===================================================================== H E A T H E R A N N E'S S T O R Y A R C H I V E All stories in this archive are the property of the author. They may be downloaded and read by private citizens. They are not to be used by commercial web sites. Persons using this material on commercial sites will be vigorously pursued by the hounds from hell, or my legal team, whichever is deemed necessary. (These stories were written for adult entertainment and should not be accessed by children.) ===================================================================== Scroll down to view text Archive name: carole.txt (mf) Authors name: Heatheranne (hthranne@aol.com) Story title : A Christmas for Carole ------------------------------------------------------ This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2000. Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non- commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. ------------------------------------------------------ A Christmas for Carole By Heatheranne (hthranne@aol.com) An erotic tale for adults only. (mf) ** It was a beautiful library. Two walls of dark wood shelves held numerous books and knickknacks and the sort of awards and honors and sporting trophies that a successful man earns in a lifetime. The room's wood paneled walls were decorated with hunting prints and landscapes. There was a rock-faced fireplace hissing with the flickering flames of gas logs. At one end of the room was large wooden desk stained to match the walls and shelves. Seated at the desk was a middle-aged man. He looked fit and trim with a full face and dark hair that was highlighted with silver highlights. The man was absorbed in the information he was gleaning from a computer monitor that took up a corner of the desk. At the other end of the room a door opened and a woman appeared in the doorway. She struck a little pose, one hand resting high up on the doorframe and a leg, bent at the knee, thrust in front just a bit. She smiled seductively at the man behind the desk, but her smile was completely lost on the man, who never looked up. In fact he looked up neither when she daintily cleared her throat, nor when she gave him a full phlegm-clearing rattle. "John," she called, managing to draw out the single syllable into a low, seductive three-note love call. "Hmmm?" John said, finally raising his head. His gaze fell across the room to his wife. In her mid-twenties, two decades younger than her husband, the tall blonde looked stunning. She was wearing a red babydoll negligee trimmed with white fur-like marabou around the neckline and hem. In one hand she held a small bottle of wine and two glasses. "Carole," he smiled, "you look good enough to eat." Carole gave him a shy smile and then she pirouetted, revealing nothing in the way of underclothing when the hem of her babydoll swirled up. She curtsied and said, "Eating me is sort of what I had in mind, good sir." Then she grew more serious, "John, it's Christmas Eve. She held up the wine and glasses to eye level. The fine crystal made a tinkling sound. "Can't you set aside time from your business for a little fun?" "Unfortunately babe, business competition doesn't recognize holidays, but if you'll pour the wine, I'll be there just as soon as I finish this report." Carole saw her husband turn his attention back to the computer screen. In a second he was completely engrossed. She sighed; it was as if she hadn't been in the room at all. Shoulders slumped; she turned and left the library, softly closing the door behind her. John continued to read until the words began to blur on the screen. He leaned back in his chair and massaged his eyes with his fingertips. He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to wipe away his weariness. Just one more page and he would finish the report and then he could go to bed. John leaned forward and peered back at the computer monitor. "Hello John," said a menacing, dark haired woman from the screen. "Ha!" cried John, jerking upright in his chair. The woman on the screen was his long dead first wife, Markie. She was dressed in a hideous orange nylon over- stuffed winter coat and on her head was a pink stocking cap with a purple ball at its crown. A dozen things went through John's mind. His computer wasn't running the Internet browser, so it couldn't be some sort of transmission. He didn't have any pictures of his former spouse in the computer. In fact, he couldn't remember any time when she would have been dressed like the woman on the screen. Was this some kind of joke? He continued to stare in amazement at the image on the screen. He and Markie hadn't had a particularly exciting marriage. He'd worked at building a successful business. In fact he'd worked a lot and made a pile of money and spent what little free time he