#FastFiction - Dec 25... A Clockwork Christmas

A Clockwork Christmas

Twas one notchy next to Christmas; me and my droogies fan out to spread a bit of the old holiday cheer.  M and P fancied it a best time to kick the flat block and partake in nightcap a plenty at a droog of their own.  Dim, Georgie, Pete and your humble narrator had found some ripe devochkas at the cinney in the after so an invitation was extended to the lovelies to come round to the abode.

I had taken the liberties of acquiring M’s holiday gift many weeks prior to this holiest of nights.  For her I had liberated a clear and shiny diamond ring off of this bastard malchik’s lady fair.  They had been taking in a touch of the midnight light when your narrator and ever-silent Pete stumbled on them in a most fortunate of accidents.  The Korova was running full tilt through these young virile veins and a bit of the ultra violence was to be expected – though usually we had to look for it.  It never found us, I tell you true.

The red, red gory flowed deep and dark like cherries of holly mashed under boot.  Pete took by the lamplight as I took my love from the filly and then off we toddled.  Pete with his father’s new watch and myself with the glass-cutting ring.  Nothing but perfection for my M.

For P, I was not so lucky.  

It is Christmas Eve and without a present to my name.  Oh what troubled times I have thrust myself unwittingly into, such.  I’ll need more than the old in and out to make my cheer a contented experience for all parties. 

Upon closer viddy of the parents room I have coming a cassette of magnificent Ludwig himself; all his sonatas and baby-new crack at his first symphony.  Glory be the heavens and glory be the life of such a master visionary of the soul, the heart and the mind.

For gift of greatness so, a gift of greatness must be.  I could only hope this story would end on a pinnacle not as the brass mastery of the third movement of symphony two.  With deep emotion I would find the gift for P he so desperately needed.

The devothchka’s pundled into the door of my parents’ flat nay an hour after the sun dwindled merrily away. Pete sat contented with drink in hand, Dim and Georgie took solace in an eegra of snickery by kitchen table. I enjoyed a snifter of the fine stuff and greeted the pretties in. Oh, dear reader these ones were ripe and pure as the virgin casing of modest fuzzy warble. I picked my prey and led her to a seat where I let loose my Christmas radosty. With breast you could ski off, and a cravat around he nubile neck lay deep between her supple twin goodness. Ties are all the fashion now and two of her friends followed suit… I could not see the deal, though they looked good. The rest of the ptitsa’s settled into their ones and the eve was getting on fine and guff.

I took liberties in entrusting the conversation to a lovelier topic of lubilubbing and the young ones made blush and followed suit. It was a game of Brave or Verity and I questioned my conquest (whose name I not yet can remember) of past experiences and she chose Brave. This is where the story, oh my brother, slips from fine holiday fare to something you read in the morning papers. I dared her with all earnest a dare I had planned to indulge us both in later that eve and she took me up with very little coaxing. 

Dim, in pure actuality, was the pusher of her fulfillment of the bargain; why with his jeers and guffaws no one of littler brain then he could resist. 

We left the room and moved to mine own; I unlocked the bolt and let her sit so gingerly on the sleeper. With a flick and smile admirable Beethoven was playing games with our senses in orgasmic pleasures. I went to the ptitsa and made to have my way with her young body, She put up little protest, which is something I find more often than not the experience with petitsas in this genny, well live.

Her body of ticklish flesh and delicate reactions lying nude below me when she expressed and quiet.

Though her protestations came in the din, I only stopped for a tick to take in her form, and  have my way.

Me, your humble narrator, Alex, knew I was to show her the way to enchanted futures. I slipped her legs apart with my knees and thrust- it hurt my gling-glo but it was my duty to show this devotchka what joys she was missing -not by the world- but my mine own self. She hit me hard in the gulliver and I swear on Bog’s green earth I saw stars. I tolchoked her with my own head to hers and the red niagra flowed in dank splots, staining the place I lay my head most nights.

She kicked and made for loud noises that I found to be most disturbing and I slipped soft pillow over her face to cover sounds yelled. The bed was a mess of blankets and body parts and the filly got the better of me and I fell hard to the floor. I sat there stunned for what seemed like hours but merely seconds as this would be lover cried out. I looked around me and her tie, the tie she wore that was all the fashion, the tie that earlier lay between her upturned mounds I only moments before had had in mine own mouth, her tie was in hand.

Alex, being me, rushed her hard and without regret. My naked body parts flailing in the air of this here room- and we hit. More blood slipped from her teary body and I had the tie wrapped tight around her smooth neck. She tried to slip her fingers beneath the fabric though I was stronger she made for quite a test. We thrashed wickedly about and then there was nothing. Silence, and the timid knocks at my door.

I wiped up on her stomach and slipped the tie off her neck and put it around mine, and dressed.

The clean up was quick and with the snow outside, the bodies of the ladies of Christmas Eve then would not be found for some weeks later when a break in the weather caused the virgin white to pull back and my sheets and four naked, will appear in the back lot of the flat block a fair distance form their origin.

As for P. he got his Christmas gift, that only a father could get. The Ptitsa’s tie served up just the right cheer. Now everytime I look at P, standing proud with that tie around his neck, I think of her. Whatever her name is, wherever she may be right now.

But I look at Dad and his happy eyes and think: May Bog bless us everyone.

James C.