Ghosts of Christmas past

Today I would like to share a semi-fictional story, based on a real event.
It all begins at a Christmas party, many years ago…

GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST –  a semi-fictional tale.

He strode into the room, feeling all of the power and confidence of his position.  A fairly young manager, who worked out regularly, his strength showed not only in his presence, but in the muscles that rippled under his tailored shirts.

The room was filled with friends and associates.  Most were people that normally, you not spend a lot of time with.  Others you would.  All were brought together by this little Christmas gathering.  A pair of folding tables, draped in holiday covers and laid out with pot luck foods was the center of attention.   Over weight people, eating and drinking too much gathered here.  The room was filled with that background buzz of people making small talk, their tongues loosened by alcohol, as they wandered about with plates of small portions.  It was Christmas that had brought them together.  In one corner, a tiny fake Christmas tree adorned with lights blinked like a shrine to this gathering of mismatched people.

He quickly surveyed the room, picking his order of attack.  Which people to shake hands with first and get it out of the way. Which people to pigeon hole, to work during play, and which to hang with later.  Plus, he needed the all important corner to commandeer, a place gather his minions.

It was later, after his minions had made their worship known, as he held court in the corner, that he noticed her.  A tall, beautiful woman leaning uncomfortably alone, against a wall across from him.  She was not unknown to him, but the opportunity to socialize with her had never presented itself before.

She was nervous, and ill at ease.  At first it was this shy discomfort that attracted the attention of his Dominant nature.  But as he looked again, he realized that there was more here than natural submissiveness.  She was a breathtaking beauty with red hair and curves that made him swear softly under his breath  God! the body on this woman!

Her freckled, small town girl face, framed by sweeping long locks of straight red hair, held beautiful eyes that turned down shyly at contact.  He gazed more intently at her and she flinched under the attention.  She wore a loose fitting dress whose plunging neckline allowed him to view delicious cleavage formed by rich full breasts, trapped in a bra underneath.  His gaze now swept up and down.  She had a flat stomach, and hips that flared out nicely, complimenting those wonderful breasts in graceful sweeping curves that defined her ample feminine form. High heals drew his attention to long lean legs that disappeared under a skirt just short enough to make him believe that a wonderful mound of womanhood awaited just above thighs that didn’t meet-unless crossed and pressed tightly together.  He drank in this beauty and felt a familiar throbbing in his lower extremities.

Dismissing court, he made eye contact once again, which she promptly broke, looking down shyly.  It only fueled his desire more.  He strode purposely towards his prize, she with her heart aflutter as he approached.  She looked up in a serious of short glances, each time he was still staring, still coming closer, still approaching until his neatly polished boots appeared in her downward gaze.  She pressed her back against the wall as if it would shield her from his presence, but it only served to square her shoulders, and make her breasts more prominent.  He didn’t lean in or put a hand against the wall to trap her.  He didn’t look down to steal a glance at the cleavage, the ample breast between them.  He moved slowly, disarming her.  Slowly he stripped her of her fears and apprehensions, laying her bear.

He talked not about himself, but instead struck her with a constant stream of questions about herself.  She found herself loose tongued, in a way that only too much alcohol normally made her speak.  He kept her off balance, one moment free and easy, and in another he would touch her forearm, a contact that froze her for a moment.  He never quite felt harmless, yet he never left her uneasy for more than a brief moment.  And so it went, moments of ease and nervousness.  The room and its people ceased to exist.

The evening melted away, in a dance of hot exchanges, her universe engulfed by this intriguing person.  Party goers began to make their exits,  and he made his first command of the evening.. stay and help me with the cleanup.  She nodded.  Maybe because in her heart she was submissive, or perhaps she was drunk with the wine of this man’s power, but she gave of herself willingly, eagerly.  It wasn’t a demand, yet she felt compelled just the same.

When the last of the party goers had left the building, and the doors were locked, he took her by the hand and lead her deeper into the building, she in tow, nervous but obedient.  She followed meekly into a room with wood walls and he closed the door behind them.  He turned to face her and backed her up into a wall, his thigh between her legs.  He looked down at her, that beautiful face framed in wonderful long flowing red hair, that fell about her shoulders and down into that gorgeous cleavage.  NOW he allowed himself the luxory of drinking in her beauty, of gazing on that wonderful cleavage.  She breathed heavy now, completely drunk in her submission. No words were exchanged.  She understood as he did, that they were two of a kind, each in their own way.

So it was that when he pressed ever so gently on her shoulders, she instantly fell to her knees, knowing his wordless desire, and was willing to obey.  She removed his cock. Her submission alone had made it hard and throbbing , and she took him into her mouth.  In that moment, as her lips closed in delicious submission to his pleasure, he knew as she did, that she was his to command.  He let her feel him, taste him, and reveled in feeling of having this woman on her knees before him.

