‘Secret Santa’: 2 Sleeps to Go (Part 2)

And we’re back!


Sit back and enjoy, Dear Reader, the conclusion to ‘Secret Santa’ 😀


Josie lived in the opposite direction to me, but I didn’t care. As the taxi pulled up outside I could see she lived in a block of flats. I paid the driver, remembering to get a receipt of course, and made my way to the entrance. I pressed the button for her flat.

The intercom burped into life. “Hello?” sputtered a tinny voice.

“Hello, Josie? It’s Harriet from work. I’ve got your Secret Santa gift here. Can I deliver it?”

There was a pause before she replied, “Oh, Okay. I’ll buzz you in.” The intercom gave a mournful wail and the front door clicked. I pushed it open and entered.

Josie lived on the second floor. The building didn’t have a lift, so I was slightly breathless by the time I’d climbed four flights of stairs, carrying a gift that seemed to be getting heavier by the minute. I found her waiting for me, stood in front of her open door. Like a pink Venus she rose in my field of vision: first fluffy socks, rolled to the ankle, followed by shapely naked legs, topped by tight shorts with added camel toe crevice, completed by a cropped tee-shirt that emphasised her toffee smooth midriff and perfectly rounded breasts. The sight took away my remaining breath and left me feeling faint and weak at the knees.

“Oh my god, that’s huge!” Josie cried, making her way forward to help me. “Gosh, are you alright, Harry? You’re white as a sheet. Do you want to come in and have a drink?”

I took a long, deep breath and nodded. The universe seemed to have relented and fortune was now smiling on me. I followed her into her flat, doing my best to hide the grin on my face. “Where do you want me to put it?” I asked her. “The present, I mean…” I added slyly.

Josie giggled at my double entendre. “Oh, anywhere in there will do.” She pointed in the direction of the living room, then closed the front door behind us.

I placed the box on the living room floor and looked around. A half full bottle of wine and empty glass sat on the coffee table. Her TV was mounted on the wall and playing some festive Hollywood crap. The volume was turned down, sparing me from having to listen to its seasonally cheerful inanities.

“We didn’t want you to miss out on your secret Santa gift,” I said shrugging off my coat. Josie took it and my handbag then disappeared back into the hall.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” Josie called. “Was it a good night? I got home from work to find the washing machine had flooded. By the time I’d cleared it up I really wasn’t in the mood for socialising.”

“That’s understandable. It was alright. I’ve had better,” I called back getting comfy on the sofa. This one is already starting to get better, I thought picking up the wine bottle and studying the label. Shiraz, my favourite.

Josie returned carrying another wine glass and I filled both from the bottle. “Cheers, Harry! Merry Christmas!” she said chinking my glass.

I took a mouthful of wine and swallowed. “Mmm, nice. Merry Christmas, Josie. Are you going to open your present?”

Josie gave a girlish squeal and sat down cross legged in front of her wrapped box in one graceful, fluid movement. The elasticated fabric of her shorts stretched, barely managing to cover the modesty of her plump but righteous arse cheeks. She pulled her hair back from her face and let it hang over one shoulder.

Just as earlier in the evening, I could feel the blood pump furiously through my veins, only this time it was directed to a completely different area of my body. “Josie, can I use your bathroom,” I asked.

“Sure, it’s the door on the left before the bedroom,” she said as her hands caressed the smooth and shiny wrapping paper.

The bathroom was pink – obviously her favourite colour – and smelt of roses. I peed and washed my hands, then splashed water over my already moist pussy and gave it a rub with a fluffy pink towel hanging next to the sink. No harm freshening it up just in case, I thought. I checked my teeth in the mirror for any untoward particles of Christmas dinner and stuck out my tongue – stained red from wine but not furry. Good.

When I returned, I found wrapping paper and cardboard discarded on the floor, but Josie herself was nowhere to be seen. I retraced my steps and found her in the kitchen, bent over her microwave and displaying even more of those sweet arse cheeks of hers.

“What are you cooking?” I asked once I’d drank my fill.

She rushed over and gave me a hug, encircling me with her slender arms and pressing her breasts against me. I felt hard nipples push into my skin and gave a silent pray to Jesus for the invention of chocolate.

“Harry! Oh my god I can’t believe someone bought me a chocolate fountain. Chocolate is so much fun!”

The contraption I’d bought her sat on the kitchen table, plugged in but empty, its shiny tiers waiting to be filled. I breathed in the vanilla scent of her luxurious hair as I hugged her back, gently rubbing my own throbbing breasts against hers. “Ooh, a chocolate fountain!” I exclaimed. “Lucky you!”

The microwave pinged and Josie turned away, opened the door, and removed a bag of melted chocolate with her fingertips. Grabbing a pair of scissors, she snipped the corner off and poured a stream of warm chocolate into the fountain’s bottom tier.

“I’ve always wanted one of these,” she said as she threw me a smile and switched the machine on. After a few seconds, a flood of chocolate gushed up through the top tier and cascaded down smoothly, enveloping the tiers below.

“Now that is a thing of beauty,” I said admiringly.

“Yes it is,” Josie replied and stuck her finger into the rich stream of chocolate. She pulled it out and put it in her mouth, sucking hard. Her elfin features contorted with pleasure. “Oh my god, Harry, you’ve got to try this!” she said invitingly.

