MICRO MONDAY, CHRISTMAS EROTICA, FLASH FICTION

Window Undressing

A Christmas surprise

“Do you really have to leave?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve.”

“That’s why I have to leave.”

“What’s this top secret job anyway?”

I shouldn’t have gotten in so deep, but he’s too delicious to resist. And I need another taste of him, before….

“Don’t,” I say, pulling him toward the back door. He watches as I punch numbers into the keypad and it unlocks.

“Why are we at the mall? How do you know the security code?”

“I know people in low places,” I laugh. I lead him to the second floor display. Although the first floor is more festive and more like home, this gives us more privacy.

We settle in under Christmas trees. I throw my shoes off, answering mundane questions about security breaches and exhibitionism.

He’s on his back. I waste no time climbing on top, straddling his growing cock as it tickles my pussy through my clothes. I tease, he moans. I stand up to wiggle out of my stockings and panties, admiring the street lights illuminating my skin. I take off my dress, his eyes wide with admiration.

I pull down his pants as he takes off his shirt. I lower myself slowly onto his erection, savoring every inch of him as I bury my fingers into his hairy chest. I ride this stallion like a champion equestrian, navigating the delicate balance between getting off and getting endurance. I study his every grimace, every lip bite, every groan. He grabs my ass and thrusts himself deeper, willing us to enjoy the Christmas gift that keeps on giving. I feel him getting closer to the finish line and I quiver as my box starts to gyrate uncontrollably around him. I squeeze the last bit of pleasure out of the moment and cry out with one last hump as he explodes inside of me.

I roll off of him and he instinctively takes me in his arms, adorning my heart like the ornaments decorate the trees above us.

“Do you really…,” he begins, but his voice trails off, as if finishing the sentence will take me away from him. For good.

I say nothing. We both know the answer. We spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms until it’s time to sneak us out while it’s still safe. He asks me to go home with him. I tell him I need a walk. But I know the truth, I can’t stray too far.

It’s morning. He walks by my station in the window, my station in life. I catch his eye, the recognition on his face is palatable. He stares, confused. I don’t blame him. The last time I saw him, I was very much a warm-blooded woman — my arms around his neck, my tongue waltzing with his in our mouths. Now I’m in my usual cold, statuesque form, silently staring from the department store window, stiffly modeling clothes on sale for Christmas.

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Another festive tale by Heather Kinnane