It is odd that there was no discussion, no negotiation, no reaching of an understanding.  So sure of their desires were they, that words were not needed. He pulled her up to him, his mouth now hungry for hers.  He tasted her lips, her tongue, as he pressed her once more to the wall.  He cupped her breasts, full hands, which sought through the material of her dress and bra for hard nipples underneath.

One hand stole under her dress.  Her panties were soaked with the excitement of this encounter.  He understood now he must make her his.  One last time against the wall, with a handful of hair and soft kisses at her neck he pressed against her, then lead her to a nearby desk by the grip on her hair.  He pressed her head forward, driving her over the desk, lead by his grip on her hair.  He released her and now she lay before him, her breasts pressed against the wood of the desk, her back rising with heavy breaths, and her ass held high by those long shapely legs.

Her skirt rode up high in the move, giving him the smallest glimpse of wet panties over her perfect mound.  He paused, letting her feel her submission, her exposure, letting her feel cool air on her wetness.  He paused to admire the perfection of her lines, the way her thighs and ass cheeks met, and framed the dripping  sex he would soon possess. In spite of his hunger, he paused to make her feel the choice, her choice, to continue this dance or not.

What went through her head as she stayed frozen there with her breasts pressed against the desk?  What did she feel with her ass  exposed to him,  her sex freely offered to do with as he pleased?  Perhaps she felt fear mingled with excitement, or maybe just excitement at the thought of the control this man had over her. Whatever she thought, she did not move.  She remained frozen in place for his use.  Breathless, she awaited for his continued pleasure to take her.

She didn’t turn to look at him, but closed her eyes, blind and waiting in her personal darkness for the feel of his touch.   She waited for him to use her.  She waited, lost in the darkness of her unconditional surrender, freely giving of her body anything his pleasure would take from her, and he smiled at that.  He touched her and she breathed deeper, her knees trembled and buckled ever so slightly.

He trailed a hand up her thighs, under her skirt and then knelt to better appreciate that which he would now take.  As he slowed pulled her panties down, to reveal her wet and waiting womanhood, crowned by a small tuft of red hair, she moaned softly in anticipation.  She smelled wonderful.  He gently bit her ass, then licked and sucked at her clit, mixing little bits of pleasure and pain.  A gasp escaped her lips and she grasped the edge of the desk harder, fairly trembling now.

It is hard to say which was more drunk with lust in that moment. He with his throbbing need to be inside her,  to feel the grip of her wetness around him.  Or she driven mad by the slow conquest of her being, the need to feel him take her completely.  He stood suddenly, decisively, his cock already out, wet from her mouth.  He slide the head ever so softly between the her lips, wetting himself further with her juices.

He slid into her ever so slowly, at first, lips wet with anticipation parting to hold him.  Eyes closed, ever fiber of her being attended to the sensation of that penetration, of her grip on him, as his irresistible force met the movable object of her being.  With an unexpected change, he thrust suddenly into her, and she gasped.  He buried deep, his hardness penetrating her deeper than she could ever remember, his pelvic bone grinding into her, seeking to go deeper still, and she felt the last vestiges of self control leave her.  The moment was ecstasy unleashed, her tight wet grip, pliable and yielding to the hard and throbbing domination that slide into her, as he took her utterly and completely.

It was the first and last penetration, the alpha an omega, the crumbling and making of her world.  She was his completely, the two made one.  It was the first of many a dangerous encounter, sexual adventures in places partly public.  There is a thing about power and attraction.  Ideally, we move slowly, taking our time as we get to know another person.  And sometimes we are overcome by the momentum of a moment.  We succumb to dangerous desires,  as both Dominant and submissive.  It is not important if we are impulsive or not, if we succumb to the lust of the moment or not.  What is important is that we make good choices, ones that we can live with later.  Not long later I wrote this:

I have found, that almost every submissive has a secret key locked away in her heart and her mind, begging to be found. Any master can have her pleasures, but only a great Master can find the key, and when he does, she comes undone, but is forever more, held in the grip of the man that set her free. Given time, that Master is usually me. ~Xtac Quote

Carped Diem my friends, and a merry kinky Christmas!

A side note:  This happened in what we might call the golden age of sex, when one night stands were common – before aids and herpes where known.  This was a time when a shot of penicillin would cure any STD out there. Today, reality dictates we are much more cautious in our trysts.  I often wonder where the sexual revolution would have taken us, had these diseases never happened?  Also, this was before Izrina.  I have been this way as long as I can remember.