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Message-ID: <27893asstr$976831804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Chuck Waggin" <cwaggin@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Bernoulli's Christmas {Xmas, Rom} <*> 1/2
Date: Thu, 14 Dec 2000 17:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Bernoulli's Christmas {Xmas, Rom} <*> 1/2
By Chuck Waggin
(c) December 2000
Comments welcome at cwaggin@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: This is my entry in Celeste's Christmas Story Contest for the 
year 2000. I have lurked and enjoyed long enough, and this contest gave me 
an excuse to delurk and share the joy. I will appreciate your comments.

Do not read this story if you are too young or if it is otherwise illegal in 
the jurisdiction in which you reside. Also keep in mind that this story is a 
Christmas fantasy. Much of what happens in this story is illegal, immoral, 
depraved, or otherwise unwise. But I think it's still a great fantasy. And 
remember, Santa's a fantasy as well.

Please respect my copyright.

                                     @---}---}-----


CHAPTER 1: The Celestial Christmas Story Contest

I woke up when I heard a noise near the Christmas tree. Oh boy, was I going 
to catch Santa in the act? Indeed I was.

He shambled around the room, distributing presents here and there under the 
tree. When he saw that I had awakened on the couch, he knelt on one knee on 
the floor beside me and winked at me.

"Have you been a good little girl?" he asked.

"No," I replied with a licentious twinkle in my eye.

"Ho, ho, ho!" he replied, as one of his elves grasped me from behind and 
placed my wrists in cuffs. "She's got great tits," the second elf said, as 
he unbuttoned the Christmas shirt I was wearing and began nibbling on one of 
my nipples. I began to feel warm inside.

Santa's smile was more carnivorous than jolly. I like that in a man. His 
hand grasped the back of my neck and pulled me into his crotch, where his 
cock jutted from his Christmas suit. His penis was cold and not yet rigid. I 
could solve both those problems.

As I leaned forward to take his pleasure pump into my mouth, I heard one of 
the elves say, "What goes in dry and hard and comes out wet and soft?"

"Chewing gum," replied the other elf, as he uncovered my bare ass and began 
to drop his own pants.

"You guys can have what you find back there," said Santa, laying his finger 
beside his cock. "I think I can find plenty of Christmas cheer right where I 
am."

                                     @---}---}-----

That was about all I could think of. I reread what I had written. Oh, sure, 
I could add thrusts and penetrations and moans and exultations; but that was 
my whole plot in a nutshell.

My goal was to win the first Celestial Christmas Story Contest of the new 
millennium. But all I had was 262 words, and they weren't all that likely to 
generate buckets of cum -- even among the barely legal naked and nubile 
cheerleaders whom I hoped to embrace in my audience, if you'll pardon the 
expression.

                                     @---}---}-----

I logged onto America Online and sent an Instant Message to RandyOne. She's 
my fuck buddy -- my cyberlover and confidante. I can tell her everything - 
except, of course, that I am a seventeen-year-old virgin nerd. RandyOne is a 
beautiful and sophisticated woman. She is a 28-years-old, privately employed 
accountant. I know that is true, because I have several digitized pictures 
of her. In one of the pictures she is making love to her best friend, 
AmandaPanda, who is another of my fuck buddies. They both think I am a suave 
30-year-old playboy. They believe this because I once sent them a doctored 
picture of a hockey player. Most girls don't know Jack Shit about hockey. So 
I superimposed a minor league hockey player's head on Arnold Schwarznegger's 
body and told them that I was a futures trader who moonlighted as a bouncer 
at a club in New York City. I know they believe my story, because they have 
said some really sexy things to me.

Once Randy and Amanda did a virtual threesome with me during which I came 
twice. I kid you not -- although I kidded them just a little, because I told 
them I had come two additional times -- once up each their asses. But they 
believed me, because they both had incredible orgasms. I made them wait for 
their orgasms. They like that -- when I take control and bring them to the 
brink and keep them there for a long time while I make them talk dirty to me 
and make me hotter and hotter while they beg to be allowed to come but have 
to hold it back until I have satisfied myself. It's really pretty sexy. 
Shit, I'm getting horny just thinking about it.

