Santa's Little Helper Ch. 01-02

Santa's Little Helper

© 2016 Bad Hobbit

Author's Note: I wrote this back in 2016, when I'd been working with some Social Care professionals. It dates back to a time before everything was outsourced to for-profit companies, and when there were department stores that had "Santa's Grottos" every Christmas. I've just revisited it and found it was more complete than I'd remembered. Here are a few chapters; more to come if it's popular.

In the Grotto

"Have you ever been Santa before?" An unusual question, but not unexpected under the circumstances.

"Yes - every year," I replied.

"So do you have a place in Lapland where you keep your flying reindeer?" she asked.

I smiled. "I managed children's homes for most of the past 20 years. I was often the only male member of staff, so someone had to do it."

"Why did you leave?" Yes, always the same question. I suppose it's natural if they're offering a job where you'll be around kids. The implication is always 'Were you sacked for doing something you shouldn't?' I sighed.

"My wife died. It hit me hard, and I couldn't concentrate on the job as much as it needed. I loved the kids but they weren't getting my best and I knew it. When a chance of redundancy came up, I took it."

"I see. So why do you want this job?"

"The redundancy money doesn't last forever, and I miss being around kids. And anyway," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "I've got the voice for it." I was proud of my bass-baritone.

"But not exactly the figure," she replied. That was true. The word most often applied to my body shape was 'wiry'. I was quite fit, and I certainly didn't have the belly required for the role.

"I use a lot of padding. And I have my own suit," I added, trying to be helpful. I could see she wasn't that impressed.

"Look," I continued, "I've had 20 years of working with kids of all ages, and I understand them very well. A lot of them will come into your grotto either nervous, overexcited, or downright bloody belligerent and demanding all sorts of stuff. I can deal with all of those. I've also been a financial manager and a bit of a salesman, so I understand how to maximise value out of each contact with your customers - if you can call five-year-olds 'customers'. Oh, and I'm CRB checked, which will save you the cost and the time."

To be honest, I think that the last point carried more weight than the rest. Anyway, long story short, I got the job, which was good because I needed it. The money wasn't great - four weeks' work at not a lot more than the minimum wage, plus a bit of commission from what the kids' parents subsequently bought - but it would help refill the coffers. But as I said, my redundancy money was getting eroded and Job Seekers' Allowance didn't do much to help.

But most importantly, I needed the job psychologically. I'd had six months of sitting on my arse at home, completing job applications that were unsuccessful and often seemed to be for jobs that didn't exist. The fortnightly trip to the Job Centre to stand in line with the Special Brew mob, who'd never held down a job in their lives are were unlikely to start now, was deeply depressing. What I needed was something to give me a sense of self-worth again - and to be with kids.

See, what really floats my boat is seeing a kid happy and excited. Often, when they came to me, they were damaged by neglect or abuse. Sometimes they wanted to just lash out to pass on some of the punishment they'd received. More frequently, they just shrank into themselves and trusted nobody. Getting an excited smile out of a child was probably the main source of satisfaction in what wasn't exactly the best-paid job in the world.

Some people seem to think that if you're male and you like kids, you must be a paedophile. I just love seeing that look of excitement on the face of a child who feels safe and loved, possibly for the first time in their short lives. I remember one little girl; her parents were druggies. Her mum's boyfriend burned the child with cigarettes, and the mum was too stoned most of the time to stop him. When the kid came to me, she was terrified. I made a point of sitting with her for ten or fifteen minutes each day, talking to her, trying to get her to talk back. Gradually a bond built between us and she began to open up. Then one day, she ran into my office, crying. She climbed onto my lap and snuggled up against me. Ten minutes later, when the care assistant who'd been looking for her came in, the kid was asleep in my arms, sucking her thumb. It's moments like that when you feel your career has been worthwhile.

So I started at the end of November in this big toy department in a very large store in London. I had a small band of 'elves' to help me, mostly kids just out of sixth form or college unable to find a proper job. They were alright, I suppose, but one or two of them were cocky little sods who were either too full of themselves because mummy and daddy had treated them like demigods, or because they felt abused by a system that denied them meaningful employment after getting the qualifications they'd been told were so important. Most of them worked part-time, some because they were finishing their A-levels, some because they had 'internships' on rubbish money that promised them a chance of a job at the end.

Of all of them, I took to Nina in particular. She was the one who most fitted the bill of an 'elf'. She was quite petite - not much above five foot - though she carried a bit more puppy-fat than some of her fellow 'elves'; not that she was fat as such, just a little bit more rounded that the usual teenage stick insect. She had a cute, pixie face, which looked much nicer once the boss had got her to remove the eyebrow piercing and nose stud. Her hair was an untidy, lank black with green highlights - seemingly the standard uniform for a Goth - which she tucked inside her elf cap so as not to scare the kids. I was surprised that the manager was enlightened enough to give her the job. Perhaps he saw in her the qualities I'd identified; she was kind, sweet-natured - despite the spiky appearance - and was great with the kids.

As soon as I'd met Nina, I recognised her as being like many of the kids I'd seen in the homes. She didn't seem neglected or abused, but she found it hard to fit in and form friendships with her peers, and her Goth look was part of her personal rebellion. She had three younger siblings, two of them much younger, part of a second family after her mum remarried. Inevitably, she became her mum's helper and almost a surrogate mum in her own right. She understood how to manage small kids, to deal with their tantrums but also to get them excited about Christmas and the chance to meet Santa in the flesh.

Our job was to sell toys. Not directly, you understand, but by helping feed the child's avarice and capture what it was that they most wanted from Santa. An 'elf' would show a child into the grotto, and I'd find out what it was they were hoping for this Christmas. Sometimes I'd have to plant a few ideas if the kiddy's wishes were modest. Another elf would note down the toys that the child had requested on a special voucher that gave the parent 10% off the items listed and 5% off anything else. It was a neat idea. Mummy or daddy would be encouraged to give the voucher to an assistant, who would send someone off to collect and package the goods while the parent was presented with a bill and a wireless card machine. Some of the other elves ran a little train ride and a ball-pond to keep the kids occupied while mummy or daddy completed the transaction.

