|Jack's Xmas Story|
December 25, 2019
Hello, my dear babies.
Once again, it's time for my Xmas story.
If you like it, if you read it every year, or if this is your first time, do let me know.
I love to hear from you.
A COWBOY CHRISTMAS
by Jack Tonight
On the rough wooden table in the study, I had laid out a few things; the Jim Beam, the Sam Houston bong with some moist, green buds, two cohibas for after.
The room was lit by the twinkling christmas lights strung on the big cactus in the den, the roaring fire in the fireplace, and the full moon's silver shower bouncing in off the thick snow of the fields.
The still silence of the room was shattered when I kicked the back door open, and strode into the house, carrying you in my arms. Your big, dark eyes were locked on mine, wide with excitement/fear, and your huge swirl of black hair still held some snowflakes, now quickly turning to drops of water like tears in the sudden heat of the study.
In the middle of the room, I had laid out my show saddle, all chrome and turquoise and pewter, hammered steel and iron hardware, all fitted expertly into a full-size leather and bone parade saddle. The little bits of metal and jewel caught and threw the light from the flickering flame. The saddle was laid out on the floor in front of the fireplace, and had grown warm. The smooth, dark leather of the seat, darkened by the sweat of my ass, gleamed dully as I walked towards it, my long work spurs clanking on the wooden floor, still holding you like a doll. I dropped to my knees, and laid you sideways across the saddle, the smooth curve of the seat filling the small of your back. Your eyes locked with mine again as I slowly unsnapped the pearl buttons on my shirt and threw it on the floor. I knelt by your feet, wearing only my jeans, boots, Stetson, and my field tools. I pulled out the Bowie knife - it was my father's, eleven inches long, heavy metal, with a serrated back stock and a wicked, curving, chrome edge. The blade went sssssssskt as I pulled it from the scabbard, and I laid the big tool across your chest.
The frilly, silly, old-fashioned "dance-hall girl" outfit you had on was not made for wearing outside in a Wyoming winter, and the deep scoop neckline down over your big breasts revealed your soft, smooth skin, reddened by the sharp cold air. I had laid the knife across the smooth skin, with the sharp edge pointed towards your neck, and left it there as I leaned back and looked at you.
I felt my cock start to twitch at the sight of you. Your hair had come untied from the festival flowers that had pinned it up, and now it was spreading across your shoulders. Your chest was heaving up and down, and the bright red sequins of the dress were winking with the firelight. Your eyes were huge and burning, with some strong emotion, I could not tell which. I loosened the big rodeo belt buckle, and pulled off my wide leather belt. I was sitting back on my boots, and my nipples were getting hard in the hot/cold air. I laid the belt down where I could reach it easily, then put my hands by your hips on the floor, and knelt over you, smelling you. I held my nose just above your body, and went up, from your black cowgirl boots, past the few precious inches of your exposed shin, over the ruffly, poofy skirts, past the jewel-festooned belt cinched in tight around your waist...then slowed, and went back down a bit, hovering over your center spot there, inhaling slowly, carefully... then I went on up, smelling the skin on your tits where they plunged into the top of the dress. Your chest was rising and falling quickly, I heard your breath snorting out of your nose, and a small sound started deep in your throat. Then I pressed my nose into your flesh gently, feeling the big, soft breast on my face. I indulged myself in a little flick of the tongue, getting ahead of myself, getting a tiny taste of the sweat starting to rise on your skin. Your breath hitched again. I continued moving my face up your body, across the beautiful skin above your chest, then smelling the steel of the Bowie knife where it lay, so close to your neck. I stretched my tongue out to feel the back of the blade, the hard serrations, the slight tang of oil. With my tongue, I pressed the knife up along your body a bit, until the sharp edge rested along the upcurve of your alabaster throat.
Then I came down on my knees, resting my chest against yours, looking into your eyes, which looked very big now, and I rested my forehead against yours, our eyes locked, an inch apart.
"Are you ready?" I said.
Our foreheads still touching, you nodded slowly, solemnly.
