In two days from now, many of us will be sitting around a Christmas tree, unwrapping presents from our family and loved ones. No matter how old I get, the exchanging of gifts remains my favourite bit of the whole festive period, and even though my siblings and I left childhood behind many years ago, we have always done it in the same simple, straightforward way. We sit in the living room, we take it in turns, and we do it one at a time: cards first, then small presents, and finally any presents deemed by whoever is giving them to be significant or exciting.
For many years now, my family has accepted that I have more than a touch of OCD when it comes to unwrapping presents. Where other people rip off the paper, I approach it like a bomb disposal expert presented with a particularly sensitive package. Any rip or tear feels like a defeat, so I run my finger under the folds, and I pick at the corners of the sellotape; I prise it open with the same care that I imagine the person giving it to me used when sealing it shut, and when I’m done, I lay the paper neatly to one side – folded rather than scrunched – ready for future use.
Where am I going with all of this? Well, while my parents and siblings no longer deem it worthy of comment, this little festive idiosyncrasy has managed to amuse and infuriate girlfriends in equal measure over the years. I have sympathy for both responses, and I do always apologise for what I know is a ridiculous way of drawing out the whole process. Still, only once has it ever come back to bite me; only once has someone decided to get their revenge in first. And that’s where this story begins…
We’d been together for a couple of years by that point. She lived in the US, but Christmas wasn’t a significant holiday for her family, so throughout our relationship she would come and spend it in England with me. It was actually when we were happiest together, and no moment was better than waking up together on Christmas morning, snuggled close in my old single bed, ready to open all the presents that we didn’t want to give each other in front of my parents.
She was good at buying gifts. Thoughtful, playful, creative. Everything she gave me felt like only she could have bought it, because only she knew me in that way. On that particular morning, she reached under the bed and dragged out a bag filled with the things we’d wrapped for each other. As she leaned down to pick it up, her arse pressed into me, warm and smooth against my hard cock. I curled my arm around her waist and pulled her in close.
“Maybe we don’t have to open those just yet,” I whispered.
She wriggled free and sat astride me, one hand on my chest.
“Oh I’m pretty sure we do. But I want to do it differently this year. There’s something I want to try, if you’re game…”
I looked up at her, instantly suspicious. As much as she was clearly trying to suppress it, a Cheshire Cat grin was slowly spreading across her face, and her eyes had lit up in a way that invariably meant trouble.
“Why do I get the feeling this won’t end well for me? Ok, what’s your idea?”
“A bet. Well, sort of a bet. Think of it more as an incentive to open your damn presents a bit more quickly.”
She rummaged around in the bag and pulled out a short, sturdy-looking butt plug. I didn’t recognise it, and her smile only grew wider when she saw the look of surprise on my face.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to open your presents – all your presents – and while you’re doing that, I’m going to be sucking your cock. If I make you come before you finish, you have to wear this during lunch later. I bought it in Oxford last week – look, isn’t it pretty? If I can’t make you come, then I’ll wear it, and after we’re done eating I’ll let you take it out and fuck my arse as hard as you like. What do you say?”
I narrowed my eyes and considered her offer. She stared back with a look of exaggerated innocence, and shifted her position on top of me, her cunt noticeably wet as she pressed it against the shaft of my cock. I had added her presents to mine the night before, and knew exactly how many were in the bag.
“So all I have to do is open four presents without coming, and you’ll seriously sit all the way through lunch, in front of my parents, with that thing in your arse?”
“Uh huh. Not only that, but you can do whatever you want to it afterwards.”
At that stage in our relationship, anal sex almost always involved her fucking me with a strap-on. She enjoyed having my cock in her arse, but the intensity of the experience meant that she preferred to save it for special occasions. It was something we did carefully – almost reverently – and she’d certainly never offered me carte blanche to fuck her however I pleased (though that would change over the months that followed).
“Ok…then I guess I’m in.”
My hand dived inside the bag and whipped out the first present, before she had a chance to move further down between my legs. I pulled at the ribbon till it fell away from the box. A book, definitely a book. Easy to unwrap. Quick.
As my fingers fumbled at the sellotape, I glanced down at her. She was just looking at my cock, her thumb and forefinger circled around the base. She was great with her mouth – the first person ever to make me crave the feeling of soft lips sliding down around me – and I could feel myself twitching with anticipation and desire.
“Mm, I suppose I’d better start, hadn’t I?”