Nina and I worked very well as a double act. Whether the child was nervous, screaming, throwing a tantrum or bouncing off the walls with excitement, she'd get them into the right mood to sit on Santa's knee. I'd get them into an acquisitive frame of mind, and Nina would capture the child's aspirations in lovely clear handwriting. She also had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the current toy fads and seemed to be able to interpret exactly what the kid wanted and specify it with precision. We were a good team, and the resulting commission was higher than we'd expected.

Perhaps the other elves resented the fact that I always asked for Nina to help me in the grotto. They seemed to have very little empathy with the kids and were slapdash at best in the all-important filling out of the vouchers. On one of Nina's days off, I had to work with Craig, a lanky blond who obviously thought a lot of himself. I had to keep repeating the names of the toys so that he could scribble them down - something I never had to do with Nina - and I was so disgusted with his inability even to spell the names of the toys sufficiently well for the sales assistants to recognise, that I demanded he never get 'grotto duty' again. He clearly resented the loss of commission - Santa and his 'little helper' often got three times the commission of the 'background elves' helping with crowd control outside. However, I pointed out to him and the departmental manager that on a day with Nina we sold over twice the volume of toys than we did with him, so my decision was final.

From then onwards, Craig seemed to go out of his way to be unpleasant, not just to me but also to Nina, as if it was her fault he was a useless fuckwit. Increasingly he tried to get the other 'elves' on his side, so most days Nina and I spent lunch and coffee breaks together. We talked about our families, about our aspirations for the future and so on. One evening, when I was scanning the job adverts online, I saw that the Council were advertising for full-time care assistants at a home where I used to work. I printed the advert and took it in to give to Nina.

"Nina, you said you were hoping to go into social care. This position is on the bottom rung, but there's a lot of training included, the money's better than you're getting here and it plays right to your strengths."

"Oh Frank, that's very kind of you, but I've got no experience. Who would hire me?"

"Well, if I were the manager, I would like a shot. You have all the right skills and attitudes with kids - you're great with them, a natural. If you like, I'll help you put a CV together to highlight the relevant work you've done, and I'll also write you a reference you can attach to your application. What do you say?"

That evening, we went to the local pub, found a quiet corner and I got my laptop out. We composed a CV and a letter of application - frankly, Nina had all the right skills but hadn't a clue of how to sell them. I created her an account on the jobs portal, and we posted it, together with a reference I wrote, based on our work together. She insisted on buying me a beer to say thanks. And as we headed for home, she kissed me - on the cheek - which was very nice.

I hadn't been kissed in a long time. Since Celia, my wife, died three years earlier, I'd been a mess. My daughter Jo helped a lot, but she and her husband Eamon lived in Dublin and had a little girl of their own, Alice, who'd just started school. Though they came to see me as often as they could, it wasn't as often as I would have liked.

Celia's death, from cancer, had torn me apart. I knew I was underperforming in my job, and my employers gave me a lot of leeway as I'd always been good until Celia's illness. But after two years of moping and failing to live up to what the job required, it was inevitable that, when they had to merge my care home with another, the position that had to go was mine.

"Take a few months off. Get yourself back on track, Frank," Dave, my boss, said to me after the redundancy meeting. "When there's a new position we'll let you know, and if you feel ready to come back, then we can take it from there."

That was easier said than done. Fortunately, I avoided the obvious traps of alcohol and anti-depressants, but I found that the main thing I missed was the kids. They can be selfish little shits a lot of the time, but other times they can light up your day with a smile or a few words. But for a long time, nothing was happening.

I was pleased when Nina came into work a few days later and gave me a big hug and a kiss. "I've got an interview!" she squealed. "Thank you, Frank. Thank you so much!" She kissed me again - this time on the mouth. Almost immediately we were both too embarrassed to say anything else, so we got on with work.

That evening, Barry, an ex-colleague from Social Services, called me at home. "Hi, Frank. I saw your reference for this kid called Nina. It glows in the dark. I'm on the interview panel. You know I trust your opinion, but is she really that good?"

"She's better. She may not come across too strongly at the interview. She has confidence and self-worth issues. There have been problems at home, and you know how I can pick this stuff up. But the thing is, she's a complete natural with the kids. I've seen her with children of all ages and types, and she doesn't let anything faze her. She genuinely cares about them, Barry, and we need more people like that in the profession."

The following day I offered Nina some interview practice. I felt confident enough now to invite her back to my place; we were friends and I was helping her with her career, so it wasn't like I was some old pervert trying to trap her. I got us some beers and we went through a number of scenarios and questions, the sort of things I knew Barry and his colleagues would ask.

"Isn't this a bit like cheating?" she asked. "I mean, it's like you've given me the exam paper in advance."

"No, all I'm doing is giving you an idea of the things they'll be interested in. All the answers have been yours. I'm just making sure that when you get asked something, you know what they're looking for and that you just explain your thinking in your own words, but in a way that sells your skills and capabilities as well as possible. Everyone else coming to the interview will have the same opportunity, I'm sure." Actually, I guessed that few of the other candidates would have been through an interview process before, and I was trying to ensure Nina had the best start possible.

She seemed a bit nervous still, so I reassured her, we went over the main things she needed to bring out and I suggested she write up a checklist in her own words to make sure she didn't miss anything.

The following morning, as I was coming into work, I saw Nina in the perfume department on the ground floor of the store. She was looking at some Jo Malone products, and as I came up to her she was spraying her arm from one of the sample bottles.

"Hi, Nina. That smells nice."

"Oh, hi Frank. Yes, it's called 'Pomegranate Noir'. It's my favourite perfume. I can't afford it - it's way too expensive - but I try to sneak a free spray of it every time I come past the counter."

"It smells good, though it's a stupid name for a perfume."

"Why?"

"Well, they're mixing the English name for the fruit with the French name for a colour. I suppose if they called in 'Black Pomegranate,' it wouldn't be very attractive; it sounds all dried up and shrivelled. But the French word for pomegranate is 'grenade,' so if they called it 'Grenade Noir,' it would sound scary, which would be worse."

She laughed. "You should be in marketing, Frank. Maybe you could have found them a better name for it. Still, it smells nice, so I don't care what they call it."

