Tits and Christmas trees

This scene is inspired by something I heard, or maybe misheard, last weekend. Something that might never have been a possibility outside of my own head, and where the idea took root because I wanted it to be a possibility.

It starts with a teasing remark.

Wait, no, that’s not quite accurate. It probably starts with the wine; I would never have been bold enough to go along with it without the encouraging warmth of red wine. And, I suppose, without the Christmas tree it would never happen anyway. However, his comment is the catalyst.

It’s almost Christmas, and after a stressful month it is glorious to just be sitting on a squishy sofa. I’m comfortable and relaxed, there is a cute guy fetching me more wine, and my offering of mince pies goes well with the phallic-shaped biscuits.

I’ve established by this point – when they’ve extended the offer of their spare room – that I’m accepting that offer. I want to prolong this magical evening, remaining inside the moment of laughter and cock cookies, where I can curl up on the sofa and sneak peaks at his arse as he bends over to pick up cats.

I’d just complimented Eilidh on their beautiful tree – with baubles at perfect cat-pawing height, as was being demonstrated by their large tabby. Handing me a refreshed wine glass, he adds his contribution to our aesthetics-of-Christmas-decorations conversation.

“You know what would make a beautiful photo? Two sets of tits in front of our tree.”

Eilidh laughs, leaning back on the sofa next to me. “Are you going to turn that into a command?” she asks him, lifting an eyebrow and smiling cutely.

I pray that he will; that he’ll look at me with that cocky grin and order me to take my top off. Order us in fact, because part of the reason the scenario was so hot was that it wasn’t just me. He would tell both of us to get our boobs out, and I was included in the fun. She wouldn’t be disgusted or reluctant, but eager to strip and for me to do so as well. He would find me, if not quite as attractive as his partner, at least not unattractive.

I wonder if he can see the longing on my face. Am I looking at him with pleading, puppy-dog eyes that reveal exactly how much I want this?

My thoughts are interrupted when he speaks, in that casually commanding voice.

“What are you waiting for? Take your top off.”

To my right, Eilidh beams at me as she begins unbuttoning her shirt. I look at him, my fingers playing with the edge of my fleece. As much as I want this, as much I’ve had even filthiest fantasies swirling around in my mind since he met me at the station, I’m nervous.

As though reading my thoughts, he catches my eye. “Go on.”

Desperately hoping he can’t actually read my mind, I push aside the nerves and embarrassment. Focussing instead on the ache between my legs and his eager smirk. I pull off my fleece. The top underneath it is tight, I know my boobs look fabulous – I think I caught him sneaking glances earlier. That comes off too, but when I reach for the clasp of my bra he stops me.

“Let me,” he says, and I almost forget to breathe for a second when he reaches around me to unhook my bra. I inhale, savouring his scent. He holds my gaze as he gently pulls the straps down my arms. Setting my bra down, he turns to Eilidh and divulges her of the gorgeous green lace creation she’s wearing. I briefly wonder if her knickers match, and whether she’d be wet if I pushed my face into her crotch.

They kiss, but instead of feeling as though I’m intruding, I feel a part of the moment. Especially when he steps back and looks at us both appraisingly. Approvingly. “You both look beautiful,” he tells us, and I blush. Hopefully they’ll attribute my flushed cheeks to the wine, rather than embarrassment. I feel exposed, vulnerable… but also safe.

He reaches for his camera, instructing us on how to position ourselves in front of the tree. I giggle at the wonderful absurdity of the situation, and Eilidh joins in, nudging against me as we get into position. My skin tingles where her warm fingers brush my side. It takes more self-control than I’d like to admit to stop myself taking her hand and leading her fingers under my skirt…

A flicked switch turns off the main bulb, leaving only the glow of the tree lights. For a second I’m captivated by the dancing lights. Then he’s next to Eilidh, and before I can prepare myself his warm hands are on me too. He repositions us; gentle, firm hands putting us where he wants us.

If I wasn’t already wet, which I certainly am, I’d have become so when he pinches one of my hard nipples. I bite my lip to stop a moan escaping, but his smirk suggests he’s noticed the reaction the simple action had on me. He smacks Eilidh’s arse – just once. She tenses as though she’s expecting, or maybe wanting, more.

He turns away to pick up his camera, and while his back is turned she reaches out and pinches my bum. I squeal, but by the time he’s whipped around she’s looking innocent. Well, as innocent as a topless woman standing in front of a Christmas tree can look, anyway. I smile.

He begins to snap photos. “Great photography requires experimentation,” he tells us gleefully, “and I rarely have two glorious pairs of tits in front of the Christmas tree, so I want to be certain that I’ve capture it properly.”

“That’s all you can think of to do with two pairs of tits?” I ask, and feel proud of myself for being brave enough to say something so daring. “Someone’s eager,” he responds, but nothing suggests he’s any less eager. Despite this, he raises the camera again. Damn it.

“Kiss her cheek, Eilidh,” he orders. She obeys, leaning over and pressing her lips against my cheek in a feather-light kiss. I want to kiss her so much. I want to kiss him more though. Especially when he tells her to bite my neck, and while her teeth nip at my skin he grins broadly at me.

“Now hug – yes, like that.” The camera captures us hugging, tits pressed together, but the photo won’t record how tempted I am to slip my hands down the back of her leggings and squeeze her arse.

“Turn around and lift your skirt,” he commands, “I want to see your cute little bum.” I turn around, presenting my arse to him. I smirk into the branches of the tree as I hear him make a choked sound. You see, freezing as it may be outside, I’m not wearing kickers. Only long, stripy stockings, leaving my cunt on display if you lift up my skirt. I wonder if he can see the wetness on my thighs.

Another pinch from Eilidh – this one documented by the camera – elicits a second squeak of surprise. “Gorgeous, you filthy girl,” he says, quite sincerely. I don’t have time to blush before he’s telling us to jiggle our boobs at him, and I’m laughing with Eilidh as we do.

It is fun and festive and freeing, two pairs of tits in front of the Christmas tree. I’m sad when he puts the camera down, wondering if it means the fun is over.

“Do you want me to tie you up in fairy lights and spank you until your arse is glowing as much as your cheeks?”

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