S.J. Warner's Blog, page 8

A Cherry Red Holiday by Suzzana C Ryan #CinnamonTreats

I like cherry pie

Do you ask why?

I like my men sweet

Sitting at my feet

I love apple pie

Again do you ask why?

Some apples are tart

They steel my heart

Oh I forgot

Some men are hot

Nice tight abs

And hung just so right

I love cinnamon treats

And holiday candy

And my men very randy

I like a man who can

Keep it going

Never slowing

All night

And does he know

How to show

Me

A seasoned tongue

Can he make me

Come undone?

Tis the season

And my sexy reason

To tell you

Maybe this year

I need two

Under my tree

Maybe even three

Oh yes happy holidays

Is there a man

Who can do it 365 days?

Silly me

First I need a Christmas tree.

Suzzana C Ryan

Cinnamon Treats by Charming Man #CinnamonTreats

Cinnamon Treats

I stuffed the keys of the Fiat 500 hire car into my pocket, picked up my holdall and exited the SpeedyCar rental cabin in search of parking lot 105. A single snowflake fell from the sky and dissolved on my cheek as I gazed into the darkness of the Christmas morning sky, searching for signs of the impending blizzard that had been forecast. Condensation from my breath obscured the panoramic view before me as though peering through frosted glass. Everything seemed grey and silent and mildly depressing. I sighed when I reached parking lot 105. A lime green 500; really?

Less than seventy-two hours earlier, I’d finished work in Toulouse three days before Christmas, and planned to settle down with my French girl-friend of two years in our cosy apartment for the duration of the festivities. Ok, so her rather eccentric parents were to descend upon us on Christmas Day, but for once I was looking forward to the seasonal merriment with relish; work had been very trying of late and I needed the break. However, a bizarre sequence of events led to a sudden change of plans. I’d had one drink too many with the lads after work, and arrived home later than anticipated, more than a little worse for wear. My indifferent attitude towards Christmas shopping the following morning, while nursing a hangover from hell, caused my girl-friend to storm out of the apartment to shop on her own. Her short fuse, no doubt attributed to her hot-blooded Latin heritage, played a decisive role upon her return. As a peace offering, I’d prepared her favourite meal, but she was having none of it. She threw my Christmas present across the room at me, packed a suitcase and announced she was spending Christmas at her parents. She’d pulled a similar stunt once before, so I watched on bemused as she paced the room, ranting and gesticulating while I tucked into her spinach and ricotta tortellini. The less concerned I appeared, the more aggressive she became, until at last she stormed out. Whether this was to be the end of our relationship, wasn’t clear to me at the time. However, part of me was thinking that maybe it was time to move on.

My own parents had long since decided to spend Christmas in Lanzarote, and my sister was otherwise engaged, hosting her in-laws for the first time. As much as I hinted at dropping by for a few days, she didn’t bite, insisting her stress levels were at breaking point. Knowing my sister, she had Christmas planned right down to the last Brussels sprout. Following a chance conversation with an old college friend called Peter, who took pity on my plight, I was duly invited to spend Christmas in the Yorkshire Dales, together with his wife Claire and their two daughters, Abigail and Polly, aged five and seven respectively.

And so Plan B was set in motion. A last minute flight was sourced to Stansted, landing in the early hours of Christmas Day, and a hire car arranged. I threw sufficient clothing into a holdall for a few days, and bought gift-wrapped Christmas presents for my hosts at Toulouse airport. I warned Peter I’d be arriving around seven in the morning, and was reassured that the girls would’ve already seen to it that they were up by then, eager to see what Santa had bestowed upon them.

Strolling through the arrivals lounge at Stansted, I’d been greeted by a skeleton staff of airport personnel and customs officials. Despite all attempts at festive décor, there was a sombre mood in the air. Maybe the sudden change of plans and the “misunderstanding” with my girl-friend had finally sunk in, now I had time to reflect.

Dumping my holdall into the tiny boot of the Fiat, I dusted the smattering of snowflakes from my shoulders and jumped into the car. Snow began falling quite heavily as I departed the airport and commenced my 250 mile journey north, aided by my portable sat nav. A light dusting was already settling on the roads, and with the wipers on full speed and the fan blaring away on maximum, I sensed I was in for one hell of an adventure.

The roads were unsurprisingly empty at this time of the morning, which was a mixed blessing. My journey was largely uninterrupted at junctions and roundabouts, but the lack of traffic meant that the falling snow had seized the chance to settle, which in turn restricted my speed. 150 miles into my journey and I was still wide awake, the sounds on my iPhone helping me keep my wits about me in the treacherous driving conditions. I’d realised soon into my journey that the Fiat’s fuel tank had been less than half full. This would’ve been noted on my hire documents and I would be expected to return the car with the same level of fuel. The low level warning light had been glowing for the last twenty miles, but all service stations I’d passed since had been closed. It wasn’t until the light began flashing that I began to panic; the thought of grinding to a halt in a snow storm, unable to keep warm did not appeal. Rather dramatically, I sensed a kindred spirit with Scot of the Antarctic.

Crawling to the top of a brow in the road, I was relieved to spy the glow of petrol station lights through the blizzard. Triumphantly, I pulled up on the forecourt, next to one of the pumps. Reluctantly, I stepped out of the car and proceeded to fill up. My hands became red raw with cold within seconds as the sound of the pump churned in the frosty air. I glanced over to the station kiosk and shop, and discerned a solitary figure sitting at the cash desk. The kiosk was dimly lit and the shape of the silhouette suggested that the occupant was female, judging by the long wavy hair. The figure was also jostling from side to side; possibly she was listening to music, I thought.

Having filled the belly of the small Fiat, I crossed the forecourt under heavy snow fall, coating my head and shoulders. The door to the shop was locked, which initially surprised me, until I realised it was four o’clock in the morning and the sole occupant was a young woman. I therefore strolled over to the night window and smiled.

The face behind the grill smiled back. “It looks cold out there,” she said.

“It certainly is,” I replied. “If it keeps snowing like this, I’ll be spending Christmas in some layby!”

She laughed. “That’s £30 please.”

Handing over my credit card, I spied a coffee machine on the far wall of the shop. “I don’t suppose I could grab a cup of coffee?” I asked, nodding at the machine.

“Ah, sorry, no. I’m not allowed to let anyone in at night time.” She sighed. “Besides, it’s not even switched on.”

“That’s a shame. Never mind.” I caught the faint sound of music emanating from inside the kiosk, which made me smile; not the usual Christmas tune that filled the air as is so often the case at this time of year. “Great choice in music,” I mused.

“I love ‘em,” she affirmed. “Morrissey is my God.”

I beamed back at her. “Mine too!”

“Really?” She seemed genuinely intrigued.

“Well, listen,” I started. “You have a good Christmas. A shame you’ve got to work on Christmas Day, but if you weren’t I’d never have met a fellow Smiths’ fan!”

I turned to head back to my car when she called out. “Hey, listen…”

I spun round and gazed at her sweet smiling face through the falling snow. “Yes?”

She hesitated, as if pondering. “There’s a small kitchen out the back and I’ve just boiled the kettle. I was just about to make a coffee as you arrived. Umm…” She laughed. “Why am I telling you this?”

