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Archive name: xmas.txt (MF, rom)
Authors name: Ximenes (address withheld)
Story title : Christmas and the Choir Mistress

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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Christmas and the Choir Mistress
By Ximenes (address withheld)
***

A single man's Christmas takes an unforeseen and very 
welcome turn. A love story telescoped into 24 hours. 
(MF, rom)

***

It's quarter to one on Christmas morning. The midnight 
service has finished, and the entire village has gone 
back home to drink or sleep away the hours until 
daybreak. In the church there's just me, tidying 
hymnbooks and setting the chairs and music stands ready 
for morning service.

I'm not particularly religious; I sing in the choir, 
and I live almost next door to the church. And I'm 
strong and healthy, so I'm the obvious choice for 
church caretaker. Oh, and I'm still single in my mid 
twenties, so there's nobody else in my life to distract 
me.

But I'm not alone in the church. Kay, the organist, is 
putting away music. The service finished ten minutes 
ago, and she's usually off home to her husband by now. 
So I go to see if she needs some help. I'd quite like 
to get home myself. I know the church like the back of 
my hand but, even so, there's something spooky about a 
darkened church at dead of night. Every rustle, each 
pop of the heating system, each contraction crack on 
the masonry - your mind goes into overdrive. Know what 
I mean?

There's something not right with Kay. She's not really 
tidying away her music. Her eyes are red - she's been 
crying. She tells me to go home; she'll lock up when 
she leaves. But I know for a fact she doesn't have a 
key. So she can't lock up. Something's very odd. So I 
challenge her. She says she's going to bed down in one 
of the pews until morning - the comfy ones at the back 
with cushions; the ones near the boiler house and away 
from the howling draughts coming off the stained glass 
windows. Says she wants to do some practice before the 
service in the morning.

"Kay, you've gotta be joking. Sleep here - on Christmas 
night? The service isn't until ten - there's loads of 
time to do a run-through before people arrive".

I press her harder, and eventually the truth comes out 
- Jim's left her - done a runner that morning. She 
can't face going back to an empty house, and there's no 
relations close by. Doesn't want anyone else to know - 
doesn't want to lose face. Doesn't want to be the 
subject of village gossip. Poor girl - as if she isn't 
already.

It's one o'clock. I take her by the arm and almost 
frogmarch her out of the church and down the road the 
few steps to my house. The place is small, but it's 
cosy and it's mine. To my surprise Kay accepts a stiff 
whiskey (she's never been seen to drink in public), and 
over the next half hour her story begins to emerge.

Jim has a secret vice - he's a gambler. He's used half 
a dozen credit cards up to their limits, and Kay's just 
discovered that the couple are thousands of pounds in 
debt. Kay is a receptionist at an opticians in the High 
Street, and there's no way she'll be able to pay off 
the debts on her salary. She confirms the village 
rumours that "things haven't been all they could be" 
between her and Jim for some time. Jim's unlikely to be 
back soon because there's also local creditors he's 
borrowed from, and they're getting impatient for their 
money. 

Poor Kay - too honest and trusting for her own good. 
She married quite late - in her late twenties, and now, 
at around thirty-two, her world's falling down around 
her. And it's the bleakest possible outlook on 
Christmas Day. Mercifully, there are no children. Kay 
confronted Jim about the debts early on Christmas Eve. 
Things rapidly became very heated, and after a blazing 
argument Jim packed a case and walked out.

It's quarter to two. Kay makes noises about having to 
go home, but I refuse to let her go. For a couple of 
weeks now she's been saying their central heating is on 
the blink and that their house is cold - she's been 
coming to church dressed as if going to the Pole. It 
suddenly dawns on me why - the gas must have been cut 
off for non-payment of bills. 

The house will be icy at this time of night. Besides, I 
don't want Kay doing anything silly. Everyone in the 
village likes Kay, and we'd be devastated if she did a 
suicide out of desperation. And again, organists are 
like gold dust around here. If we lost Kay it could be 
years before we found a replacement. Gotta be practical 
and think of these things.

