Page 24 of HoHoHo for You

She grabbed my hair with one hand, pulling me against her and leaned back to lift her hips slightly in time with my licking and sucking. The only noise over the rustle of the trees and rush of the water outside was her small whimpers and mewls as she tensed and her pleasure grew.

It never grew old watching her climb to that peak and fall apart.

A few minutes in, I repainted her clit and she almost came under the brush strokes, so I knew she was close.

Sure enough, I barely had her clean, had only flicked her a few times with my tongue when she started twitching and pulling me against her harder, gasping my name and quivering on the table. I gripped her hips and held her down, relentless as she begged, and looked up just in time to see her head throw back and her jaw drop as she came, her body bowing and bucking, my name echoing through the small space and turning meon.

I kept lapping at her, expecting her to slump and go weak and pull away the over-sensitive flesh. But the moment she caught her breath again, she sat bolt upright and grabbed my hair in both hands to pull my head up, then planted a foot on my chest and pushed me back.

Moments later I was flat on my back on the floor, a little bit stunned, as she clambered down, grabbing one of the pots on her way.

“You lay down and you stay down, Sam,” she said, her voice shaky and breathless.

“Babe, I’m not—”

“Oh, yes you are,” she said, then smiled wickedly as she poured some of the syrup over my aching cock, then opened her mouth over me like I was a popsicle.

I cursed and grabbed her hair, but she didn’t give me a second to breathe. Hands stroking me at the base, she drew me deep into her throat—deeper than she ever had before—and did something with her tongue that almost took me over the edge immediately.

“Bridget! Fuck!”

She came off me with a slurp, grinning, and grabbing that jar again. “Not this time!” Before I could respond, she’d dipped her hands in the syrup and rubbed it on her breasts, then dropped down between my thighs and pressed my cock between those beautiful, soft rounds, now sticky with syrup.

The sensation wasoverwhelming.And the sight of her rubbing herself on me, chin down to flick me with her tongue on the upthrust was too much.

“Bridget,”I gasped. “I’m not going to last… I can’t—”

“Good.”

I dropped my head back for a second to try and hold my orgasm off, but then I felt the warm wetness of her mouth again and I groaned, my breath shuddering out of me as I tipped my head up again and drank in the beautiful sight of my wife, jaw wide as she took me in her mouth and rubbed her breasts on my thighs.

I came like a gunshot, rasping her name over and over as my body spasmed. I grabbed for her, simultaneously needing more and needing it to stop, because seeing her and feeling her at the same time threatened to steal my sanity.

But she slapped a hand to my stomach and wouldn’t let me sit up, so I laid there, helpless as pulse after pulse, wave after wave of bliss rocked through me, and she swallowed me down, every drop, until a raw, guttural bark broke in my throat and I slumped back, both hands in my hair and body twitching, over-sensitized and overwhelmed.

And my wife… my beautiful, fragile, unhinged wife, flopped over me, then planted a sweet kiss right on the head of my dick.

“I love you, Sam. This is the best non-Christmas present ever,” she whispered.

I almost made a joke, almost told her my eyes were up here. But she looked so… happy.

When, eventually, we both had our breath back, she laid on my chest, knees drawn up on either side of my waist and her chin resting on her hands.

Every time we moved the sticky parts of our skin stuck together and made things awkward, but it was so fantastic to see her smiling, I didn’t want to move.

Bridget stared at me, bright-eyed like… well, like a kid at Christmas, ironically. It broke my heart that I couldn’t say that, but I enjoyed the moment, thanking God that she really did seem lighter here. Easier.

Then she leaned forward and kissed me. She would have made it a peck, but I caught her hair and held her there, lifting my head to kiss her properly.

“Bridget,” I whispered without letting her go, “I love you… but I need a bath.”

“Oh, thank God,” she spluttered and kissed me again. “I was just thinking exactly the same thing.”

She giggled as she crawled off me. I got up and helped her to her feet, then leaned down to throw her over my shoulder. She shrieked, but laughed. And she didn’t struggle as I carried her out of the house and down that ramp to the waterhole below and plunged us both in.

After the muggy air of the treehouse and ouractivities,we were both hot, so the water felt beautifully chill. It was a shock on the skin at first, and Bridget shrieked when my steps splashed her. But I kept her in my arms and dropped us both into the clear water, dunking us, then coming up with a gasp at the shock of the cold.

Bridget spluttered, but laughed.

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