Nina worked with me all morning and then went for her interview in the afternoon. I ended up with Amy, a sweet kid but not up to Nina's standards. I had to intervene a couple of times to bring a child under control when Amy hadn't a clue on how to deal with a tantrum or a sulk, and several times I had to prompt her to write down the names of the gifts that the child had asked for. It was a bit of an exhausting session, and Amy and I had none of the rapport I'd developed with Nina.

That evening, I got another call from Barry.

"That girl you recommended - Nina. She was a bit nervous at first, but she seemed as good as you said. Impressive."

"She is. She's a very good little worker and she's great with people - kids and adults."

"I'm pleased, but not surprised, to hear you say that. She seemed very enthusiastic about working with the children, and ambitious. She asked a lot about the training and career progression. We're going to offer her the job."

"That's great, and I'll act surprised when she tells me."

"Good. Talking of surprises, would you be interested in a job? There's a care home that's failed its last two inspections and needs turning around. The current manager just quit. The old Frank I used to know would be able to sort it in his sleep. Is he back yet, or does he need more time?"

I thought for a moment. "Is that a shoo-in or would I need to interview for it? I'm not sure that my record for the last year or two would be that impressive."

"Look, all of us here know what you can do. You've had a tough time, and you just needed a bit of space to get yourself back together. We know the last few years since you lost Celia have been hard on you, and if it were down to me, we would have kept you on. But now you've had a few months to reflect I'm sure you'll know if you're ready. And if you are, I have little doubt that you'd get the post, based on your record. To be honest, none of the other candidates who've applied come close to showing us that they can match what we all know you can do. So will you apply?"

"Let me sleep on it. I think I'm ready, but I wouldn't want to let anyone else down, least of all the kids. If the home has failed two inspections, they'll be pretty raw, and I only want to come in if I can make a positive difference."

The next morning, I met Nina going into the store. "Hi Nina, how did the interview go?" I said, trying not to betray that I knew the answer.

"Oh Frank, thanks for arranging it and helping me, but I'm not sure they liked me."

"What makes you say that?" I asked, surprised that Nina hadn't picked up on the positive impression she'd made.

"Oh, I don't know, they just seemed so serious. I used the notes you suggested, and I tried to answer as best as I could, but I'm not sure they were very happy when I asked about training and where I could go next after this job. I suppose they thought I was a bit too cocky."

"Nina, I can assure you that if it were me interviewing, I'd have been delighted if someone showed ambition. These jobs can too easily be taken up by people who just want to do something that's paid for a few months, and then move on to another job. What your employer will want is someone who's shown that they're interested in the longer term, who wants to stick with it, work hard and move up the ladder. I think you probably made a better impression than you think."

She looked at me, then said "You know, don't you? That Barry, him on the panel; I bet he phoned you last night." Perceptive girl - or I was rubbish at lying.

"Actually, he did, but mostly to talk about a possible job for me."

Nine looked at me shrewdly. "Well that's great Frank, and I really hope you get it, but you said 'mostly,' so I think he told you how the interview went."

"And if he did?" I said with a trace of a smile.

"And if he did, you'd better tell me how I got on or when we get to the grotto I'll beat you around the head with a light sabre!"

"All right, all right. I'm only an old man, you know. I can't be expected to remain calm in the face of threats of violence against my person." Her expression was one of suppressed excitement. "Yes, of course you got the job. Why on earth wouldn't you?"

She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me hard on the mouth. "Frank, you're brilliant - brilliant! Thank you. Thank you so much!"

"Nina, you got the job on your own merits, so you don't have anything to thank me for."

"You're joking, aren't you? You found me the advert, wrote my CV, my application letter and your reference, and showed me how to do the interview. No-one else has done that much for me. I'm so glad I met you."

"Likewise Nina. When I met you, I was a miserable old sod feeling sorry for myself. You've made me think about my life and want to pick up the pieces again. When I got up this morning, I called Barry and told him I was going to apply for the job. I think I'm ready."

"Oh Frank, I'm so pleased. Maybe we'll end up working together again," she said, with what sounded like real enthusiasm.

I then realised that it was nearly start time. "Well, we'd better think about working together now. We're on in ten minutes and we've both got to suit up."

***

The interview went well, I thought, and Barry called again to confirm that the job was mine if I wanted it. I knew it would be a challenge, but the idea of solving someone else's problems was a great distraction from just sitting and moping about my own. It was just a few days before Christmas, and I felt that I'd had my presents for this year.

I was so pleased that I'd got the job that I almost failed to notice how sad Nina looked that morning. After a bit of coaxing, she told me that Damien, her boyfriend, had dumped her. Then she burst into tears. I put my arms around her and let her cry on my Santa suit; it didn't feel any more inappropriate than hugging a frightened child. "The boy's a bloody idiot," I said. "If he's stupid enough to dump a girl like you, then good riddance to him. You're worth a lot more, and I know you'll find someone better soon."

She sniffled a little, I helped her dry her eyes, and then - trouper that she was - we got on with the show.

On Christmas Eve, Nina and I sold - or rather, promoted and encouraged the purchase of - a record-breaking amount of toys. When the grotto closed for the last time, the departmental manager came to see us and thanked us both. Amy said that the 'elves' were off to the pub and invited Nina and me to go along. We were both still suited up and needed to change, so Nina said we might join them later.

We got changed - getting the beard glue off was always a bit of a trial, and I packed up my suit, said goodbye and Happy Christmas to the department staff, and then Nina and I headed out together. We got to the pub, which was heaving and, through the window, we could see Craig holding court with the other girlies. Somehow, joining them didn't appeal.

"You know, I don't think I'll bother," I said to Nina.

"You know, neither will I," she replied.

"So what are you going to do with Christmas Eve? Go home and spend it with your family? Or has Damien seen sense and invited you to spend it with him?"

"You're joking! First of all, don't say that cheating little shit's name again or I'll scream. And as for my wonderful family, I'll have more than enough of them tomorrow. My stepdad is staying - he's not around too much - and we don't get on. He turns up when it suits him, and my mum just does whatever he wants, but he doesn't even pay his way. So I was going to see if any of my friends are around, get hammered and sleep on someone's floor tonight, then go home for lunch tomorrow and get out again as soon as I can."

