My Secret Santa's Secret Baby Page 4

  I rubbed her clit with one of my hands and played with her nipples between the fingers of my other one. I brought her to orgasm again and her little moans and whimpers were so hot that I finally let go, unloading three medium-sized volleys of thick, warm cum down her throat.

  My sweet Skye swallowed down each one like a champ, opening her mouth for more after each release. I gladly obliged until I had none left to give, dipping the head of my cock back to her waiting mouth, letting her suck me until I gave her another four full loads.

  In real life, I came, too, feeling the sweet release but already craving more. The fantasy was nice but I needed the real thing. I had to have Skye, no matter what.

  Chapter Seven - Skye

  It was no use. I tried to focus on the manuscript, which I’d taken home with me to try and finish by the end of the week. It was actually starting to get good, the beheadings and pillaging really ramping up.

  Nevertheless, my mind kept wandering. It was crazy. I’d only encountered Simon twice and spoken to him once at the office, but fuck if he wasn’t hot. The kind of man who could, and honestly did, make me wet with merely a look.

  I didn’t think it was just me, either. His appeal went beyond the physical. Not that the physical wasn’t really damn nice.

  Though what was making my cunt quiver and heart go pitter-pat, was something in his eyes and the way he looked at me. A softness despite experience, giving the impression he had really been through some shit but hadn’t let it change him for the worse. That was a feat that took a lot of strength in and itself.

  Standing up from my desk, I stiff-legged it into the modernized bathroom. All ceramic checkerboard tiling and chrome futures, the space quickly became my sanctuary in the new city. There was something about a nice long bath that made everything seem better.

  The ducky, one of the few things I still had from my childhood, bobbed happily on the top of the suds as the tub filled with water. Pulling the stress up over my head like a t-shirt, I shed my clothes and stepped into the deep soaker tub as it was still filling, the process taking longer than I was willing to wait before I could relax.

  I could feel the tension melting away as I floated suspended in the warm void. At least from my limbs and back. My poor little pussy was still as tight as ever, crying out for attention.

  I had been late in life to start touching myself. I’d been convinced when I was little that it was a sin, even though I couldn’t really understand why. After a while, about the time I blew out the eighteen candles on my birthday cake, I decided that ‘because I said God said so’ just wasn’t a good enough explanation anymore.

  There were times when needs demanded and I also couldn’t see why God would care. If the creator created everything, that would include the parts that were meant to feel good. By using them as they were intended was to honor God, or at least that was what I told myself when I heard my parents’ voice in my head and the guilt started to set in.

  The approach was slow, as though my pussy might run away if spooked. I knew it was silly but that didn’t stop me from doing it just the same.

  From stroking my hand over my hip and across my belly.

  Savoring the sensation of the approach.

  I’d never really appreciated how sensitive my belly was before. Not as much as my boobs, my nipples at least, but enough to help me relax and get into the spirit of things.

  My thighs parted as my hand approached, my breath catching at the first touch. It felt absolutely wonderful.

  I left my hand laying there for a moment, getting used to the pressure. When I was ready, I started to move. Stroking the outside of my pussy in slow, sort circles, trying to figure out what felt the best.

  I blushed with the thought, amazed there was any man who could turn me on enough to make me feel the urgent need to do this. Truth be told, I would have preferred that it was his hand down there but all I could do was imagine. So, imagine I did.

  My bare back pressed up against his muscular chest as Simon held me.

  Cuddling me in my bed.

  Our naked forms on top of the duvet.

  The table lamp shedding light on the matter.

  I imagined his cock, reaching full hardness, pressed up against me as his hands caressed my body, going from my breasts down over my belly. Following much the same path as I had to my pussy. I opened my legs as he approached, accepting his touch gladly.

  His strong but gentle hand, soft and warm from a long career of office work, caressed me up and down before starting to move in gentle circles, stimulating my pussy lips while also giving my aching little clit some attention. It reacted immediately, making me jump a little, splashing some water onto the floor in real life, and giving poor Ducky some turbulence.

  I settled back into it, picturing myself laying my head back on Simon’s chest in my mind.

  Feeling his arms as they cradled me. Holding me close and keeping me still as he pleasured me. Working my tender pussy lips to the edge of ecstasy.

  I’d never had an orgasm like this before and had no idea what I was in for.

  Every muscle seemed to tense at once, a crackle of beige purple lightning flashing through my mind. While my fingers were still outside, I could feel my pussy getting tighter and start to tingle as I started to orgasm.

  I bit my lower lip to keep from screaming out and scaring my neighbors. I wanted to howl my joy and release as years of repressed sexual energy came out all at once.

  I would never be able to face my neighbors if they happened to overhear me. Despite my burgeoning sexuality, I wasn’t quite ready to be sharing it with anyone. Except Simon, of course. I might even be able to moan in front of him.

  The thought made me smile, even as the familiar heat started to rise in my cheeks.

  Blushing was a trained response, shame being one of the few things I had been taught, even though I could already begin to feel its hold on me slipping. I wasn’t back home in Oregon anymore, and I wasn’t that girl.