“Because you’re the ghost of Christmas Past, and you want to leave me with the thought of you sipping on your hot beverage while I continue on my weary way.”

“I’m not that heartless,” she pleaded. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me.”

“But I thought you were under strict instructions not to unlock the shop?”

“I am. But you don’t look like an axe murderer!”

“Hmmm, but how can I be sure you’re not? You might have a collection of festive bodies back there.” I stole a glance around the forecourt. “I wonder where you’re hiding all the cars?”

“She laughed. “There’s a small lake behind those trees. I’ve driven them all in there. She nodded towards my Fiat. “Plenty of room for a little one!”

I laughed, hesitantly; this girl certainly gives as good as she gets, I thought.

“Still want that coffee then?” she asked.

“Of course, I’m bloody freezing!”

She disappeared from the kiosk and re-appeared in the shop area and unlocked the door.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Alex.”

“Becky,” she replied. “Hurry up! It’s bloody freezing out there.”

I studied the vision before me as I stepped over the threshold and stamped my feet on the vast expanse of matting to remove as much snow from my shoes as possible. She was five foot five, maybe six, with shoulder length auburn hair, green eyes and pale freckled skin. I gauged her as being in her early twenties, possibly five to six years younger than myself. She wore an open faded paisley shirt over what appeared to be a white sting T-shirt, torn faded denim jeans and red Converse baseball boots.

“Pleased to meet you, Becky,” I said, extending a hand.

She laughed at my attempt at formalities and turned. “Come through to the back office. There’s a heater on if you want to get warmed up.”

I followed Becky into her sanctuary, gazing at her pert backside as we passed through the shop area, its aisles adorned with tinsel, a forlorn attempt to create a festive atmosphere. An artificial Christmas tree stood to the right of the coffee machine and microwave oven, laden with yet more tinsel, lights and baubles. It was the first tree I’d seen up close this Christmas and I suddenly felt my spirits rise. Fair play to the tinsel after all, I thought.

“It’s very kind of you to take pity on a weary traveller,” I mocked.

“Truth be told, I was lonely. It’s usually a lot busier, but I guess it’s because it’s Christmas.”

“It probably has something to do with it,” I laughed.

Ignoring my flippancy, Becky set about preparing two mugs of coffee. “Milk and sugar?”

“Just milk, please.”

“Would you like some of this in it?” she asked, producing a small bottle of cinnamon syrup. “Only mildly alcoholic but it packs a punch and livens up this shit!” She pointed to a large catering tin of instant coffee.

“Why not?” I replied. “Live life on the edge, I say!”

The sound of The Smiths continue to fill the room as we awkwardly sipped our coffees.

“It’s delicious,” I said, trying to force a conversation.

“OK, I admit it’s no Starbucks or Costa, but it’s the best you’re going to get around here at this time of the morning!”

“No, seriously, it’s delicious,” I reaffirmed.

We laughed.

I glanced around at the dingy back office, the messy kitchenette area, the pile of crap on a tatty table with a couple of equally tatty chairs.

“I can think of better places to spend Christmas Day,” I said, without thinking. I shot Becky an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I’m not working Christmas Day,” she explained. “I finish at nine, heading straight over to my parents for scrambled eggs and salmon, and as many glasses of Bucks Fizz as I can!”

I smiled at her. “Well that sounds just fabulous.”

“Anyway, this is just a temporary job. I’m saving to travel round Europe with my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” I replied, trying to hide a hint of disappointment. “When are you off then?”

She sighed. “I dunno. When we’ve saved enough I suppose.” She paused a while, as if reflecting the situation; she seemed a little sad.

“I live in Europe,” I beamed.

“Really?” she shrieked, seeming to perk up immediately. “Where?”

“France. Toulouse. I work in computers.”

“Really?” she repeated, excitedly.

“Yeah, really,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I know, boring as shit.”

“No, not at all. I’ve always wanted to travel.”

We spent the next twenty minutes discussing all the places we’d visited between us and destinations that intrigued us. Becky seemed impressed with the various cities throughout Europe I’d plied my IT trade, claiming I put to shame her summer holiday trips to Spain and Portugal with her family, and a school trip to Belgium when she was thirteen. I finally explained my reason for being back in England and my trip to stay with friends for Christmas.

“It’s a shame you can’t be with your family on Christmas Day though,” She said.

“I know, my fault. I was late making plans,” I half explained. But there’s always next year.” I stared out of the window at the continuing blizzard. “If I don’t make a move soon, I’m going to get snowed in and you’ll never get rid of me.”

“She laughed. “I can think of worse situations.”

“I bet your boyfriend can’t!” There was a sudden silence as my words seemed to cut the air like a knife. “Can I just use the loo before I go?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Sure,” she said. “It’s back out into the shop, on the right.”

I was gone no more than a couple of minutes, but when I returned, Becky was standing by the tree, the glow from the flashing lights illuminating her pretty face seductively. Her hands were behind her back and she was smiling, mischievously.

I found myself drawn towards her as if she were mine. As I drew close, she stepped back, causing my heart to sink. However, she extended one hand towards me and presented a Christmas cracker she’d apparently taken from the tree.

“Happy Christmas,” she said.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” I mocked. I took the cracker and smiled. “My first present!”

I looked up at her and she raised her other hand high above her head, in which she clasped a small bunch of mistletoe. Slowly, she stepped towards me.

“Happy Christmas,” she repeated, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek.

I was completely blown away by her action, but I wasn’t complaining. Turning towards her, I kissed her tenderly on the lips. I watched as she closed her eyes and released a gentle sigh. With reluctance, we broke our embrace, as if both woken from a winter wonderland trance.

“I hope you make it to your friend’s place and have a really lovely time,” she said, rather sheepishly.

“Thanks, Becky… And thanks for letting me in… And thanks for the coffee.”

“And thanks for not butchering you with my axe, eh?”

I laughed. “Yes, special thanks for sparing me that. And thanks for my cracker… You cracker!”

Becky laughed. “My pleasure, sir!”

We kissed once more, less intimately than before, more a gesture of farewell. Becky unlocked the door, and reluctantly I returned to my car, now cocooned in a thick layer of snow. I turned on the wipers and slowly drove out of the service station, waving to the silhouette in the kiosk on my way out.

The remainder of my journey was slow in arctic conditions, but I made good progress and arrived at my friend’s house around 7:30 in the morning. I was exhausted from the drive through the night, but the warm greeting from the household of two adults and two very excitable children lifted my weary spirits. Throughout the journey, thoughts of Becky filled my head. Many a what-if situation piqued my imagination, but as the saying goes, we were merely ships in the night. Although there had been an immediate attraction, I knew nothing about her, save for the fact that she had a boyfriend. I laughed; that really bothered me, didn’t it?

Peter and his family made me very welcome and once I’d settled myself into the spare room and taken a shower, we enjoyed a hearty breakfast before exchanging presents. The Christmas drinks flowed early on, and as we were about to sit down to the traditional serving of roast turkey with all the trimmings, I was more than merry. The table was adorned with the most amazing spread, and each place setting had its own decorative Christmas cracker. It was only then that I remembered Becky’s present.