I really think I am a pretty good cyberlover. I attribute my sexual prowess 
to a story by Al Steiner, entitled "Doing It All Over," in which the 
narrator applied his experience from his first life to his sex life when he 
was transported back in time and had a chance to "do it all over" with the 
ladies. His main key to sexual bliss was showing respect for the women he 
made love with and putting their needs ahead of his own. I have combined Mr. 
Steiner's insight with E.Z. Riter's expertise in titillation, and voila, the 
result has been a virtual sexual dynamo.

If I'm lucky, maybe some day I'll be able to climb the mountains of sexual 
bliss in real life, but for now I seem to be stuck in the world of Virtual 
Nookie.

So my Christmas Sex Story was going to be a sort of crossover for me. I knew 
I could consummate hot virtual sex with Randy and Mandy and a few other, 
more transient, fuck buddies, but a major story that would compete with Ann 
Douglas or Redman would make my adolescence complete. I mean, you just know 
that when Celeste or Bronwen or Janey Urquhart take their lovers to the 
sack, nobody questions their sexual integrity.

                                     @---}---}-----

But I digress. Here is what I said when I IM'd Randy:

BigStick {That's me!}: Hi, sexy lady!

RandyOne: hi, wonder man. {That's what she likes to call me. She also thinks 
it's cute to disregard capital letters and apostrophes and lots of other 
punctuation. She's very sexy in that respect.} whats up <wink>

BigStick: I have a problem.

RandyOne: can I give you a hand <wink>

BigStick: Not yet. {She was offering to give me a virtual hand job. I love 
that woman!} But keep the thought.

RandyOne: whats up? <wink>

BigStick: I want to write a story that will win Celeste's Christmas Story 
Contest.

RandyOne: cool

BigStick: But I can't think of any ideas.

RandyOne: why dont you submit the last story you wrote for me. i came in my 
panties. twice.

BigStick: I can't do that. Celeste doesn't exactly like bondage and sex 
slavery.... And anyway, the story took place in a dungeon that had been 
constructed inside an abandoned meat locker. What does that have to do with 
Christmas?

                                     @---}---}-----

Let me explain something to you. I could easily have introduced a Christmas 
motif into that story. I mean, I could have replaced Mistress Helga with 
Mrs. Claus, put a reindeer in place of the gerbil, and perhaps have had the 
heroine shout MERRRRRY CHRISSSSSSSTMAS instead of AARRGGGHHHHHH! In 
addition, there are exactly the same number of dwarfs left after the first 
incident as Santa has reindeer, not counting Rudolph, who would be 
anachronistic anyway, since Rasputin was the main character in the story to 
which Randy referred. Sometimes I wonder how Randy misses things like this. 
I suspect she's too erotically aroused to think straight sometimes.

As I said, I could have easily have introduced into the story a Christmas 
motif. The real reason I couldn't use the story was that I stole the thing 
from a guy named artie. I knew Randy would like it, because artie signs his 
name without a capital letter -- although he uses most other parts of 
grammar and spelling almost as well as I do myself.

There's a big difference between getting sexual favors from my fuck buddy by 
passing off as my own stories that somebody else wrote and formally 
submitting for publication the work of another writer. First, there are 
ethical standards, and these are surprisingly high on my smut story group. 
The only kind of cheating these people endorse is on spouses. Second, I'd 
probably get caught. I think Celeste herself has a database or something, 
and some of those people on a.s.s.d. must have nothing to do except look for 
people stealing other people's stories. That's a pain in the ass; but once I 
post this story, then they'll protect me from rip-offs. So I guess it's OK.

What I do when I write stories for Randy is change the names of a few of 
artie's characters and add a some props, like Mistress Helga, the gerbil, 
and the dwarfs. When I write for Amanda, I used to steal Ann Douglas 
stories. I made them unrecognizable by removing all the author's grammar 
mistakes and then changing the gender of all the characters. I thought this 
was brilliant, until I sent Amanda four stories in a row that had become MM 
or Mm stories. Most readers in this newsgroup get a lot more turned on by 
lesbian action than by gay themes. So I went back into the archives and 
started stealing Dirty Dawg stories. Amanda thinks she vaguely recognizes 
some of them, but that's because Mr. Dawg has only one plot -- kinda like 
"Horatio Alger Gets Laid." What really throws Amanda off is that I change 
all Mr. Dawg's heroines to modern Yuppie names -- Britney, Ashley, Madison, 
Brooke, Marmaduke, and things like that.

