The once bright sun of Veronika Swift’s heart was no more thanks to the dull cloud that was Christmas. The winter season was better off without it. She could do without the incessant music too. And the people…Those horrible people who love to celebrate such a consumerist holiday and feel it necessary to try and spread it like an airborne disease, she could definitely do without.
So when Veronika stepped out of the taxi and into the little Welsh town of Tintern decorated already in crystal red and green lights just as November was at its last breath she found it abysmally tacky.
Veronika stood on the icy pavement and watched the taxi leave her behind. She held in one of her mitts a small burning half-empty flask as hot as the kettle she had boiled hours ago. She took a sip of the burnt, earthy coffee, and just as much as it dried out her mouth like the Sahara desert it warmed up her tired body as though the sun had chose her as its subject. To her, coffee was the only thing getting her through this holiday season. She shivered as it flowed throughout her insides and to her brain. She was fully awake now. She was fully awake to the realisation that she was now stuck here in Tintern for the foreseeable future.
It was never her intention to return to her hometown; never in a million years. But here she was.
Her doc martins scrunched up the prevailing snow beneath them like bad schoolboys in winter as she walked away from the decorated shop displays. It was useless, however, there was no getting away from the painful memories. The whole town wrapped in on itself like a market square, and she saw her miserable reflection in its terraced windows. Its narrow car-jammed roads spiralled and led into each other. The town centre choked her with its pedestrian focused city planning, which must have gradually devolved into a touristic configuration after she had left all those years ago.
Veronika frantically brisked her steps forward on the cobbled street and looked about at the whimsical terraced houses. She shook her head. It was too cold for gallivanting, she thought. She came across a small, albeit quaint church building at the corner of some street. She withdrew a letter from her pocket and studied it: ‘L. Scott Law Office.’ She turned to face the rest of the centre, and scanned the line of storefronts desperately.
Veronika’s cold and icy breath slowly dissipated in front of her like the smoke from the nearby chimneys. There was only one place she had not tried - the building with the huge 5’9 white-bearded red-clothed statue stood outside its wreathed shop window. Instead of walking on the pavement around the park in the centre, Veronika hurried through the frozen lawn. The open space made her vulnerable to blasts of brittle and icy wind, which carried the aromatic scent of home-baked chocolate chip cookies.
Veronika wrinkled her nose. It reminded her too much of home, and she hated that.
Swoosh!
Veronika froze. She followed the direction of the flying object and saw a football thud down the steep roof tiles of one of the homes and into the hands of a young man. He turned around to face Veronika in the distance and grinned sheepishly. He threw it above his head and then kicked it into the cloudy sky over her head. It soared like a comet and for a moment she thought it had been swallowed by the silver sky forever, but then it came as though from space crashing down like a meteorite into the cold and wet patchy grass. Veronika watched as it rolled onto the faded sneakers of another man. She looked away from the smiling man, reminded of a life she had buried in the recesses of her mind long ago. The fragmented figments of her childhood Fridays when she would play with the neighbourhood children after school flashed across her mind incessantly.
Veronika stared at the clovers dotted around the field as she ruminated on these happy memories. She had not heard the man kick the ball back to his friend below the roof, but she soon heard his loud yell. The man had slipped and fell trying to kick the ball again. She ran towards him instinctively; although it had been several years since she competed, her cross-running skills had not degraded and she darted across the park. She reached out a hand to the young man.
“Are you hurt?”
He shook his head and blushed.
“You kick the ball high; I’ll give you that.” Veronika said, “But your stride is too long.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
Veronika curled the ball onto her right foot. “Like this.” She placed it on the ground in front of her. These were not the kind of shoes she should be getting dirty, she thought; and there was no way she could kick as far as she could in these skinny jeans.
Jogging on the spot for a moment, she strode to the ball with small steps and swung her leg, hoping that her tight jeans would not rip. She had barely afforded the taxi fare from the airport; she could not afford another pair.
Her foot curled under the ball and hurled it quickly and it flew like an artillery shell into the air.
The young man’s eyes widened in amazement and smiled ear to ear.
“We should play.” His blue eyes shocked her.
The ball came hurtling back like a rocket, and the young man caught it with the side of his wet sneaker. He started to do kicky-uppies - one…two…three.
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
“Yeah, sure you are.” The man rolled his eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Veronika. Veronika Hicks.”
“Mine’s Brad. Just Brad.” His smile was electrifying.
Veronika studied him: he was handsome. Absurdly handsome. His jaw was as sharp as a young socialite’s fingernail, and as square as a red brick, and so was his frame. His face was tanned like an Italian with the bony nose of a Greek, and he spoke spartan-like from his heart-shaped lips.