"Well, as an alternative, I've got a bottle of decent champagne in the fridge that I'd bought for New Year, and Sainsbury's is still open, probably selling off all sorts of stuff at half price. If you can put up with my company for a bit longer, I can make us a proper festive meal - no turkey or sprouts, I promise - and you can sleep in my spare room rather than on someone's floor."

I realised that I must have sounded a bit pathetic, but to my delight, Nina said "I'd like that, Frank. Yes, I'd like that very much - as long as you don't want to watch repeats of Morecambe and Wise. Can you cook?"

"You watch me," I replied, suddenly feeling that life was getting better.

Sainsbury's had a lot of 'festive food' they were flogging off, and I rapidly filled a basket with stuff. I bought a pheasant, a good selection of mushrooms and some port. At home, I opened the champagne and Nina and I sipped it as I prepared the roast pheasant, roast potatoes and a rich mushroom and port sauce, with a smoked salmon starter.

Nina said she'd never had proper champagne before, but she seemed to enjoy it. She investigated my CD collection - "A bit 'old technology,' eh Frank?" - and it seemed we had a lot in common musically. She put on a Pearl Jam CD; not exactly festive, but to both our tastes.

After the pheasant and potatoes had gone into the oven, I topped up Nina's glass and then dashed upstairs to get a quick shower. I felt rather sticky and grubby after yet another day in the fat-suit, and there were still traces of beard-glue on my face. For some reason, I sprayed on a bit of cologne after the shower. I still don't know why I felt this was appropriate.

Back in the kitchen, I checked that the meal was progressing nicely and then I opened a nice red to have with the pheasant, to give it a chance to breathe. We took the rest of the champagne into the dining room and had the salmon. I then went and quickly steamed some asparagus and broccoli to go with the pheasant, and at the end of the main course she said "Wow, Frank, that was a lot better than anything I'll be eating tomorrow. Thank you. The music was better too. Tomorrow it'll be bloody Christmas greatest hits - George Michael. Slade and similar shit - and then Mrs Brown's Boys on the telly, or probably some crap my stepfather wants to watch. Honestly, Frank, it's going to be hell."

"You can always come back here. Tell your mum you're doing a good deed, keeping a sad old man company." I smiled, hoping that she saw that as humorous rather than accurate.

"Frank, I'd love to," she replied.

"But?"

"But nothing. If you'd be happy for me to come back, I'd much rather be here having intelligent conversation, listening to good music and probably eating decent food as well. And not getting groped by my stepfather..."

I sat up. "What? Has he - has he abused you?"

"He - he's tried it on a couple of times. I - I don't want to talk about it."

"That's terrible. Have you told anyone?"

"I once tried to tell my mum, but she just accused me of trying to lure him away from her. As if! He's a slimy sod and I wish he'd just leave my mum alone and piss off out of our lives."

I'd never seen her angry before, and what she'd said was shocking, especially to someone like me whose whole life was spent trying to save kids from abuse and neglect.

"I suppose you have to go home tomorrow? I mean, I don't want to spoil your mum's Christmas, but it sounds pretty hellish to me. I've got enough food in the house for two, though if you keep drinking like that, I may run out of wine." I smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"I need to go. My mum wants us all around the table at Christmas, even though the lunch will be inedible and my stepdad will be insufferable. I want to see the little ones open their presents, and - and I want to make sure he isn't going to interfere with them."

"Do you really think he would?" I asked, incredulous.

"I do worry. You see - No, I really don't want to talk about this." I looked at her, and she bit her lip. When she spoke again, it was softly, with a sad expression. "The first time he tried it on with me I was twelve." She let that comment hang in the air.

"If it would help, I know people who could investigate. We could see to it that he doesn't try anything with anyone ever again."

"Frank, thank you. I'll think about it. The only problem is that my mum thinks the sun shines out of his arse. She won't hear anything bad about him, and if we drive him out, she'll probably never forgive me."

"I fully understand. Do think about it. But for now, try to forget about your stepdad. I'll get the desserts."

We had the (bought) tiramisu, with some dessert wine that Sainsbury's had on offer, which was nice. I made us coffee, with which Nina had a Bailey's and I treated myself to a good single malt I'd been saving, and sat on the sofa listening to the first Soundgarden album. "Here, I got you a present," I said nonchalantly, handing her a rather inexpertly-wrapped package.

"A present! Oh, Frank, you've done so much for me. You helped me get that job, you've cooked me a great meal and now you've got me a present. I - I don't know what to say!"

"Nina, it's the least I can do. Working with you, being friends with you for the past month has helped me get my life back in perspective. I think you've done a lot more for me than you realise. Go on, open it. I think it's better than waiting until you're with your family, tomorrow."

She giggled, kissed me on the cheek, and carefully removed my rather ham-fisted wrapping. Underneath was a small carrier bag, with the words 'Jo Malone' on the side. Her eyes went wide. She opened the bag, which smelled of expensive cologne - they'd sprayed it when they wrapped it for me - and pulled out the small box inside.

"Frank! This is - it's bloody Pomegranate Noir! This is super-expensive. It's so, so kind of you. You really shouldn't have!" I noticed that her voice was a little louder than normal, and slightly slurred. Clearly, the champagne, the red wine, the dessert wine and the Baileys had had an effect.

She hugged me, and kissed me several times, at least once on the lips.

"But Frank, I - I never thought - I mean, I haven't got you anything."

"Nina, I wasn't expecting anything, and I don't need anything. It's just great to see you happy. That's all I need."

"Frank, I'd - I'd like to make you happy too."

"Nina, you do. Happier than you could ever know."

"But - but aren't you lonely, here on your own?"

"Well of course it's not like when Celia was alive, but - well I guess..."

"Frank. Frank, I - I just thought..."

"What, Nina?"

"I just wondered. When - when was the last time you had - you had a blow job?"

"A - what?"

"I mean, I guess since your wife died you - you probably haven't. Or maybe..."

I looked at her sweet, pixie face, framed with the strange goth hair. I leaned forward and kissed her.

"Nina, you're lovely. You're such a sweet kid. But I'm much older than you. You don't need to..."

"Frank, I want to. You've been so kind to me. I don't have any money, so I can't afford generous presents, but I've had quite a bit of practice giving blow jobs and I like doing them. And I'd like to do one for you. And - and I've never yet met a guy who didn't want one when I offered. So, do I get to give you your present? It's not exactly gift-wrapped, but I can unwrap a bit more - if you like?"