  I had a new place in a new city and was starting a new life. I wasn't sure what I would do if my parents ever decided to cut me off— such as if I were to hook up with my older boss in real life like I was already doing in my fantasies— but for the first time in my life, the prospect didn’t scare me.

  Chapter Eight - Skye

  I was ready for disaster. I really didn’t know how I was going to face Simon after the dirty thoughts I had had about him the night before. At least not without my face feeling like it was on fire. That wasn’t a rare experience for me, but it also wasn’t something I looked forward to having happen.

  The morning was cold, the ground was snowy, the bus was late, and the bridge was amazing, as per usual. All seemed to be right with the world. Maybe things would turn out great, after all.

  I could smell the bakery from about a block away, the fans turned up to 11, or so it seemed. The donut gambit hadn’t gone very well but Simon had encouraged me to try again. I just had to stick at it and things would start to look up.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what was driving me so hard to make friends. The social imperative was certainly a factor and possibly the only one. Which gave me pause to wonder why.

  Wouldn’t life be so much easier if a human didn’t tend to go into crushing despair when in social isolation?

  “Hello again,” said the girl behind the counter.

  “Hiya.”

  “Another dozen donuts?”

  “I thought about it but decided to take a wild risk,” I informed her. “Make it a dozen caramel éclairs.”

  “Radical,” the girl said, shaking her head.

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “You said it!”

  Holding my newly acquired booty with both arms, I forged ahead to my destination, now feeling even more hopeful for future things to come.

  “Donuts?” Sam asked, once I approached the building.

  “Éclairs,” I said, as I sign
ed the book.

  It was such an old-fashioned thing to do, and kind of a pain that slowed me down every morning on my way in, but I was already starting to enjoy the tradition.

  “Oh, upping the game, eh?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Good luck,” he said, with a friendly wink.

  My mood considerably brightened, I strode to the elevator, feeling like I could face almost anything.

  “Éclairs?” Inga asked, as I passed the reception desk.

  “Exactly,” I said, confidently, as I handed her one.

  “Good call.”

  I was the first non-clerical worker there again. My enthusiasm for punctuation was putting me well ahead of the day. I gave a moment’s thought to hanging around, waiting for everyone else, or anyone else, to show up, so that they could see me doing my wondrous deed of kindness. Then I realized what a giant load of bullshit that was, and put the box down on the table before turning to leave.

  “Howdy, stranger.”

  Shit.

  My face turned into a raging inferno, my cheeks blushing red. Simon was so handsome that I could die. Especially after what I had imagined us doing. I could still feel his imagined touch on my body.

  “Hi,” I managed weakly, my eyes fixed on the most interesting carpet in the world.

  “Donuts?”

  “Éclairs.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Thanks?”

  It wasn’t the strongest praise in the world, but I would take what I could get. Especially under the circumstances. As the department head, Simon was really the person I needed to impress if I wanted to stay here permanently. Though, if I was honest, with myself as much as anyone, future career opportunities were not the only reason I wanted to impress Simon.

  I realized how silly that was. He could well be married with a couple of kids. A handsome guy like him, particularly at his age— I would have been surprised if it weren’t the case. Still, I held out hope.

  Hope for what, I wasn’t quite sure. I just knew I had a need I wanted him to satisfy. I may have been a chaste little virgin, but that was mostly by training. My mind, getting freer by the day, wandering to new and interesting places, wanted not only sex but a particular kind of sex.

  ‘Kink’ was the contemporary, polite descriptor, although my folks had some other, more colorful words. I couldn’t quite explain it, the words not being part of my vocabulary at the time, but I wanted him to take me.

  To be completely under his power.

  I wanted him to hurt me but also to give me pleasure.

  It sounded crazy but it was true.

  I wanted to be his to do with as he liked.

  “How are things going?” Simon asked pleasantly. “With the manuscript, I mean.”

  “Almost done. I only have about a hundred pages left,” I said.

  “Good,” he said, sounding well and truly impressed.

  “I’m a fast reader,” I murmured, as though if I raised my voice, he might pop out of my life like a bubble.

  It was true. One of the advantages of having books for friends, in addition to learning how to read at an early age, was that I soon got to a level of proficiency that allowed me to polish off a mid-sized novel in a day or two.

  On the upside, there was enough money in my allowance to keep me supplied. To stop complaints about there being books all over the house, I had opted for digital editions, usually EPUB, on my tablet. I especially liked the type of file where the pages actually looked like they were turning and imitated the sound of the paper scraping which was a nice touch.

  It was a silly little feature, but I appreciated it. I felt like it got me closer to the real thing.

  “And how about here at the office, how are things going?” Simon pressed. “Getting along with everyone?”

  “In a way,” I said.

  “In a way?”

  “There hasn’t been any conflict.” I shrugged. “So that’s good. We all just get on with our work.”

  “True,” Simon conceded.

