Red Satin Christmas by Giselle Renarde

Early One Morning…

It was one of those wake-ups where you’re not quite sure where you are at first, and for a couple seconds you don’t even care because it feels so good to be alive. And then everything that happened the night before comes flooding to mind, and the morning takes a sharp turn…

Regan had slept on her side, which put a crimp in her neck, but Maisie was pressed right up against her back, enfolding her in the world’s warmest arms. Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have moved. Regan was right at the edge of Maisie’s little twin mattress.

When the world came into focus, Regan stared straight ahead, at the lower shelves of the bookshelf in her girlfriend’s childhood bedroom. It was most definitely a space decorated for a boy—royal blue walls with a Toronto Maple Leafs border, autographed souvenir baseballs from when the Jays won the World Series in ’92 and again in ‘93—but Regan tried to ignore that fact as much as she tried to ignore the erection lodged firmly between her ass cheeks. Morningwood was something Maisie couldn’t help, and Regan knew her girl would find it humiliating if called attention to. Penises were not Maisie’s favourite thing in the world, and she had especially harsh feelings toward her own. Regan thought Maisie was the most beautiful woman in the world, penis or no penis, but of course she’d respect her girl’s wish to downplay the existence of that appendage.

Maisie shifted, making soft moaning noises in her sleep, her long silky nightgown rippled against Regan’s naked back. God, it felt good to have a woman’s soft fabrics against her skin. Regan never wore stuff like that herself.

The winter sun hadn’t yet risen, and Regan couldn’t see a clock anywhere, but she figured it must be pretty early because she couldn’t hear anyone wandering around in this house full of people. She had a faint need to pee, but just couldn’t bring herself to leave a warm bed and a hot body.

As Maisie carved her own path from sleep to wakefulness, her curvaceous body stretched and writhed. Regan felt the motion against her back like a giant caterpillar. And then that wave halted, and she knew Maisie had swum her way back to consciousness enough to realize her body was betraying her. For a moment, she was stone, and then her soft arms retracted from around Regan’s naked form. When Maisie rolled away after a night in such close proximity, Regan felt it like a stab in the gut.

“Morning, Beautiful,” Regan whispered before she’d even turned to look at Maisie. Self-fulfilling prophecy—even with a few stray specs of stubble growing in, Maisie was the prettiest girl Regan had ever known.

Still, Maisie buried her head beneath a pillow and moaned, “Charmer.”

Regan cackled at the very idea. “When have you ever known me to be charming?”

Lifting the pillow, Maisie peeked out from behind a curtain of tousled hair. “Right now.”

Settling onto her back, Regan stared up at the constellations of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Her neck really was screwed up. When she reached back to knead the knot from it, her breasts poked up beyond the cover of the Hudson’s Bay blanket.

“Oooh…” Maisie cooed, coming out from under the pillow. “What’s this I see? A delicacy!”

Laughing at the rhyme, Regan threw her head back, forgetting how much her neck hurt. When those muscles screamed in pain, she jerked to the side, whacking her skull against the oak column supporting Maisie’s headboard.

“Damn it!” With the hand that wasn’t already massaging her neck, Regan cupped what would surely grow into a good-sized goose egg. “This place is a death trap!”

“You’re telling me,” Maisie chuckled. “I grew up here, remember?” Leaning up on her elbow, Maisie surveyed Regan’s body like it was her personal dominion. Her breasts sat softly ensconced by the silky décolletage of her blush rose nightgown. In that pose she reminded Regan of the old-school Hollywood starlets. Those were the days! Back then, women weren’t all stick figures. “Hope you’re okay.”

The throbbing fire in Maisie’s gaze encouraged Regan to abandon pain for pleasure. “I know that look,” she said, still pressing one hand to her head, massaging her neck with the other. “Somebody wants something.”

“I want something,” Maisie cooed as she went in for the kill, pausing just above Regan’s exposed nipple. God, that girl’s breath was perfect warmth on this chilly Christmas morning.

“What do you want?” Regan was so turned on she could barely get the words out.

“Silly girl.” Planting those soft, warm lips flush to Regan’s sleepy breast, she said, “I want you, of course.”

Regan never could recover from that familiar expression in Maisie’s eyes—kittenish, impish, both pleading and determined. “Well, here I am, all yours.”

Releasing her strained neck, Regan petted Maisie’s cheek, but the girl quickly turned her head, catching Regan’s thumb between her lips and sucking. As if that wasn’t enough, she traced the pad of her fingers up one of Regan’s thighs before running her fingernails down the other.