Tentatively, I approached the gently humming machine. Encouraged by her ecstatic gasps of pleasure, I decided to make my move. I poked two fingers into the silky, warm stream, cooing at the sensation. I pulled them out and sucked on my index finger, holding the middle finger out to Josie, my other hand poised beneath to catch the drips. “Mmm… more?”

To my amazement, she took my dribbling middle finger in her mouth and sucked hard. I could feel her tongue lap at the sweet gloop and marvelled at the innocent look of pleasure on her face as she sucked the chocolate off. With our lips just inches apart, I reached up with my free hand and gently stroked the underside of her chin.


Looming in the doorway of the kitchen stood Alfie. Josie and I both jumped. Me guiltily.

“Alfie. I didn’t hear you come in. What you doing home so early?” Josie asked her hulking boyfriend. Up close, the Easter Island resemblance was uncanny: he looked rock hard, menace etched into his face.

“WHO THE FUCK IS THIS BITCH?” he demanded of Josie, who flushed. “WHAT THE FUCK YOU DOING?”

Shit! I thought, I need to get out fast and in one piece.

“I think there’s a misunderstanding. I’m Harriet from work. I’ve just dropped Josie’s Secret…” I started to tell him before he shut me up with a stinging slap with the back of his hand. I felt my incisors rip through my bottom lip as my head rocked back. Blood sprayed out across the pristine white tee-shirt that covered his chiseled pecs.


I felt warm blood fill my mouth and mingle with the residual taste of chocolate. I held my hand up to my face and cringed. “My mowff…” I spluttered.

“No Alfie!” Josie explained, “Harry’s just a work colleague.”

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS FOR?” he yelled, pulling my ‘Big Boy’ butt plug Secret Santa gift from behind his back. I’d put it in my handbag, but it must have fallen out. “WERE YOU GONNA RAM IT UP HER ARSE, YOU FILTHY CUNT?”

Josie looked at me aghast. “Harry?”

“No, I can eshplain…” I started to say but didn’t get the chance. Alfie’s meaty hand grabbed the back of my neck and spun me round, pushing me face first into the chocolate fountain. I felt the warm chocolate flood over my eyes and nose.

As my nostrils and mouth filled with molten sweetness, I could hear Josie yell and plead with her boyfriend: “Stop it Alfie! It’s Secret Santa. Stop it, please!”

My final thought before passing out was Jesus! Death by chocolate. This is no fun at all…



*/sigh… I wrote it for the Christmas Underdog Anthology, Clicky. It’s not supposed to have a happy ending, for goodness sakes… /rolls eyes…*

Well, Dear Reader, I hope you’ve enjoyed my first Christmas tale at the LoL. If you liked this story, I have others in The Underdog Anthology… Although, to be brutally honest, the other authors’ contributions in it are so much better than mine 😉

Merry Christmas to you and have a Song… ❤




13 thoughts on “‘Secret Santa’: 2 Sleeps to Go (Part 2)

  1. Very well written. I can see the infrastructure, the types, the people, no faces, but that really doesn’t matter. The twists, the turns, all wrapped in mundane purpose. No desire to skip ahead to the end, as you have no idea where it is going, other than the obvious, which is never obvious, even up to the point where it is obvious, and leaves the obvious completely obscured with no obvious end in sight…almost right back where we started…and yet very far from the start and or any kind of end, let alone an ending. Time stops, and leaves whatever is left, all while you slowly realize that time never stopped nor stops. You are the reader, and you are still reading…even after you stopped. Has a timey kinda timelessness ring to it? Almost like the author drug you by the nose exactly where they wanted you to go, and still, left every choice to you along the way. Because the REAL story starts…when the story stops. Life…is what you make of it. Before, during, and after. No different than the wordy pondering that I am doing right here, right now.

    Like I said…very well written. Now I remember why I read and don’t write.

    I’ll shut up now. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Yeah, I write. But my shit is shit. Good fiction requires a good writer who can write well. Who understands people, understands themselves, and has the balls to take reality and/or non-fiction, and can weave that “real tale” or several “real tales” into something completely different to protect all involved, and leave only the writer “holding the smoking gun”…so to speak. Create a learning experience, from learning experience(s).

        Not me. I only have my own sordid little tale to tell, the only way to tell it properly is in the real of non-fiction…knowing that it is WAY fucking beyond the realm of “suspension of disbelief”…and it makes me feel like a horses ass for leaving out “the gory details”…but I have no alternative but to do so. Because they will surface at some point…and it will result in a lottta fucking finger pointing, because it’s already happened. Plus, I am the “center-piece”…so it makes me look like an egotistical asshole. Which, I guess I am.

        Truly Roob. You have a way with words. Not as long winded as Hemingway, but equally descriptive in the Steinbeck kind of way of saying a whole lot by keeping the actual dialogue to a minimum. Almost like French film, which says a shitload without saying much at all. I guess the same could be said about any great director, I love the “Spaghetti Western” and Sergio Leone, but that’s just me. I know nothing about “Westerns” nor that Cowboy Lore bullshit. 😛

        Sorry for the rant.

        Liked by 1 person

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