December 14th was not just another day; it was a day etched in expectation and tinged with the soft glow of holiday lights. The atmosphere in my home was charged with a blend of Christmas spirit and palpable anticipation.It was a week or so before Christmas proper, but for us, it was our official celebration, our first Christmas together. I had an unspoken aim of giving Miss J the perfect Christmas.
My morning was a whirlwind of culinary activity, focused on preparing the bespoke Christmas meal Miss J had requested. The menu was a fascinating blend of cultures, a vegetarian Caribbean twist on a classic British Christmas dinner: veggie peppered schnitzel steak from Whole Foods, mac pie, stuffing, rice and peas (which I had to order from a takeaway because Miss J was explicit: "I just definitely want a Caribbean to make that"), roast parsnips, broccoli, a single Yorkshire pudding, and finally, a rhubarb crumble with fresh custard. Each dish was a homage to her eclectic tastes, and I couldn't wait to see her face as she took the first bite.
The door opened, and there she was. The world seemed to pause, my senses honing in on her presence. The soft aroma of her perfume mingled effortlessly with the spices and flavours that filled the air. Miss J looked ethereal, wrapped in her winter coat that she promptly discarded, revealing a sultry outfit beneath.
Lunch was served immediately upon her arrival. As we sat down to eat, I was reminded of our unique dynamic. Yes, it was Christmas, and I was allowed to eat with her, but the unspoken lines that defined our relationship were never to be crossed. I knelt beside her, my food resting on a chair serving as a table. It was a humbling experience, one that filled me with a sense of both servitude and intimacy.
After lunch, we ascended the stairs, each step charged with a sense of ritual. Once in my bedroom, our familiar and safe play space, Miss J fastened the leather collar around my neck. My world narrowed, focused entirely on the sensation of the leather against my skin, the light tug as she adjusted it to fit snugly. It was a tangible symbol of my submission, a boundary within which my world was defined.
Miss J climbed into the bed, and I assumed my usual place: kneeling beside it. One her favourite shows was playing on my laptop, which was placed on the desk opposite the bed, this was a mere background note to the opera of our interaction. Lifting the bottom of the duvet up, I reached forward to massage her feet, each stroke calculated to maximise her pleasure, my hands working diligently to knead away any tension she might be holding.
The next command came softly but firmly, "Crawl under the covers." Obediently, I did, know this meant to crawl between her legs. My face found itself against her hot, wet pussy. She made me hold my face there, not allowed to lick or taste. It was like being a child faced with the biggest of Christmas presents but not being allowed to open it. I had to make do with deeply inhaling Miss J's incredible natural scent. I'm not sure how long I was kept like this, but it was a massive tease and a test of my will power.
After a while, Miss J began to run her pussy against my face. She really was very wet. I could feel her juices building up over my nose and mouth, which I'd been ordered to keep close. The sensation was electric, her wetness rubbing against my face a silent testament to the arousal coursing through her.
Eventually she granted me the honour of kissing her gorgeous black ass. My lips worked their way all over her ample ass checks. I kissed her multiple times, making the most of the opportunity to feel my lips against her smooth skin. I push my face between her round ass cheeks and planted several kisses directly on her ass hole.. Then she told me to lick and instantly my tongue darted out and began to dance across her ass hole. I licked her crack up and down, moving my head between her cheeks, I circled her ass hole with my tongue, and at times pushed the tip of my tongue into her tight hole. Worshipping Miss J's ass was not only a measure of my submission, but I could tell by her moans that the vaguely humiliating task also brought her a lot pleasure.
Then came the words I had been aching to hear: I was granted permission to kiss and lick her more pussy. It was a slow build, each moment stretching on as I focused on her, her body's subtle cues guiding me. I was content between Miss J's legs, focused on the mission at hand, and loving the taste, the smell and the sensations that came with every flick of my tongue.
Finally, she climaxed. Knowing I was pushing my luck, I kept my face buried in her pussy, savouring the intensely intimate moment. I gently kissed her throbbing clit, her wet pussy lips, and her ass as she recovered from the back-arching moment. Then, my luck ran out and Miss J clamped her thighs shut and pushed me out.
The TV came back into focus as knelt at the foot of the bed with my exhausted mistress lying in front of me, not speaking, each lost in our own world of sensation and emotion.
As the afternoon wore on, a surge of need rushed through me. I felt the aching desire for release intensify until it was almost unbearable. When I timidly broached the subject, asking if I could wank, but I was told I couldn't. I had been denied, at Christmas of all times. Frustrated, I started to beg for my own climax, but the sharpness in Miss J's voice cut through the tension with a stern and angry sound, "No," leaving no room for further discussion.
My feelings were a swirl of conflicting emotions: frustration, desire, but above all, a profound sense of gratefulness for this unique bond we shared.
And so, our first Christmas celebration concluded: a day marked by devotion, intimate submission, and the complexity of emotions that define our unique relationship. Despite the ache of unfulfilled desire, I felt a deeper satisfaction, one born from serving Miss J, from experiencing the beauty of a Christmas like no other. It was a day that would remain imprinted in my mind, a milestone in the continuing journey of our unique connection.
