Dichotomy

"Do you want a real tree this year, or a fake one?" Tim asks.

"Fake ones make a lot more sense, but I've never had one, ever."

"We'll figure it out. Oh, and do you want our picture on the Christmas cards this year?"

"Our picture?" I say, as I carry a box of decorations down the attic stairs.

"Last year, we signed both our names to the Christmas cards, but we had only been dating a little while, and some couples put their picture on their cards. Until they have a baby, then they put the kid's picture on the card--"

"Are we back on the baby thing again, Tim?"

"No! I'm just saying!"

"Yeah, we can do the picture, I guess."

"Is that extra extension cord in here?" Tim asks, pointing to the hallway closet. She turns the doorknob...

...Krista's apartment door opens. "What took you so long?" she smiles.

Krista's psychosis has not affected her physically, at least not yet. Her teeth are straight out of a dentist's "after" picture, and her thick lips, freshly coated in dusty pink, frame them flawlessly.

I am staring. "Are you coming in?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"You want a glass of wine?"

"I have to go back to work."

"I was just asking." She gets defensive quickly, and I'm careful never to say "I'm sorry" when she does. She's insecure; she would doubt the sincerety of the apology, and a fight would ensue.

"I have to ask you something," I grin.

"What?" she smiles back, as she walks over and straddles my lap with her dainty thighs, chewing a piece of red licorice. I catch a glimpse of her navel under her scoop-neck t-shirt; her short skirt rides up.

"Are you wearing red or pink today?"

"Why don't you look and find out?"

I slide my hand across her back, and feel nothing but spine. My cock, suddenly stiff, is bent at a crazy angle under her weight, and with the adrenaline that's flowing, I can barely feel it.

"Trick question, huh?" I say. "I bet you're not wearing panties either."

I pull up her skirt, exposing her cleanly-shaved pussy, and her soft mouth plunges against my neck. We stare for a brief moment and then we are clutching at each others' clothes, pulling at buttons and zippers with feverish speed.

The phone rings.

"That's my mother."

"That's nice," I say in between kisses.

"She's gonna keep calling until I answer..."

"...can you get that?" Tim calls from atop her stepstool, as she places the star on the tree.

"What's all that commotion in the background?" Tim's mother says.

"What commotion? We're decorating. Hold on, I'll get Tim."

"I don't want to talk to Tim, I want to talk to you."

"About?"

"Are you proposing this Christmas?"

"What? No, Diana!"

"You wouldn't tell me if you were. I just want you to know it's a bad idea."

"Thanks for the tip."

"You're doing really wonderfully together. There's plenty of time to get married--"

"Diana, like I said--"

"Of course. You're not thinking of it. Then Christmas comes and the Hope Diamond will be under the tree, and I'll get this giddy phone call at 7:30am. 'Mom, we're getting married!'" she says, in a mock falsetto.

"Diana. You are way off base here. Words cannot express how far off you are. So--"

"Gimme that," Tim shouts, grabbing the phone.

"Mom, I'm sick of you interfering," she shouts. "Just..."

"...leave me alone, mom!" Krista yells into the receiver. "I'll call you later!"

She bangs the phone down so hard that it dings.

Her scowl melts and she lays down under me, sliding off the last of her clothing, a half-length cotton sock. I pause over her, my heart throbbing, my breaths quick and choppy.

"You want it don't you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Say pretty please."

"Steve--"

"Say pretty fucking please!"

"Pretty please fuck me."

"Again."

"Pretty please fuck me with your big hard dick."

I slip into her before she's done saying it. Her hands clutch my shoulder blades; her teeth sink into my flesh, and the dizzying pain somehow makes me hornier.

You don't need a PhD to figure out when Krista is getting ready to cum. Her high, panting moans grow progressively louder until you think the cops are going to break the door down any minute; she claws and bites me like an animal. Sex makes her lose control, like a drug that she can't quite handle.

Yeah, I like it.

I pull back and watch my cock slide out of her, almost all the way, then guide it back in, in exquisite slow motion.

"You like that?" I ask, pushing her ankles behind her ears.

"Oh yeah."

"Are you a horny little slut?"

"Yes."

"Say it!"

"I'm a horny little slut!"

Krista likes being belittled. I never really got into that type of thing; if she's that much of a whore, who wants her? But evidently she needs to be treated this way to fully get off.

Her pussy is amazing, warm and soft; it's like fucking melted chocolate. And all at once, I am outside my body, just like I used to be, watching myself like a disinterested third party. Though our bodies are stuck together like magnets and we are going at it like rabid jackals, all I want is to fuck her harder, to drive my cock deeper into her, to fill her with my hot cum until she overflows.

"You want my cum in your face? Huh? Do you?"

"Pretty please," she whispers, clutching my legs with hers, pulling me against her.

"Say it again."

"I want... you... to... cum in my face," she says, as her breathing deepens and a faint line of sweat forms across her hairline.

I pull out, squeezing my rod with all my might as I rush to the head of the bed. And just as I stop moving, I can hold it back no longer; I unleash thick cum on her, across the bridge of her nose, on her cheek, in her open mouth.

"What time do you have to be back at work?" Krista asks nonchalantly, as I search for a towel, her face still a cummy mess.