                                     @---}---}-----

Getting back to my IM with RandyOne, here's what Randy said next:

RandyOne: why don't you do some research <grin>?

BigStick: What do you mean?

RandyOne: you can read the stories that have won Celeste's contests in the 
past and imitate them.

BigStick: That's a great idea. But if I just copy the stories, Celeste will 
recognize the plagiarism. She wasn't born yesterday, you know.

RandyOne: well then you can read the best stories by the ten best authors on 
the newsgroup and combine their ideas into your story.

BigStick: That's a great idea. Then Celeste won't recognize them at all.

RandyOne: right. and you can use Global Replace to change all the names.

BigStick: That's a great idea. {The feeling that Randy was getting close to 
my actual modus operandi, albeit unwittingly, was bringing my little soldier 
to attention. Intelligent women are a major turn-on to me. Especially 
intelligent women who review sex stories and give awards in contests. I 
might also point out at this juncture that I don't think the words "modus 
operandi" and "albeit" have ever been correctly used in a single sentence in 
a sex story until now.}

RandyOne: and if that doesnt work you can go out and get laid and write 
about what happens to you.

BigStick: That's a great idea. {At this point, I was getting nervous. I said 
this "was a great idea" solely because I had been using cut-and-paste, and I 
didn't want to have to type a new sentence. Getting laid was not something 
that was likely to happen to me. I mean, if the train hasn't left the 
station in seventeen years or if the little soldier hasn't fired his cannon 
except in solitary combat, what are the odds that things are going to change 
just so I could have a Christmas Story?}

RandyOne: cool. now lets cyberscrew.

                                     @---}---}-----

That's what we did. It turned out that Randy had already been naked at her 
computer when she had been giving me that advice about how to write a good 
story. But I am going to skip the details, since what Randy and I did more 
closely resembled what possibly goes on in the locker room at the Super Bowl 
than anything associated with the Christmas story I am trying to write. As 
you will see, this is going to be a Christmas story after all. I know that's 
true, because I have finished the whole story and have then come back and 
inserted these sentences in this paragraph. It's sort of like time travel.

I'll just mention that when Randy told me about her initial nudity, I told 
her that not only had I been naked all along, but I also had been displaying 
a raging hard-on that was making it difficult for me to concentrate on 
anything other than her sopping wet pussy. I said this mostly because I 
wanted to minimize any potential embarrassment and also because it gave me 
an enormous boner.

She practically came in her pants. She said I have a way with words. I think 
at that moment she would have used even fewer capital letters than was her 
custom, had that been possible. Since it wasn't possible, she sent me a 
macro of emoticons. Reiteratively.

It was quite an experience, especially when you keep in mind that I'm not 
really the suave playboy she thinks me to be.

                                     @---}---}-----

So I went to my computer and did some research. I searched the 
alt.sex.stories.moderated archives around Christmas for the last several 
years. I checked Celeste's reviews for the Christmas tales that sounded 
best. First the good news: If I wanted to read the top ten Christmas stories 
published in the past four years, I could cover half of them by reading just 
two authors: Bronwen and Uther Pendragon. I was excited and downloaded their 
five stories. Now the bad news: These two authors can write a lot better 
than I can. The main thing that I learned was that if I wanted to win, I 
would have to find a way to keep these two authors from entering the 
contest. However, I did pick up some stylistic techniques from Bronwen, 
which I suspect true fans will notice and which will greatly improve my 
story.

Since the literary approach to research wasn't working, I decided to use a 
more applied approach: I would simply go out and get laid for Christmas and 
incorporate the chronology of my deflowering into my Christmas story. That 
way, even if I didn't win the contest, I'd still have my record as a 
Casanova to show for my trouble. Yeah, right, I thought.