I thought about it for a moment. I'd bought the present for Nina because I genuinely liked her, and I wanted her to have nice things that she had her heart set on. I felt I would be such a pervert if I let this girl, who was younger than my daughter, suck my cock.

But then she stood up and took off her sweater. Underneath, she had on a plain white bra. And before I could speak, suddenly she didn't. Seeing her young breasts like that, full and firm, pointing straight at me, weakened my resolve. Her skin was pale, and she had a large tattoo around her shoulder, depicting what appeared to be a dragon. I noticed that she also had a piercing in her navel.

"Do you like the tattoo? I guess Lisbeth Salander is my heroine. I thought about having it done all down my back, but it would have cost too much, taken too long and probably hurt a lot more, too, so the artist advised me to have one on the shoulder."

I'd read Steig Larsson's books and seen the films, so I knew to whom she was referring. Somehow I couldn't see Nina as the spiky, uncompromising and damaged Lisbeth; she was altogether softer and more caring. Before I could muse any more on this, Nina was on her knees in front of me and unzipping my trousers.

"Nina, I'm not sure this is appropriate. Don't you think it's a bit pervy, with an old bloke like me getting a blow-job from a girl significantly less than half his age?"

She unfastened my belt and unbuttoned the waistband. "Not if the girl genuinely wants to suck his cock. I know it would please me, and I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy it. I am rather good at it, I'll have you know." She looked me in the eye. "Are you afraid that if I'm naughty, Santa won't leave me any presents?"

I smiled. "I guess not. Are you sure you want to do this? I don't feel you owe me anything."

"Frank, I'm not doing this because I owe you - though I do. I'm doing this because I like you, because I want to, and because I'm sure that, deep down, you want it too."

She pulled my pants down and freed my cock. Unsurprisingly I was already mostly hard, looking at this pretty young girl, half-naked in front of me, preparing to suck me.

"Oh, that's good. I was afraid you might be too big for me to do this properly, but you're just about an ideal size."

With that, she leaned forward and licked me from root to tip. About then I gave up any pretence of resistance and decided to let the inevitable happen. Since Celia died, I'd had one session with an escort. She'd been pretty and skilled, but it took all of those skills to get me to come; it just didn't feel right somehow, and that - and the cost - had stopped me from repeating the experience. I felt too old and unattractive - and let's face it, probably depressed - to go out looking for another woman. Dating after so long felt wrong and too scary.

But here I was with a young, willing woman offering to suck my cock - no, actually insisting on it. Celia had never been a great lover of blow-jobs and had largely done it half-heartedly, just to please me. Nina claimed that she enjoyed it. It would be interesting to compare the experience.

So Nina licked me up and down several more times, pulling my pants down a little more so she could get better access to my balls, licking around them - which felt fantastic. Then she slid her tongue wetly back to the tip and slipped her lips over and around it. I guess I moaned out loud. She lifted her mouth off me and smiled.

"Convinced now?"

"Oh yes - I give in. Rape me!" I smiled back.

"You don't seem to be struggling too hard. Perhaps you need a little more punishment first."

"Punishment? What do you - aaaaah...."

Her mouth slid back over the tip of my cock and proceeded to move lower, lower. Her tongue rubbed lightly but deliciously on the underside, and all I could feel was wet, warm softness. Celia often grazed my cock with her teeth, which detracted from the experience. Nina knew what she was doing, as it all felt fabulous.

She moved her head slowly up and down, each time taking a little more into her mouth. I felt the head of my cock brush, then press up against, the back of her throat. That was deeper than Celia had ever given me, and as Nina slowly pulled back, she sucked gently, giving me some amazing sensations.

She then started really working my cock, taking around half of it in her mouth, then sucking and pulling back, with increasing amounts of tongue-pressure, until I was almost writhing with pleasure. And then she sat back, took a few breaths, and looked up at me.

"Frank, I want you to put your hand on the back of my head and push me down. You need to help me if I'm to get you into my throat."

"Nina, I don't know about that. I don't want to hurt you or cause you any discomfort. You don't have to do this if..."

"Frank, stop arguing and help me to deep throat you, will you? You're just the right size and shape; the last guy I did this for was too big, but your cock is perfect, and I love to do this if I can."

She took my hand and placed it behind her head, took a deep breath and closed her mouth around my cock. Slowly, slowly, she slid down, down until my cock head again felt her throat, and then - making some rather strange noises - she started to push deeper. She didn't seem to approve of my hand resting lightly on the back of her head, so she raised her own hand to press on mine. Reluctantly I pushed - and felt my cock sliding into the tight tube of her throat.

As she pressed down harder, and my cock went even deeper, I felt sensations like I'd never felt before. It was quite simply amazing. Nina worked me back and forth in her throat, her tongue somehow stimulating the shaft of my cock, and I was in heaven. After what felt like at least a minute of this, she pulled back, slipped me out of her mouth and took a deep breath.

"How did that feel, Frank," she said, slightly hoarsely. There was a string of goo between my cock head and her lips.

"Absolutely fantastic, Nina! You weren't kidding when you said you were good at this."

I wasn't sure what she intended next, but she spat on my cock several times, then knelt up higher, took hold of her breasts and enveloped my wet cock between them.

I'd never had a 'tit-wank' before. Celia wasn't sufficiently endowed to do what Nina was now doing, so I enjoyed the unfamiliar and erotic sensations, even though my cock rather missed the wet tightness of her throat. Her firm, full breasts embraced my cock in a way that was unfamiliar but exciting, and she dipped her head to lick and suck my cock-head as it rose through the cleft between her tits. If I hadn't just experienced her amazing deep-throat skills, this would have been pretty sexy in itself, her cute little pixie face smiling up at me each time she rose up to slide me down that soft valley, then dipping again to suck the head of my cock.

But must have seen something in my eyes and stopped. "What's up, Frank?"

"I - I just feel this is wrong. I've spent most of my career dealing with vulnerable kids who've been prematurely sexualised by nasty old men. Having a lovely young girl do - do this to me makes me feel as if I'm being, I don't know - abusive."

