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When it comes to Christmastime and the holidays, I become a regular Bahumbug incarnate. I don’t know what it is that puts me in such a foul mood, but I can admit to being almost unbearable to all those unfortunate souls around me, and poor Lo bears the brunt of it.

After an unpleasant episode picking out the tree, it was time to trim it. Lo put on her festive music and pulled up from the basement all the boxed lights and tinsel (I detest tinsel) and ornaments. She danced around the evergreen in our living room and said, “Come on, Daddio, get into the spirit. It’s tradition. It’s fun!”

“Traditions aren’t meant to be fun, their meant to be done,” I said, grabbing some lights and putting them up with as much efficiency as possible.

“I can make them fun,” said Lo, and she began to strip, right there in the living room, the blinds open to the world. “How’s this? Better?” she asked when she was down to her bright red Christmas panties and bra.

“Tolerable.”

I’ll admit, it did fill me with Christmas cheer to see her standing on her tippy toes, stretching out in that little outfit, trying to put the ornaments on the upper branches.

“Come on,” she said, “don’t I look just like Santa’s little ho ho ho?”

“That you do,” I admitted.

“Don’t you want to unwrap me?”

“That sounds like fun. Do I get to play with my toy?”

“Your fuck toy?”

“Is that what you are?”

“You know it, Daddio.”

“Then, yeah.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She led me from the tree to the couch and sat me down.

“What’s this all about?” I asked.

She didn’t respond. She pulled down my pants and my boxers and got between my legs on her knees. She started going down on me like she was sucking one of the candy canes from the tree. I passively let her lap me up. She looked up at me and grabbed my hands and put them in her deep dark mane. “Fuck my face, Daddio,” she said. “Fuck my face.”

I stood up from the couch and kept my hands on her head, pressing her into my groin.

She paused to say, “Harder. You can go harder. . . and deeper.”

I did as she wished. As I was on the edge, I pulled back and said, “Let’s go to the bedroom where I can fuck you.” I’ll admit, I was feeling a little self-conscious about the show we were putting on for the neighbors.

“No, Daddio. Fuck me here,” she said, pulling down her red panties and putting one leg up on the couch, guiding me into her from behind. All I could do was shut my eyes and listen to the music that was playing — Madonna singing “Santa Baby.”

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me
I’ve been an awful good girl
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Santa baby, an out-of-space convertible too, light blue
I’ll wait up for you dear
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Think of all the fun I’ve missed
Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed
Next year I could be oh so good
If you’d check off my Christmas list
Boo doo bee doo

Santa honey, I wanna yacht and really that’s
Not a lot
I’ve been an angel all year
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Santa cutie, there’s one thing I really do need, the deed
To a platinum mine
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Santa baby, I’m filling my stocking with a duplex, and checks
Sign your ‘X’ on the line
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Come and trim my Christmas tree
With some decorations bought at Tiffany’s
I really do believe in you
Let’s see if you believe in me
Boo doo bee doo

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring
I don’t mean a phone
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Hurry down the chimney tonight
Hurry down the chimney tonight

The lyrics got me thinking and I said, “Lo, it’s been a long while since I had your ass.”

Over her shoulder she said, “Have you been naughty or nice?”

“What’s the right answer?”

“They’re both right.”

“Well, I’ve been nice all year and now I want to be naughty.”

“Then hurry down my chimney tonight.”

[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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