“What is it, Uncle Alex?” screamed Abigail as I returned from my room, Becky’s cracker in hand.

“It’s my special Christmas cracker,” I said. “Will you help me pull it?”

“Yes please!” she squealed as Polly came rushing to help.

Offering one end of the cracker out to the girls, they each took a firm hold between them and pulled. The cracker exploded with a loud bang and the contents poured onto the floor. The girls dived to the ground in search of the spoils.

“Look, Uncle Alex,” exclaimed Polly. “You’ve won a Ferrari!” She handed me a red miniature sports car. “And don’t forget to wear your hat,” screamed Abigail. I sank to my knees and allowed the small child to ram the paper tissue hat onto my head.

“Read the joke, Uncle Alex… Read the joke!” they both screamed.

“OK, where is it then?” I laughed. The girls rummaged amongst the debris of the cracker and handed me the traditional poor taste in humour. I read the joke to myself and inwardly groaned. “Right,” I started. “How does Good King Wenceslas like his pizzas?”

“Who?” asked Abigail with a blank expression on her face.

“Wenceslas was a king… In Bible times,” I endeavoured to explain. “And he was good… Apparently.”

“Why was he good?” asked Polly.

I hesitated, looking around for either Peter or Claire to come to my rescue. “Because he made the most amazing pizzas.”

“In Bethlehem?” quizzed Abigail.

“Yes!” I cried, trying to contain a smile. “He ran the world famous Bethlehem Pizzeria.”

“So how did he like his pizzas then, Uncle Alex?”

“Wait for it,” I teased, but any sense of anticipation was lost on the girls. “Deep pan, crisp and even!”

Totally unimpressed, Abigail and Polly ran off screaming into the kitchen, both hungry and wanting to know when lunch would be served. I shook my head at the poor quality of the joke, imaging that Becky herself may well have written it. Turning the small slip of paper over in my hand, my heart skipped a beat. Hand written was a note:

“I’m working New Year’s Eve if you’re around and fancy some more cinnamon treats… Becky x”

I beamed. What a wonderful Christmas this was turning out to be after all.

A S Wilkins

Email: mail@andywilkins.com

Website: andywilkins.com

Twitter: twitter.com/andyswilkins

Facebook: facebook.com/aswilkinsauthor

Charming Man

Email: mail@charmingman.com

Website: charmingman.com

Twitter: twitter.com/charmingxman

Facebook: facebook.com/charmingmanauthor

Goodreads: goodreads.com/charmingxman

Amazon: author.to/charmingman

Girl On The Wire by Stephen Richards #CinnamonTreats

Assistant district attorney, Kelly Pomelo sat on the edge of the bed and sighed.

She’d just got off the phone with Judge Stephens, the guy she’d met last year and with whom she’d spent a whole week fucking. They hadn’t seen much of each other since then, “A conflict of interests” he’d said, but they’d arranged to meet up again this year at a New York hotel for a weekend of fucking Santa; because that was her kink – she adored fucking guys dressed as Santa.

Only he’d just phoned to cancel.

Right at the last, fucking minute! She thought despondently. Shit!

She looked around the sumptuous room, really hacked off that she wasn’t gonna get to share it – and her body – with him. Fuck him! It’s his loss! She called room service and ordered a bottle of champagne then went to run herself a nice bath, stripping off and wrapping herself in a gorgeously soft robe. There was a knock at the door and she opened it to let the room service guy in with the drink.

“Put it over by the bed please” she said, admiring his tight ass as he walked across the room.

He was cute, no doubt about it, and the way his eyes lingered over her when he asked if there was anything else she wanted was certainly tempting, but she was still pissed off by being let down.

“Not for now, thank you. But I’ll be sure to ask for…?”

“Angelo, ma’am.”

“I’ll ask for you personally, Angelo, if I need anything later…”

She tipped him handsomely and gave him a seductive smile, chuckling to herself as he blushed and swallowed hard.

She returned to the bathroom and poured some scented oil into the hot water before casting off her robe and climbing in, sinking below the surface with a contented sigh. After a long relaxing soak, she got out and padded naked into the room, walking over to the huge window to look out at the bright lights of the teaming city. Her suite was on the 36th floor of the Intercontinental on Times Square and the views were spectacular. She turned on the wall lights and sat on the bed, popping the cork on the champagne and pouring herself a large glass.

Here’s to you Judge Stephens and to you not getting any Pomelo pussy this year!

She downed it and poured herself another, drinking that just as quickly. It was good stuff and it went straight to her head making her feel a little woozy. She put the glass down and lay back, her feet still on the floor. Her mind wandered back to the fun she’d had last year and she felt her pussy tingle so she gave it a gentle stroke with her middle finger, just to calm it.

That feels nice… Really nice!

She closed her eyes and spread her legs, letting her fingers wander over her pouting lips. She started to breathe deeply as ripples of pleasure began to radiate from her vagina, spreading warmth and good vibes throughout her body. She slowly slid a finger into herself and drew out some honey, gasping as she rubbed it over her swollen clit. She undulated her hips and pushed two fingers up into herself, circling her thumb over her nub, groaning and panting as her excitement built. She was so close… so close… Suddenly her phone rang, the strident ringtone shattering the moment.

She growled in frustration and grabbed the thing off the nightstand, looking at the screen to see who was calling.

Number withheld! I bet that’s him, the bastard…!

She slid the arrow to answer.

“What?” she snarled, readying herself to launch into a tirade of abuse if it was the judge.

She gasped as a woman’s sultry voice answered.

“I can see you Ms Pomelo… I can see what you’re doing all alone in your room…”

“What? How? Who the fuck is this?” she shouted, panic rising in her chest.

“Don’t be afraid… Kelly… I’m in a hotel across the way and I’m watching you play with yourself… It’s very exciting… You’ve made me ever so wet…”

“Who is this?” she demanded, her initial fear turning into anger, “And how did you get this number?”

“I work in the same building as you Kelly, in the same office as a matter of fact…”

“What…? The same… Are you fucking stalking me? Who are you?”

“Now if I told you that, it would spoil the fun…”

“What fun? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Why don’t you have another glass of champagne and relax? I’m not going to hurt you and we can have some fun together… I’m playing with myself right now…”

She heard a soft sigh over the line.

“Mmmm, I’m sliding my fingers in and out Kelly… I’m all wet for you…”

She poured herself another glass and swallowed it, the bubbles making the alcohol rush to her head.

“Ohhh… I’m pretending these are your fingers inside me Kelly… They feel sooo good…!”

The champagne quickly affected her and despite the bizarreness of the situation she began to feel turned on. She spread her legs wide and waited for the voice.

“Mmmm, that’s better! I can see you now… I can see your gorgeous pussy… Play with it… Let me see you finger yourself…!”

She began to rub her pussy, closing her eyes and laying back with a sigh.

“Oh yes…! That’s it Kelly! Mmmm… can you feel my fingers touching you…?”

“Yes…” she whispered, pushing one then two deep inside herself.

“Ohhh… I’m inside you Kelly…! You feel so hot and so wet and so fucking tight…!”

She arched her back and dug her fingers in deeper, her pussy clenching around them as the woman’s voice urged her on.