“You look absolutely beautiful, Mrs,” Brad said.
Veronika blushed as red as a mountain of roses. It had been a long time since she had even thought about dating another man ever since her evil ex dumped her for her best friend. She tried little to hide the smile rapidly appearing on her face between her dimples, and she fingered her big chestnut curls teasingly. She did not know how to respond without seeming too eager, so she said nothing.
The handsome gentleman took her cold hand and led her into a small enclosed back alley behind one of the strips of homes lining the park, and her heart thumped against her chest the further they strayed from the open field. Now on both sides swung broken rustic waist-high gates, which reminded Veronika of Saturday backdoor BBQ’s in the summer. She could almost smell the burnt sausages her father always cooked on his grill. She could almost taste it as well. Her eyes watched helplessly as she was tugged along the darkening alleyway. For a brief moment as they got lost behind a few left out wheelie bins, she thought that she was about to get murdered. Before she could even think about running away, Brad spun around and wrapped his large and bulky arms around her small hourglass waist. He pulled her into him against his chiselled pecs. She gasped loudly, her glistened eyes staring directly into his, which danced with excitement like a flickering fire.
She ground her fingernails into the back of his neck as they kissed passionately. Their tongues danced in each other’s mouths as Veronika’s crimson lips painted themselves over his upper lip a fiery red. She chuckled at his now red moustache, and continued to kiss down his olive neck as she took off her mitts, tossing them onto the ground.
He moaned softly like a purring kitten, and he began to grope the voluptuous woman underneath her thick coat like a Christmas present. Her body was slender in just the right places and likewise busty in the areas men want and appreciate. Her breasts were huge and he desperately peeled open her woolly cardigan like an envelope and buried his head inside between her cleavage. It smelled lovely and warm and safe. Veronika gasped as he tore into her tits excitedly with his mouth. He dethroned each breast from their place inside the bra by way of his teeth and he bit down on one of them. She gasped again.
“It hurts!” She said.
“Sorry.”
Veronika’s facial expression changed from irritated to amused. “Well, if you are going to bite me, then I’ll return the favour!” She bit down on his neck hard.
“Oh fuck! My girlfriend is going to see that!”
“Girlfriend? That sounds like a you problem,” she laughed in his face.
Brad sighed. The love-bite did not stop the young man as he continued to spit and play with her bosom. He then plopped her right nipple into his mouth and suckled on it vigorously. Veronika felt her entire lung empty into the cold crisp air as her body rippled like disrupted waters from the tingling sensation.
“Easy, Tiger.”
Then his hand slid down to her jean buttons, and before Veronika could stop him he unbuckled it, exposing it for the first time to the low temperatures of Welsh weather. She shuddered and it became overwhelmingly obvious to Veronika that the young man was no novice when it came to women. She clenched his hard and bony shoulders to keep herself upright, and she leaned back at the waist as he dug into her panties and her clit. He rubbed her furiously.
She moaned out loud. She did not care if anyone was around to hear. It felt too good - having a young man chew on her nipple while rubbing her clit - it was a woman’s wet dream.
She fumbled inside his own pants and pulled out his long cock, which stood erect like a tree branch. It warmed her hand and he did not seem to mind it’s icy grip. She yanked it all the while staring directly into his beautiful eyes. He fell into a groan and the brick wall behind him. By pure chance he tilted his head back and he shared a brief eye with an old man grinning from one of the opposing windows above.
“Oh, it feels so good.” Brad exclaimed.
She continued to tug his instrument. She then knelt on the ground and admired it up close: it was huge. The shaft was almost the size of her forearm and she shuddered at the thought of sucking it. Brad had the back of her head in his palm as he pressed her pale pretty face to his drooping ball sack, which hung like a pair of tennis rackets. He pressed harder on the back of her head and Veronika was forced to take deep breaths of his sweaty and musky scent. His penis twitched.
“Open up,” he commanded.
She did as she was told and as she suckled on his ball sack, his shaft pulsed with precum. She suckled faster, tasting his salt. His eyes rolled as he felt his entire body quiver with anticipation. Her mouth was intoxicating.
She sensed this and quickly kissed up his big penis to its tip, wherein she plopped it into her small mouth; her tongue swirled around it and washed it with her hot saliva. Brad groaned again, but this time it was loud enough to be heard in the park. There was a faint yell in the distance, but neither of them were concerned, or able to be concerned enough to realise how exposed they were, for they were lost in the sexual moment.
She felt it grow in her mouth. Her eyes bulged with tears. The breath escaped her body, and she looked up at his smug face as he pulled her into him by the ears. He fucked her mouth until he came down her throat.
Veronika wiped her face and picked up her mitts. She pulled down her cardigan and looked over her shoulder at the empty back alley. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Who?”
