around your shoulder and brought my mouth to hers again, this using my arm to brace you from pulling back and kissed your lips hard, gnashing my tongue violently against yours. I wasn’t even aware that my other hand had moved to our blouse and had popped one of the buttons to bring one of your breasts out. My hand first cupped it and stroked it with my palm back and forth.

A moan escaped from your lips; despite your disinterested demeanor, you liked it…from me. My hand moved to your nipple; it was hard and enlarged. I rolled it in between my fingertips, feeling the hardness and resisting the urge to pop it from it’s bra and take it in my mouth.

Your breath was coming in gasps now and I could fell your heart was beating like a hammer through my shirt. I let my hand down to unpop the buttons on your blouse, you made no effort to stop me but your hand began to follow the hardness in my suit pants with your finger tips. Once your buttons were undone I moved my hand to your stomach and made circular patterns with my finger tips up and down and along the sides of it. I stopped just short of your skirt top, just skimming the skin just underneath.

Then I broke my hold and stood back, partially to cool my own irrational passion and to piss you off. I didn’t realize that you had closed your eyes but once you figured out that I wasn’t teasing, they opened up and a faint glimpse of lust was replaced with your usual non-plussed stare.

You let out a mock sigh and said, “If you were as hot as you think, you would have kissed the right set of lips in the first place. I guess you just don’t have the right stuff in you.”

“Oh, I have the right stuff in me,” I snarled, “You wouldn’t believe how much stuff I have in me right now.” Damn, that didn’t come out as I intended it to, and you knew it as you gave a little laugh to further spurn me on.

“Well, there’s no way in hell I’m going to kneel to you,” I sniffed though the tightening of my pants probably were telling a different story.

“And I’m not kneeling either,” you retorted back, “So I guess you still are a poser.”

Now it wasn’t just fun and games, this was war; I wasn’t going to let my soon to be coffee wench get the better of me! I looked around and as if the heavens were watching spotted the solution. I reached up and grabbed the mistletoe and your hand and told you to come with me.

I took you into the boss’s office and as you stood there I took the bear skin rug that was hanging on the wall off and laid it on the carpeted floor, then got a chair and hung the mistletoe directly over the rug. I gave you a nod and said, “there.”

“There, what?” you asked snidely.

I waved my hand over the rug and said, “The solution to our power perception dilemma, if we’re both lying on our sides, then we are even. We can kiss each other at the same time without having to decide who goes first – it’s all even-steven.”

“Even steven,” you said with your usual condescending tone, but then a hint of warmth infused itself into your tone as you said, “You can be amazing sometimes.”

I gave you a smile and a wink, “I am, aren’t I?”

“No, but I figured I should at least try to have some of that fake holiday cheer shit – now shut up and give me a real fucking kiss.”

“Merry Christmas,” I said and moved you to the middle of the rug, with only a few inches separating our bodies. I leaned forward and kissed you, first tracing your lips with my tongue and then tenderly sliding into your mouth, I could sense your skin shiver from your unbuttoned blouse. I pulled you closer with my hand on the back of your neck again. My other hand slid your blouse off your shoulders and then I pulled down the cup of your bra so that your right breast popped out. I left your mouth and bent my head down and pulled your puffed nipple into my mouth and suckled it as you moaned. Your hands found my buttons and you quickly had my own shirt joining yours on the floor as you ran your tongue along my shoulder blade and neck.

I took my hand from your neck and quickly unhooked your bra to allow your other breast out of its bound condition. The motion of your other nipple pushing itself against my own sizzled my nerve endings and I took it into my mouth, playing with the nipple I had just left with my slight brushing of my thumb. I opened my mouth wider to take more of your supple breast in. My hand moved around to your ass and with a slight tug, your skirt fell to the floor at the same time your hand had undone my pants button and my pants fell to my ankles, revealing to you that we may have shared one thing in common; the lack of underwear. My cock tip rested on your pubic patch as I moved my hips slightly back and forth, brushing my sac against your heated sex. You in turn ground yourself into my sac as our mouths found each other again and our tongues clashed.