“Mmmm… I’m finger fucking you Kelly! I’m pushing them right into you… Now my thumb is circling your clitty…”

She reacted immediately to the suggestion, her thumb pressing and rubbing over her sensitive spot.

“Can you feel how wet I am for you Kelly?”

“Yesss…!” she gasped.

“D’you like fingering me…?”

“Yesss… Oh God yesss…!”

“I’ve never been with a man you know… Never been stretched by one… Can you feel how tight I am for you…?”

She started to moan and writhe on the bed, her fingers thrusting in and out vigorously.

“I’m pushing something else into my pussy now Kelly… Something special… Something just for you… It’s making me come… Will you come with me…?”

She could hear ragged gasps of pleasure and felt her own release hovering just on the edge. She bucked her hips and fingered herself frantically as the disembodied voice panted and whimpered in her ear.

“Yesss! That’s it my beautiful kitten…! Come with me…! Come… With… Me… NOW!”

She heard the voice cry out in ecstasy and went rigid as her own orgasm ripped through her, their cries and sobs of pleasure mingling over the airwaves.

When the last ripples had left her shattered body, she picked up the phone to thank her mystery lover. A faint hiss of static greeted her and she knew the woman had gone. She turned her phone off and gazed out of the window at countless others, wondering which one held her sexy seductress and whether she was still watching.

A wicked grin spread over her face as she had an idea. One she hoped the other woman would enjoy.

She dialled room service and asked for Angelo, telling him that she needed his help with something when he came on the line. A few minutes later and there was a quiet tap on the door.

His eyes almost popped out of his head as she opened the door completely naked.

“Please come in Angelo, I’ve got something I need you to take care of…”

***

Kelly Pomelo breezed into her office on Monday morning, flashing a beaming smile as she greeted her colleagues.

“Looks like someone got laid on the weekend!” sniggered two of the clerks, chatting by the water cooler.

“I did thank you! And it was fucking marvellous!” she called back as she entered her private office.

She closed the door and sat down behind her desk, putting her briefcase on the floor and turning to begin sorting through her latest casefiles. She stopped short and looked at the large takeaway cup of coffee sitting on top of the paperwork.

‘My treat!’ said the post-it note attached to the side.

There was a stick of cinnamon, her favourite spice, standing in the steaming, black liquid. She inhaled the gorgeous aroma and then dropped a couple of sweeteners in, swirling the cinnamon around to help them dissolve. Someone’s bucking for promotion! She thought as she sipped the delicious nectar.

Just then her phone pinged and she picked it up.

Someone had sent her a picture.

She pressed on the gallery icon and then on the received files folder, gasping as she saw the image.

On the screen was a close up of a woman’s vagina, the lips a deep red and all swollen with excitement.

Poking out from between those glistening lips was a stick of cinnamon…

© Steve Richards 2015

(Picture sourced from the internet).

Steve is currently working on his next novel Promethean but if you want more from him you can find it here…

www.opushadraniel.com

www.opusangelicus.com

The North Pole’s Secret by Zoey Hart #CinnamonTreats

The North Pole’s Secret

You’ve heard the tales of
Rudolph and Frosty
Even Jolly Ol’ St. Nick,
But I’ll bet you don’t know
The North Pole’s secret
Of little Miss Cinnamon Stick

Building toys she does not
Trains and dolls bore her
Although she is very handy,
Won’t bake delicious treats
She’d much rather suck stripes
Off all the peppermint candy

She can melt the snowflakes
Right off your pointed toes
As she walks on by,
But in her private room
Be a naughty little elf
Lick the spices from her thigh

Except for Christmas Eve
She is at your service
Every night of the year,
Santa reserves this date
For the long sleigh ride
Filling her with all his Christmas cheer

So when you visit the North Pole
Ask for the best kept secret
And don’t hold back,
Trust the elves when they say
You’ve never seen Christmas magic
Till Cinnamon empties your sack.



© Zoey Hart 2015.
(picture sourced from the internet).

Find more from Zoey here…
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Christmas Lights by Amanda Carrington #CinnamonTreats

Find more from Amanda here…

Website
www.VoElla.com

VoElla FB
www.facebook.com/VoElla

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https://www.facebook.com/AmandaCarringtonVOE/  
 
VoElla TW
https://twitter.com/V0Ella

AmandaC TW
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Penguins by KA Hobbs #CinnamonTreats

“Penguins” 



A Connected Series Christmas extra

featuring Harry & Megan

By

KA Hobbs

Two days before Christmas

Megan

“Does it really matter?” I huff, blowing hair out of my face.

“Of course it matters!” Harry exclaims. “Do you really think Abigail’s Auntie and Uncle can get her the wrong ones?”

“Then phone Sophie or Doug and ask you big moron!”

I am so hot and grumpy right now. Too many people are shopping at this time of year and I hate it. Why does Harry insist on doing this today? I drop my bag in the middle of the floor and sit down, crossing my legs and folding my arms over my chest.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, trying to hide his grin.

“What does it look like? I’m staging a protest!”

“About what exactly?” he crouches in front of me and looks at me with those sapphire eyes that can melt snow and me, I’m sure of it.

“This,” I wave my hand around. “It’s one of the biggest department stores in London, Harry. And it’s two days before Christmas. Why are we shopping now? We have loads of presents, for everyone!”

“Because beautiful,” he reaches out and traces my pouting bottom lip with his thumb and I have to remember I’m mad. “Abigail really would like them, so I want to make sure she has them.”

I can’t even argue with him, he’s being the best Uncle in the world right now, going out of his way to spoil our niece. And she deserves it. She never asks for anything, literally. Trying to get out of her what she wants for Christmas is like trying to get Harry to stop pawing all over me every time we are near each other. Impossible.

“I’ll phone Sophie and ask which ones she’d like.” I smile, reaching into my bag for my phone.

While I wait for Sophie to answer, I watch as Harry takes one of every colour in her size off the shelf and puts them in his basket. Then he walks over to the dresses and looks through them all, picking up a purple sparkly one with a big bow on it, he puts that into his basket too then walks back over and sits down on the floor with me.


 “Hey Megs! You okay?” Sophie answers happily. 



“Hey, we’re shopping—”

“Two days before Christmas?” she almost yells.

“Yes.. For Abigail. Look, Harry would like to know what colour Converse she wanted.”

“Tell Harry, she has enough and not to buy her anything else. I already know what you two have her.” I look over at Harry who raises his eyebrows at me and waits for an answer. I shake my head. He holds out his hand and I hand him the phone.

“Sophie?”

I watch with a small smile on my face. He looks particularly gorgeous today. Wearing his black winter coat and beanie, one curl just refusing to stay under his hat. He has his usual beard and his sapphire eyes just look brighter than usual today. There’s a hint of something naughty in them.

“I know that, but it’s the only thing she has asked for. Everything else we just guessed, so please, Loafy, what colour?” he looks at me and winks.

I know what will happen, she’ll tell him, because no one says no to Harry. It’s half his trouble. He’s the baby of the family, he’s Sophie’s baby brother and he’s used to getting what he wants. Spoilt gorgeous bastard.

