Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

"Is this perfect enough for you. Still think it's the perfect tree?"

"Oh, Scotty. Oh, Scotty. It will be perfect. I promise."

If only, I thought.

Karen had gone to great pains to make it perfect. The tree was trimmed, the fireplace was lit, Nat King Cole was crooning Christmas songs on the CD player, the eggnog was waiting patiently on the coffee table near us, and we were stretched out between the fireplace and the tree on the snowflake rug Karen's grandmother had hooked.

I sort of wondered if this was the use Grandma had intended for her rug.

Karen was on her back, laying on the arm I had wrapped around her shoulder blades, the hand of that arm reaching around and toying with one of her puffed-up nipples underneath her bra, her blouse open. I'd already hiked her skirt up to around her waist. I was laying on my side against her, stretched her full length and then some. I'd already taken my shirt off.

I had my other hand on her belly, beneath all of the material. We were kissing and she was trembling. But I held there. This would have to be her initiative. These were her needs we were meeting. I'd yet to be so out of control with her that I'd take all of the initiative.

She sat up and pulled her blouse off, unhooked her bra, and tossed that under the coffee table. Then with a sigh she laid back down on my arm and my fingers went back to her nipple. I bent over and took her other nipple in my mouth and rolled it around and sucked it.

She whimpered and arched her back. Then she reached down and put the palm of a hand on the back of the one I had on her belly—and pushed my hand below the waistband of her panties. When she had guided me all the way down to cupping her mound and I had inserted my forefinger inside her and found her clit, she moaned and moved her hand to my crotch, lowered my zipper, pulled my cock out, and squeezed and stroked it, reaching for the same rhythm I was using to thrum her clit.

"Oh, Scotty, Scotty. Now. Pleazzze. Don't make me wait."

I withdrew my hand, but she was still fisting my cock like it might run away from her before she was satisfied. I went slightly up on my knees and pulled her panties—with the help of her cooperating legs, down to her ankles and off, and while I was up, I clumsily stripped off my own jeans.

My mouth went back to a nipple and I turned her slightly toward me and lifted her outer leg and pulled it over unto my stomach. As I slowly entered her, she let out a gasp and clutched at the muscles of my back with her claws.

She let out more gasps and groans and moans as I shallow fucked her in slow motions that made sure that the head of my cock was rubbing across her clit with each stroke. I left the sucking of her nipples and raised my chest and head to where I was looking down into her face.

I wanted to watch the effect of the pleasure this was giving her. I wanted this sort of pleasure. And if I couldn't have it—fully—I wanted to see her getting it. I craved it myself. This was nice, but rockets weren't going off or anything. Certainly not like I could tell from her expressions that she was building up to.

She clasped my shoulders tightly with her hands. She was trembling and jerking. Looking at me wildly—an almost animalistic look of want and need. I started stroking deeper, but still careful to come all the way out to drag along the clit before digging again. Her tongue was lolling out of her mouth and when she looked into my eyes, there was begging there. I increased the speed of the fuck, and she was gasping and panting. She opened her mouth to me, wanting me to possess it. But I couldn't chance that. I had to see the orgasm in her eyes. I had to try to meld with it, to convince myself that I was feeling it too.

She was on the edge, skating along it, and then with a little cry and jerking, and digging her claws into my shoulder, she was into it. I envied her this too. I could tell the orgasm was going on and on, in ever-more powerful waves.

And then she collapsed in my arms. Just fell back, spent, and satiated. But even then I could tell she was getting a pleasure out of it that I never had gotten from her. She was arching her back again, jutting her chest up. Her hands were working her breasts, squeezing her nipples, looking into my eyes with glazed-over eyes.

I hadn't come yet. I hadn't even done that much, even though it would have lifted me to the heights for only a few seconds. She was still dancing on the clouds, and I hadn't even come yet.

I rolled over on top of her, thrust in deep, and started pumping hard and deep.

"Oh, Scotty. Oh, Scotty. Yes. Oh, god yes!" she screamed. Her hands left her breasts and reached down around my body. Her claws dug into my butt cheeks and squeezed them, holding them close to her, wanting me inside, all of me. I knew that was what she wanted because she was gasping, "Yes, deep, all of it!"

And all of it was what she got. Deep, hard pounding. I followed her buildup to another orgasm. Resenting that. Wanting it to be mine. The anger making me fuck harder, deeper, longer.

Her body was doing a wild dance under me. Clutching and crying out, and telling me she was rising to the heavens and then, in waves, dancing on the clouds.

"Fuck," I thought. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." But I could feel the juices rising inside me. I no longer was fucking Karen in my imagination. I was being fucked. By Dutch, at the Christmas tree lot.

"FUCK!" I cried out as I released deep inside Karen—and then collapsed on top of her, spent, and at least partially satisfied—and still thinking about Dutch fucking that guy in his office.