When Regan gasped at the pleasure of it all, Maisie let her wet thumb slip from between those perfect lips. “Shhhhh,” Maisie pleaded. “Everyone’s asleep.”

Leaning in close, Maisie planted a lingering closed-mouth peck on Regan’s lips—far preferable to a French kiss so early in the morning, when they’d both feel self-conscious about bad breath. Not that she had anything against doing other things in the morning. Regan loved getting down and dirty first thing, when she was practically still in that liminal space between consciousness and deep sleep. The best was waking up with Maisie’s face lodged between her legs, though it was a little late for that now.

Maisie kissed a meandering path down Regan’s jaw, down her neck and her chest, slowing as her soft mouth reached the slope of her breast. Regan rejected the dull ache in the back of her head. Enough of that—no more pain! She pressed her big boobs together so Maisie could move easily between her nipples. The warmth and wetness of that girl’s velvet tongue summoned a familiar throb between her thighs, and the intensity was overwhelming. She didn’t know how she was going to get through this without crying out, but knowing that she couldn’t kind of turned her on. It wasn’t often in life that Regan had let a partner get the upper hand, but her devotion to Maisie went far beyond any emotion she’d ever felt for anyone else.

It wasn’t until Maisie’s plump fingers fell between the swollen folds of Regan’s pussy that she realized how incredibly wet she’d become. Had she woken up this way? Maybe their mutual attraction and desire had been springing back and forth between them all night, their sleeping bodies generating the kind of searing fulfilment they could only dream of experiencing in their waking hours. Or was Regan’s unfathomable wetness entirely Maisie’s doing? Yes, it was entirely the result of that little pink tongue’s interaction with her pursed nipples, pebble-hard in the cold morning air.

“Don’t ever stop doing that,” Regan whispered as Maisie travelled tight circles around her clit. Those perfect fingers, wet with juice, elicited more immediate a reaction than ever before, but Christmas sex was special that way.

When Regan pressed her thighs as tight together as her big breasts, she got a sense of how drenched she really was. Her pubic hair was sopping with the stuff. It was running down her ass crack to soak the sheets. This was just wetness beyond measure, now. Her cunt was so goddamn slippery Maisie’s expert fingers kept sliding away.

When Maisie gazed up at her, still lapping her tits like an animal, Regan felt a bolt of electricity surging through her system, striking her clit and rebounding to her hard nipples. “Fuck,” Regan whispered. It was such a chore to keep quiet. “What are you doing to me, woman?”

“I know, right?” Maisie’s voice was downy, barely audible though she was so unbearably close. “I can’t believe how wet you are. You know what it makes me want to do to you?”

This oughta be good. “What?”

With the most puckish grin Regan had ever seen, Maisie pulled away. Regan’s breasts went instantly cold without Maisie’s caress. Her nipples drew up into buds so tight her sensitive flesh actually hurt. The pain felt so good it distracted her from her longing as Maisie’s fingers slipped away from her clit.

“What are you doing?” Regan asked as Maisie unscrewed the oak finial from the bedpost. The somewhat ornate, long and rather wide piece came off easily in her hands, gleaming like gold.

“Like Bedknobs and Broomsticks.” Maisie’s smile was an ivory flash, her eyes blazing in the dull blue light of a winter morning. “Remember that movie?”

“Of course I do. It fostered my lifelong crush on Angela Lansbury.” Regan was too turned on to laugh at her own joke. The cold air was hell on her wet nipples but, God, it felt good! Maisie must have been supremely cold, too, because her nipples stood erect beyond the silky fabric cradling her tits. When Maisie eased back down, hips against the mattress, Regan kind of wished she could feel the extent of her woman’s arousal against her flesh—rubbing against her thigh, maybe, or even in her hand. But that part of Maisie’s body was off-limits to Regan, and what could she do but respect her girl’s wishes?

“So, where is this magical bed taking us?” Regan asked, eyeing the bed knob. It was a beautiful thing, like a sculpture. It kind of reminded her of those gorgeous dildos you could buy these days, made out of art glass or metal…or wood.

“It’s taking us to Paradise.” Maisie’s grin didn’t fade for even a second.

“I’ve been to Paradise…” Regan sang, in a whisper.

Maisie joined in, chuckling softly, “But I’ve never been to ME.”

Regan muffled her laughter by covering her face with both hands, her shoulders heaving to fight off her internal giggles. That’s why she didn’t see it coming when Maisie set the rounded tip of the bedpost finial at the mouth of her ravenous cunt. Gasping at the cold, hard, but slick sensation, Regan brought her hands away from her eyes, but Maisie and her little toy were buried under the Hudson’s Bay blanket now.