“Thank you. And with the sparkles?” he reaches into the basket and takes every colour out except the purple ones. I knew it would be purple.

“Thank you, Loafy. I’ll see you Christmas Day!” he hangs up, hands the phone back to me then stands.

“A little help?” I groan.

“Come here lazy!” he grins, pulling me up and into his arms.

“We just have to get the shoes and we can go home, light the fire and have sex on the rug in front of it.” he grins wickedly at me, pushing into me.

“And the dress.” I remind him.

“The what?” his eyes are darker and a little glazed. I know that look.

“The dress. You put a dress in the basket too.”

“Yes. And the dress.” he smiles.

We put the other shoes back and head to the tills. As we make our way around people I spot something I just have to buy. I pull Harry over to the little display and point to them.

“Not my thing.” he tells me.

“Did I say they were for you?” I sigh. “Noah and Vivien.” I pick up three and put them in the basket. Harry smiles and then looks down a little confused.

“Noah and Vivien are two, why are you getting three?”

“I want one too,” I grin. “Come on, let’s go pay for these.”

We pay for everything and head back home. Harry makes me a hot chocolate, lights the fire then carries me over to the rug in front of it. Then he removes his clothes and mine before making good on his promise of sex in front of the fire.

See what I mean? Pawing.

Christmas Day

Harry

I wake up before Megs and slide out of bed without waking her. I pad downstairs and switch on the Christmas tree lights before walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on to make us both a coffee. I put the oven on to warm up and get the croissants out of the cupboard. When the kettle is boiled, I make us both a coffee and take them into the lounge, putting them on the coffee table before heading back upstairs to our bedroom. She’s still fast asleep on her tummy, her gorgeous back on show, her long blonde hair over the pillows. The duvet is resting low on her back and I can just see the top of her arse. My cock decides it’s ready for its Christmas present and thickens at the sight of her. I slip into the bed and pull her to me, inhaling her scent and absorbing her body heat. I know when she’s awake as she rubs herself against my morning erection. I let her, it is Christmas after all, the season of giving.

“Happy Christmas, husband.” she whispers.

“Happy Christmas, wife.” I grin.

Fifty-three days. It has been fifty-three days since I married my penguin and I still haven’t got used to the fact she is now my wife and I am her husband. Not even the ring on my finger makes it seem real. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I thank whoever sent her to me every single day.

“Are you ready for presents?”

“I’m ready for coffee.” she groans, the vibration from her throat traveling all the way down my chest and straight to my cock.

“Downstairs. All ready and waiting to slip past your perfect lips and into your hot inviting mouth.” I tell her, my voice husky.

“Harry, are you getting turned on talking about coffee?” she grins against my chest.

“I think we both know, I was already turned on and that I’m not just talking about coffee.”

“Well, that will have to wait,” she removes herself from my arms and stands up, reaching for her dressing gown. “I need to pee. Like, so bad!”

“I’ll be downstairs. You can’t miss me, I’ll be the one naked with a bauble hanging off my cock.” I call laughing.

“You’re disgusting!” she tuts as she closes the bathroom door.

I head downstairs and make sure everything is perfect. I don’t need presents today, I just need Megan. I had my whole life’s worth of presents on November third when Megan became my wife. I hear water and know she’s on her way. Being the soppy, romantic husband that I am, I have all Megan’s favourite Christmas songs ready to play as we spend our first Christmas together as a married couple. When I hear her feet on the stairs I press play, she grins at me as she steps around the corner and into the lounge. She’s wrapped up in her dressing gown, but I know she’s naked underneath.

“You hate Michael Bublé.” she smiles as she takes the coffee I hand her.

“I don’t hate Michael Bublé, he just isn’t in my top ten.”

“Right. Presents?” she looks at me excitedly and I can’t help but lean in and kiss her.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world, you know that, don’t you?” I say a little breathlessly.

“Yes. Now get me a present!” she laughs running her hand over my cheek.

I take her coffee from her, pick her up and walk over to the Christmas tree, sitting her on the bed of pillows and blankets I made last night before we went up to bed, it was Doug’s idea and I have to admit, the twat does know a thing or two about being romantic. I lean over and pick a present from under the tree and hand it to her.

“What is it?” she grins.

“Open it and find out.”

She unwraps the box and her eyes go wide. After Josie and Jack officially got it together and Josie moved to the States with him, Megan missed her so much, there were so many tears when they both left a week after the wedding. It broke my heart seeing how much she missed her best friend. So inside that box is two tickets to Chicago, open tickets so we can go whenever she wants to.

“Oh, Harry.” she says tearily.

“I know you miss her, gorgeous.” I reach out and wipe a tear that is traveling down her cheek.

“I do miss her.”

“And we can go see her soon. I promise.”

“Thank you, so much.” she leans over and presses a kiss to my lips.

At the feel of her soft lips on mine, my body takes over and I pull her to me, slipping my hands inside her dressing gown and seeking out her nipples. I brush my thumb back and forth over them until she groans into my mouth. Then she pulls back panting.

“Let’s get the presents out the way first. We have to leave to be at Sophie and Doug’s at ten, and I know if we start now… We’ll never get there.”

“Okay.” I nod. Not happy about it, but knowing she’s right.

She hands me a box and I take it in my hands. Her face looks so happy I can’t wait to open it. I rip off the paper, chucking it over my shoulder and take off the lid of the red box. Nestled inside in red tissue paper is a black frame, and inside the frame are the lyrics of our song. A song we both have tattooed on our bodies. Cut out in hearts, with our names at the top, along with the date of our wedding and two penguins.

“Where did you get this?” I whisper, my voice full of emotion.

“Sophie found it actually. It’s this incredible lady online. I sent her the name of the song and she created it. Do you like it?”

“Like it? It’s the most amazing present ever. Thank you, Megs.”

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“I think the rest of the presents can wait don’t you think?” I grin pulling her on top of me as I lay back.

“I think so,” she groans as I take one nipple into my mouth and swipe my tongue over it. “They can definitely wait.”

Christmas Day

Megan

“His sledge landed on the roof of the first house, and Father Christmas squeezed down the chimney. He crept softly into the children’s bedroom and carefully tucked presents into their stockings.” I read and turn the page.

“Does Father Christmas sound a bit… you know, dodgy to you?” I hear Doug whisper to Harry and Jonathan.

I have all the babies surrounding me as I read them my favourite Christmas book from my childhood. I look up and scowl at the men and they soon stop talking.

“I don’t know. Creeping into children’s room and tucking presents into their stockings, he’ll be going into the wives rooms next.” Jonathan whispers back when he thinks I’m not listening.

I continue reading and the men continue whispering about how they’d like to be the ones to slipping something into their wives stockings and giving them naughty treats. Honestly, can they not stop it for ten minutes? I look down and into the eyes of all the little ones sat around me. They are all so gorgeous and perfect. I feel a tap on my shoulder and look round to see Sophie.

“Megs, can you help me for a minute?” she has a look in her eyes and I know exactly what she wants.

“Sure, Uncle Harry, please come and finish reading the story.” I call over.

“Why do I have to read it?” he huffs dramatically.

“Because you are the only one over there who can read.” I tease.

“Some of us have other talents!” Doug calls, winking at Sophie.