  “I’d like to make friends, or at least acquaintances, but I don’t want to force it. I know it won’t work that way.”

  “Very wise.”

  “Sam and Inga seem nice,” I tried.

  “Oh, they are. Inga can be a bit of an odd duck, but she can also be really fun and interesting, given the right context. Just don’t ever mention tacos around her.”

  “Why?” I asked, genuinely interested.

  “Bad experience, trust me. Donairs are likely best avoided as well.”

  “Noted,” I said, with a cheeky little salute.

  His smiled, giving me pause. Then he winked, setting off another flood south of my border. I tried to play it cool, but fuck if blue flickering flames of desire didn’t light up in my eyes. I was fairly sure he could see them.

  Simon had to go back to work, which saved me the risk of any further embarrassment, even though I was fairly sure he was low-key flirting with me. I really didn’t have enough experience to know for sure, but that was what it seemed like.

  Regaining the use of my legs, I went to my cubicle, the manuscript in my case, planning to get it done before lunch.

  But there was something else on my desk.

  It didn’t look like much.

  Small and square, wrapped in bright green seasonal wrapping paper.

  There were carefully folded pieces of paper taped to the top, looking like a bit of origami. My first name was written on it in tight, precise handwriting. The deep black ink stood out bold against the high fiber paper, clearly written with a fountain pen, if not a quill.

  Pulling it firmly off, careful not to rip the rest of the packaging, I unfolded the paper, which turned out to be a note. Composed in the same fine hand in pitch black ink, it informed me that the gift was from my Secret Santa and also that it was one of many more to come. Folding up the note and putting it into my pocket to keep, I started on the gift.

  Using the approach that I’d been taught as a kid, I lifted each of the edges and then along the middle. Folding down one side and then the other, I revealed a distinctive blue box. The company name was printed on the lid in black.

  Tiffany & Co.

  I just stared at it, assuming there must be some kind of mistake. I got the pieces of paper back out and double-checked the name written on the other side of them. It was definitely my name and I didn’t think there were any other Skyes in the department. I thought I would have noticed.

  Approaching the box like it might bite, I lifted the lid. Were I not in the cubicle, I likely would have fallen down from the way I backed up so fast. Sitting in the box were two of the most beautiful sapphires I had ever seen. Even better, they were set into solid silver backings, constituting a pair of earrings.

  I had seen the earrings before. Not in reality, of course, but just an image of them online. I really liked sapphires and would sometimes look them up just to admire their beauty. I could have never afforded them, though. The set on my desk ran upwards of $10,000.

  I had definitely lucked out in the Secret Santa Department.

  And I couldn’t help but hope I knew who mine was.

  Chapter Nine - Skye

  My ears hurt. I couldn’t stand the idea of taking the earrings out and had left them in overnight. This turned out to be a mistake. I checked but there was no blood, which was a mark in the good column.

  Easing them out of ears, I left them in the box as I went to shower. Decked out in my carefully selected outfit, already evolving a plan for which type of pastry to bring into the office next, I slipped the beautiful little rocks back into place.

  I hoped whoever had given them to me would notice and see how thrilled I was with their generosity. The muffins I planned on bringing seemed to fall somewhat short to show my gratitude.

  The bus rumbled under me and I tried to figure out who my benefactor had been. I knew Christmas was supposed to be the season of
giving. My folks had taken that expression to a new sort of extreme, giving thousands of dollars to charity every holiday season.

  It was a nice though, to be sure, except it usually left us without money for a tree, let alone presents or a big dinner. I was only vaguely aware that people were supposed to get presents for Christmas, never having actually experienced it myself.

  But there were a lot of holiday traditions I’d missed out on. I nearly fainted the first time I had a taste of eggnog.

  It was a similar situation with Secret Santa. The first time I’d come across the notion was in the book Perks of Being A Wallflower. But I had never participated in any such thing in real life.

  What I had decided to get as my first gift for my Secret Santee, if that was the proper term for them, wasn’t much. Especially if I was doing Secret Santa for the same person who was doing mine. A handmade picture frame hardly compared to sapphires from Tiffany’s, but I couldn’t let the thought psych me out.

  If whoever was Santaing for me wanted to be generous, who was I to object or judge?

  Especially because I really hoped it was Simon.

  Whatever it lacked in expense, because I had yet to get my first paycheck, the gift made up for in presentation. I’d long been a master gift wrapper. It was mostly a matter of reverse-engineering the process of opening that I’d been taught on my birthday presents, which I got when I wasn’t competing with Jesus, since I was a little girl.

  “You shouldn’t have,” Sam joked, as I came up to the security desk, with my gift tucked under my arm so I could be ready to sign the book.

  “I didn’t. You can have a muffin though,” I said, offering him the box of them while I signed.

  “Thank you kindly.”

  Sam looked delighted as he took a big bite out of the double chocolate chuck with sprinkles. It felt good to be able to brighten his day.

  “You shouldn’t have,” Inga said, not looking up from her novel.

  “Muffin?” I asked, subtly dipping the wrapped present away from her.