had on the golf course. Markie had seemed content to spend her fair share of that pile of money on herself and run their social life. They had rattled on like that for years, childless, and sort of content with their own separate lives until Markie made an ill timed left turn into the path of an eighteen-wheeler and John became a widower. "Come on John, say something," commanded the woman on the screen. John reached for the keyboard. "This isn't a chat room John, just talk to me." "You can hear me?" asked John, his voice a couple of octaves above normal. "Obviously I can hear you. I'm not a program, John. I'm the spirit of your loving wife." "Uh...OK Markie, why are you here, and..." he gestured at the screen, "why on earth are you wearing that awful coat and stocking cap." "I've been sent here to try and redeem some part of your shriveled soul. And as far as these clothes are concerned, you know, you wear in death those things you make for yourself in life." John frowned at the thick winter clothing, "I don't remember you being particularly cold natured when we were married." "For goodness sakes John, it's a metaphor. These awful things show how I became frigid in our marriage. And frankly, I blame you." John became defensive, "I know our sex life was sort of hit and miss, but I always did my best. I didn't get a lot of practice. You were hardly ever in the mood." "Are you kidding? Maybe I would have been in the mood more often if you had spent more time at home instead of the office. In fact, when I was in the mood, as you put it, I practically had to tackle and rape you before you could run back to work." Markie took a deep breath and waved her hand in front of her face. "Never mind that, the time for our relationship has passed. Now listen, three more spirits will visit you tonight. I'm sure you know the drill. Maybe you'll learn something." John had regained some measure of composure and he was a little miffed at being blamed for their poor marital life. He knew that he hadn't been a great husband, but he'd done his best. "Come on Markie, I don't want to waste sleep on this Dickensian stuff, can't you just make your point now?" "Sorry John, the powers that be just called me in for the intro'. Actually, most of my spirit is about a thousand universes over that way." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm studying to become a minor deity. I only wish the sentient beings there didn't have such an awful shade of green skin. "Oh well," she began to fade away. "Good luck, John." She disappeared. John groaned. Was this some sort of waking dream brought about by too much work? Would he be scared witless out of his sleep three times in one night as the spirits invaded his bedroom? And how about Carole, would she sleep through all these visitations? He paused. Carole. What was he was supposed to remember about Carole? "Ahem." John shivered, startled once again. There was another figure on his computer screen. It was a nice looking young lady dressed something like a flight attendant. "Hello, I am the Spirit of Christmas past. We feel..." John interrupted, "Can you hear me?" She tossed her auburn hair and looked a bit testy. "Of course I can hear you. Now if you please, I have a long night ahead of me." "Sorry," mumbled John. "No problem." She gestured to her right and a blank window appeared on the screen. "Now, as I was saying, we feel that, like a lot of men, you have some issues with intimacy. This episode, from a Christmas in your past, should give you insight into those issues." John hated the word issues used in that context, but he kept his mouth shut and dutifully watched as a picture appeared in the screen window. Almost immediately he recognized the scene that it revealed. He'd been sixteen years old. It was Christmas Eve sometime in the mid-nineteen sixties. His parents, who were real partygoers, had insisted that he accompany them to a dinner with friends. John had been pretty sure that since he had just received his driver's license that he was along as a chauffeur for his hard drinking parents. There were three married couples at the dinner - John's parents, the Halls and the Leathermans. Also present at the party was Kay Leatherman, the daughter of their hosts. Kay and John were in the same grade at the same school but rarely shared classes. There were plenty of before dinner drinks for the adults and John found himself sitting with the men in the Leatherman's comfortable den. John nodded his head and smiled at the older men as they managed to blend politics, the Vietnam War, football, the space program and car maintenance into an alcohol blurred conversation. After dinner the men headed back to the den and the television for a football game while the wives adjourned to the kitchen with a bottle of wine. John was about to accompany the men when