I didn't talk to Randy or Mandy over a week. By the time I next chatted with 
them, I had a whale of a tale to tell them.

                                     @---}---}-----

When I call myself a nerd, all I really mean to say is that I study a lot 
and am not naturally good with females in real life. I don't have a plastic 
pen liner to protect my shirt pocket or a holster in which I carry a 
calculator or anything like that. I don't even own a cell phone or a beeper 
-- although, of course, I tell Randy I have one of each. So when I say I'm a 
nerd, all I'm really saying is that I lead a boring life during which I do 
things to make my parents proud of me and try to lay the groundwork for a 
prosperous future, during which I will be able to enjoy the pleasures of a 
happy family life.

Also, I'm realistic. I realize that if I am stretching the truth a little 
when I chat with Randy and Mandy, then it is plausible that they could 
likewise be lying when they talk to me about sex. However, they seem 
sometimes to express real life concerns that make some of what they say to 
me seem authentic.

If they aren't being literally and factually honest, they are at least being 
honest about something I can't quite put my finger on. I am willing to 
accept them for what they claim to be, because there is no harm in doing so 
and because even if they are putting me on, they are not JUST putting me on. 
We are playing roles, and within those roles we have formed the bonds of an 
honest friendship.

                                     @---}---}-----

CHAPTER 2: I Came Upon a Midnight Clear

And so, the following Friday night, while my more libertine classmates were 
out laying and getting laid, I spent the evening doing research for the 
speech and debate meet, which was scheduled to take place the next day.

I really kick ass in speech and debate. My strength is extemporaneous 
speech. Mrs. Ritigliotti, our team's coach, says I have the knack of being 
able to talk cogently and ceaselessly about almost anything. Perhaps you've 
noticed that proclivity in me.

Since my father is a professor at the local university, we live close to 
campus, and I am able to go to the library anytime I want. The librarians 
are nice to me, and I have become adept at using the computers for research, 
and that's why I can really kick ass in speech and debate. That's also where 
I met Randy and Mandy and learned about the Celestial Christmas Story 
Contest -- on the Internet, that is, which I can access through the computer 
in the study carrels. That's a nice thing that colleges have that high 
schools lack: really remote study carrels with access to dirty pictures and 
erotic stories, and where you can actually have an orgasm, as long as you 
are discreet about it. When spelled correctly, discreet is the sort of word 
that is likely to help a person win a Celestial Story Contest.

                                     @---}---}-----

After I finished my research on ways to clean up the environment, I packed 
up my knapsack and headed out to my bike. It was late, nearly midnight, but 
it would be safe to ride my bike the short distance to my house in the dark. 
But I didn't even make it to my bike.

The night was cold and clear as I stepped out the door. I was suddenly swept 
up in a crowd of college girls. They were having a jolly time, singing 
Christmas songs as they jostled one another and swept me up in their midst. 
At first I thought I should simply fight my way through the crowd, but then 
I realized that all the girls were wearing masks and that they were 
deliberately immobilizing me. I found my hands bound behind my back in some 
sort of shackles, and a hood was thrown over my head to serve as a 
blindfold. You might think I would have been frightened, but I have had this 
dream many times before (except that my captors are usually naked in my 
dreams); and so I just went along with the flow, assuming I would wake up 
soon.

When they first approached me the nasty nymphs had been singing "Deck the 
Halls with Boughs of Holly." As soon as they had bound me, they lifted me up 
onto their shoulders and began singing a parody of a different Christmas 
song:

"Yes, he needs a little pussy
Right this very minute...."

They took me directly into a building that couldn't have been too far from 
the library, where they set me down and removed my blindfold. I was standing 
in front of their apparent leader, a tall woman with flowing black tresses. 
She wore a black mask and generally resembled what I thought a dominatrix 
would look like in the sex stories I had been reading. The leader placed one 
arm on each of my shoulders and said, "If you're dumb enough to want to get 
out of this, you can just say so at any time. All we ask is that you not 
reveal anything that happens to you tonight." It was at this point that I 
realized this was really happening. Either that or it was a really wet dream 
during which I was going to have one helluva nocturnal emission.

"OK," I said. Like I said, I have the knack of being able to talk cogently 
and ceaselessly about almost any topic.

