Advent Calendar (An Erotic / Erotica Paranormal Tale) (3 page)

Her breath came fast and
harsh, and then she did something that surprised me—she called out
my name as she came, "Ohhhh Jay, Jay, Jay!" My tongue not letting
up on her clit, my nose in line with her pussy, her asshole
eyelevel, I watched, fascinated, as that puckered hole contracted
and released as she spasmed. She was still whispering my name as
she sprawled out onto the bed, and I knelt, watching her quivering
ebb.
Fuck, I can't
even r
emember her name! I think it
starts with an "E." Eva? Eve? Erin?

"Your turn." She reached back for me. I
rolled onto my back and let her get to work. She peeled off her
skirt, leaving the stockings, but tossing her shirt and bra. She
knelt between my legs, and started off slow, kissing and licking
and nibbling, which was all well and good, but at the moment I
needed more stimulation than that. I grabbed her hair and pressed
her down onto me. From the sound she made in her throat, that was
ok with her. She took the hint, and I had to admit, she was very
good. I hated it when girls confused handjobs with blowjobs, mixing
the two. She was all mouth. Her hands on my thighs, steadying
herself like Betsy always did, made me groan and thrust.

"Deeper," I directed her,
part of me just wanting to see if she would, and she did, until I
was sure I could feel her tonsils.
Ahhhh,
so fucking willing!
I pulled her hips
around so I could finger her hole, sliding in first just one, then
two, matching her eager rhythm. The wet squelching sounds of her
made my cock swell to bursting, and I grabbed her head, slowing
her.

"Climb on," I told her. I didn't want to
take her from behind because that was my favorite position with
Betsy, and I was determined not to think about Betsy. Plus I wanted
to watch those fabulous tits bounce as she rode me.

"Ok." She straddled my hips, groping for me
in the dark. I held it steady for her, waiting patiently while she
got situated, poising herself directly over my cock and slowly
beginning her descent. She was incredibly wet—all that tonguing
made sure of that—and I think she really liked the blowjob action,
too, because she felt even more slippery now somehow. There wasn't
a lot of friction— she was like melted butter—but that was good. It
would take me awhile to come and we could both enjoy a longer
ride.

But she was a rocker, moving forward and
backward on me, which I hadn't expected and made me groan. I knew
she was rubbing her clit against the base of my cock and that was
all that was behind the action, but god! The sensation of being
buried to the hilt in that heated little cavern and having the
sensitive head of my dick being rubbed against the deepest part of
her walls had me crazy with lust a lot faster than I ever
expected.

I had wanted to spend time
watching her, playing with her heavy tits, fingering her hard
pebbly nipples, but it wasn't in the cards. Her hips rolled and
rolled, and I literally had to close my eyes to concentrate hard on
not coming.
Fuck, but that feels
good!
The minute she started making
noises, I had to shift gears again, dig deeper, and resist. Then
her fingers found my nipples, and my eyes flew open to see her
leaning over me, her breasts swaying.
Oh
fuck!
It was all over, then. Thank god,
from the sound of her, she was close again, too. I grabbed her hips
and thrust deep, grunting and pressing her up so hard she squealed,
my cum filling the darkness.

I admit, it was
pleasurable. Coming is always pretty enjoyable, right? Kind of like
pizza—even when it's bad, it's still pretty good. But when she
rolled off me and started talking about Christmas shopping tomorrow
with her girlfriends, something felt really wrong. At first, I just
felt deflated. Hollow, empty. Then, I was restless, coming out of
my own skin. And I could really smell that vanilla now.
Where the hell is that coming from?
When she got up to pee, I was grateful, switching
on the light and assembling our clothes into two separate piles. I
quickly pulled on my underwear and jeans, zipping as I heard the
toilet flush. I wanted to be dressed to send her the right "time to
go home" message.

"Holy mother of god," I
breathed, fairly appropriately, sinking onto the bed as she came
into the room. There against the opposite wall was the advent
calendar, looking no worse for the wear than it had before I
chucked it into the trash this morning.
No
way. No motherfucking way!
This isn't
happening!
I looked helplessly up at her,
and she stood there, clueless. The sight of her standing in just a
pair of black thigh highs in the doorway should have forced my cock
to respond at least a little, but there was nothing, not even a
twinge.