“Enough, Dude, Not another word!” Harry calls back, walking over to take my seat.

“And be careful, Father Christmas may or may not show his bare bottom towards the end!” I smile at Abigail.

“I’ve seen Daddy’s bare bottom,” she pipes up grinning. “And his boy bits!” she whispers, covering her eyes.

“Abigail,” Doug calls not looking embarrassed at all, “They don’t want to hear about that!”

“But Daddy, Mommy says you have a lovely bottom.” she grins at Sophie.

“Mummy does say that.” Sophie winks.

“Okay… I can help with whatever you need me to help with.”

Sophie takes my hand and leads me to the huge kitchen. Miley is standing at the counter chopping carrots for the dinner along with Evelyn and Elizabeth who are putting the finishing touches to a stack of delicious looking cinnamon cookies. Sophie walks past them and towards the downstairs toilet.

“Everything you need is in the second drawer. I’m going to stand right here make sure you’re not interrupted, okay?” she kisses my cheek then opens the door.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“I’ll be right here.” she smiles right before I close the door.

I turn on the light and open the drawer, pulling out what I need, I sit on the toilet and pee. Then I wait. It has to be the longest wait in the world, but when I look at the stick in my hand I have my answer. Tears well in my eyes and I brush them away quickly. Hiding the test in my dress I flush the toilet, wash my hands and unlock the door. Sophie is standing there like she promised she would be.

“Well?” she whispers, I nod my head and she pulls me in for a hug. I hear laughter coming from the lounge and smile too. “Go upstairs, I’ll send my brother up. Congratulations Megs.” she whispers, wiping a stray tear from my face.

“Thank you.” I whisper back smiling, still a little in shock.

I climb the stairs and go into our room for the night. Out of the suitcase I take the stuffed penguin we bought only two days before. I sit on the bed and wait for Harry to come in. When he appears a few minutes later with a naughty grin on his face, I know exactly what he thinks we’re up here for.

“Have I died and gone to Heaven?” he asks closing the door. “Because I could have sworn we already had our festive fuck this morning.”

“Harry, your mouth, it needs to be washed out with something stronger than soap!” I tell him, rolling my eyes.

“Any suggestions?” he growls at me, dropping to his knees in front of me and reaching for the hem of my dress.

“No. Not that. I need to give you your Christmas present.”

“I’ve had my Christmas presents, I’m wearing one of them.” he shakes his wrist and shows me the watch I bought him.

“Well… as it turns out, you have another one. One even I didn’t bank on.”

“What is it?” he looks excited.

I hand him the penguin. He takes it, turns it over and then frowns, looking at me.

“I don’t get it.”

“What is it, Harry? What are you holding?”

“A penguin?”

“What kind of penguin?”

“A little baby pengu—”

His eyes dart to mine as realisation hits. He drops the penguin and rests his hand on my stomach. His eyes are filled with tears and the most beautiful smile fills his face.

“You’re pregnant?” he whispers. “We’re pregnant?”

I pull the test out from my dress and hand it to him. He looks at it for a full minute before he says anything.

“We made a little penguin.” he chokes out.

“The first one to fill our nest.” I smile, taking his face in my hands.

“Megs—”

“Happy Christmas, Daddy.” I whisper before I press my lips to his.

“Happy Christmas, Mummy.”

After the news has sunk in a little, Harry pulls me to my feet and fishes his mobile out of his pocket. He scrolls through his phone and selects a song. The opening lines of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas fills the room and he pulls me to him, moving us both to the music. I sing the words to him softly as we stay locked together.

“I thought I had the best Christmas present I could ever have in marrying you. It turns out I was wrong,” he presses his forehead to mine. “It turns out, I have two. You and our little penguin.” he rests his hands on my stomach again as we dance.

“You’re going to be an amazing Daddy, Harry.” I tell him.

“And you’ll be the most amazing Mummy. I’m so in love with you right now. More than I ever have been. So much more. I have everything I could ever want in life right now.” he smiles.

“I love you. So much.”

“I love you more.”

We stay like that for another half an hour, letting the happiness we feel surround us.

All three of us.

© KA Hobbs 2015.

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Holidays by Amber Escalera #CinnamonTreats

Cinnamon and spice smells so nice

treats upon treats remind me to thank people twice,

The smell blossoms as holidays appear.

Cinnamon and treats, why thank you dear.

Holiday cooking what joyous times, friends and family around these times.

All the talking chatter and laughs

as we all reflect on the past.

The holidays come and go so soon, the smell of cinnamon disappears too, the treats all gone,

the festivities are over. No one wants to come over.

Holidays come each year

we wait for them to bring us

happiness and cheer. When they are over we are glad to see them go, but after a while we wish there were more.

© Amber Escalera 2015.

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Club Secrets And Whispers by Samantha Harrington #CinnamonTreats

I raise my arm bringing the flogger down harder this time, her whimpers let me know that she’s enjoying it. This one likes the gag and the flogger. Loves to be bent over the bench, while I flog her arse and tell her how naughty she is. I do this methodically now. This one has been coming to see me for 6 months. The first time I think she was embarrassed, that after a few smacks with the flogger the orgasm hit hard. I was surprised when she came back, but she wanted to just be flogged and then asked shyly for me to gag her, so that she was not tempted to answer me back. “Do you want to cum now Hailey” I ask, knowing that she can’t reply but I see her head nodding up and down frantically. “Well you have pleased me so spread your legs wider and stick that glowing arse in the air now” I command, so that she knows to respond straight away.

When I see that she immediately widens her stance and raises that shimmering arse higher in the air, I love that. I change the way I use the flogger, altering the angle so that it now slaps harder against her arse and the tops of her thighs. “Your teetering on the edge aren’t you Hailey, do you want my touch now?” I only see her head bob up and down, it brings a wicked smile to my lips knowing that she is mine to control like a puppet. I give her one more slap against the juncture of her thighs and core. Just when I know she can’t take much more, her moans and whimpers telling me she is so close, I press my finger deep inside. And it’s enough to send her over the edge, giving her that feeling that she craves, that she can only get from me.

My name is Mathew Betz, but you can call me Sir.

  I clean up the room that I used for the scene. Before heading back out to the bar to get a drink. I see Hailey at the front desk knowing full well that she will be booking in for next month.

  The club Secrets and Whispers is a grand affair, not some sleazy back alley place. Here we have high standards and rigorous background checks and random testing for members and staff alike.

The club is in a warehouse outside of town, we are only open Thursday through to Sunday every week. We have a total six Mistresses and Masters, but a new one would be joining us on Friday. It seems that people want what we have to offer. It gets a lot busier at this time of year, the club has` hung some decorations. Well a tree in the corner of the bar, that is about the only thing in here that would make you realise that it is the season of goodwill to all men.

 I order a large bottle of water at the bar, the little mouse of a girl serving did nothing but nod and walk with her head down. I would have to speak to Jenny. In this club weakness is left at home, as only the strong survive this place. Glancing down I notice the time, my last client will be here in half an hour. I have just enough time to get the room ready and myself. Taking my drink with me so I can go and get set up.

