Naughty and Nice: An XXXmas Story in Three Parts

PART ONE

I pull up outside the club, Yvonne’s last text message “ Santa can’t wait to see his little ho-ho-ho “ still fresh in my mind.  She’d asked me to come early for the annual XXXmas party, promising the kind of fun I wouldn’t necessarily get to have with her while she’s playing Santa and handing out kinky goodies to the rest of the regulars.  Of course I’d jumped at the chance to work my way onto her Nice List.  I’ll play precocious youngster to her wicked Daddy, naughty school girl to her libidinous priest, any day of the week, but I only get to sit on Santa’s lap once a year and I’m not about to pass it up.

The door to the club is unlocked when I get there, but there’s no sign of Yvonne’s heavy winter jacket in the coat room.  I shrug, figuring I’m here earlier than she expected, and start changing into my Little Girl get-up:  A pink and white plaid skirt that isn’t too short, and Mary Jane flats.  There are perks to being five-foot-one when you identify as a Little Girl, and one of them is occasionally finding kids’ shoes in your size.  When I hear the club door open down the hall, I assume it’s Yvonne but, rather than her butch-booted tread, the steps are light on the tiles, clicking as only high heels can, and it’s Leila, not Yvonne, who pushes through the cloak-room curtains in a swirl of black curls, crimson shag fun-fur, and spicy perfume.

“Hey, toots, she greets me.  “How’s tricks?

“Hi, Leila, I laugh, in spite of myself.  “I’m good.

She quirks an immaculate eyebrow at me.

“That’s not what I heard, she tells me, with a twinkle in her eye.  “I heard you’ve been a very naughty girl this year.

I slap my hand over my mouth dramatically, letting my eyes go wide.  “Oh, no! I squeak.  “You won’t tell, will you?

Leila shrugs out of her coat, revealing skinny jeans and a tight black sweater.  I swear she pushes all my high school slut buttons at the same time.

“You’d owe me big-time, if I didn’t, she says, pointedly enough to be an invitation.

My cunt clenches at the possibility.  I swallow hard, and lick my lips, more than willing to drop to my knees in the cloak room.

“I swear, I’ll do whatever you want, I promise.  This is the closest I’ve come, in a year and a half of knowing and want her, to actually propositioning Leila and, for all I know, I’m about to get a sweet I’ll keep that in mind, and a smile.

Instead, Leila smirks, looking me up and down in a way that makes me knees go weak.  God, I would love to blow her prom queen in a dark corner, or prove to her head cheer leader that I’ve got enough team spirit to make the squad.  Hell, I’d happily play baby dyke to her older, out trans girl, learning the ins and outs of lesbian sex from someone who already knew the ropes.

“Yeah? Leila says, tossing her long hair over her shoulder.  “Prove it.

I bite my lip.

“What do you want me to do? I mumble, wanting her to force my hand a little.

“Ditch the shirt, she orders.  “It makes you look like a little kid.  What grade are you in, anyway?

Okay, that’s more my style.

“I’m fifteen, I tell her, sulkily, but I undo my blouse in record time, letting it hang open but not willing to take it off.

Leila reaches out, taking my nipple between her fingers and pinching.  I pull back, gasping, as pleasure lances through me.

“You said you’d do anything, Leila reminds me, hazel eyes glittering.  She reaches out again and, this time, she slaps me across the chest, driving the breath from me.

I stare at her, open mouthed, skin singing with pain.

“You liked that, didn’t you?  She challenges.  “Go on, say it.

“I\’I liked that, I tell her.  I’m not lying.  Under my skirt, my naked pussy starts drooling.

She slaps me again, the hot sting spreading across my chest, and then pinches my other nipple.

“Everyone knows you had to blow the whole football team just to keep people from finding out you’re a dyke, she hisses, throwing the words in my face, advancing on me.  I back away from her, only to find myself pressed hard against a case of cubby shelves, craning my neck to look at her.  She gazes down at me, her smile cruel and triumphant.