I reached my mouth down to the knife, and took it in my mouth like a swashbuckler, or a dog with a bone, and sat back onto my boots again, looking you in the eye still. I pulled the Bowie out of my mouth, and with my left hand, I gathered up a bunch of the material from the front of your skirts, pulling it up until your legs and lap were revealed. I threw the skirts up over your face, and heard you groan a bit. Little slut, you had on the red panties I'd sent you, the ones that said "TONIGHT" on the front.
It was a beautiful sight, your curving legs coming out of the tops of the cute black boots, the red bandanna holding your ankles together, the pale skin of your thighs disappearing into the shocking red panties, your soft belly hitching with your breathing, then the fluffy white petticoats stretching up, covering the rest of you.
I slid the knife up your leg, and you held very still as you felt the cold metal. I passed the sharp point up under the bottom edge of the panties, on the inside, then sloooowly moved the long knife under the panties, across the smooth, shaved mount, until the tip of the knife was sticking out the top of the gaudy trunks. The bright chrome tip was slightly pressing into the rise of your belly flesh as I turned the edge upright to vertical, so the serrated back edge was pressing into the flesh where your pussy hair would be growing, if you let it. Then I gave the knife a hard, sharp yank, and the knife lifted your ass for a second before the blade parted the silk like a spiderweb. I heard your muffled, swallowed scream beneath the petticoats. I pulled the tatters of the underwear down your leg, and your clean, beautiful pussy was laid out in the firelight.
I pulled your knees apart as far as I could with your ankles still together, and I could see your flesh was beginning to flush, and starting to swell. I laid the big knife across your white belly and put my hand over your bald mons. Your knees fell slack and open, and I felt you press your cunt up into my hand. I chuckled softly, but you pressed on up into my grasp, and your hips twisted slightly beneath me. I rotated my hand a little, not wanting to invade you until you were ready - almost. As soon as I felt a spot of dampness on my finger, I stopped, and curved my hand, and I felt the petals begin to open. I heard a groan from your chest, and my middle finger slid into you like a boy diving into a lake. I felt your hot insides gripping at me, and your knees slapped together, enclosing my hand in your clean muff. I curled my fingers inside you, and gripped along the top of your cunt, feeling for your spot, and your hips squirmed in my hand. That made me laugh.
I pulled my hand out of your cunt, picked up the knife, and slid it along your belly, edge up, and gave it another rip, causing the dress to fall open, a shiny red rag now. I missed your bra in the last cut, so you're laying beneath me now, naked from boots to bra, laid back over my saddle. I'm smiling at you, and with my right hand holding the knife in an upward, stabbing grip, I press my fist into your pubic bone, the knife pointing up along your body. You press your hips up into my knuckles. I slide my fist up along your body, led upward by the point of the knife, and the gleaming metal glides over your soft, soft skin, past your belly button, across your solar plexus, between the bottoms of your ribs, until the point slips beneath the terribly-stressed bra clip suspended between your big, round tits. My tongue comes out a little, and I laugh again, as I give the knife another sharp upward rip, and the bra shreds apart, the tension of your beautiful chest throwing the silky fabric aside. I drop the knife point down, and it sticks upright in the wood beside you.
I grab one of your big, round tits in each hand, and just feast. I drop my mouth down over a nipple, then the other, and I'm just going back and forth, back and forth, chewing, sucking, trying to consume you, eat you, swallow you. I pull as much of your flesh into my mouth as I can. You're groaning and throwing your head back and forth, and arching your back across the saddle, pressing your great, beautiful globes into my face.
Then, my cock is starting to call me. I break the attack on your breasts, and stand up. As you lay back across the saddle, I look down at you, pulling off my spurs, then my boots, then my jeans. I debate it a moment with myself, then pull off the Stetson. My long grey hair rolls down over my shoulders. I drop the hat on the chair, and then walk over to the table. I pick up the bong and my Zippo, and pull a long, long hit while I watch you by the firelight. Standing by the fire naked, I can feel the heat on my ass, while my cock is starting to stand up before me. I pour off a couple fingers of Jim Beam, then swallow it in two gulps. With the glass in my left hand, I give my growing cock a couple strokes, and it twitches into the air, smelling you.
