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By Bianca Cirillo Baker (sex_247_4_bianca@hotmail.com)


She closed her eyes tightly willing the tears not to fall. It was Thanksgiving weekend. She exhaled on a long breath and a solitary tear slipped onto her cheek. She brushed it away quickly, squeezing her eyes in an effort to keep more from falling. She bit into her lower lip, rolling her head back into her pillow, "Don't you dare cry!" she repeated over and over.

The holidays always made her sad. It started with Thanksgiving and it was not until New Years had passed that she would feel this extraordinary sadness finally pass.

It would seem this year would be no different. She was alone again. All of her lovers were men she had met online. They exchanged emails, occasionally engaged in a bit of cybersex and from time to time she would speak with one or another of them by telephone.

She smiled sadly and rose from her bed. She stood momentarily in front of her computer. She was not going to turn it on this holiday weekend. She had already exchanged holiday wishes with each of her lovers, with the exception of Mason. She decided to give into this overwhelming sadness and spend the long weekend in her big empty bed.

She looked up, catching her nude reflection in the mirror. She cupped her breasts in her palms, thumbing her nipples to glorious peaks. She reveled in their size, their fullness. She lifted one, then the other to her lips drawing each dusky colored bud deeply into her warm mouth. She shivered, her head lolling back, and then closing her eyes, her fingers tugging gently on each taut nub.

After a long moment her fingers relaxed their hold, and her hands began a tour of her figure, gliding over her belly to slip between her thighs, her fingers delving deeply, feeling the soft folds of flesh. She was slick and warm, and she dipped and probed. She suddenly cried out, as her fingers plunged deeper, she felt her body rush toward rapture, and then she quaked for long moments.

She looked back up in the mirror, and then gazed around her bedroom.

She was still alone and another solitary tear slipped down her cheek. She grabbed her silk chemise from the end of the bed slipped it on and slid back into her bed. She wiggled down under her comforter, pulling it up under her chin. She pushed her head down into her pillows and willed herself to sleep.

She did not know how long she had been asleep when she sat up with a start. Her bedroom was clothed in total darkness, but she quickly realized it was an unnatural darkness. Her hands flew to her face. She was wearing a blindfold. She gasped, her hands rapidly moving behind her head to release the blindfold, but her movements were stilled when she felt her mattress list away from her.

A large calloused hand covered hers, drawing it back and laying a kiss to her palm. A hoarse cry escaped over her tightly drawn lips and she gulped for air. A warm breath tickled the back of her neck and she began trembling.

"Happy Thanksgiving baby," was whispered against her ear.

She abruptly ceased shaking as the unknown, uninvited visitor continued, "I knew you were going to be alone. I tried catching you online yesterday, but even after remaining online for several hours, I never saw you come on. I decided it was time for us to meet. Put a face with the voice. And what a beautiful face indeed."

This last statement was growled against her temple as her mystery visitor's velvety tongue slid over her flesh. She whimpered, his soft, seductive words hanging in the air.

She turned her head in the direction of the voice and warm, damp lips brushed across hers, once, twice and then he cupped the back of her head, her lips parted slightly, a silent invitation and he accepted, taking her mouth with unaccustomed ferocity. He tore his mouth from hers, smoothing his hand roughly over her hair, tugging the blindfold off with the movement.

Her gaze slid over his naked length, she touched his face, and then drew him down onto her, "Mason?"

"Ummm."

"Happy Thanksgiving Mason."

He thrust his knee between hers, opening her for his pleasure, and his fingers found her, wet and tight, and at the first touch she surged against him, eager with desire. He played and probed, loving how she rocked into his touch and whispering how much he wanted to taste her there, that he wanted to push his tongue into her very softness and drink of her as no other man will.

She made little helpless sounds and rocked harder. He stroked her furiously, while his gaze glided over her body, ripe and round and soft. She was no maiden; no shyness lingered. And she knew what she wanted.

He groaned and buried his face between her soft, lush mounds, then he wrapped his lips around each of her tight, rosy peaks, drawing one, then the other into the hot suck of his mouth. He dipped lower, scoring his teeth over the tender underside of her breasts, licking a moist line down to her navel as he sank to his knees. He peeled her open and took her femininity with his mouth.

She clutched his head, arching into his touch, and he held her, drawing her thigh up over his shoulder and pushing his tongue deeper. He feasted on her, his mouth torturing her most tender bud and she held onto him as waves of pleasure crashed over her, searing her skin.

Before she could catch her breath, he turned her onto her stomach, tasting the length of her spine, the ticklish curve at the back of her thighs, following the sculpted line to her toes.

He gathered her high against his chest, as he undertook the delicious task of licking a path down her throat. She moaned at the exquisite torture of his tongue against her flesh.

She reached between their bodies and clasped him, her fingers sliding over his erection. He thought he would explode with the intense pleasure of her touch. She pushed back against him, climbing higher on his thigh.

He growled against her hair, gripping her hips and thrusting upward, he entered her in one hard stroke. Their desire was building as he gave her hips motion, retreating and thrusting deeply. Her wet glove of femininity drew him harder and harder with each stroke.

He bowed over her, pushing, pushing, and then fierce, opulent waves racked their beings.

He held her tight and without withdrawing from her velvet depths, he pulled her down onto the mattress. She curled up against his sweat-slicked skin, her bottom intimately aligned with his groin. He buried his face in the curve of her throat, kneaded her breasts and as she drifted to sleep, she heard him tell her how he loved her deliciously wicked ways just for him.

She smiled, a solitary tear rolled down her cheek, silently musing that this year it truly was a Happy Thanksgiving. She wondered if she could persuade Mason to make similar appearances on Christmas and New Years.

END