moan as I run out of candy and move to enjoying your rim and puckered hole with my candy coated lips, tongue, and teeth.

I pull my clothes off and turn you over to find, to my delight, that your risen cock is encircled with a red ribbon and a bow, too. And I laugh when I see there is a small bell tied to the ribbon as well. I take you in and untie the bow with my teeth as I ring the bell with the sliding action of my warm mouth over your manhood. You are groaning now and digging your heels into the bear rug and pulling at my hair with your clawing fingers, lost in the moment, showing me all of the passion I knew you’d have in you.

I look up to see your face, lit up with desire and joy, illuminated in the blaze from the fireplace. The ribbon around your chest covers your nipples, and I suddenly want to feel them in my mouth. I pull myself up your body, and you throw your legs around my waist and ring your cock bell against my navel, as I pull the ribbon away with my teeth and dive for your nipples.

You are arching your back up from your shoulder blades, lifting your pelvis with those heels dug into the bear rug and chiming your cock up into my belly with rhythmic thrusts of your hips.

"I want it too," you are whimpering at me. "I want the same present."

"What?" I ask, pulling my lips away from your nipples and look up at you, lost in your lust-filled eyes.

"For Christmas," you are gasping. "Sex on a stick! Me too. That other gift. From you."

"What other . . . Oh, these," I say, remembering now, reaching over and picking up the candy cane-colored condoms I’d opened in the kitchen. "You want me to . . ."

"Yes, yes. Now. Stick. Candy. Me on your candy stick."

Rolling one of my presents on my throbbing tool as I turn you over and bring you up on all fours, there on the fur rug between the roaring fire and the twinkling Christmas tree. I replace the candy cane you offered me when I entered in the room with a much thicker, longer, deeper-probing candy cane. And I give you all that you asked for. Hot sex on a stick, my stick, plunging to your core and fucking you from Christmas to New Years.

Afterward, you lying flat on the rug and me stretched over your back, still dipping in the sweet candy of me inside you, both of our spent, yet fully satisfied faces shining in the firelight, you return to what you had been pestering me about.

"You said there was nothing you needed for Christmas. Do you still feel . . . ?"

"Shush, shush," I murmur, covering your shoulder and the hollow of your neck with my kisses and running my hands from your sides down your hips and along your thighs, "I misspoke. I needed you for Christmas. You are all of the Christmas that I needed."

"And would it be possible for you to need more?" you ask in a dreamy voice. "I know you have such a sweet tooth. Now? Can you fuck me again now?"
But that was a question you needn’t even have asked.

But I am