Have Yourself A Primal Little Christmas #3
“Bad Oppa,” Cynnie scolds. “You sabotaged my costume.”
“I certainly did.” I lick and nibble along her jaw. “I’m getting all of your clothes altered. Crotchless everything from now on.”
“Oppa!” Cynnie bucks and wriggles, but I’ve got a good hold on her and I outweigh her by a hundred pounds.
She doesn’t have a chance at getting away from me.
All she’s doing is rubbing those lush curves against my chest. Which is probably her real motivation.
Although she enjoys our hunts and genuinely tries to hide and to escape if I don’t capture her firmly, I think she enjoys the “claiming” part more, the same way I do.
I dip my head to her ear, worrying her little lobe between my teeth before I growl, “I’m going to fuck you so hard, my bumble. Right through your cute costume. You’re going to have my come running down your tights.”
She thrashes. “No, bad Oppa!”
“Oh, yes—”
I cut off as a big body crawls past.
“Good job, Max. I see you got yours.”
“Uh-huh,” I tell Bravo. “They went that way.”
I nod toward an opening at the back of the loft.
“Got it. See you later,” Bravo says as he shuffles off on his hands and knees. The ceiling’s only five feet above our heads, too low for either of us to stand.
“Happy hunting,” I tell him.
Since I no longer have to use my free hand to fend off Sammi’s elbows—I’m going to file those damn things down before our next play session—I put it to good use.
I run my fingertips down the underside of Cynnie’s arm, exposed as I keep her wrists pinned above her head.
She shivers with the sensation. Her skin’s so soft.
She’s sweating lightly from our struggle and the floral, salt-sweet notes of the lotion we’ve picked together fill my nose. Mmm.
“I love the smell of your skin, baby.” I rub my nose along her cheek, pushing her head to the side for access to her tender throat. I nip down the prominent tendon. “I love your taste.”
“I spray myself all over with skunk so you not like me,” she growls in her adorable little growl.
“That wouldn’t stop me. And I’d be able to track you down even faster if you were stinky.”
“You the stinky!”
I doubt I smell like much other than salt, between the trip across the bay and the minor exertion of the hunt, but I play along. “It’s going to be a stinky fuck, then. I’m going to cover you in my stink.”
Cynnie kicks her legs, which only wedges our lower bodies together more tightly.
I decide to take advantage. I reach down between us, undo the drawstring on my pants and push them down below my ass.
I know better than to wear underwear on a hunt.
Sometimes, you need to get a cock free and claim that prey fast.
“No-no-no,” Cynnie protests.
I freeze for a second. It still catches at me, a woman telling me no.
Then the way I’ve retrained my brain since becoming Cynnie’s daddy kicks in.
This is part of our game. Cynnie has two safe words: one to tell me that she’s having a physical problem, the other to call a complete halt to our play.
Telling me “no” is just part of the game.
“Yes-yes-yes, my bumble. I caught you and now I’m claiming you.”
“No—”
Her protest is cut short when I line up and push my crown into her.
I enjoy punching my cock into her, but only when I’ve gone down on her first or worked her up enough that there’s no risk of tearing.
Although the hunt and struggle have wound us both up, she’s not wet enough for a forceful entry.
Instead, I just breach her with my cock and enjoy the sweet kiss of her opening.
“That’s it,” I growl at her. “Give in to your Oppa.”
“Never give in,” she growls back, even as she winds her legs around my hips and tries to tug me deeper into her.
“I’ll never stop chasing you,” I promise. “I love you so much, Cynnie. I love the games we play. Merry Christmas, baby.”
“Oppa.” She melts. When she tugs at her wrists, I release her and let her wind her arms around my neck. “Loves you most.”
I flick my tongue across her tempting lips.
Once I enter her fully, it’s hard to kiss her because of our height difference.
With just my tip in her, if I arch my neck, I can enjoy the heat of her mouth, the tickling play of her tongue.
Knowing we have time, given how early in the hunt I’ve caught her, I luxuriate in kisses.
I seek the corners of her mouth with the tip of my tongue.
I nip at the plush softness of each lip.
Only when she’s squirming, making delicious, needy noises in her throat, do I lift onto my forearms and sink my cock fully into her.
“Ooo, Oppa,” Cynnie whimpers. “Yes, yes, like that.”
“I know you love to be filled by your Oppa.”
She nods, the spill of her dark hair scrunching under her head against the padding. I kiss her forehead and churn my hips. She moans, sweet and low, the noise I want to hear when I’m deep in her.
She lifts to each thrust, her body working with and against mine.
The oldest, sweetest push and pull. I spread my knees for better leverage and pump against the drawing clench of her body.