And I'm quite fond of Kay. She never makes fun of my 
stammer, which has always been my huge social handicap. 
She's quite short, "cuddly" - chubby without being fat. 
She's freckled, with a prominent bust and what my 
grandfather used to describe as "having two handfuls of 
arse". She's clean, decent, cheerful and bubbly (when 
she's not with Jim) - just the sort of person to make 
me feel confident and bring me out of myself.

So I persuade her to stay at my place. I quickly tidy 
up the bedroom, and put her in my bed. It's had an 
electric blanket on for three hours, and I know it'll 
be warm as toast. Being a well brought up boy, I sleep 
on the sofa. She has nothing to sleep in, so I find one 
of my woolly mountaineering shirts, extra long and 
fleecy. Looks as if it'll come down to her knees - 
certainly adequate to cover her modesty.

It's quarter past two and we've just finished the "no I 
couldn't possibly's" and the "are you sure it's not too 
much trouble's", and we're finally asleep. Well she is. 
I'm bloody uncomfortable, cold and stiff on the living 
room floor. I couldn't get comfy on the sofa so I took 
the cushions off it and laid them out on the floor. 
I've got a crick in my neck, and every time I turn over 
in the sleeping bag I bang my knee on the coffee table 
or stub my toe on the bookcase.

It's three o'clock. I'm still not asleep and I've just 
heard the church bell ring.

And four o'clock too. How many hours till we can get 
up?

It's eight o'clock. Must have nodded off. I can hear 
movement in the bedroom above - Kay's stirring. I 
struggle out of the sleeping bag. Every muscle is 
aching and I feel shit. Put the kettle on, make tea. 

I run a bath for Kay, and she confirms what I guessed 
about her gas being cut off. She has had to wash with 
kettles of water for a fortnight, and a simple bath is 
like a luxury Christmas present to her. That alone gets 
me a tender kiss on the lips - too much to handle at 
this time of the morning. Kay bathes; I get us some 
breakfast.

Nine o'clock; we're fed, bathed, dressed. We drive 
quickly to Kay's place. She puts on a change of 
clothes; I set up some timers on her standard lamps for 
security at night. I drop her off at church to get 
ready for the service; I go home and put my turkey 
joint in the oven plus all the trimmings got ready on 
Christmas Eve. The food I thought would last me 
Christmas and Boxing Day will now be eaten by two 
people today!

Quarter to ten and I'm in church ready for the service. 
The church is packed; the old days of everyone tumbling 
out of the pubs for Midnight Mass have gone, and our 
congregation seems to have divided itself fairly evenly 
between the midnight and morning services. 

Kay catches my eye at one point and smiles at me; 
otherwise she is as professional and competent as ever. 
I feel like death warmed up. I croak my lines; I miss a 
cue in the anthem; I breathe in the wrong places; I 
sing badly. No matter; this Christmas my mind is on 
other things. There'll be other Christmases to get the 
music right.

Now it's 11.15 and the service is done. Everyone 
scuttles off home to their turkeys. Kay and I lock the 
church and drift down the lane to my place where we're 
greeted at the door by the gorgeous smell of roasting 
food. I make coffee and while we're drinking it we do 
some quick planning. 

Kay can't bear the thought of going home to a cold, 
empty house on Christmas morning, and we agree that 
she'll stay at my place at least until after the New 
Year. By then she'll be facing creditors and I'll be 
fully back at work in my accountant's office. 

At mid-day Kay goes home and returns around 1-ish with 
a suitcase of clothes, presents, and bags of food for 
her Christmas meals - we'll eat mine today and hers 
tomorrow. Meanwhile I've been busy in the kitchen. Ten 
years of bachelorhood have made me at least useful in 
the kitchen, if not particularly stylish or innovative 
as a cook.

Kay's changed, too - old jeans and a baggy sweater. 
She's let her hair down and looks softer, more girlish 
than in her formal choir mistress persona.

We eat at about quarter to two. It's a long, slow, 
leisurely meal, which lasts all afternoon. There's 
nothing we want to watch on the telly, so she rifles 
through my CD collection and chooses things from it 
which she likes. Some Paul Simon, some mbalax from 
Senegal, Congolese soukous music. 