I could feel the cum beginning to boil inside me, I knew that if I didn’t pull away now, in two minutes you’d be giving me a self satisfied smile and degrading me for still not giving you the intended kiss. I released my grip on your ass and stepped back, you looked a little angry but nodded as I swept my hand toward the rug in a gesture to lie down.

We both laid down on our right sides, facing each other with our heads pointed in the opposite direction, your pussy was directly in front of me and my cock stuck out like a baton in front of your face. You looked at my six and a half inches and looked down to my face. “Be thankful that this is a mistletoe kiss,” you said blankly, “If this was any other day I won’t of even stretch my skirt fabric for anything less than nine.”

You brought your leg up and brought your fingers to open your pussy lips wide, I decided not to respond to your attack because contrary to what you said, the thick syrup that gleamed in the office lights told me that you were not doing this merely out of the traditional kiss. To tease me, you inserted a finger into your hole, it slide in smoothly and when you pulled it out it made a slurping sound. I shot my head forward and sucked your flavour off your finger, the salty taste creating a want to make you cum and drink you fully that hit me full force – something I didn’t expect and fought with myself to bring my head back from your sucked clean finger.

You moved your head back and began to play with yourself, ignoring my throbbing cock in front of you. I wouldn’t make the first move, damn it. I reached down to my shaft and began to stroke it in time with your own finger movements up and down those sweet smelling sensuous pussy lips. I didn’t know if I could stop my interest from overtaking my stubbornness for you to initiate this mistletoe kiss, and after five minutes decided that I needed to initiate in order to feel your warmth surrounding me.
This was it; I bent my head towards your hips, half thinking that his was where I would get a knee to the chin and my swollen cock bitten off, but I felt your hot breath grazing the very tip of my cock. I kissed and nibbled the soft skin of your inner thigh as you rolled your tongue along the circumference of my sac. I let my hands rove over your hips, ass cheeks and legs, giving licks and kisses around your pussy without actually tasting the flesh whose aroma made my own sex throb wildly.

I finally brought my finger up to your hot moistness and traced the outline of your vaginal folds as I rolled my tongue after it; you responded in kind by gliding your tongue along my hardness and swirling it around my sensitive, pre-cummed tip. As I let my mouth fully touch your vaginal lips, you swallowed my cock deep into your mouth, your hands putting pressure on my ass and pushing my hips closer to your face.

I should have pulled away, got dressed and walked away, I had fully intended to but your taste and the way your plump clitoris looked as I stuck my tongue into your hot hole put that thought to the very back of my mind. Soon I established that you loved my tongue run the length of your vulva slowly and then around the base of your clit – you were kind enough to grind hard against my face when I did so. I couldn’t get over how good your lips felt against my hardness, the softness of the caresses of my balls. Without even thinking about it, we were face fucking the other in time with the other’s hip movements.

I had no idea what the fuck we were doing, after all, we were supposedly both to be social pariahs; unable to feel any kind of emotion – yet as what we were doing wasn’t something mechanical or aloof.

You slid a well-lubed finger into my rectum, I let out a surprised grunt and you withdrew your finger to the edge and circled the opening with your fingernail. Contrary to my reputation, I can take a hint; I moved my two fingers out of your sopping hole and traced your inner lining with my pinkie finger, getting it thick with your juices. Then I brought it out and slid my longer fingers back in and spread my pinkie until the droplets of your own excitement dribbled onto your anus and to slide my pinkie slowly back and forth, each time letting the tip penetrate your tightness a little farther. I started to get a rhythm going: as my tongue darted along the hood of your clit, my fingers and pinkie thrust in time, picking up speed with your moans you let escape through the lips that hungrily glided along my pulsating shaft.

The furious finger fucking of your pussy and ass had made you regain your resolve to penetrate mine with your finger more forcefully, the extra sensations started to make my head spin. Your hips began to buck back and forth violently and a torrent of your lust splashed onto my hands and slickened my neck, I withdrew my long fingers and just finger fucked your ass and moved my lips down to your own vaginal lips and curled my tongue like a ladle to bring your taste into my own mouth.