She pointed at the wreathed door guarded by the snow-drenched Santa Clause statue.
“Oh, my father?”
Veronika looked perplexed, “Eh?”
He shrugged. “You must be looking for a lawyer, right?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“My father is the village’s lawyer.”
Veronika shrugged, “Oh. It might be best that you don’t mention anything to your father about what just happened between us.”
“You don’t have to worry. My lips are sealed.”
Veronika smiled. “Learn to kick with better form, all right?”
Brad patted her back gently, “You gotcha!”
Veronika walked away as white as the breeze pushing against her face. She swore to herself that she would leave this town as soon as she had claimed her inheritance.
She arrived at the aforementioned building and studied it. Apart from the Santa Clause, there was nothing really differentiating the terraced house from any of the other homes. The brown faded bricks were the same as was the colour of the door. It dawned on Veronika that the whole town was the same colour - a dull and murky brown. Outside of summer, Christmas must have been the only time where its occupants saw some colour when they stepped out of their homes - not just the drab earthy tones of the Victorian age.
She knocked on the door and waited anxiously. She scoffed at the wreath. After a few minutes, the thought came to her to just let herself in, and she walked into the law office. It looked like someone’s dingy living room, and she was immediately afraid that she had invaded an unsuspecting stranger’s privacy.
The living room was small and crowded and without a space to breathe. She felt claustrophobic, cornered by the three couches facing her in a square configuration. There stood a glittering Christmas tree in the middle lit like the city roads at night. She heard the fireplace crackle behind her, and logs being thrown in its hearth. She turned around, startled. An old man was bent over a pile of freshly chopped timber, his face glowing orange from the fire. Between his big feet purred a tubby black cat, clawing at one of the logs as though it was a ball of string, seemingly uninterested in the intruder.
Veronika was too afraid to speak and she hoped the old stranger would break the crackling silence.
“He’ll be with you in a moment,” the old man said as he finished pouring the logs into the fire. It bustled and ballooned all of a sudden like a mushroom cloud. “Leon’s in with his girlfriend, and you just know what they’re doing in there. You might as well take a seat.”
“Is this the law office?”
He sighed and pushed himself up by the kneecaps. His huge belly and beard eerily resembled the statue outside.
“You ain’t from around here, are you?” He said this suspiciously.
“Not quite.” Veronika said. Even though she was born in this village, her mother had decided to move in with her new husband thousands of miles away, effectively severing her relationship with her birth father.
The man coughed and turned to the side, still hacking something up from his chest. It sounded like the desperate cranks of a deadbeat’s car. He finished and turned then to Veronika, studying her intently with his half-shut deeply indented brown eyes. He raised his brow, and the lines on his forehead were dark and crisp like a crinkled aluminium packet. His prolonged stare crept down the whole of her body like a long and heavy snake.
Veronika returned the curiosity. The man was as gruff as they come. Perhaps he was a veteran, she thought. Nevertheless, his saggy face looked as worn and faded as the leather on a cowboy’s boot. He wore faded straight-legged jeans and a dark red checkered flannel shirt: typical lumberjack, Veronika judged.
“Welcome to the mad house,” he grimaced. His lips were as chapped as the ash beneath the burning logs.
Veronika wondered if she was in the right place. She watched as the old man limped toward the couch and dropped into it. She heard the cushion squeal as though something had been crushed to death.
The old man soaked up a lungful of air and sighed. His voice was muffled by the long white raggy beard drooping down his big chest like spilled milk. “If you wanna fill up that flask you got there’s coffee over there.” He pointed to a small table squeezed in the corner. “Well there ought to be anyway. Last I checked.”
Veronika went to it, twisted off the cap of her flask, and placed it down onto the table. She turned on the kettle and as waited for it to boil she opened the coffee jar and scooped up three teaspoons of the stuff - she was going all in. She did not know what type of coffee it was and she would have preferred to have been served a Brazilian blend, but it did not matter because by this point she was just after something caffeinated. It made her feel alive. It made her feel safe. It made her comfortable. At the very least, she thought, it would motivate her to push past this overwhelming anxiety she felt. She then opened the sugar jar and spooned two teaspoons of it and chucked it into her flask. There was no sleeping tonight, she thought. When the kettle had finished boiling, she picked it up and poured the steaming hot water into her cup, and watched the light brown liquid rise to the brim. When she had finished, she put down the kettle and breathed in the fruity aroma coming in upward waves from the flask. The scent alone warmed up her entire body more than the fireplace could ever have done. She closed her eyes and placed each hand on the table, drawing in large breaths of the burnt beans.