he heard Kay hiss his name. When he turned to look, Kay was curling a finger at him in a come here gesture. He followed the girl down some stairs to a family room in the basement. The main feature of the room was a pool table that stood at its center. There was also an old couch and a black and white television as well as the odds and ends and junk that a family collects. Kay smiled, "I thought maybe you'd had enough of the adults." "Yeah," said John, "they were getting pretty wasted." "Would you like a drink?" she asked conspiratorially. "A drink?" echoed John. He'd never had anything stronger than a sip or two of beer, but he knew he wasn't about to refuse Kay. She wasn't the prettiest girl in school, but she certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. She was of average height, with dark, straight, shoulder length hair. She was wearing a red and green tartan mini-skirt and a matching green sleeveless turtleneck blouse with a thin gold chain necklace. "Uh...sure," agreed John, "I'll have a drink, that is, if you are." "Of course." Kay moved some junk that was in front of a low cabinet and opened it. She removed a bottle that proved to be half full of bourbon. Kay disappeared into a small bathroom and reappeared a minute later with two glasses nearly filled with a bourbon and water mix. She handed one of the glasses to John. He didn't want to take a cautious little sip in front of Kay. So his first gulp was twice as much as he had intended. His first thought was, gahhh...how can anyone possibly drink this stuff? And then the burning started. He gasped. Of course that was a mistake. The fumes he in haled made him cough and his eyes began to water. Kay's eyes were laughing at him, but she managed to keep a straight face when she said, "Maybe I made yours a little too strong." "Maybe," was all John could manage to gasp. But soon he realized that once the burning got past his throat, the bourbon produced a pleasant sensation. The warmth flowed down to his stomach, and then to his surprise, it seemed to sort of swell and tickle his penis. "Drink up," said Kay, "we don't want anyone to catch us." John held his breath and gulped down the rest of the drink. He could feel his face begin to flush and he felt as if his senses were beginning to sort of ooze away from his brain. After Kay put away the bottle and glasses she grabbed a cue stick and said, "Lets play some pool." John readily agreed and they rolled into a game of eight ball. Kay claimed that she hardly ever played and proved it by clumsily rolling the balls around the table to little effect. John didn't care. He spent the time he wasn't shooting by positioning himself to look at the generous amount of leg Kay showed every time she bent over the table. After John won the first game Kay smiled and said, "I lost, does that mean that I have to make us another drink?" "Oh yeah." John was enjoying himself. Between the liquor and Kay's skin show he was a little light headed and sported a nice hard on. They downed another drink and started another game. Now they giggled at every miss and flubbed shot. John's cock was achingly hard. He took to giving it a little rub whenever Kay bent over the table. Suddenly she straightened up in the middle of lining up one of her shots and looked over her shoulder at John, "Are you looking at my butt?" "Oh...nooo," said John, holding up his right hand, and crossing his heart with his left. "Oh...OK" said Kay, with a little disappointment in her voice. She returned to her shot. "I've been too busy looking at those beautiful legs to notice your butt." Oh God, thought John. Is this what liquor does to you? He couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to say that. Kay flattened out on the table, shaking with laughter. She finally managed to say, "Well stop it and show me what I'm doing wrong." John felt as if his fuzzy mind was just along for the ride as his body walked up behind Kay. He had the feeling that he'd seen this scene in a movie. He slid his warm hands down the length of Kay's bare arms until his hands rested on hers and his hard on nestled onto her firm butt. "You see," he spoke softly into her fragrant hair, "you're holding onto the cue much too firmly with your left hand." He moved the fingers of her left hand into a looser position. "The cue," he whispered as he slid the cue back and forth by guiding her right hand with his, "should move in and out, in and out like this." With each thrust of the cue he slid his erection up and down and side to side on Kay's tight butt. "I think I'm getting it now," said Kay. "Let me give it a try." John slid his hands back up Kay's arms, but he wasn't about to move his burning body away from hers. He moved his hands underneath her arms and cupped her breasts. All John could feel was the sensation of the fabric of Kay's