The Stocking Was Hung by Tara Sivec Page A

head falls against the red velvet throne and I force my eyes to remain open as I watch her instead of closing them in ecstasy as her mouth moves up and down on my cock, sucking the head and swirling her tongue around it each time she comes up.
    It’s just like the dream I had this morning, only better. So much fucking better. As she bobs on my shaft, her hand starts moving again, twisting and turning her palm around my dick as she slides it up and down me right below her lips. The sounds coming out of my mouth are embarrassing and incoherent gibberish, but I don’t give a fuck about anything except the feel of her hot mouth and expert tongue working over my dick like never before. I’m clutching onto the arms of the chair so hard I’m afraid I might break the damn things off as she speeds up her motions and her sucking gets harder. It’s pathetic how quickly my balls tighten and my orgasm creeps up on me. It really is, but I’m just going to blame this shit on being in a war zone for eighteen months and only having my hand to get the job done. In actuality, I’m pretty sure this is all Noel. I have a feeling she could give me a hundred blowjobs and I’d come just as fast because she is THAT good.
    Holy fuck, her mouth should be illegal.
    The sounds of sucking that fill the small room each time her mouth slips off the head of my cock and she dives right back down on it make my orgasm rocket through me so fast that not even the recital of baseball stats or the knowledge that I’m about to come where Santa plants his ass with children on his knee can stop it.
    “Fuck, shit, Noel…I’m going to come, baby,” I warn her, my release taking a small pause when the word baby slips out.
    I don’t want to be one of those clichéd idiots who call a woman baby just because her mouth is on his dick. It slipped out and it felt right, and not just because her mouth is indeed on my dick, sucking faster and harder, her cheeks hollowing out with the force of her excellent sucking skills as she continues to deep throat me.
    Her other hand joins in the fun, cupping my balls and rolling them around in her warm palm, and that’s it. Game over. I’m done for.
    “Shit! Fuck, I’m coming,” I warn her again, not wanting to spew in her mouth and completely disgust her if she’s not into something like that.
    Noel doesn’t even pause, taking my cock all the way into her mouth as my hips jerk forward and I come harder than I ever have in my life, her hand still rolling my balls in her palm as I shout and curse through my release. She swallows every drop of my cum like a champ, and I really do become one of those clichéd jack holes when I have to clamp my lips closed before I do something stupid and profess my love for her in between sobs of pleasure.
    She moves her lips slowly up and down my cock as my hips continue their little twitching spasms until my orgasm finally subsides and my ass slumps back down into the chair.
    “Sweet mother fucking Jesus,” I mutter as she sucks her way up and off my dick, giving the head one last little kiss before sitting up and leaning back on her feet.
    With a swipe of the back of her hand across her mouth, she quickly gets up and with shaking, fumbling hands, I shove my cock back into my boxers, standing on unsteady legs to pull up my jeans and button them.
    “You just gave me a blow job on Santa’s throne,” I say dumbly when I get my jeans zipped and pull my shirt down over the waistband.
    I should be thanking her, telling her she’s outstanding, getting down on my knees and ripping her own pants off to return the favor, but all I can do is stand here in Santa’s Workshop stating the obvious.
    I’ve become orgasm-stupid.
    “I hope this is what you asked Santa for, otherwise it’s going to be really awkward if you just wanted a bike,” she teases with a smile, walking over to grab her coat from the floor and sliding it back on.
    I chuckle as she bends down and unplugs the fireplace, my