  I walk down the corridor to the last room on the left. Void of much furniture, it boasts a single black table and chair and a St Andrew’s Cross. The dark painted walls give it a warm feeling and its small size making it almost tomb like. Stripping out of my jeans, I have nothing but my tight black boxers on. Megan just likes to look at my body, while I tap her breast and clit with the riding crop. She has never touched me, but always enjoys looking at my 6ft frame. My slight tan is fading slightly, I hate that about winter, the defined pecks and tight abs, apparently fulfill that desire to have a prime specimen of a man, make her feel desired.

Her body is one I want own; I never have thoughts of clients like this, it is my job that’s all. With her though I want more, the good thing about this club is that we don’t have intercourse, it is stated in the club rules, that everyone has to sign and adhere to. We do everything else but. We bring them pleasure with toys our hands and our mouths, but never sex. I think that’s why I like working here. I pull the riding crop off the table, just as there’s a knock at the door. My heart leaps and my cock stirs knowing it’s her behind that door. It has been a couple of months since I have set my eyes upon her.

  “Come in” I said my voice a little raised, so that she will hear through the closed door. Walking in I take notice straight away the tight bun and glasses she normally wears are missing, her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, making the geek like appearance seem not so geeky. She is only 22. From the look of her then to now, she has changed. so much so that in the couple of months since she last came to see me, it feels like a lifetime.

 “Hi.” She squeaks out, as she pads softly into the room. Yet again I wish I was able to do more than what she has paid for, I want to feel her body move against mine as I pound deep inside of her, the curves that have suddenly made her sexier, well I’m not convinced this is the same Megan, granted she always had a stunning body, but wow these curves are heavenly, meant to drive a man insane with need. She sure as hell is doing that, my cock is painfully hard in my boxes now, the tip threatening to sneak out of the band at the top. She strips off her clothes down to her underwear, fuck me. She is wearing white fucking lace, I can see the rose coloured tips of her nipples peaking through the lace, what a treat. What happened to the plain beige bra and knickers she used to where to every session?

 As she climbs up on to the table, I don’t wait I head straight towards her, desperate to be close to her. I want more than this, I want to really play with her, show her what I’ve got to give her. Only her.

I work my way up from her thighs over the gentle curve of her stomach. Leaving little taps in my wake. Trying to warm her up, watching as her eyes devour my body. Megan’s nipple’s are now small and tight, I bring the crop down a little harder against the materiel of her bra, leaving a noticeable sting behind. Pulling away, I have to try and bring myself under control, my cock wants to rip the underwear from her body, see if she tastes as good as she looks. For the first time in my life I stop. I can’t continue with this scene, it feels wrong, I don’t want her paying for my services, I want to give them to her.

“Get dressed please, Megan.” I say to her, my voice tight with frustration.

“Why, Mathew what is wrong?” she questions me, her voice is silky smooth and flows over every inch of my body, god I have missed her voice.

“Because we can’t continue, it would be unethical, to do so.” I try to hide the desire in my voice, I think I fail when she looks at me in shock.

“Do you not want me Sir?” Oh fuck she called me Sir, the sound of her words bring me to tipping point. I know I shouldn’t say it but I am going to anyway, I don’t give rats arse anymore.

“It’s because I want you so damn much, that I am telling you to get dressed and leave, I can’t do this with you, I want you to much. What we do is not enough for me. I think you should go to the front desk and ask them to pair you with another Dom.”

Her face falls for a second. The thought of someone else bringing pleasure to her body drives me insane with jealousy. Someone else’s hands caressing her body, someone else’s lips tasting her skin, someone else’s cock sinking deep inside her trying to find release in heaven. The thought alone is going to make me combust with rage, I would kill any of the other Dom’s in this place if they dared to touch her. Oh god what am I saying she is not mine to control. She is not mine to have her submit.

“Then take me Mathew, I have wanted you since the day I saw you, I couldn’t bring myself to ask, so I stayed away. I thought you would want me looking more like some of the other women, who come here to see you.” She changed for me, wait a minute she wants me. Fuck I feel as if a weight has been lifted.

I don’t think, I just act, I close the space between us in an instant, bringing my hands up to her cheeks, lowering my head, so she knows my intent, and my lips cover hers, I hear a tiny gasp leave her mouth, I don’t wait, thrusting my tongue inside, feeling every millimeter of her mouth, she tastes like cinnamon and apple, it’s fucking hypnotic.

I pull away, looking into her hazel eyes, they are wide with desire and her lips are swollen from my kiss.

“You need to get dressed.” I tell her giving more of a command to my voice.

“Why? I thought you wanted me, as much as I want you?” I hold back the smile at her words.

“Oh believe me Megan, I do. I will have you tonight, but not here, you are coming home with me, to my bed. You are never paying for me again and never here do you understand? My little dove.”

She just nods her head at my words and pulls away from me so that she can put her clothes on.

I tell her to go out of the club and wait for me in the car park, I tell her I will just sign out and will be thirty seconds behind her.

I have never finished a shift so quick, normally I would stay behind and have a drink with everyone after a long shift, but to be honest. I have a better treat waiting just outside, and it’s one I can’t wait to taste.

We pull up to my apartment, and I can’t wait I pull her inside quickly, and push her up against the wall. My hands grip her hips lifting her up, so she can wrap her stunning legs around me, I don’t think I am going to be able to wait, I kiss her as if she is my last meal and I’m waiting on death row. I devour her mouth hungrily. Her hands tug at my hair at the nape of my neck, and I feel her nails scraping gently at me, it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my cock, just from her tentative touch. I carry her straight through to my bedroom and place her on the bed. I look down at her hair spread out on my bed, her body waiting for me to take her any way I want. I don’t want to be the Dom just now, that is work.

I want to make love to her, give her everything she desires and more, giving her the real me not the persona, I just hope it is enough, that I am enough. I slowly start to remove her clothing again the simple curve hugging jeans she is wearing, mold to her shape, keeping me mesmerized. I watch as the milky skin underneath is revealed to me, my mouth goes dry, with the realisation that she is mine. I peel her out of the rest of her clothes and look down with anticipation at the thought of her underwear being removed, so I can feast upon all of her for the first time. Even in the club she always kept them on, not now though. I hook my fingers into the band of her panties and slip them down her bare legs, not stopping until I throw them to the floor, she leans up on her forearms, so that I can unsnap her bra and watch as is slides down exposing her breasts to me. They are perfect, high and firm, rose coloured nipples that beg to be sucked and teased.

Pulling up off the bed, stripping down everything I’m wearing, so that she can see all of me, how hard I am for her. Knowing that she is the cause of my erection, makes it harden that little bit more. I lean back down towards her using my knee, so she can spread her legs for me, I lean down and place light kisses up her thighs inching ever closer to her core, she tries to shift close to my mouth, but I pull my kisses back down her leg towards her knee, until she gets that I am setting the pace. She stops and relaxes waiting for me to advance closer to her again, I run my fingers up her sides gently brushing her skin, feeling every inch of her.

“Please,” she begs me I know what she wants, I place a tender kiss right above her clit, knowing it’s not quite what she wants. I can’t help but want to take my time, to savor all of her.