"Well, I guess I'm going home." She'd
obviously gotten the message I'd intended to send about a million
years ago before the darkness had been flooded with light. We
didn't speak as she dressed. I was too stunned. She was too pissed.
I ignored her silent tears and just let her go out into the cold,
probably back to the bar as it neared closing time, or who knew
where. She was walking, wherever it was.

That's when I realized
that another door was open. Door number ten, showing creamy white
underneath.
Call her.
Where in the hell was that idea coming from? It was the very
last thing I ever intended to do again! I moaned, cradling my head
in my hands.
I’m crazy…or she’s crazy…or
that fucking calendar is possessed!
There
was no logical explanation. I approached it carefully, searching
out the perimeter. What was I looking for? Sharp edges? Blue
flames? I snorted, but like a little kid with some scary book
cover, I turned it around facing the wall and immediately felt
better.

I laid awake a long time,
the light on, pondering what to do. Finally, exhaustedly slipping
in and out of sleep, I decided to just leave the calendar where it
was and ignore the damned thing. Just pretend it and Betsy never
existed in the first place.
Easier said
than done, pal.
Where the hell was this
voice in my head I was constantly arguing with coming from? I
rolled over, ignoring the ache in my crotch when the memory of
Betsy's warm body pressed against mine right here in this bed
cropped up. I'd proven pretty thoroughly tonight that I could still
have meaningless sex with some nameless chick, right? Betsy was
just another piece of ass, albeit a good one. There were plenty of
those around who were less pushy, and less...the only word I could
conjure was "dangerous."

CHAPTER FIVE:
Day 15

I couldn't stand it
anymore. I hadn't gone to work in two days. I even considered
calling the university clinic, although what in the hell I'd tell
them was beyond me.
"The thing is, it's
like this... my dick won't go soft!"
came
to mind— but did such a strange and embarrassing problem even have
a remedy? I didn't know. It sure as hell had never happened to me
before. And that wasn't even exactly the problem, was
it?

It would go soft—it just
refused to stay soft, and when it was hard, it was so hard
it
hurt
. I even
wondered if that Eve or Erin or whatever her name was had slipped
me some Viagra without me knowing it somehow, but that would have
worn off. Nothing I did seemed to alleviate the ache for very long.
I couldn't count how many times I'd tried. My sheets were literally
getting stiff with cum, and I'd been rolling around, dazed and in
so much pain, I didn't even care. I wanted to ask Tyler, but I
didn't exactly know how to broach the subject, so I just told him I
was sick and stayed in my room.

I could come, and when I
did, I had a brief respite, but then my cock would get hard again,
without any prompting at all, within minutes.
Minutes!
I'd tried everything…like
jerking four times in an hour. That session was hell! By the fourth
time, both my hand and my dick were raw, in spite of the baby oil.
I finally had to watch Tera Patrick (who reminded me a little of
Betsy from the right angle) take it in the ass on DVD to push me
over and the little bit of cum that leaked from the tip could
barely have been called a load. And my damned cock started to swell
again, anyway, five short minutes later! I'd even tried just
ignoring it. That was the worst. My cock started to hurt, and while
that was uncomfortable, when my damned balls started to ache, it
became unbearable. When guys talked about blue balls in the locker
room, they weren't kidding.

Three times that morning
I'd taken a hot bath, hoping to improve the situation. It worked
for the first few minutes, the heat taking my mind off of it, but
that was all. Three times afterward, I'd had my cell phone in my
hand, that voice urging,
call her.
I might have made the symbolic gesture of tossing
her number, but it was still here in my phone. I toyed with the
idea, but what would I say? I couldn't imagine. Somehow I knew this
all had something to do with that bizarre calendar sitting in the
corner.