In order to see anything but a bump under the covers, Regan had to close her eyes. She had to picture the gleaming head of that wood urging her slit to open up, allow entry. Her nipples strained against the cold morning air, her tender flesh so pinched and puckered she felt like she’d been suited up with tight metal clamps. The constraint produced a beautiful pain.

When the knob nudged a path between her legs, Regan’s pussy ensconced the thing in juice. But, despite her incredible wetness, it wasn’t all that easy going in. The finial was hard and huge, and Maisie had to take her sweet time, sensitively waiting for Regan to open up, little by little.

Taking her tits in hand, Regan pressed her stiff nipples between her fingers until the pressure sent elastic snaps pulsing to her clit in swift repetition. She felt her pussy open wide in response, practically pulling on the finial, sucking that hard thing into her body. God, it was so unyielding, that glistening wood. It filled her with its bigness and it wouldn’t say no.

Regan’s pussy was wet enough, and eager enough, that Maisie could fuck her, slowly, with the knob. As if the sparks of pleasure emanating from those dark pointy nipples wasn’t enough, Maisie pressed what felt like the pad of a thumb on Regan’s clit and rubbed. That was fireworks. Regan really couldn’t believe how instantly orgasm-inducing it was to have that intense pressure exerted on her pussy, her clit, and her tits all at once.

It was sparks everywhere, flickers and flashes of pleasure-pain from her fingers to her toes. Her pussy throbbed, a hot heartbeat between her thighs, as it hugged that slippery wood. Rapid-fire mini-throbs, lopsided tilt-a-whirl pulsations—these wild rhythms overtook her belly as she bucked up hard, bouncing on the bed. There was a distinct buzz in her ears, but she heard herself whimpering, lips closed, keeping the big noise deep inside.

And then she held her body absolutely still. Maisie stopped rubbing and thrusting. Regan stopped pinching. The bubble burst, sending heaps of shimmering confetti feelings tingling through her core, fluttering right down, all the way to the base of her. Pleasure was sometimes fleeting, but not today. Even when Maisie pulled that big wet carving from her pussy, Regan shuddered and shook. The warm trembling only subsided when Maisie snuggled in beside her, placing a tender cheek on her shoulder.

Years ago, Regan had watched a medical show on TV that featured MRI footage of a man and woman having sex. In an MRI machine, yes. Comfy. She’d been amazed at the way the penis adjusted to the space of the vagina, contorting, folding itself almost V-shaped to follow that pussy’s curved path. Regan had always figured it was the woman’s body that made all the adjustments, and the man’s that rammed right in without alteration. She’d had it backwards, obviously.

Maybe that’s why it felt so drastically different to be fucked by a hard plastic toy, or by a wooden bed knob, than it did to get it on with a human cock. When that wood was in her pussy, it was making no adjustments, just filling her up with such pressure and urgency her toes nearly went numb. Sex was definitely different with the flesh and blood version—not that Regan had experience with all that many. In fact, the last guy she’d been with was…Maisie. They’d hooked up once, back when Maisie was still Mark. Once. Just once. But Regan remembered what it felt like to have that warmly compliant cock inside of her. Though she didn’t tell Maisie, didn’t want to pressure her, Regan wouldn’t mind trying it again.

But Maisie had assured her that would never happen. Those parts were out of bounds. End of discussion.

The silence between them was relaxed and open-ended, as it always seemed to be on the rare occasions when Maisie had nothing to say. It gave a chance for yesterday’s events to slowly infiltrate Regan’s mind. When Maisie’s entire body grew rather more rigid than it had been, Regan knew she, too, must be reflecting on the previous night’s events.

“You know,” Regan finally said, “last night when your mom called out that your brother was here and someone was with him, the first thing that came to mind was…”

“A priest,” Maisie interrupted. “Or some culty conversion therapist.”

Regan couldn’t believe it. “You really are a mind reader, aren’t you?” Gazing down at her girl, she asked, “How could you possibly have known what I was thinking?”

“Because that’s what I thought too.” Maisie offered a weak smile.

“You thought Jerry’d organized a family intervention or group therapy or something?” Not that it was so unlikely—Regan had half expected the same thing.

“Are you kidding?” Maisie giggled, but her voice was far less joyful than it had been. “I thought he’d organized an exorcism, like rid me of my possession. Evil trans, cure-the-gays sort of thing.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw who he’d really brought with him,” Regan said.

Nodding against her shoulder, Maisie replied, “Yeah, me neither. Crazy stuff, right?”