“Patience my little dove.” I say using the little pet name I have for her. Finally letting my kisses touch her clit and her hips rise off the bed, I place my hands on her hips to hold her in place while I get my taste I want to feel what she tastes like when she lets go, I am going to lap up every single drop from her, only stopping, when I can finally sink inside her warm body, I use my tongue this time to tease the little nub, I drive her wild with it, only pausing briefly while I have her on the edge, just not enough pressure to let her sail off, I increase my pace a little and slip a finger inside her I feel her walls clamp around me as I push deeper inside, never letting my tongue stop its dance with her clit.

“Sir. Please let me come?” she breathes and it’s with those words that I press another finger inside and gently bite down on her clit, listening to her scream my name, as pleasure takes over her body. I wait for her to come back to me before I remove my fingers, I lean up and grab the foil packet from my draw so that I can cover myself.

“You ready?” I ask her, she just nods her head in affirmation, I slide up her body to meet her lips, I give her a kiss that is so hungry and desperate, that it leaves her no doubt that she is being branded as mine, I guide my tip to her entrance, I can feel the heat coming from her, I strain to hold myself back from thrusting all the way inside as much as I want to, I want to feel her surround every inch of me slowly until I meet her hips.

I push in so slowly, I fight myself to get a grip, I pull back out and push back in deeper this time, pleasure thrums through my veins, every nerve is on high alert, I can’t stand it anymore I need to feel her surrounding me fully. I pull back out and thrust all the way inside, when my hips meet hers, I gasp out load she fits me fucking perfectly, I set a pace that is teasing, wanting her to meet my hips with hers, adding more fuel to the already burning fire, I kiss her again, I know I’m not going to last much longer, the feel of her around me is just to good, I guide my hand in between us and rub her clit with my thumb as my thrusts continue, I want to feel her explode around my cock before I succumb to the pleasure. The feeling at the base of my balls tells me that I’m so close, I need to feel her, so I use my thumb and finger to give the nub a little squeeze, and she moans and thrashes with the pleasure, calling out my name as the orgasm rips through her body, it’s enough to tip me over, I cum with clenched teeth crying out her name as I explode inside the condom. I rest above her waiting to catch my breath for a second before I pull out.

Pulling her in close I wrap my arms around her, and watch as she falls asleep in my arms, looking over at the clock I see that it is 3.15am, where did the time go, it only feels like minutes ago when I brought her home.

I drift off thinking that was the best damn Christmas present. One that I’m not willing to share, swap or trade in for anyone else, Megan is always going to be my Christmas wish. I just hope I’m hers.

© Samantha Harrington 2015.

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Obsession
by Samantha Harrington

#Dark #Romance #LustRevengeLove

      Faith I had it all, friends, designer everything and money. With my degree in the bag it was my time to shine, a new beginning just for me. To live my life my way and not to conform to anyone else’s plan. One day changed all of that and everything I knew was taken away from me. When It happens, that one catastrophic event, the person I was before was ripped away from me in the blink of an eye. How could I deal with the pain of betrayal? Will I ever be able to deal with what happened? To find my inner strength to get me through or will the person I once was cease to exist? After everything that happened and everything I learn, can I ever go back to who I was before? Who can you trust, when you lose yourself?

     Warning: This book contains mature themes and language. This book may contain triggers for some readers. Intended for readers 18+ only this is a dark erotic romance


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Holidays Full Of Kink by Ethan Radcliff #CinnamonTreats

Good evening my pet

Did I tell you the best

Is Yet to come

A little wine

Some warm up time

We’ll get to know

Each other a little more

Tell me who you are

How you travelled far?

I know your needs

How your mind feeds

Your wants and desires

Your Mistress requires

Will you sit at my feet?

Will that make you feel complete?

So come here

Sit my pet nice and near

Please have no fear

I’m a good Mistress

Will cause you no distress

So get naked my pet

I wanna see you sweat

With anticipation

Making a proclamation

Saying my name

Playing my game

We’ll enter that forbidden zone

You and me heading home

That place where pain

Arouses you all the same

My crop will hit its mark

You haven’t told me to stop

I see that bliss upon your face

One that’s hard to erase

Nipples clipped and red

Mmm I see how you’re fed

You told me and you said

I wasn’t what you want-ed

One hour with me my boy

Is no nonsense but all joy

Did I tell you Santa’s on his way

He’s coming to join in the play

He’ll smell sweet like cinnamon

Slick and oiled a sensuous one

He’s been a very bad elf

He’s not sitting on the shelf

He’s a Dom and a merry man

Oh this Santa has a plan

He has with him some sexy treats

Makes your heart skip a few beats

Christmas wishes do come true

Surprise my pet, for me and you

A very merry kinky holiday

Ho ho ho this Santa says

Have a naughty sexy holiday

Ethan Radcliff © 2015

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Black Ice by M.B Feeney #CinnamonTreats

Jake hated Christmas. As soon as the shops began to stock their gaudy decorations and playing disgustingly cheerful songs, he began to do his shopping online.

From October until January, he was a hermit. Working from home afforded him the opportunity to stay cooped up inside his pokey studio flat and not have to face the world until he was sure all remnants of the holiday were gone.

It hadn’t always been this way. Jake used to love the build up to Christmas— getting the decorations ready to put on the tree, buying and wrapping presents, and the food. For years he would get excited for those couple of days, but not anymore.

His parents worried about him, and his brother tried to get him to join in, but it was no use. For five years straight, he’d locked himself away and buried himself in his work as an IT support specialist. His living room slash bedroom had a desk set up in the corner, with his state of the art computer with three monitors connected to it. He would sit there for hours dealing with people panicking over the smallest problem, helping them.

His blood would freeze when they ended the call with a pleasant ‘Merry Christmas’, a sentiment he never returned. He merely said his farewells and moved onto the next caller and their problems.

During his breaks from work, Jake would sit on his sofa bed with a steaming cup of coffee and a well thumbed photo album. Even after five years, he struggled to look through every photograph without tears streaming down his face, but he still looked. Only ever on the last couple of days before Christmas. The rest of the year, the album sat in its place on his bookcase, gathering dust.

As soon as December twentieth rolled around, it was time. None of his friends or family knew about this habit, and they never would. This was for him, and him alone. He would begin his ritual by lighting her favourite candle. Christmas for her was all about cinnamon— a treat she called it, as she never lit candles at any other time of the year.

Once the air was filled with the festive scent, he would sink onto the sofa bed, and crack open the first page. Spanning three years, the photographs started out as goofy and fun before morphing into loving and, at times, sensual. The tears usually started once the weekly baby bump updates began towards the end of the album. That’s when the bad memories would begin to play in his mind like a video on a loop.

Then, there were the photographs of them in the hospital, tired smiling faces full of pride of what they had created together. A little bundle of joy, swaddled in blankets that hid any distinguishing feature, but Jake knew. He could remember every inch of the baby’s face.

At the end of the album, when the photographs ended, the newspaper articles began. Detailing the accident and the death of his fiancée and their daughter, his heart would break again, shattering just that bit more beyond repair. He would scour the words as if reading them for the first time.

Black ice, drunk, head on collision, died on impact, White Christmas.

Yes, Jake hated Christmas.

© MB Feeney 2015.

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