blouse slipping over her bra, but he thought it was the sexiest thing in the world. Despite all of John's help - or perhaps because of it - Kay missed her shot. The two teens straightened up. Kay turned and looked into John's eyes. "No fair," she said in a throaty voice. Her hand slid down between their bodies until the back of Kay's had was brushing against John's erection. "Let's see if you can shoot with my body all over yours." "Sounds fair to me," said John. His alcohol-fueled libido kicked into high gear and John leaned forward to Kay give a sloppy, wet kiss. At the same time he grabbed her hand and mashed Kay's palm against his stiff member. Kay's responded enthusiastically. Her tongue went into John's mouth and her fingers danced all over the bulge in his pants. The result of which was that John creamed in his jeans right then and there. He couldn't help it. He felt hot cum streaming over the head of his cock and warming his groin. John broke off their kiss and jumped back in a panic. "Where's the bathroom?" he asked Kay franticly. "It's over there," she said in a confused voice as she pointed to a door in a corner of the room. John rushed into the bathroom and managed to clean out his under shorts before the wetness could stain his blue jeans. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. God, he was such a weenie. Did Kay realize what had happened? She was probably out there laughing at him right now. Back in his library the older John protested to his spirit guide on the computer monitor, "Hey, I was only sixteen. I couldn't help it if I popped off like that." "That's not where you went wrong John." She pointed to the long ago scene on the screen. John's younger self bolted out of the bathroom and without so much as a nod to Kay, he ran up the basement steps back to the adults and their party. "It would have been nice if you'd stuck around," said the spirit. "After all, it would have taken you...what...five minutes at that age to be hard as a rock again? And you wouldn't have left poor Kay standing there, wondering what she'd done wrong. She liked you. She would have made a nice girlfriend for you." Before John could say anything else the image of the Spirit of Christmas past on his monitor faded away. "Oh well," he mumbled, "I wonder when the spirit of Christmas present will show up." There was a tap on his shoulder and voice behind him said, "How about now." John yelped and he would have leaped out of his chair except that his thighs slammed into the bottom of his desk. "Oh damn," he moaned as he struggled out of his chair. The spirit who had been on the screen was now standing in his library, in the unsubstantial flesh, so to speak. "What are you trying to do?" complained John. "Give me a heart attack?" "Sorry," said the spirit. "We wouldn't want you to have a heart attack, at least not yet," she said in a non- joking tone of voice. "Does this mean that you're going to be all three of my spirits?" "Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all, " I can change my appearance if you like." Suddenly, the spirit was an eight-foot tall monster with six-inch fangs hanging from her upper jaw. "No, no that's all right," cried John. He was relieved when the spirit returned to being a petite female. "Ahem...well..."said John as he stood and rubbed his sore thighs. "Since you're now the spirit of Christmas present I suppose we must visit some Christmas Eve party or other." "Correct," said the spirit. "It's nice when my clients are familiar with the agenda." She touched the sleeve of his shirt and suddenly, frighteningly, and without moving his legs John felt himself accelerating toward the fireplace and its flames. Before he could cry out though, they had passed through the flames unharmed and John opened his eyes to see his downtown business office. There was indeed a lively Christmas party in progress. Someone had placed a small, decorated tree on the office conference table and all around the tree were wrapped packages. One end of the table was devoted to hors d'oeuvres and a generous supply of liquor. John smiled, "I'm glad to see everyone is having a good time." The office workers passed by John and the spirit without giving them so much as a smile or nod. "I suppose no one can see or hear us?" John asked the spirit. She gave him a thumbs-up and a sarcastic little smile. "Well what's the matter with this?" asked John defensively as he gestured to the revelers. "I paid for the party. I even picked out the gifts personally for some of the senior staff." The spirit shook her head. "You were very generous, but you could have stayed an hour after work to attend the party. Even though you're their boss, most of these people like you. They would have felt even closer to you if they could have thanked you for the party and presents." John frowned, "Look