My growls match her moans. There’s nothing better than this: the moments when I claim my prey, when she gives herself to her loving captor, when roles and boundaries fall away and we’re one.
I know her orgasm’s building as her moans become breathy hisses and her golden rose flush spreads down her neck.
I shift my weight to balance on my left forearm and collar her throat with my right hand, lacing my fingers through the links of the enamel and diamond daisy chain she wears.
I don’t squeeze, just massage with my thumb and middle finger, applying the amount of pressure I’ve learned makes her head spin and her eyes roll back.
When they do, the whites flickering between banks of dark lashes, I give myself over to my own pleasure.
I let it rise through me, tightening every muscle.
Each squeeze of muscle—my belly and thighs and ass—pushes me up and up until I’m flying.
My body jerks out of my control as hot, sweet release pumps through me.
It’s not the snap of a cord; it’s an endless unravelling bliss.
When the euphoria finally fades to marrow-deep contentment, I shift to my side, curling Cynnie against me, and exhale slowly against her lips so our fast breaths mingle.
“Oppa,” she sighs.
“My bumble. My best Christmas present.”
She hums. “Better than KFC?”
I open one eye and look up at the low, green ceiling. “KFC?”
“Iz tradition where my family comes from. People there don’t celebrate Christmas because they’z mostly Buddhists, but they go out for KFC on Christmas Day.”
I grin and let my eye close. “I love that tradition. Much better than dry turkey that makes me need a hundred-year nap. KFC for Christmas dinner it is.”
We linger in the loft, talking, tickling, and dozing after another round of orgasms, until I’m confident we’re close to our allotted three hours.
Reluctantly, I pull Cynnie out of our lofty love-nest and lead her back to the security rooms. Her tights make a damp scritch-scritch noise as we walk, which wreaths my face in a Santa-sized smile.
“I filled up that ho-ho-hole to the brim, didn’t I, bumble baby?”
She thumps my shoulder with her little fist. “Bad Oppa.”
The laugh that bubbles up out of my chest can only be described as jolly.
Jack and Sammi are waiting for us in the security rooms. Jack’s sitting on a bench near the lockers where we left our luggage with Sammi in his lap.
They’re already back in their street-clothes.
Jack’s reading to Sammi from a book with a cartoon reindeer on the cover.
That seems like excellent aftercare, so I lead Cynnie over, take a seat on the bench next to Jack, and pull Cynnie into my lap.
When he reaches the end of the story, I ask Jack quietly, “No sign of the other four yet?”
Jack grins. “There was an ambush. Which Bravo took badly. Punishment ensued.”
“Ah, yes. I was also on the receiving end of a little-sized conspiracy.”
“We’ll have to discourage any further such alliances,” Jack says.
“With extreme prejudice,” I agree.
“We’z a hive now,” Cynnie says with a sniff. “You don’t have a ho-ho-hope of keeping us apart.”
Jack and I chuckle.
When Bravo, Henry, and their very chastened littles return, I hold a quick conflab with the other carers. Everyone caught the holiday spirit and got their merry on in the maze. We agree to split the cost of any damages and I set off the EM pulse device.
There’s no bright light. No boom. Electromagnetic pulses are invisible to the human eye, make no sound humans can hear, but any recording equipment has a very short life expectancy.
The lights don’t flicker, which I take a good sign I haven’t damaged anything beyond the solid-state electronics.
In a few days, I’ll contact Ora and offer to replace her server and any connected machines.
On the ferry ride back to City Island, I mention our fried chicken plans to Jack. He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “Would you mind a tag-along?”
“Happy to have you,” I assure him. “No other plans?”
Jack shakes his dark head. “Sammi’s mother would draw and quarter him if he doesn’t show up at home, so I usually take him to the airport early in the morning.
His parents are still hoping he’ll marry the girl next door, so I’m not welcome.
My own family took my ex’s side in the divorce, so holidays are little prickly for me back home, too.
My family’s also very Catholic and I’m very lapsed so .
. . easiest to spend the holidays by myself.
I usually volunteer at a shelter or soup kitchen.
I don’t know why I didn’t make any arrangements this year.
Just not in the holiday spirit, I guess. ”
Having spent far too many holidays alone myself, I know exactly what underlies his lack of motivation.
“We’d love the company,” I tell him. “If you don’t mind wrangling a teenager, there’s a kid in my building who’s often alone for the holidays. We could make it a night of fried chicken and video games.”
Jack chuckles. “That would be great. I actually like teenagers. Their brattiness is reassuringly familiar.”
“Hey!” Sammi objects.
We all chuckle.
Max, Cynnie, and their friends return in Midnight Fleur’s Monsters.