With every lap of my tongue into you, you quickened your pace along my length and the your hole thrusting. I could feel my cock pulsating against the sides of your mouth; I would be cumming soon no matter how much I wanted to resist and let you continue to roll your tongue along. I started to move my hips counter to your movements, you seemed to sense how close I was and you took your mouth off my cock and took your finger from my ass and began to stroke my member while you flicked my tip with your tongue.

I groaned loudly as I felt the pressure and the cold draft hitting my tip, I couldn’t take this, I had to cum and I had to cum so you could drink me as I had drunk you. I took my pinkie from your anus and grabbed the back of your head and thrust my hips forward to push my cock deep into your mouth. You didn’t resist as you felt the waves of ejaculation flowing through and splashing onto the back of your throat. With your hand you began to rub my pubic hair furiously, the heat making me cum even harder. With every jettison, I found myself moaning, “baby.” Even once I had dribbled the last bit into your throat, I didn’t want my cock out of your mouth, and you made no move to eject it from you but slowly slid your lips down to the base and then back up to my tip, nibbling the flesh as you went along it.

I took my hand from the back of your head and rolled onto my back, your mouth made a popping sound as my semi flaccid member resisted leaving the warmth of your mouth. You rolled onto your back as well, rubbing your pussy with your hand and murmering, “Oooh that was good,” while I just relished to feeling of your cum rolling down my neck and dripping onto the carpet.

“Merry Christmas, bitch,” I said.

“Merry Christmas, ass wipe,” you responded, then added, “Now that was what I call a kiss under the mistletoe. Too bad there wasn’t anything traditional for a fuck.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because I would really want to feel your cock inside my pussy,” you responded.

“And we simply can’t because?”

“A kiss is just a kiss.” You answered. “A kiss under the office mistle toe means nothing – no matter what kind of kiss it is. Anything else could lead to an awkward moment.”

Damn, you knew how to mentally fuck a guy up, now I really wanted to know if you were half as good physically. It didn’t help that when I turned my head the sopping mats of your pubic hair gave of such a powerful aphrodesiac. I thought of sitting up so I could see your face, but I knew that I would swiftly move to mount you which you had just said wouldn’t be happening. I had to know your reasoning though.

“How so?”

You didn’t make a move to get up either as you with an emotionaless tone, “Because when it comes right down to it, to get the position I’m going to have to rip your balls off – something I can’t do if they’re busy slapping my ass.”

I had to concede that was true – for my part too, I’d have trouble ripping your tits off and shoving them up your ass if they were pressed against my chest. We could excuse this away to mistle toe, but anything else, it would be a little more of murky area to rationalize.

I lay there for several minutes, letting my breath and heart rate begin to slow back to its ordinary pace with my eyes closed. I thought that maybe a fuck could be considered a sort of a mandatory office gift thing, I wondered if you had thought of that, maybe I should ask to see if we were on the same page but I didn’t. I didn’t want to look at you; partially for fear that you wanted more, partially for fear that you didn’t. I heard you sit up and start to put on your clothes.

“Come on,” you said in a business-like tone, “We’ve got work to finish up so we can get out of here and to…”

You couldn’t finish the sentence with “our families”; we both knew that our Christmas day would be spent at our respective homes watching TV eating a microwavable turkey dinner with our rum and eggnogs constantly being drained and refilled until we believed our own lies of solitary bliss while watching Alister Simm’s “A Christmas Carol” provided background noise…

I opened my eyes, you had your back turned to me bent over, straightening out the front of your pleated dress. I looked up and smiled at the mistletoe that hung above me. I wanted to get up, grab my clothes but I just laid there and watched the little movements of your ass cheeks. My limp cock did a little hop. Maybe, I thought I could think of this Christmas like Vegas; what happens at Christmas stays at Christmas. You sensed that I was watching you so you turned around with a resigned, embarrassed look on your face, as if you wanted to just pretend this hadn’t occurred. I don’t know what exactly it was, whether it was my imagination or not, but I could swear that their was a glistening in your eye that made my decision for me.

I stood up, grabbed the mistletoe and hung it over your head and gave you a little peck on the cheek. “You know, Christmas comes only once a year,” I said as I leaned close to your quickly reddening ear lobe, “But that doesn’t mean we have to.” The edge of your lips curled up slightly as I waited for your response…