Sizzling Sunday: Almost Home -- #holidayromance #mmf #freebook

It’s Christmas Eve, maybe cold where you are. Maybe even snowing. Here’s a bit of erotic romance to warm you up, from my MMF holiday short Almost Home.

Blurb

Home is a state of heart.

Suzanne and Gino have history going back to high school, but for years Suzanne has been three thousand miles away, preoccupied with her challenging career.

A mistletoe kiss at a holiday party reminds her of their old bond and proves that some things get better with age. When Gino rescues her from a New England blizzard, though, she discovers that she's not the only love in his life. Gino shares his bed and his colonial-era farm house with taciturn painter Harris Steele.

Snowed in, without electricity or running water, the three explore the many shapes a triangle can assume. Although she's far away from her everyday existence, Suzanne realizes that she's almost home.

Merry Christmas to all!

The mug of tea cupped in her hands chased the last bit of numbness from Suzanne’s fingers. Propped up on a couch in Gino’s spacious kitchen, swaddled in quilts, she watched him toss another log on the roaring fire. He moved with easy grace, a man at home in his own skin.

The heat from the blaze matched the desire simmering in her belly. She felt her body expanding, unfolding. Her tension and fear evaporated. In their place came delicious comfort edged with arousal. Gino poked at the glowing timbers piled on the hearth. She admired the line of his broad back and the curve of his buttocks under the stretched denim.

“Gino,” she called softly. “Come here.”

He gave her a smile that rivalled the blaze he tended. “Suzanne?” He sauntered over to sit beside her half-prone form. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks to you. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.” She grasped his hand, entwining their fingers. He laid his other hand on top. It might have just been a gesture of friendship, but it sent sparks swirling through her. Her nipples tightened into hungry knots.

“You know, Suzy, I had this strange feeling. Jack and I had just settled down to our annual game of chess—one of our traditions—when suddenly I knew I had to leave. I told them I had a headache, and actually, it felt a bit that way—some kind of urgent need pounding in my skull. When I saw the car burrowed into the snow bank, I knew right away that it was you.”

“I’m so grateful.” He was close enough now that she could smell him, wood smoke with an undercurrent of wintergreen. “I was pretty scared.”

“You should have let me drive you,” Gino scolded. “But then you always were stubborn.” He leaned back, away from her, and released her hand. Suzanne wanted to pull him closer. Why did he hesitate? Didn’t he know she wanted him?

“I’ve got to be back in California by Monday morning,” she murmured. “Important meeting. But I don’t suppose there’s any possibility of getting to my hotel tonight, is there?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Gino replied triggering a laugh that relieved some of the strain. “The governor’s called for a state of emergency. The Mass Pike is closed to all but emergency vehicles. Latest forecasts say we’re going to get two feet.” He caught her eyes as though trying to read her thoughts. “Lady, you’re stuck here for the foreseeable future.”

Suzanne reached for him. “In that case, why don’t you kiss me?”

He allowed her to bring his lips within inches of hers. Then he stopped her. “Are you sure? I got the idea back at the party that I made you nervous. That you still weren’t interested in being more than friends.”

“You do make me nervous—but in a good way. I feel like a teenager when you’re around, hot and bothered, excited and embarrassed. You’ve always made me feel that way.”

“And that’s good?”

“I’m beginning to think so. Why don’t you kiss me and we can find out?”

He didn’t need a second invitation. Sliding his hands under the blankets, he gathered her to his chest and planted his firm lips on hers. Even though she was expecting this kiss, it still shocked her. Sudden heat swept through her like a forest fire. Any last reservations burned to a crisp. He took possession of her mouth, scarcely allowing her to take a breath. Meanwhile his hands roved over her curves, sending waves of electric pleasure shimmering down to her sex.

The velvet transmitted every brush of his fingertips. She might as well have been naked. It hardly mattered that she was wearing a bra or panties. He rolled one brazen nipple between his thumb and forefinger, waking tremors in her clit. She gasped into his mouth. He cupped her damp mound through her clothing, his lips still glued to hers. She spread her legs, begging for more, and he obliged, rubbing the velvet back and forth along the groove of her pussy.