"Frank, sweetie, you couldn't be abusive if you tried. You've been so kind and generous to me, and I just want to make you happy in return, in a way that we both enjoy." She saw the look of puzzlement on my face. "Honest, Frank, I do love sucking cock, giving deep throat, swallowing cum. Yes, I know it sounds weird. You're thinking 'how can she enjoy having a cock shoved down her throat,' but Frank, sweetie, I do. It's not the physical bit I like as such, but the feeling of power and achievement when a guy comes for me. Sometimes - sometimes a guy is too big, or he's not clean, or he's forcing me to do it, and that's not so good. But times like now, when it's for someone who's kind, who's shown they care about me, who's clean and not too big - really, Frank, it's what I want. Please let me do this for you now."

As hard as I found it to believe what she was saying, I'm embarrassed to say that I wanted to believe her because I was getting pretty desperate to come. All of my senses, my training as a social worker, told me that having my cock sucked by a girl younger than my daughter was wrong - but I couldn't help wanting it.

I think she sensed this because she smiled at me. My cock was still nestling between her full, silky young breasts, which was sexy enough in itself, but when she changed position, smiled at me and proceeded to lick from behind my balls to the tip of my cock, I gave up all semblance of resistance.

"Frank, I'm going to suck you deep. Once you're in my throat, I'm going to give you the best fucking blowjob you've ever had. When you're ready, go ahead and fuck my throat. Push as hard and as deep as you like, use my throat like it's a pussy. And when you're ready, come wherever you want to. You can do it deep in my throat, you can pull back and fill my mouth with cum - I genuinely like the taste - or you can cover my face or my tits. It's up to you. As they say, Father Christmas only comes once a year, and I want your come to be the best."

And before I had a chance to respond, down she went. Or rather, down I went, my cock sliding deeper and deeper into her mouth, as her lips and tongue played exquisite games with all the sensitive bits, easing me further and further back, finally into her tight, gooey throat. As her nose touched my pubes, her clever little tongue came out and licked my balls, and I almost came there and then. But then she reversed the journey, her tongue swirling and stroking, her lips providing just the right amount of suction. As the head of my cock popped out of my mouth, I heard her laugh softly.

"Good, Frank?" she asked with a smile, before rubbing my cock against her outstretched tongue.

"Oh God, yes, Nina," I gasped.

"Great. Now Frank, please stand up. That's right." She tugged my trousers further down my legs, kneeling up so her face was at groin level. She took hold of my cock and gently worked it up and down with both hands. Then she looked up at me.

"Now, please fuck my throat and give me your creamy cum, there's a good Santa. I'd like my present, pretty please. I promise I've been good, but right now I promise to be very, very naughty. Is that what you want, Santa - or would you prefer a glass of sherry and a mince pie?"

Then she winked, closed her eyes and opened her mouth wide. She rested the head of my cock on her tongue, and made some 'Ah! Ah!' noises. What could I do? I pushed. Slowly my cock slid along the surface of her tongue, deeper, deeper. I felt her throat close around it. As I paused, still reluctant to use her as she had asked, she again placed my hand on the back of her neck, and then put her own hands on my bum - and pulled.

That was when I finally let go of all inhibitions. I closed my eyes and pushed, and again felt the delicious, tight wetness of Nina's throat. And between us, we established a rhythm, and what started slow and gentle became more urgent, the strokes became longer, the noises she made more guttural and deeply, filthily sexual.

I opened my eyes and watched, almost as if it was in some very nasty porn movie, the way my cock slid almost out of her mouth, and then back in, to the hilt, her nose buried in my pubes, my cock buried in her tight throat. And I found myself fucking her mouth, her throat, as if it were her pussy, just as she'd asked. For a moment, I wondered what her pussy would feel like; was it as tight and juicy as this? Then she did something with her tongue again and I thought that it could never feel this good. Or this naughty. Or this - or this....

The last time I'd had sex with a woman, I'd worn a condom; she was an escort, so I had to. I still vaguely remembered the experience of coming inside Celia's wet pussy, in the days when we still enjoyed sex, maybe a year before she died. But this - this was without doubt better than the best orgasm I'd ever had, deep inside Celia's wet vagina, multiplied by a factor of ten. They say that women can have whole-body orgasms, but I'd never heard of men having them - until that moment, when it seemed every part of me came at the same time. It was almost as if my cock was suddenly plugged into some erotic mains electricity, which flooded my body and made almost everything tingle and burst with erotic sensations.

I was aware I was spurting semen into Nina's mouth and throat as I completed one more cycle of withdrawal and thrust. I was also aware that I was probably moaning like some wounded animal. I looked down to see Nina looking straight up at me, my cock still buried deep in her mouth, a naughty twinkle in her eyes. I at once felt a mixture of deep sexual satisfaction, elation - and shame at what I'd done to this lovely young girl.

I felt a little unsteady on my feet, as the powerful sensations slowly subsided. I was aware that I was still cupping the back of Nina's head in my hand, and another pang of guilt hit me as I realised that I'd pulled her head down onto my cock; that I had really used her throat like a pussy, fucked it - perhaps raped it. I softened my grip and stroked her hair as if to make amends for my brutal treatment of this sweet girl.

But as my cock slid out of her mouth, she caught it in her hand and then licked it up and down. The sensations were almost unbearable, as my super-sensitised cock got even more of Nina's sexy treatment.

"I think you liked that, Frank," she said with a smile. "And I don't know what's in your diet, but your cum's really tasty." She stuck out her tongue and I saw a little puddle of pale-cream fluid. She then closed her mouth and swallowed it. "Thanks for the yummy present, Santa," she said with a little giggle.

I bent forward, put my hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet, then leaned in to kiss her. There was a faint taste of my semen on her lips.

"Thank you, Nina. Thank you so much. You've made an old man very happy - and rather guilty."

Suddenly, I realised I was crying. I couldn't say why, but what Nina had done for me, her kindness, the way she'd spontaneously used her youth and her sexiness to give me an experience I'd never had before, and was unlikely to ever have again - that generosity, that empathy with a lonely old man moved me immensely.

"Hey Frank, it's OK! Please don't cry." Her sweet face looked concerned.

I hugged her. I kissed her passionately and held her close. I thought at first she was a little bit stiff, as if deep-throating me was OK but sharing any real affection was off limits - but then she softened.