The old man sneaked a peak or two at the young and attractive stranger. The back of her head rained down curls like a chandelier the colour of mahogany. It rained down as far as her hips. He let his eyes slide down further past her belt and over each cheek, and to the back pocket wherein was tucked a crumpled piece of paper, which sparked his curiosity like a spoon and custard pudding. His restless eyes hung onto it like a heavy winter coat, and he imagined all sorts of things an old man like him should refrain from speaking out loud.
Veronika could feel the heat radiate off of his lusty eyes like the suns rays on a crowded beach. All of a sudden, she felt the room become hot and stuffy. She went to take off her coat, but stopped just as it unhooked from her shoulders: the man was still looking at her. She turned to look over her shoulder and saw the old man watching her beneath his bushy eyebrows, but it was difficult to tell if he was indeed watching her, for his eyes were snowed in behind them, and he looked as still as the statue outside. She shrugged and turned back to the table.
Then she heard the wheeze of the couch again as the air trapped underneath the cushion escaped like the last breath of a man on his death bed, and she heard his sluggish movement come nearer to her, filling her with dread. She felt the pale frost-cold skin on her back crawl with more and more ants as the seconds ticked by on the ole grandfather clock. Instinctively, she turned again around and faced his hungry glare.
“So, how are you?” She kicked herself for saying such a stupid question, but she needed to desperately keep him at bay at all costs, even if it meant engaging in the dreaded art of small talk until her lawyer appeared like a knight in shining armour.
“I’m doing alright,” he wheezed.
“Nasty cold. How long have you had it?”
He came to a halt and thought about it. “Since the start of this month. It’s been horrible. Keeping me up all night it has.”
“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.” Veronika gulped.
The old man sighed, and then like a light bulb he changed his expression. He threw out a large grin. “Say, you look very attractive.”
“Uh, thanks?” Veronika crossed her arms.
“They ain’t gonna finish anytime soon,” he said. His grin grew wider, revealing a false set of dull white front teeth.
“Perhaps I better go.” Veronika suggested.
“You could go, but I figure a young and beautiful woman like you is always eager for a good ole dicking.”
Veronika was shook. She had not expected the old man to be so straightforward. Even though he looked old enough to be her grandfather, she felt enormously flattered by his words.
“Sorry,” he said, looking down at the ratty rug on the floor. “I got carried away by your beauty.”
Veronika felt sorry for the old man. If she was to leave, she thought, she would have to face the icy cold blasts of the winter season, and perhaps get into more trouble out there too. She took off her heavy coat and held it draped from her forearm like a waiter and his napkin.
“Where should I put this?”
“Just throw it on the couch.”
As soon as Veronika placed down her coat on the head rest, she was greeted by the big roving hands of the old stranger. She did not even know his name and yet she was allowing him to grope her ass cheeks. She went in for the kiss, and their faces mushed together like two molecules. Unlike her younger partner from earlier, this man dove his fingers right inside her damp pussy. She moaned and clutched tight his large frame as she bucked her hips against his bony fingers.
“Quiet down or we will be caught.” He grunted. His fingers rapidly plunged inside her over and over again. She drew in large breaths to hold in the shaky moans, but it only made the desire stronger. She let out another large moan and it rippled across the room like a lion’s bellowing roar. The flurry of finger blasts intensified the anticipation of the orgasm building up within her, and she grabbed the back of his fluffy white head and pulled it into her neck as she rode him. She came and it felt wonderful.
The man was not finished yet, however, and he pushed her down to the floor. Veronika knew what to do, and she instinctively unbuckled his jeans and peeled them down along with his underwear, revealing her biggest task yet. His grey-haired instrument flopped out onto her cute nose, and she quickly sank it into her hot wet mouth. At once, Veronika bobbed her head up and down the long length of his cock, holding in her breath and loudly choking at the base of his shaft with tears in her eyes. He looked down at her as though she was the town whore, and he grabbed a fistful of her curly hair and held her with his cock stuffed deep down her throat. Her gagging only made him all the harder, and he saw her eyes bulge with desperation and pleading.
He stared into her streaming eyes with the slashing look of a testosterone-led drug dealer pimping out his hoe, and he kept her chocking and spluttering until the very last second when her face was entirely purple and death was knocking. He pulled her off of him by the roots and she fell back onto the floor. She could not do anything but gasp over and over again. She had not felt this good since the first time she had sex in the men’s toilets, and she watched him advance upon her again. He knelt down above her face, sinking his entire ball sack into her mouth.
Plop!
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her cold palm to his shaft above her head. She gripped it and started to awkwardly tug it up and down. It was not long before he came all over her sprawled out hair, drenching it like the weighed-down treetops outside.
Excerpt from my novel The Christmas Fuck-List https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Jessthegoth
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