The silver paper was open at both ends, as she slowly sucked the head of my cock into her mouth. I reached inside and pulled out – no, not a book – a photo album, filled with pictures and souvenirs from the trip we’d taken together that summer. I flicked through it, but it was already becoming difficult to concentrate, with her tongue pushed firmly against my cock and her hand twisting around the shaft.
The second parcel was large, soft, and vaguely rectangular, a combination ideal for speedy unwrapping. I used my finger like a letter opener, slitting it under the tape across the middle. It surrendered quickly, and the two ends were equally obliging. I was on a roll!
“Wow, this is awesome. I should seriously let you buy all my jumpers.”
“Heh. As if I didn’t know that already. Fuck, you taste good. I keep forgetting I’m on the clock down here.”
I gave into temptation and curled her hair around my fingers, moving with her as she eased slowly up and down my cock. More than anything, she knew that the key to a great blowjob was to keep it simple. She didn’t spend time kneading and squeezing my balls, or breaking off to flutter kisses along my inner thigh. She didn’t scratch, or blow, or tease the very tip with the point of her tongue. It was no-frills, blue-collar oral, performed with sleeves well and truly rolled-up, and I loved her for it.
The third present was harder to open, a result of both the intricate wrapping and the steady, rhythmic pulse of her tongue on my dick. I dug away at the tape, my fingers feeling out what lay beneath, trying to guess what she’d got me. Eventually one corner gave way, with such force that I checked anxiously to make sure the paper wasn’t ripped, even as my hips pumped involuntarily into her mouth. I wrestled with it for a few seconds more, my fingers less nimble with every squeeze of her hand.
“Huh. What’s this? Aftershave? But I don’t…”
“Trust me, you will.* Maybe discuss that one later though, yeah?”
I nodded, only too happy to move on to the final package. It was buried at the bottom of the bag, underneath my gifts for her, and I yanked it free with utter disregard for the packages that I’d lovingly wrapped just a few hours beforehand.
“You’d better open that one quickly, because I’m going to jerk you off into my mouth now, and we both know how that will end.”
I clutched the present to my chest. It felt like victory: regular in shape and size, three small pieces of sellotape, and the delicious knowledge of what was to come later in the day. With triumphant relish, I skimmed across the paper, first one end, then the other. I tried to ignore how good her lips felt, wrapped around me like that. How her saliva ran down my cock, leaving it slick and ready for her hand to coax closer and closer to orgasm.
“Are you ready to concede defeat, honey? Because…wait, what…”
I removed the paper with a flourish, and stared at what lay underneath.
She let my cock fall from her mouth and flopped down with a smirk on her face, her tits pressed against my thighs.
“Oops. Did I forget to mention that I wrapped your last present really well?”
As I continued to grip the package with disbelieving tightness, mesmerised by the second layer of wrapping paper, she resumed sucking me in earnest. It was only when I reached the third layer that I realised just how thoroughly I’d been played.
“How many are the…oh fuck, that feels good.”
The playfulness had gone. I don’t know whether it’s possible to describe a blowjob as ruthless, but what she did to my cock from that point onwards certainly came close. I peeled off the paper desperately, clumsily, but each time I revealed nothing other than another shiny piece of foil; another set of dancing snowmen.
My balls started to tighten. Without meaning to, I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to resist the tingling sensation that had spread across my stomach and thighs. I gripped the sheet next to me, and the present that I’d been so focused on just a few seconds beforehand slid down off my chest, onto the bed. She moaned around my cock, a rumble deep in the base of her throat, and at that moment I knew that I’d lost; that I was lost; that she was the one carrying me home.
The orgasm tore me open, my body scissoring in pleasure and my cock thrusting into her mouth. She rolled away, panting and flushed, and for a few seconds we lay there without speaking, the silence broken only by our laboured breathing and the faint sound of carol music coming from my sister’s bedroom next door.
“Go ahead. Finish opening it.”
She rolled onto her stomach, her fingers finding their way back to my softening cock. She watched me intently as I removed the layer of paper I’d been working on just a few minutes earlier. It was the last one.
“Ah, so close,” she murmered.
“It’s a notebook?”
“It’s a notebook. For when we’re apart. I want you to write in it every time you think about fucking me. Or about me fucking you. I want you to write down all of your fantasies, all of the things you want, and each time we see each other I want you to read them to me. I want us to do them together.”
She nestled into me as I opened the book. I pulled her close, and felt the familiar shape of her body work itself around mine. The pages were a blank white sea of promise; the unwritten story of the year ahead of us. With one exception.
“Oh yeah,” she said, reading the first page with me. “Never forget: your arse is mine.”
*Oh, and she was right about that one. I’ve worn it ever since.