Sucking off the last drop of whiskey, I come back over to the saddle where you are spread below me. I put a hand under your back and your knees, and slowly flip you over onto your belly. I imagine how the hot leather of the seat feels against your ribs, and your big, round tits look cute as they smash out, sticking out from your sides temptingly. I pull the knife out of the wood floor with a yank, and cut away the remaining scraps of material. You look real cute this way, too - your bare white ass sticking up, the big black mop of hair in a cloud around your head, the tiny black boots, the bright red bandannas around your ankles and your wrists, making such a pretty contrast with your white skin. I reach down with the knife to the bandanna at your ankles, and cut it away with two swipes. This makes your breathing increase in speed. I drop the knife again, point down into the wood floor, this time up near your face, so you can see your eyes reflected in the chrome. I pull your legs apart, and you dig the points of the boots into the wood floor. Coming up behind you on my knees, I stroke my cock again, but it's as hard as steel now. I can see your beautiful cunt, wet now, waiting for me, making little winking motions to me, you're groaning louder.
I reach up and slap your fine ass, hard. Not what you were expecting. You grunt in surprise, then begin a keening wail. I smack your ass again, harder. The skin looks red. Your boot-toes are digging into the wood again, your hips are moving around. I slap it again, then I quickly slap your open cunt itself, from below. This makes your hips snap forward strongly. Okay. Let's do this.
I lean forward then, holding my cock at the likely angle, and sure enough, when I hit the sweet wet point of your cunt-lips, I can feel I'm on the rim and going in. I feel your legs rock open, your hips tilt up, and I fall forward, into you, fucking down into you again at last. It's been a long vacation, hasn't it?
I throw a few quick fuck strokes into your blessed cunt, just to feel it letting loose, then I pull back and grab the knot at your wrists, where I've tightly bound them with the bandanna. The red cloth makes a convenient handle to hold your bound hands by, and as the muscles in your arm flex against it, I throw a hard fuck into you, pulling the knot high so your arms are pulled back. I feel your hips grind down into the saddle over and over, then rise up to meet my thrusts, and I plunge down into your sweet, hot cunt, again and again and again. I can feel your hips grinding and spinning, and I can feel your cunt rising to its spasmodic peak. My hips are losing control, fucking into you so hard. I grab the knife with one hand, fucking you as hard as I can, then I'm whispering in your ear -
"Can you come for me now?"
And I feel your body convulse, your knees rocking up and together, your head grinding into the floor, your breath grabbing and hitching, your cunt grabbing my cock over and over and over, milking me, bringing me close to the edge. I hear your screams in your tightly-closed mouth, your ass muscles clenching beneath me. Just as you begin to slide off the plateau, I pull out of you with a sudden yank. You groan lewdly. I stand up behind you, and reach down for a fistful of hair, lifting you off the saddle onto your knees. You catch your balance, kneeling before me, your eyes glaring, the muscles in your legs still firing off spasmodically.
"Are you ready, slut?"
You're groaning, and nodding your head as fast as you can. I reach up tenderly to hold the side of your neck, cup your jaw in my hand, feel just behind your ear, to the edge of the big strip of duct tape, and give it a hard yank, tearing it away from your mouth in a sudden sensation, your jaw dropping open, your lungs filling with a huge gulp of air, then in a single move, your face falls to my crotch, your mouth swooping down over my cock, taking it to the hilt in a single dive. I feel my cock slide into the hot depths of your throat. I can't belive the sensation. A bolt of lightning rams down my mind, down into my balls, and then I'm holding your head, my fists in your hair, slamming your face down onto my cock over and over, feeling the yielding, gripping flesh of your mouth and throat as the grab me, twist me, suck me down and down and down into you, and then I'm coming, and coming, and coming, and falling, and collapsing, and we're rolling across the wooden floor, laughing and crying and gasping in the firelight and the twinkle of the christmas tree...