By the time we've eaten ourselves to a standstill it's 
dark outside, with my Christmas tree lights and lots of 
nightlights giving the lounge a romantic atmosphere. 
During one of the gaps between courses I've put a match 
to the logs in my fire grate, and now they're burning 
well. We take coffee and brandy into the lounge and 
collapse on the sofa together. She snuggles up with her 
back into me, her feet drawn up under her, her head 
leaning on my shoulder. 

I put an arm round her to hold her to me; the arm comes 
to rest on her breast. I wait for her to react, to make 
a comment, to push it away, but she doesn't. She folds 
my arm into her breast and locks me into her. I reach 
forward to kiss her and she leans back to meet my lips. 
We're chattering away as if we've been together for 
years. She's happy and relaxed and it's suddenly become 
one of the best Christmases ever. And it's not over 
yet!

For the rest of the evening we veg out on the sofa 
watching whatever is least objectionable on telly. By 
ten o'clock we've got through a couple of bottles of 
wine, not to mention a large amount of brandy. I go up 
and put the electric blanket on. When I come back down, 
Kay has moved, clearing dishes into the kitchen. I sit 
at one end of the sofa; she returns and stretches out 
along the sofa with her head resting on a cushion on my 
lap. 

I cradle her chest with my arm. She feels different - 
she has taken off her bra and is naked under the 
sweater. I cock an eyebrow at her and she smiles at me 
and raises her head to kiss me. My hand is exploring 
under her sweater. Two heavy, soft, pliant cushions of 
flesh, warm and inviting. She groans as I roll and pull 
the nipples under my fingers.

"Kay, if we make love tonight... er... are you 
protected?"

"No," she says.

"Shall I go up to the 'Waggon and Horses' and get 
some," I reply, very hesitantly - am I being too 
forward and making too many assumptions? Have I just 
overstepped the mark and ruined the day?

"Oh please, I hadn't thought of getting them at the 
pub."

YESSSSSS - she's up for it!

So at quarter past ten at night I'm struggling into 
shoes and coat and trudging up to the pub to get a 
packet of three from the slot machine in their toilets. 
To get to the toilets I've got to go through the bar, 
and I feel conspicuous because I'm not one of the 
regular drinkers. And in the toilets there's someone 
who knows me from the village, so I make as if to use a 
cubicle until he's gone. Then I quickly buy the 
condoms, tuck them into my pocket and try to stroll 
nonchalantly back through the bar and into the street. 

Everybody in the village knows I'm single; if they see 
me with a packet of three every bloody nosey parker in 
this place will be watching my cottage to see who I've 
got in with me. Thank God I've set up some lights in 
Kay's place - if they saw her house dark and empty 
they'd put two and two together straight away!

When I get back home Kay has done the washing up and 
there's a final glass of brandy waiting for us both. 
It's a quarter to eleven and we're both yawning. Kay 
gets up and pulls me to my feet.

"Bedtime, pal," she says. And before I can say anything 
about who's sleeping where she pulls me towards the 
stairs. I don't need much encouragement! A quick flick 
round the room to switch off lights, and we're off 
upstairs. On a whim I take up a couple of candles with 
me.

By candlelight we undress. The room is cool but not 
cold. As Kay strips she faces away from me, but she 
turns to me in her bra and knickers. In the warm, 
flickering orange light of the candles her face is 
glowing. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and the 
freckles on her face are matched by those on her arms 
and shoulders. They end abruptly at the point where her 
breasts swell from her chest. 

Her breasts are very white, almost transparent looking, 
with blue veins tracing random patterns across them. 
Her aureoles are brown, with dark pink nipples already 
standing out from them. Her breasts are large and full, 
and almost conceal a brown birthmark in the valley 
between them. Her waist is small and emphasizes the 
luscious swell of her hips. The hips in turn lead the 
eye to her generous pubic hair, a dark ginger in 
colour. I suddenly realise I've come to a halt while I 
drink her in, and it's beginning to unsettle her.