After we broke the kiss, I said "Nina, that was probably the most sublime sexual experience of my life. Thank you so much. Can I please return the compliment? Would you sleep with me tonight?"

"I - I - I don't think so, thanks, Frank." It wasn't the reply I'd been expecting, the one I'd hoped for.

"Why not, Nina? I'd love to make you come. I'm sure you'd enjoy it."

"Frank, it's just that...."

"Yes?"

"I - I don't sleep with guys," she said, as if it was the final word.

"So do you sleep with girls?" I asked. I couldn't imagine that a girl who was so practised at deep-throat could be a lesbian.

"Well, sometimes. Only - only..." Her voice lowered. "I'm a virgin, and - and I want to stay that way - at least for now."

I hugged her again. "Nina, baby, that's - that's fine. Surprising, considering what I could best describe as a porn-star performance with your mouth, but that's OK. But - I don't have to put my cock inside you if you don't want. I must owe you at least an hour of pussy-licking. Do you enjoy that?"

She nodded but didn't say anything.

"And you said you were going to sleep here tonight, so it would be my privilege to have you fall asleep alongside me - in my arms, if you wanted, but close to me, That is, if you can stand an old guy's attentions any more. I'll try not to fart too much!"

Then it was her who was hugging me. "Frank, I've loved the way you've looked after me, looked out for me, taken me under your wing. You did it all without leering at me or trying to feel me up, and a lot of guys - a lot of guys try that. Maybe I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I'd like a big glass of water, followed by a nice cup of tea. And yes, Frank, I trust you, so I will sleep with you, and maybe we can have some more fun. But Frank, as much as I like you, you're not to try to take my cherry - understood?"

"Of course, sweetie. If you want to take your bag up to the main bedroom, the first one on the right at the top of the stairs, there's an en-suite bathroom you can use to clean up. I'll bring us some refreshments."

I pulled my trousers and pants back up, cleared away the last remains of our meal and drinks, put the kettle on and the CD player off. I finished loading the dishwasher and switched it on, made a pot of tea and set a tray, and maybe fifteen minutes later I was heading upstairs, feeling as excited as a teenage boy.

Nina was in bed, her hair still damp from the shower, wearing a baggy t-shirt and looking at her phone. I gave her an inquisitive look. "Craig wanted to know what had happened to us. As if he cared - and wouldn't he be surprised if he knew? And fuckwit Damien wished me a happy Christmas, possibly from between the thighs of some girl he'd picked up. Oh, and Mum wanted to know where I was, so I told her I was safe." She looked at me and smiled. "Actually, I told her I was 'very safe'. That's certainly how I feel."

I set the tray down, then sat beside her on the bed and hugged her. This time, she melted into my arms.

"You know, Frank, I was trying to remember the last time a guy hugged me like you do. I can't remember anyone doing that since my Dad, when I was about nine. When you first did it, I was so unused to it that I couldn't believe it was happening. It - it makes me feel safe, Frank. It makes me feel that someone cares, someone who isn't after me just for sex."

We looked into one another's eyes, and I could see that hint of vulnerability there, behind the spiky exterior, that had initially drawn me to Nina. I couldn't bear to think of anyone hurting her; it seemed to me that she'd already been hurt enough.

"Can I offer you something else - something that isn't about sex? How about a nice cup of tea?"

Well Here It Is, Merry Christmas, Everybody's Having Fun

We sat, side by side in bed, sipping our tea like some old married couple. "Nice tea, Frank," she said. "Nice house, too. Lovely comfortable bed." I thought how surreal it was, with us sitting here, convivially, making polite conversation like this when, barely half an hour earlier I'd been energetically throat-fucking her.

When she'd finished, I took her cup and set it, with mine, on the bedside.

"Nina, it's after midnight, Christmas Day. Happy Christmas." I put my arms around her and kissed her. She responded, lazily, affectionately. When we stopped kissing, she smiled into my face. "This is so nice, Frank. Thank you."

"My very great pleasure, Nina. And if you're not too tired, I'd like to give you another present."

"Another one? On Frank, you really shouldn't."

"I think you'll like this one. I'd like to make love to you."

A look of surprise and sadness came over her face. "Frank, sorry, but I told you I..."

"Nina, I said 'make love to you,' not 'fuck you'. I'll leave your hymen intact if that's what you want, but I promise I'll make you come. Whether I can do it as strongly as you did for me I can't guarantee, but I'll give it my best shot. What do you say?"

"Oh Frank, that would be - that would be wonderful. Will you - I mean you wouldn't - you wouldn't want to - to try to - to stick it up my - up my bum, would you?" Her face looked worried.

The look of surprise on my face must have answered her question, but I smiled and said "No, Nina. I'd only do that if you asked me to do it. No, sweetie, my cock has been well satisfied tonight, and having spent a lot of time in your sexy mouth, it doesn't need to go anywhere else in your body. No, I want to use my mouth and my fingers just to make you feel good. Is that a strange concept?"

"Well, I guess not, but - well it doesn't happen to me very often, that's all."

"Do you like it?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, of course."

"Then what's wrong with the guys you know? Do they really get the sort of blowjobs you just gave me and then they don't respond in kind?" I stroked her hair. She looked a bit embarrassed.

"Well, it's like - like, take Damien for example. He said he loved me, and he kept wanting to - to fuck me. I kept telling him I was saving my cherry until I was ready, and he said that meant I didn't love him back. So I kept showing him how much I loved him - or thought I did - by sucking him off. Then last week he dumped me. Look." She fiddled with her phone and then passed it to me. There was a picture of a tattooed male body, straddled by a naked, skinny girl. It looked like he was fucking her. The message read 'U R DUMPED COZ U R FAT + U R FRIJID."

"Well, that's not very nice, but what do you expect from someone who is functionally illiterate, clearly intellectually challenged, has no taste and very poor eyesight?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. She was clearly still upset by the message, but for some reason had kept it.

"Well, apart from the fact that he thinks 'frigid' has a 'j' in it, it's patently obvious you're not fat and from the way you behaved downstairs, you're about the least frigid girl I ever met. You're much better off without an idiot loser like Damien."

"But - but I am fat!" She protested. "That girl in the picture is way skinnier than me!"

"And? Just because there are skinny girls out there, it doesn't make you fat."

