Page 89 of Missiletoe

My small cock was practically bursting out of my undies with excitement, and my skirt wasn’t doing anything to conceal that fact, but instead of showing it off, I bent over the bed to show off my tail some more.

One more wiggle shook Paris out of his trance, and he had the rest of his clothes off in a flash. His cock led the way as he hurried to the bed, and it nudged my balls when he pressed against my ass. He flicked my tail, and I arched my back.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy.” I wasn’t able to keep up the deliberate sexiness anymore. I wanted him inside me too badly to put on a show. The plug inside my ass wasn’t coming close to filling me up properly.

“Merry Christmas, bunny,” Paris whispered and placed kisses along my neck and down my spine. He lifted my skirt and pressed against the plug in my ass, grinding it against my sweet spot just enough to make me go floppy with pleasure.

Paris doesn’t mind my weird quirks. I think he actually likes my floppiness, because it means he can use me and please me exactly the way he wants.

He turned me over and rearranged my limbs for me, so I’d be comfortable. Once he had me the way he wanted me, he gave my sensitive nipples his full attention. Fuck, he did that better than anyone ever had in my life.

He had them a shiny, cherry red, and my entire body shaking with need before he had mercy on me and took my little cock in one huge hand.

“This is so cute. So perfect. Just like you,” Paris said in the low, growly voice he used right before he was about to destroy my asshole.

There was ariiipand a brief sting at the top of both of my hips, then my G-string was a thing of the past. Paris kissed the red marks he’d given me, then he kissed my weeping cock for good measure. He pressed on my plug rhythmically and took me into his mouth.

My man really knows how to unwrap a present.

I wanted to tell him his mouth was magic. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted to tell him that if he stopped, I’d build a machine that would chain him to our bed, and then I’d fuck his face until I came all over it, but words weren’t a thing for me anymore. I was a gibbering scrap of a human, and I hoped he’d know what I meant anyway through the power of my love.

Paris kept me right on the edge, but never let me find my sweet release.

I found enough words to promise him the world, to conquer it for him, and then he could have anything he wanted if he’d just put his huge dick inside me and make me cum.

Paris gave a soft laugh that was a shade too evil for such a kind man and said, “I already have everything I want, bunny.”

“Can you please fuck me anyway?” I didn’t have to fake the tears in my eyes.

They were lust tears, but hopefully Paris thought they were sad,please be nice to metears. He was a sucker for those.

“As you wish, bunny,” Paris said as he nuzzled my balls, breath hot against my skin and making me squirm even more.

He sat up and took ahold of my legs, pulling me forward with enough force to take my breath away. He played with my plug for another tortuous moment before finally having mercy on me and taking it out. His cum from earlier that day began to leak out, but he stuffed his cock inside me before I could lose anymore.

It was an ownership thing for Paris. When I let him, he’d fill me up and leave me that way anytime I was going to hang out with my family—i.e., all the people in my life who have fucked me. Once he and I had both tested negative, I pretty much let him do it whenever he wanted. It felt good to have a piece of Paris with me when he wasn’t around.

Plus being super slippery inside meant Paris could shove right in me without any fanfare. So, pluses all around in my book.

Paris began thrusting into me so hard my bunny ears fell off, and my skirt got hiked up so far it looked a lot more like a belt than a skirt.

My kind, sweet Paris was gone now, and in his place was something more akin to an animal in heat using my body for his pleasure. He was completely lost to any part of the world around him that wasn’t me.

My Paris really knows how to fuck.

He only needed to hit my sweet spot a few times before I came all over myself and my battered skirt, but Paris didn’t slow down at all. He fucked me through my orgasm and kept going until he built me up to the edge of another. Sometimes he kept me there until I was a begging, teary mess. Other times he drove me over the edge again and again until I was halfway to la-la land.

My multi-orgasmic nature combined with Paris’s unreal stamina had me proposing again. Or at least I thought I did. I might have only threatened to destroy the world if he ever left me.

Whatever I said, it was something romantic like that.

When Paris finally came, the church bell in town rang out and informed us that it was officially Christmas day. I don’t know if he’d done it on purpose or not, but either way, it was such a Paris thing to do.

So I got to start the best Christmas day of my life—snuggled up all sweaty and sticky with my fucking soulmate, watching snow drift slowly past our window as he told me over and over again how special I was and how lucky he was to have found me.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I got my happy ending.

(Insert happy ending joke here. Like, seriously folks, don’t make me do all the work here.)

Merry Christmas to me.

The End