“But you are a dyke, aren’t you? she goes on.  “I saw you behind the school with Tina Lopez, sucking on her tits like you couldn’t get enough.

I nod, aware of the position of Leila’s own tits, so close to eye-level, and equally aware of the cubby slats digging into my back through the thin cotton.

Leila peels off her sweater in one fluid motion, the lace of her bra stretched over hard nipples.  I whimper a little, at the sight.

“Go on, Leila says, pressing her tits against my face.  “Whether you like it or not, you owe me.

With a groan, I lower my mouth to her breast, dragging my tongue across her nipple not caring about the lace in the way.

It doesn’t take long for Leila to shrug out of her bra, or for me to work it down around her waist.  I cup her breasts in my hands, and she grips a fist-full of my hair, groaning as I lave her nipple with my eager tongue.  I suck it hard into my mouth, her perfume a heady cloud around me, as I cover her breasts with sloppy, hungry kisses.

“You’re such a slut, she tells me, breathlessly, arching her back.  “I bet you just love sucking on my tits.

She snakes a hand under my skirt, groping between my legs.

“Look at you, she says, pawing at my slippery pussy.  “You’re such a little cunt-slut.

Yes, I am!  I think, grinding against her palm, eagerly.  I want to rub myself off against her hand, or beg her for a finger-fuck.  Yvonne’ll be mad if I show up smelling like cum, but Yvonne’s not here yet and anyway, I’m hungry for punishment.  I was promised a lesson, dammit, and I’m gonna learn one!

I suck Leila’s other nipple into my mouth, circling it with my tongue.

“Oh, suck on it, slut, Leila gasps, her fist twisting in my hair.  “Suck it hard!

I do as I’m told, every inch the eager, muff-diving closet-case she says I am.

Under my skirt, Leila pushes my legs apart, and I moan my consent, more than ready to get fucked by the Queen Bee and willing to take whatever boot licking, piss-bathing punishments Yvonne wants to mete out for my transgression if it gets me into Leila’s pants.  But\’

“Ho! Ho! Ho! the evocative, jolly laugh from the club’s interior stops us in our tracks just as surely as any teacher’s voice in the hall.

She was here all along?

The thought of Yvonne, my big, butch Daddy, lying in wait for me while I took my time fooling around, crosses my mind and sends a thrill of ice down my spine, but Leila slaps my pussy, hard, bringing me back to her.  She drags her hand out from under my skirt.

“Listen to me, closet-case, she growls, pulling my head back, forcing me to look her in the eyes.  “You owe me big time.  Carefully, but nowhere near tenderly, she smears my own cum across my face.  “You’re gonna be my little cunt-slut for the rest of the year, she goes on.  “Got it?

I nod, opening my mouth to suck the taste of myself from her fingers.

“Good, she says, her voice heavy with threat and promise.  “Next time you see me?  Be ready to use that mouth on something other than my tits.

With that, she lets me go.

“Better get dressed, she suggests, her voice still cruel.  “Don’t want to keep Santa waiting.

I stare at her a moment longer, trying to down-shift from teenaged nympho to seven-year-old keener with no down-time.

Leila pulls something green and shiny out of her abandoned shoulder bag, and I realize why she must have come so early.

“Go on, Leila tells me, shaking out the split-front, satin negligee.  “Holly the Christmas Nymph needs to get dressed.

The thought of Leila as one of Santa’s elves is just enough to push me into a headspace where I’m ready to face Yvonne’s wicked Saint Nick and whatever punishments await me in her lap.  I push through the cloak room curtains and scurry towards the double-doors that lead to the club proper, buttoning my blouse as I go.

 

Read Part Two of this story here.

Clive Dixon

An English teacher in a former life, Clive Dixon now works as a psychotherapist. When not listening to his clients talk about their sex lives, he writes erotic and other fiction. His stories have also appeared in Clean Sheets and Penthouse Variations.

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