With that, two blondes with long hair stepped forward. Each was dressed in a 
plain white men's shirt that came down to the thigh. It had never occurred 
to me that an item of apparel so specifically masculine could make a woman 
look so feminine.

As I looked around the room, I saw that there were many more women present 
than I had seen before I had been blindfolded. The girls who had accosted 
and captured me had been dressed in very sexy warm-up suits, almost as if 
they were members of an athletic team. In addition to the two blondes in the 
men's shirts, these athletic girls had been joined by about ten others, all 
of whom were dressed in various colors of leather body suits. Like their 
leader, the girls in body suits all wore high-healed black leather boots 
that were laced all the way to their knees and gloves that matched the color 
of their body suits. I doubt that there was a bra in the building.

Somebody had released my hands from their bonds, and one shirt girl took me 
by each hand, and they led me toward a bed that was set up almost like an 
altar or stage in the center of the room. The others gathered around the 
bed, and I became aware that they had been chanting music in a language that 
I didn't understand.

Without saying a word, my two escorts began to remove my clothes. Actually, 
one of them began to remove my clothes while the other began to kiss me. I 
was glad I had followed my mother's recurrent sartorial advice: I had no 
reason to be embarrassed by odd stains in my underwear or holes in my socks. 
They eased me onto the bed, and one of them mounted my chest and encouraged 
me to unbutton her shirt. She was wearing no underpants, and the pubic hair 
that bestraddled my chest was warm, soft, and slightly moist. My senses were 
simultaneously struck by the beautiful sight of two firm globes that stood 
proudly forth from her chest and by a musky smell with which I was not 
familiar. She grasped my wrists and held them securely above my head.

I had no idea why this was happening, but it was clear that these Vestal 
Vixens weren't going to hurt me. In fact, they were going to be very nice to 
me, and so I bestowed on them my fullest cooperation. I did what they told 
me to do, and they started taking me straight to heaven.

While I was still in possession of my senses, the advice of two great 
philosophers ran through my mind. From Al Steiner in "Doing It All Over" I 
had learned that if you're nice to the ladies, the ladies are going to be 
nice to you. From Celeste I had learned the Blowjob Principle, which states 
that if you get a good blowjob and hope to get another, you should make the 
giver really glad she gave you the first one. I wasn't sure which 
philosopher I was following at any specific time, but when I found a muff in 
front of my face, I made sure that its owner was glad she put it there.

I really don't know what the connection was or what incentives were 
involved, but as soon as my tongue started nibbling the first girl's 
cockpit, I felt a warm sensation on Little Percy, which had already become 
quite rigid. As my tongue, caressed her mons and began to search for her 
entrance, I felt a tongue running along the length of my cock.

But I was new at this. How was I supposed to get inside her cunt lips 
without using my hands? To be honest, I was willing to keep on doing what I 
was doing while my frontal friend's friendly accomplice continued her 
ministrations, until I figured out a solution -- perhaps sometime within the 
next week or so. "Let me help you with that," said the first girl, as she 
secured both of my wrists within her left hand, and used her right to unfold 
the lips of her vagina for me. Her smile broadened as my tongue moved into 
the opening she had supplied for me.

I had little clear idea what I was doing, but I had studied operant 
conditioning in Honors Psychology. My tongue jutted forth, and my playmate 
sighed as she fed me her love muffin. I delved deeper, and fluids began to 
dribble down onto my face, while she plunged her pleasure pouch even closer 
against my physiognomy. I was barely able to breathe, but my tongue kept 
searching. If this were a Science Fair project, it would be important to 
determine whether I was shaping her behavior or she was shaping mine. Under 
the circumstances, however, it didn't matter. I couldn't tell a stimulus or 
a response from the hole in my ass, nor did I care.

As I said, I didn't really understand the dynamics. Sprawled on my back with 
my hands restrained above my head, I could see no further than the blonde 
whose gash I was gobbling. Behind her, her blonde accomplice was apparently 
the person swallowing my swan in a most delightful way. The better my tongue 
did its job, the hotter my playmate became, and the nicer the tongue and 
mouth became on my cock. I understood why my playmate was responding the way 
she was, and I understood why that turned me on. I also understood why I was 
responding the way I was to the accomplice. But why was the fellatio fiend 
fellating me so felicitously?