His groping made her increasingly desperate. As though he read her thoughts, he broke the kiss. “I want to see you naked,” he breathed. “I always have.”

She flung the quilts away and pulled her dress over her head in one fluid motion. He watched, clearly fascinated, eyes gleaming in the firelight. Reaching behind her, she unhooked her crimson bra and set her ample breasts free. She cupped them like an offering, her own hands feeling almost as wonderful on her flesh as his. He fastened his mouth on one taut nub, pinching the other. The sight of his dark head suckling was almost enough to make her come. Gino, she thought, buffeted by a confusing mix of emotions. After all this time.

His hand snaked between her thighs, wriggling into her soaked panties. A finger stroked her clit. Lightning jolted her. Her back arched, sending the finger slipping into her folds. “Oh please! I can’t take this!” she moaned. “I need you inside me.”

Don’t forget to claim your free copy of my BDSM erotic romance A Contract for Christmas. My holiday gift to you! Details here!

A Visit from Mistress Nicole

  A Visit from Mistress Nicole by Lisabet Sarai


'Twas the night before Christmas.
Outside the snow fell,
But inside Club O,
It was hotter than hell.
The slaves were all hung
on their crosses with care
in hopes that their dominants
soon would be there.
The Doms were preparing
the racks and nail beds
with visions of ropework
and chains in their heads.
My pet wore her collar
and I with my tawse
was laying down stripes
red as old Mr. Claus.

When out at the entrance
arose such a clatter
I left my cuffed slut
to see what was the matter.

The light on her breasts
was like new-fallen snow
when compared to the crimson
silk corset below.
Her hair was like fire,
her lips were like cherries,
a ruby stud winked
in the dip of her belly.
Her black leather boots
clasped her legs to the thigh.
Her emerald eyes twinkling,
she raised her whip high.

"I've come to reward
all the masochist perverts
for all the year's humble
and diligent service."
Though as purely a top
as you're likely to meet,
I admit I was tempted
to kneel at her feet.

She strode into the dungeon
with oiled single tail.
Her lash made the subbies
all quiver and quail.
To each bottom's lips
the delicious Domme bent;
she wouldn't do more
till she had their consent.

But then she let loose
while we tops watched in awe
as she happily flogged
half a dozen subs raw.
"Now, baby - oh, boyo!
Breathe, girly - Now, Pet!
Take this now! Don't move!
Are you hard? Are you wet?"
As her whip kissed their flesh
we all thrilled at the sight,
while their asses turned scarlet,
their spirits took flight.

Till at last she relented,
the ritual done,
and we Doms found that we,
like our slaves, had all come.

And we heard her exclaim
as she vanished from sight:
"Merry Kinkmas to all!
May your bonds remain tight!"
Happy Holidays to All!

'Twas the night before Christmas – I had a full house...

Holiday traditions vary from one family to the next. One of the challenges in a relationship can be fitting in with the seasonal practices, and living up to the expectations, of your SO's relatives. For my Blissemass offering, I thought I'd give you a moderately extreme example.

I fell in love with J. early in the fall of my first year in grad school. That initial holiday season we spent apart (triggering an outpouring of lonely, horny poetry on my part) but by the following year we were definitely a couple, so he invited me to celebrate Christmas with his family in Lincoln, Nebraska. We spent twenty four hours on Amtrak, traveling to Lincoln from our East Coast university. I have fond memories of our sharing a bunk in a second class sleeper, separated from our fellow passengers by nothing more than a heavy curtain. Needless to say, we had to stifle our moans of passion, but neither of us was immune to the thrill of semi-public sex.