"Well, do you like what you see? You're staring hard 
enough," she says.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "You look wonderful."

She snorts.

"Tits too big, bum too big, thighs too fat" she says, 
and I sense she's close to tears. This isn't how I 
intended it to be. I take her in my arms and kiss her 
for a long time while she wraps her arms first round 
me, and then under my shirt against my skin.

"Let's go to bed. I'm getting cold" she says.

We quickly strip off our remaining clothes and jump 
into the toasty warm bed, under the duvet. 

And as the candles flicker in draughts from my windows, 
we're in each other's arms straight away, kissing, 
rubbing, delving. We kiss and kiss for ages until we're 
panting for breath. I kiss and nibble her earlobes 
which turn out to be very sensitive and then her neck 
which is even more so. She writhes against me and a 
warm hand wraps round my penis, pulling it and willing 
it even more erect as I move my kisses down to her 
clavicles and her sumptuous breasts. 

Her skin smells of fragrant talc from her bath earlier. 
As I kiss the deep valley between her breasts and the 
round swell of their outside edges, she pulls my mouth 
firmly onto a nipple and holds me to her while I suck 
and lick and make little bites into the spikey nub and 
corrugated aureole.

And then I hold her hips with both hands and move down 
to her navel, and trace with my tongue the delta of 
tight curls which lead me to her cleft. She opens her 
thighs wider and wider as I move down across the top 
fold of skin above the cleft, and she gasps as first my 
tongue and then my lips and teeth make teasing contact 
with her clitoris. She sucks a breath in as if in pain 
and the grip of her hands on my shoulders tightens 
involuntarily as I flick my tongue across her clit.

And as I delve my tongue deep into the intense heat and 
wetness of her opening, she removes her hands, and 
bends both legs up high and crosses them across my 
back, locking me into her as I gently hold the petals 
of her lower lips apart and probe further and further 
inside.

And when I break the embrace and come up for air she 
has a condom unwrapped and ready to use. She pushes me 
onto my back and nimbly straddles me, facing my feet 
and lowering her vagina above my mouth so that I renew 
my assault on her. 

And I feel the amazing warmth of the embrace of her 
mouth around my penis, which swells to meet her and I 
become terrified of ejaculating too soon.

And Kay deftly slips the condom over my member and 
rolls it down to her satisfaction, then dismounts from 
me, swings herself round, and straddles me, facing 
towards me. 

And as I reach to grasp the breasts poised above me she 
takes my penis in one hand, opens her wetness with the 
other and guides me inside her, sinking in one liquid 
movement until I am inside her to the core.

The candlelight is throwing deep shadows from her 
breasts over her torso and the moving golden light and 
black shadows emphasize the magnificence and generosity 
of her body. But we are also projected onto the 
curtains and thus to anyone passing, so I lean to each 
side and blow out the candles. In the pungent aromas of 
candle smoke and of our arousal I reach up and take her 
bounty in each hand, and we rock together in a triangle 
of ecstasy until I can't hold back any more.

I warn Kay that I'm about to come and she encourages 
me; she locks her feet under my legs to anchor me to 
her and as I thrust upwards with all my strength she 
pumps downwards, and leans forwards for a kiss as we 
orgasm. It's a long time since I've done this, and I 
thrust and come and pump for all I'm worth. And at the 
height of it all, the seriousness of mating dissolves 
into helpless giggles as our lovemaking produces 
squelching noises which echo against the bare bedroom 
walls.

We break apart, spent, and I remove the condom as I 
slip out from her. It's been the best, most fulfilling 
act of sex I've ever had, and I know that it's been 
special for Kay too. I feel more alive than ever 
before. Everything I experience feels more intense. I 
feel terribly protective towards this woman whom I've 
only got to know within the last twenty-four hours.

I remember that I haven't switched off my alarm clock, 
and as I do so I notice it's close to midnight. And as 
Christmas Day ends we turn to each other and she pulls 
me to her, across her, and opens her legs to me as we 
begin another, drowsy, lovemaking. 

Christmas Days don't come better than this!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 27