I spent a lot of time and money on these people, besides I'm sure Ms Smathers, my assistant, has me covered quite nicely." He looked around the office. "Where is Ms Smathers? I don't see her. Don't tell me she's still working." "Let's go see," said the spirit as she once again touched John's sleeve and another wall across the room rushed at them. "Damn," cursed John. "There's a door right over there. I wish you'd..." He stopped in mid-complaint at the scene before him and the spirit. They were in the small room that housed the office's sophisticated printer/copier and shelf after shelf of office supplies. The room was usually the domain of an intern or trainee hired by Ms Smathers. In fact, a trainee and his trainer occupied the room. Ms Smathers was seated on the edge of an office chair, her skirt around her waist. She had her panties in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. She had a ridiculously large Santa's elf hat pulled down over her ears. Between her legs, on his knees, was the trainee. He was a handsome young African-American who was doing his best to bury his face in her crotch. "Oh yeah," Ms Smathers cried out. She took a swig from the bottle and hunched her hips lower in the chair. "Eat that pussy my black stud." "Eat that pussy my black stud?" echoed John incredulously. "I didn't think the old girl had it in her." John chuckled, "She's having a merrier Christmas than I thought she could." "Yes...well," said the spirit quite primly. "It's obvious that Ms Smathers is not covering for you, as you put it. Now let's move on." This time John managed not to flinch to badly as they seemed to pass through the wall of the office. Instantly they emerged into John's bedroom. When he saw Carole lying on the bed, John smacked himself on the forehead and groaned, "Oh shit, I forgot Carole was waiting on me." The spirit just shook her head. Carole was still in her very revealing lingerie, but evidently she'd given up on John. The bottle of wine remained unopened. There was a stack of papers on the bed and Carole was marking them with a red pen. "That's a lot of woman to forget," said the spirit. "You're telling me," agreed John. "She's not only gorgeous and a talented athlete. She's a school teacher and she manages my charity foundation." "And she picked you to marry." John shrugged, "Yes, she's twenty years my junior and she could have had any guy she wanted. But," he sighed, "I'm very rich and..." The spirit mumbled, "They always stay in denial until the end." She didn't merely touch his sleeve this time; she grabbed John's shirtfront in her fist and yanked him through the nearest wall. There was a flash of light and John was blinded by glare until he realized that he was squinting into an early afternoon winter sun. He blinked his eyes until they cleared and he could look around. He and the spirit were standing on the porch of what he called his 'little mountain cabin'. It was actually the former hunting lodge of an outdoors club. The lodge could house twenty people comfortably and it was situated in the middle of a thousand acres of private forest. The door to the lodge opened and Carole stepped into the cool afternoon air. She was wearing a golden fox faux-fur coat of mid-calf length and she was carrying what looked to be a bronze urn in the crook of one arm. She walked to the edge of the porch and placed the urn on the rough-hewn railing that had prevented many a drunken visitor from a nasty fall. For a long moment she stared out at the breathtaking view of the dark mountain peaks that receded into the distance. John and Carole had shared that view many times, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the bronze urn. He asked the spirit, "Do I dare ask what or maybe who's in the urn?" When he didn't hear an answer, John turned and looked at the spirit. Where her mouth should have been, there was smooth skin. "Oh...yeah" said John. "The spirit of Christmas future doesn't speak." He got another sarcastic thumbs up from the spirit. John turned again when he heard the door to the lodge open once more. And even though he was spending time with a time traveling apparition, John thought that what had just come through that door was the most startling thing he'd seen that night. A man in his early twenties had emerged from the lodge. He looked around and when he saw Carole he began to walk toward her. He was tall and trim and looked as if he spent hours in a gym every day toning each and every muscle in his body to perfection. And John knew that because the young man was totally naked. His blonde hair fell to his shoulders and he tossed it back carelessly as he walked across the porch with a dancer's grace. John shook his head in admiration. You sure had to hand it to the guy. Not many men could walk around naked like that with total nonchalance. Even