Anyway, we arrived in the frigid Great Plains town on the 23^rd of December. Born and brought up in New England, the daughter of a college professor, I really didn't know what to expect from J.'s working class, mid-western family. I guess the sentiments were mutual. J.'s mom had never met anyone Jewish before. Her relief was obvious when she saw how relatively normal I looked, and when I assured her that yes, I did indeed eat ham, their standard Christmas Day fare.

My own family wasn't much for organized religion of any sort. We celebrated Chanukah but we still had a Christmas tree, though no presents. I'd been included in many of my Christian friends' festivities over the years, so I figured I had some ideas about typical Christmas Eve traditions. Some people, I knew, went to midnight services. One friend's mom always served cheese fondue. In other families, each individual opened a single present. How different could it be in Lincoln?

Little did I know!

The next day, just as dusk was falling, J.'s uncle came around in his pick-up. “Time to head over to the Holiday Inn”, he told me. The Holiday Inn? I wondered if perhaps there was some sort of Christmas buffet dinner in which we would all indulge. J. just grinned, enjoying my confusion.

This wasn't, it turned out, just any Holiday Inn. In the Holiday Inn, Lincoln, Nebraska, four tiers of rooms faced into a huge courtyard strewn with lawn chairs and potted palms, centering on a giant, kidney-shaped swimming pool. A translucent dome arched over the whole area, protecting it from the subzero winds outside and the snow just beginning to fall. Heat lamps beamed down from the supporting girders. Inside the courtyard, a steamy, tropical atmosphere prevailed. We might as well have been in Florida or the Bahamas.

J.'s extended family – two sisters, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, along with all their progeny – had reserved most of the ground floor rooms. Within fifteen minutes, the kids were splashing in the shallow end of the pool or doing cannonballs off the edge. Sweating in the warm, humid, chlorine-laced air, the rest of us stripped down to tee shirts. It had never occurred to me I might need a bathing suit at the height of winter in Nebraska! Food and drink emerged from picnic coolers to be set out on the tables. And the Christmas Eve party began.

The main entertainment for the evening turned out to be the annual Christmas Eve poker game. As it happens, poker was one of the primary things I learned in graduate school. I lived in a group house with four guys, including J. (that's another story!), and they played poker every Wednesday night. I wasn't much good at the game – I've never been very skilled at hiding the truth – but I understood the rudiments. When J.'s dad invited me to join in, I thought, “Why not?”

We sat around that plastic table for hours, drinking beer and playing hand after hand of five card stud: J., his father, his uncle, his brother-in-law, and me, the shy little girl from Boston. Actually, I'm sure I wasn't drinking beer – I hated beer back then - but I must have consumed something else alcoholic, because I remember feeling silly, tipsy, a bit wild. And the odd thing was, I was winning.

Something about the bizarre situation inspired me. I'm not sure which felt more exotic, the synthetic tropical paradise or the blizzard swirling outside. I'd never played so well before, and I never have since. My boyfriend watched the poker chips accumulate in front of me. The pride I saw in his eyes made me feel warmer than ever. A buzz of sexual arousal made everything more vivid.

I kept thinking I should bow out, so that J. and I could return to our room and I could jump his bones. When Lady Luck is smiling, though, it's hard to turn your back on her.

Three aces. Four tens. A full house. The cards fell my way that Christmas Eve, and I felt lucky – lucky to be there with my lover, lucky to part of this strange but welcoming family, lucky to be alive. The two hundred fifty bucks I won were just the icing on the cake.

It was past midnight when the game finally broke up. The heat lamps in the dome were extinguished. The kids had been put to bed. The women had long since retired. Most of the rooms around the open area were dark.

Even J.'s boisterous, beer-saturated relatives spoke in hushed voices. Whispers of “Merry Christmas” hung in the humid air as we cleared away the empties and bid each other good night.

I stood on the threshold of our room, peering into the shadowed courtyard, listening to the whir of the ventilation system and the lap of water against the walls of the pool. It was Christmas, and there was a kind of magic here, not really so different from the enchanted silence of a breathless, snowy night. Something special, even holy.

“Lisabet,” J. called softly from inside. “Come to bed.”

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