Letters To The Editor - Under The Mistletoe

Last Christmas, my live-in girlfriend, Carol, gave me the best Christmas gift ever. We had gone over to her parents' house in mid-morning to have Christmas Dinner and exchange gifts. I gave her the usual jewelry (which she had been dropping not-so-subtle hints about for the past three months), a scarf, her favorite perfume, and candy. The gifts from her were rather paltry - a tie and six pair of socks. But I said nothing about it. Indeed, like most males, once I had gotten old enough to get a decent job, gifts from others became less and less important. If I wanted something, I would just buy it.

It must have been six o'clock by the time the women in Carol's family had cleaned up the kitchen, her nieces and nephews were loaded into the SUV's with their 'haul' from Grandma and Grandpa, and we had gotten back to our apartment in the city.

"Disappointed by you presents from me?" she asked as we enter the hall foyer, flipping on the light switch.

"Not at all," I answered, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her in close to me to kiss her temple. "You're the only present I ever want."

"Well..." she dragged out the word as she slipped off her outer coat. Dressed all in red, she looked like one of Santa's helpers. "I do have one more present for you."

She scampered towards the bedroom, a wicked smile on her face, so I figured she was going to put on some sort of lingerie or stockings and garter-belt. I heard the sound of scraping and a bumping noise before she called out to me. "Jim, I need you to bring this into the living room."

When I went into our bedroom, I saw a large cardboard box, about 6 ft x 2.5 ft x 2.5 ft. It had the familiar Amazon logo on the side with the curved arrow from the A to the Z forming a smile. I lugged the approximately forty-pound box into living-room. Not that it was all that heavy, but the shape and size made it awkward to carry. "What did you do?" I asked, "Hide in under the bed?"

When she nodded repeatedly with a mischievous grin, I asked, "How did you get it back there?"

I dropped it in front of the small corner table that held our miniature Christmas tree as she answered that she had the delivery man do it for her. I began opening the box and as I pulled the thick, stapled folds apart, my eyes went wide and I paused. Staring at what was inside. And then over at Carol. Then back to the box.

Inside was a MMassage Milking Table (registered trademark).

"Well, go ahead and open it," Carol nudged me. "I've been waiting for three months to try it." Then the little vixen reached into the pocket of her red tunic to pull out the tube of Glide from our bedroom night stand.

I quickly removed it from the packing case and set it up. I probably could have done it faster if my hands had not been shaking from excitement. As I began removing my clothes, Carol again expressed her impatience. "Hurry up!" she said, slipping off her shoes and crawling underneath the table, folding her legs underneath her.

I climbed up on the black, synthetic-leather covered mattress, being careful to position my 'junk' over the hole. As soon as I did, I felt her fingers curling around the tip of my cock, gently squeezing and kneading the spongy head. With her other hand, she lightly scratched my balls. Of course, I became hard almost immediately but was then startled to feel her hands leaving me.

But they quickly returned. All slick and oily. I heard giggling from below as Carol began to play with my cock and testicles like a new toy. Her slippery hands were everywhere. Squeezing my balls. Tugging on my penis like the teat of a cow. Pulling and pumping and yanking.

I think I sat a record for how quickly I came!

As I shot out my load of cum, I could hear Carol snickering and squealing. Even after I was finished, she continued to play with my cock, until it had finally shrunk to its flaccid state. Releasing my equipment, she planted a kiss on my balls and called up, "Merry Christmas, Baby!"

I weakly muttered back, "Merry Christmas."

With a grunt, she emerged from beneath the table and placed her hands on the edge of it to lean down and kiss my cheek. "I hope you are a little less disappointed with your presents now."

All I could manage to reply was a sigh, "Oh, Carol."

She smacked my bare ass and walked away, calling back, "Want a cup of eggnog? I'm going to have one and then I want to try it again."

"Not right away!" I replied in alarm. "I need some recovery time."

"So, we'll watch a movie on Hallmark," she answered. I heard the refrigerator door closing and she returned to the livingroom. "Uh, oh," she said, glancing down at her tunic-blouse. It was heavily stained with my spilt sperm. "Next time I'll have to remember to be topless."

Now at our apartment, every day is Christmas day.

James Thompson
(address withheld)