As I pondered this perplexity, my playmate abruptly shrieked, "Oh shiiiiit!" 
and released my hands. She started convulsing wildly and leaned her body 
further forward across my face. I wasn't sure whether I was going to 
suffocate or drown, nor was I any longer concerned about much of anything 
except the wonderfully gyrating body that was obviously very happy to have 
met me.

You have to remember that during this whole process we were not alone. In 
addition to my blonde playmate feeding my face and her accomplice having 
sausage and eggs between my legs, there were at least twenty other lewd and 
libidinous ladies surrounding us. It's impossible for me to describe what 
they were doing, mostly because I was more interested in more pressing 
matters, but also because I had never experienced anything like this before. 
Not many people have.

As I tried to reconstruct the scenario in subsequent days, it was obvious to 
me that I had ben at the center of come sort of sex ritual. The Mistress in 
Black was in charge, and the blonde maidens seemed to be the guests of 
honor. The girls in the warm-up suits seem to have been perhaps junior 
members and those in the leather body suits more important members of the 
assemblage. Perhaps the two blondes were participating in a ritual that 
would move them from one level to the next.

The ceremony was not an all-out orgy. It was more like a really enthusiastic 
sacrament. For the most part, only the two blondes and I engaged in sex, 
with minor assistance from a couple of the attendants. The others were 
engaged in what I'll call participant cheerleading, for want of a better 
term. They sang, they clapped, they stomped their feet. But it wasn't silly; 
it was intense. And it was just plain sensual. The effect was to intensify 
the rutting frenzy and pleasure of us major participants.

Eventually, my playmate collapsed off the top of my face. Literally. I had 
closed my eyes, and I noticed that her weight was gone; but in the back of 
my mind I was acutely aware that although my playmate was gone, my pleasure 
was almost as intense as it had ever been. I opened my eyes and gazed across 
my chest, to where my penis was proudly pounding the air. At that point I 
better understood the role of group dynamics in my rapture. The accomplice 
was not working alone. She had an accomplice of her own. One of the damsels 
in the leather body suits was rimming her asshole and fondling her pussy, 
and this activity was a major catalyst to elicit her active participation. 
In addition, I discovered that it was the raven-haired leader who was 
manipulating my cock to keep it from firing prematurely and bringing the 
festivities to an untimely end. She was effectively increasing everyone's 
pleasure by delaying my orgasm.

While I certainly remained inside my own body, I no longer was quite sure 
where I was. I was so caught up in the experience I don't think I thought 
anything at all. I wouldn't have been surprised to discover I had been 
levitating. It was just me and my feelings, and my feelings felt good. It 
was a perfect high, a rush of sensation so intense that I surrendered my 
will and barely held onto my identity. I certainly wasn't worrying about the 
girls' pleasure anymore. I guess I took it for granted that they could 
manage things until I got back to earth.

Eventually, everything came to a tremendous climax. I shot my wad up to the 
bell tower. Actually, my fellating friend released my penis from her mouth 
and shook it pleasantly, with the result that my semen shot across both the 
blondes' tongues and faces and dribbled down their bodies. I felt as if I 
exploded about fifty times over a period of five minutes, but I doubt that 
could be the case. The Guinness people would have contacted me by now.

The rest was anti-climatic. After a few minutes of cuddling, suring which 
the blondes and I received a thunderous ovation, three of the athletic girls 
guided me to an area at the side of the room. One cleaned me with a warm, 
most toilette, and another dried me. They gave me my clothes and helped me 
get dressed. They were very courteous about it. I was just plain tired, and 
so I didn't resist at all when someone put the blindfold back over my head. 
"We have to put you back without letting you be able to find our secret 
place," she whispered.

I was escorted outside and back to my bike, where they removed the 
blindfold. I unlocked my bike, and then they gave me what a day earlier 
would have been the three best kisses of my life, patted me on my butt, and 
sent me on my way.

                                     @---}---}-----

<<Continued in Part 2>>


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