Being that this was originally intended (once again) to be Saturday smut, I’m very late posting this. I’m trying to not be stressed about this, though without much success. Still, I’m excited about this Saturday Sunday smut, because I’m back to convincing y’all that chocolate Yule log is better than Christmas pudding through a sloppy blow job.
Content note for switchiness and the perversion of Christmassy desserts.
Letting herself into his flat, she discards her fluffy scarf and foil wrapped package of perverted deliciousness quickly so she can straddle him where he sits on the sofa. She can lose herself in kissing him, especially when his hands grab her hips and his mouth moves to her neck. They’ve been texting all day: she knows how horny he is, and she can’t wait to take advantage of that.
He unbuttons her jeans and slips a finger inside, brushing against the crotch of her the cornflower blue silk knickers. She’s already wet. she picked out because they’ll look beautiful when he hooks a finger around them and pulls them aside so she can sink down on to his cock. That’s for later, though. She can’t let him distract her from her mission.
“I brought you a Christmas present,” she tells him, trying not to look as gleeful as she feels. She’s delighted by her own genius, sure that cock sucking will convince him that she’s right.
“Oh yeah?” he grins back at her, matching her playfulness. She untangles herself from his arms and sways her hips a little as she walks away. She knows he’ll be watching her arse, just as she knows that he’ll be frustrated that she has her back to him so he can’t see what she’s doing.
A few minutes later, she’s handing him a plate with a thick slice of chocolate log filled with chocolate cream sitting next to a cake fork. It looks delicious, but it’s not what’s making her mouth water just now. Or his, which is quirked in a smile: he doesn’t know what she’s doing but he’s happy to go along with whatever game she’s playing.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“I’m going to show you that you’re completely wrong about Christmas pudding being better than Yule log.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
His casual indifference shouldn’t be so hot to her – especially when she knows it’s mostly an act to rile her up – but it only makes her more determined.
“You’re going to sit there and eat a slice of Yule log, and I’m going to get on my knees and give you a blow job. Any objections?”
He shakes his head, grinning as she scrambles to kneel between his legs. She takes out his dick: it springs up, hard and so tempting. She spits on her hand and uses it to stroke his cock a few times, confident in her knowledge of exactly how to touch him. Pretending to be unmoved by the skilful hand on his dick, he spears a forkful of chocolate cake.
She takes the head of her dick in her mouth and sucks gently. If his mouth wasn’t open to take a bite of yule log, he might have been able to hide the small moan that escapes him. His cock is filling his mouth so she can’t smirk in triumph, but she response by finding the vein on the underside of his dick with her tongue. By the third bite, she can tell he’s struggling to keep eating when her hot, wet mouth on his cock.
“If there’s not Yule log in your mouth, I’m going to stop sucking you,” she reminds him.
He takes another mouthful of Yule log and she continues with the blow job in earnest. She takes his cock to the back of her throat, gagging for just a second before pulling back. It’s wet and messy, just how they both like it, and all she can smell is the heady scent of his crotch. The sounds of a sloppy blow job turn her on, especially when she can also hear his moans and muffled grunts through mouthfuls of sweet, sticky Yule log.
Sometimes she craves his cock like she craves sleep or water or air. She would give up chocolate Yule log in a second if she could only have cake or his cock – and she’d definitely give up Christmas pudding to be allowed to suck him.
She pulls back to spit on his dick before sucking it again. Still eating, he balances his plate carefully so he can curl a hand in her hair. It’s a sign that he’s close, and as he takes his last mouthful of Yule log, he’s also coming in his mouth. She swallows and sits back, a thick strand of spit still linking her mouth and his cock and a Cheshire-cat grin spreading across her face as she looks up at him.
“How was that for convincing you that Yule log is better than Christmas pudding?”
She’s smug. A little too smug: she needs to remember that he can always raise the stakes and change the game so he wins.
“Hmm, not bad. The fancy chopping board it’s sitting on, though? That has some potential as a stingy little paddle. I know how much you love it when I beat you until your arse is red.”
You know what’s even better than chocolate Yule log and a sloppy blow job? You giving me a Christmas present and tipping me so I can keep writing festive filth.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a freelance journalist, sex writer, and professional transsexual. His work focuses on dismantling shame and queering sex.