that erect penis he was sporting seemed perfectly natural. Of course the capper to the moment was the fact that coming out of the door right behind the blonde stud was another guy who looked just like him. It had to be the first young man's identical twin. Identical except for a slight droop in the manhood department, that is. A condition he was working handily to correct. The first man reached Jane's side. He very delicately opened the front of her coat. It became apparent to John that underneath the coat Carole was as naked as the man. The blonde stud cupped one of Carole's breasts as he kissed her. At first it was a soft, gentle brushing of lips, but then he pressed on and John quickly began to wonder if the man was trying to get absolutely all of his tongue down Carole's throat. Finally the kiss ended and as the young stud tickled the head of his penis in the fur of Carole's coat, he spoke to her. "Please come back inside my dear. This cool air will make things shrink that should never grow smaller." Carole smiled slightly at his joke. "You boys go keep the bed warm. I'll be there in a minute." The man closed her coat, kissed Carole on the cheek and then he and his twin padded back into the lodge. Carole sighed deeply and lightly caressed the top of the urn. "John," she said, looking at the metal container, "I think I'll leave you here on the porch for a while. I hope you don't mind, but I'll feel more comfortable if you're out here while they're in there." She shook her head, "I'd much rather be spending my Christmas with you. I'll never love another." She touched the urn once more. "OK...later we'll ride out on the ridge and I'll spread your ashes like I promised." She took a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at the lodge door. "But right now I'm going to go chase away my blues with two very expensive sex toys." With that she made her way back inside. John looked stunned. He sat down heavily on a nearby chair and then lowered his head until it was resting on the porch railing. The rough wood of the railing bit into the side of his face, but John didn't notice. He gazed at the urn and asked the spirit, "I guess this isn't too far in the future. Is it? I mean Carole doesn't look much older." "Beep," intoned the spirit. "Beep?" echoed John. "OK, so you can't talk, but I swear I've learned my lesson," he said. "Beep," intoned the spirit once more. John closed his eyes. Lights began to strobe beyond his eyelids. "Please," begged John. "I just want to go home." "Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep," said the spirit. John jerked upright with a gasp. Suddenly, he was back in his library. The side of his face ached and John realized that he had passed out, face down, on the computer's keyboard. The beeping and flashing lights had come from the computer complaining about his abuse of its keys. So I'm back, thought John. Or had it all been a dream? He thoughtfully rubbed his fingertips across the little dents in his cheek. Were they computer key dents or rough wood dents? If it had been a dream, it had certainly been a real one. Across the room an antique clock chimed the midnight hour. It's Christmas day, thought John. He wasn't going to ignore Carole for another second, or ever again he amended. He opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a small package wrapped in gold paper and sealed with a Christmas ribbon. The package contained a diamond bracelet for Carole. The cost of the present had made John, even with his deep pockets, hesitate before he handed over his credit card. John was almost out of the library before he slowed to a stop, turned and went back to his desk. He put the bracelet back in its place, quietly closed the drawer, and then he nearly broke into a run as he hurried to the bedroom. Carole was still there. She had fallen asleep as she graded papers. Apparently she had felt a chill in her sleep because she was all wrapped up in a comforter and her student's papers. The papers crinkled with each breath she took. John carefully pulled back the comforter. He gathered up all the papers and stacked them neatly on the nightstand along with her marking pen. Then he bent over and kissed Carole lightly on the forehead and whispered, "I love you." He kissed the bridge of her nose and whispered, "I love you." He kissed her eyes and cheeks and lips with an, "I love you," between each kiss. He was about move on to more erotic areas when John felt Carole's cool arms slide around his neck. "Merry Christmas," he said softly. "Would you like to open presents now?" "Oh John," she said in an emotion filled voice, "you're the only present I really want." John gave her warmest smile he could manage. He knew in his heart, finally, that she meant every word. End My other stories are stored at: /~Kristen/heather/index.htm