I hadn't looked at it
again. It was propped wrong-side up against the wall, but I knew
the damned days were still opening all by themselves. Of course
they were, why wouldn't they? But I really knew from the smell.
Yesterday, Tyler's girlfriend had bust into the room, sure I was
hiding some gingerbread in here. If I hadn't been forced to turn
face down on the hard-on from hell at the time, I would have
thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. There was no
gingerbread, no apple pie, just an aromatic homemade advent
calendar that was merrily counting down the days until Christmas
all by itself.
What in the hell is that
thing?

My cell vibrated in my
robe pocket, sending a painful jolt directly to my crotch. I
groaned, pulling it out and flipping it open.
Betsy.
I'd expected a call like this
days ago, actually, but here it was. I clicked, "Talk."

"Hello?" God, I sounded awful. She
noticed.

"Jay? Are you okay?" Her voice was soothing,
like cool aloe on a burn.

"Sure, great," I lied. "You?"

"Something's wrong," she insisted, sounding
concerned. "Are you sick?"

"Well..." I cleared my throat, looking down
at the tented sheet. "Sort of."

"I'm coming over. Don't move." The line went
dead. Move? I didn't want to breathe too hard. My head was
swimming. I wondered if it was true what they said about not enough
blood getting to the brain when a guy had an erection. I felt dizzy
and a little nauseous.

"Hey, man, Betsy's here! Do you want her to
come in?" Tyler was knocking on the door. I think I'd fallen
asleep. I mumbled something affirmative, and Betsy breezed in still
carrying the outside chill.

"It's snowing." She shrugged off her jacket.
When she saw me, the look of compassion on her face was almost
unendurable. I think I whimpered. "Oh Jay, you poor thing! Why
didn't you call me?" She rushed over and slid her hands immediately
under the covers.

Her fingers were freezing and I can't tell
you how amazing they felt on the tower of fire between my legs. I
groaned out loud. Her hand moved over my shaft, and a pleasure that
bordered immediately on pain shot up my spine. "Keep breathing,"
she whispered. I'd forgotten how. "Come on, Jay, help me," she
urged. Her hand was warming up on my flesh, but the sensation was
like nothing I'd experienced on my own.

"Ok, this is what you really need." She
stood and began to undress. Scarf unwound, sweater over her head.
Her hair stood out a little with static and I smiled. Her plain
white bra unhooked in the front and quickly spilled her heavy
cleavage. Jeans wiggled off, panties gone, she came and straddled
me wearing wool socks, all seriousness. The skin of her thighs was
still cool from the denim. When she slid me into her, her flesh
resisted slightly, no anticipatory welcoming wetness, but it was
the best thing I'd felt in days—possibly the best thing I'd ever
felt.

"Look at me," she whispered when I closed my
eyes at the sensation. I struggled them open, watching her rise and
fall on me like a cool breaking wave, again and again. Whatever she
was doing was working. My cock was responding to her, and she was
responding to it. I could feel her growing wetter, her own eyes
fluttering closed and then attempting to focus on mine again. She
leaned forward, her lips cool and her breath warm. She eased up on
the slick length of me, the cool air moving over my shaft, keeping
just the tip pressing into the opening of her pussy. She was
murmuring something, I couldn't tell what, against my mouth,
squeezing me rhythmically all the while until I thought I would go
crazy or die.

"Betsy, please!" I begged her, and I felt
more than saw her smile. She sat up and slid quickly down onto me,
doing the tight little circles that I loved so much, raising her
arms above her head like she was dancing on my cock—and she
was.

"Fill me, lover," she whispered, her dark
eyes on mine, and I did. There couldn't have been much left in me,
but whatever there was, it was hers. Her fingers trailed over my
forehead, my cheek, my chest, my belly, like she was raining
soothing medicine down over me.

Looking up at her through half-closed eyes,
I smiled and croaked, "Witch." She smiled back, squeezing her pussy
around me and laughed, low and throaty, when I jumped. I waited as
she settled in beside me, her usual place, head tucked under my
chin. I was dreading the inevitable rise of my cock again, but it
didn't come. I would have stayed awake wondering, letting my mind
race about it all, but exhaustion won out. I slept peacefully with
Betsy curled into the crook of my arm like a soft, black cat.