Good girls get to play with Santa's hot-rod
Good Neighbors - Part 2 of 4: Gifting Santa a Handjob
Neighbours who got down and dirty in the pub toilets one lunchtime. Now, their story continues…
The incident with Pete lingered in my mind and provided the backdrop to my thoughts at night too. Often resulting in an orgasm from my own hand, wishing it was his. I wanted to be alone with him again but wondered about his wife Di. Was she still involved with the guy from her work? If I called round, would she be there?
My online affair dwindled. I’d tasted real life sex again— virtual masturbation paled in comparison. As the weeks passed, I began to feel decidedly sorry for myself. I would catch Pete glancing at me on the days he was collecting his daughter from school, but we never exchanged more than a couple of words. And when his wife, Di, engaged me in conversation, I was too embarrassed to speak for long.
Then one morning in mid-December, Di caught up with me as I was heading home after dropping my son, Jake, at school, and asked if she could join me for a coffee. Of course, I said yes. While sipping our Americanos in my kitchen, she explained that she and Pete had decided to separate, saying their relationship had veered off course a few years ago, and she’d got involved with a new friend.
I acted as if this was news to me, and oohed and ahhed in the right places. They would be sharing the care of their daughter, as Di had found a place to rent on the edge of the village. I commiserated, but my heart began to race with thoughts of Pete being single. Should I make my claim and call him later? Or was that too forward?
However, I was forced to put my selfish needs to one side for my son. We had a few festive outings together, buying presents and taking in the latest blockbuster movie as he was spending the holiday with his father.
I waved him goodbye on Xmas eve and headed down to the community social club. A place where parents could have a tipple or two while their kids played in the hall next door. I knew some of the locals would be there and found a seat next to Jilly who lived across the road. We were soon nattering over far too many G&Ts.
Santa, usually someone from the village, was next door dishing out presents to the kids and for a moment I wished Jake was with me. He loved being at the club at this time of year.
When it was my round, I found myself nestled beside Santa at the bar. His bulky, false belly was taking up far too much room.
I was surprised when he nudged me and said, “If you’ve been a good girl, Santa will buy you a drink.” The familiar voice made my sex clench. It was Pete!
I got a fit of the giggles and full of bravado I turned to him, “I should think you owe me more than a drink after fucking me in the public toilets a few months ago.”
His cheeks turned as red as the costume he was wearing.
He handed me my good girl reward and I walked over to Jilly with an exaggerated swing of my hips, knowing his eyes were on my ass.
The band started up, and the lights went down. After a couple of songs the tempo changed and Santa pulled me on to the dimly lit dance floor, his tummy making sure there was no chance for smooching.
When the ballad finished, he steered me over to a corner table on the other side of the room.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered and disappeared to the bar, returning with a bottle of sparkling wine.
“I think we should make a toast,” he said as he popped the cork and poured the fizz into two flutes.
“To new beginnings.”
He cosied up next to me and we clinked glasses.
Taking a sip of mine, the bubbles tickled my nose and made me sneeze, propelling the wine from my mouth to spurt all over Pete’s lap.
“Oh, I’m so sorry Santa,” I laughed, wiping my hand across the wet patch on his thigh.
To my astonishment, I could feel something protruding against the red trousers. Involuntarily, I touched it — fuck me, it was his cock. Hard and wanton. My hand shot away in surprise. But he simply looked me straight in the eyes and smiled.
“Good girls get to play with Santa’s hot-rod.”
He whispered huskily into my ear and taking hold of my hand returned it to where it had been.
The dull lighting and table obscured us from the waist down from any nosy neighbours as my fingertips massaged his hardness, stroking the length.
Pete shimmied his back and ass into the seat and spread his legs, providing me with room to unzip his fly. All at once, I received a reminder that he didn’t wear boxers when, lo and behold, his frisky hot-rod shot out to greet me — Commando Santa.
His cock was burning up. Knowing just what was needed, I quickly took hold of a couple of ice cubes from the wine bucket, running them along his shaft.
Pete squirmed slightly. His arm went round my shoulders, and he stated, “Bad girls will get spanked at some point.”
I replied, “I hope that’s a promise, as I am about to be very naughty.”
Dropping the ice, I pretended to look for something on the floor and bobbed my head down, taking his cock into my mouth. In reply, his hips bucked, driving his dick all the way to the back of my throat.
Before sitting up, I licked around his knob, teasing the head with my tongue.
Then, I replaced lips with my hand. Pulse racing from the excitement of knowing Santa could get caught with his pants down at any minute.
Now his rod was slippery with my saliva, it was easy to pump, and I made sure to caress the tip with each motion.
Seductively, I let him know exactly what was going on in my panties, “The thought of your cock exploding is making me wet, very wet.”
In a breathy tone he replied, “I can smell your arousal - dirty bitch. Come on, finish what you started. Be nice to Santa.”
While he spoke I pushed down in the chair, the damp material of my gusset rubbing along my slit, and concentrated on putting pressure on his ridge as the foreskin slid smoothly back and forth.
He began to make a low throaty groan as the first spurt coated my palm. The next shot into the air, landing on his fake stomach. I carried on until I could tell I’d completely emptied his balls and sat close beside him, feeling his heart thumping.
“It’s been a while,” he said — almost by way of explanation — watching me lick the jizz from my fingers.
I handed Pete a couple of tissues from my handbag. Just as he zipped up, the band announced the conga. Jilly appeared from nowhere and pulled me from my seat to the end of the line of people. As we joined in the dance, I wondered if this indeed would be a new beginning.
This story is to be continued - click here