"But..." She looked down at her phone, at the picture of the skinny girl. She was suddenly sad.

I took the phone off her and dropped it on my bedside table. Then I took her face in my hands and turned her so that she was looking straight at me. I was struck by how pretty her eyes were. "Look, Nina. When I was running a kids' home a few years ago, there were a couple of young teenagers who were anorexic. They were beautiful - they had great skin, lovely hair and fit, slim young bodies, but someone - so-called friends or boyfriends, the media, who knows - had convinced them they were fat. We tried and tried to persuade them otherwise. One of them nearly died of malnutrition, and we had to rush her to hospital for emergency feeding. So one day, I ordered a life-sized poster of Kate Moss, hung it in my office, and I got both girls to come in in their bikinis; I made sure I had a female member of staff there to show that there was nothing untoward going on. Anyway, I got them both to stand next to the poster and we took some pictures. We measured Kate's statistics on the poster, and then the equivalent measurements on the girls. I showed them both that they were skinnier than the world's most famous supermodel and that they didn't have to go any farther. I told them that if they started to eat healthily, I'd keep up the regime of measuring them each week and showing them how beautiful they were. I even asked a photographer friend to come in and do a photo-shoot of each of them, as if they were professional models. Suddenly, they both had self-esteem, and they started to take care of themselves. It worked."

"But I'm not as skinny as Kate Moss," Nina protested. "Wish I was..."

"No, Nina, please don't. I've always liked slim girls and women. My wife was slim and so were my girlfriends before her. You're slim too. I think you're beautiful, Nina. So will you take that awful baggy t-shirt off and let me do nice things - and, I hope, naughty things - to your delectable little body?"

"Can we - can we turn the light off?" she asked, nervously.

"No, Nina, we can't. I'm going to make love to you. I'm going to make you feel as fantastic as my bedroom skills can achieve, and I want to admire your loveliness while I do it. Come on, take the t-shirt off."

With an embarrassed little shrug, she shuffled so that the t-shirt slid from under her bottom, and pulled it, rather self-consciously, over her head.

"Wow, Nina, you are gorgeous!" I said, partly to make her feel more confident and relaxed, but mostly because I meant it. "Your skin is luminous. It's so smooth and perfect. You already know how fabulous your breasts are. And if you were really fat you'd have a bulging tummy. Yours is flat, with a wonderfully narrow waist. You have a fabulous figure, Nina. That Damien must be a total fuckwit to think otherwise."

"Yeah, but you haven't seen my saddlebag thighs and flabby arse yet," she replied, with a sullen expression.

"Sad as this may sound, I have seen your thighs and arse, Nina, in the leggings of that elf costume you've been wearing for most of the last month. The word 'flabby' is not one that came to mind. In fact, several quite inappropriate words came to mind while I was being Santa; certainly inappropriate for a guy dressed as Santa and almost old enough to be your grandad."

She smiled. "So you really are a dirty old man, after all, Frank!"

"If you say so, Nina. But I know from personal experience that you're a naughty girl, so maybe it's time for you to get your knickers off and present your peachy bum for a bit of smacking - or maybe something a little gentler."

Reluctantly, it seemed, she knelt up. "Nina, honestly! Those are like Bridget Jones's big knickers. You need something a bit sexier than that. How about something, er, flesh-coloured?"

She gave me a puzzled look. "What..?"

"I mean, Nina, get your knickers off, there's a naughty girl!"

She smiled, pulled them off and then sat back against the pillow. I looked at her and my cock stood right up to attention again. I took in the fabulous pale, silky skin, the large but firm young breasts, the narrow waist with the saucy little navel-piercing, the soft flare of her hips and the sparse black pubic hair covering that lovely cleft between her smooth thighs, and I was in love - or definitely in lust.

"Wow, you are so sexy, so beautiful, Nina," I breathed.

"You really know how to talk bollocks, Frank," she said with a shy smile.

"It's not my bollocks that you're making stand to attention, though it is something quite close to them," I replied. I took her hand and placed it on my cock. "See, this doesn't lie. You're one hot, gorgeous babe, Nina."

She blushed. That's not something you see very often these days, but she did. And then she started to stroke my cock, and I thought 'No, this is going the wrong way'.

"No, sweetie, you've given my cock its special present tonight. It's time for yours. Let's start with you, face down, so I can give you a back massage."

So she turned over and stretched out, face down on the pillow. I'm not sure whether the fact that I'd got a hard-on from just looking at her had made her less shy, but she didn't seem to mind lying naked and showing off what she'd previously referred to as her 'saggy' arse and thighs. They were, of course, nothing of the sort. Sure, they were fuller and more rounded than most teenage girls have, but they were firm and smooth, with no sag and no cellulite. I thought they were gorgeous.

I started by stroking her hair, then lightly massaging her shoulders and back. I licked and sucked her earlobes, licked the back of her neck, then traced a trail down her spine and behind her arms. I gently stroked her bum, ran my fingers up and down her thighs, licked the backs of her knees and ran my tongue up the insides of her thighs. Once or twice she complained I was tickling, but when I increased the pressure, she relaxed. Finally, I slid my tongue up her thigh, between her arse cheeks and teased her tight ring with the tip of my tongue. She squealed and twisted her body away.

"Oh, that was naughty, Frank! And it tickled."

"Hasn't anyone licked your bum before?" I asked.

"No. I'm - I'm not sure about it," she said in a hesitant voice.

"That's OK. Turn over and we'll see what I can for the front of your body."

She duly did, and I started by kissing her mouth. We spent some time on that, as she clearly relished being kissed, so I used my hands to stroke all over her skin. By the time I'd reached her breasts, she seemed to be kissing me quite passionately. I lightly stroked over the soft skin, pressing gently on the firm globes, palming the nipples and rubbing around, now softer, now with a firmer touch.

"Pinch them, Frank. I like that."

So I did, pressing and tugging at them, then bending my head to suckle and nibble at the long, pink and increasingly hard flesh. I moved a hand down, across her flat, smooth tummy, tugging briefly at the navel piercing before slowly circling southward. Brushing her hipbones, slithering up her thighs, and finally, tantalisingly, cupping that furry little mound.

From what I'd heard, most girls these days shave or wax. Celia always felt she was too old for it, and unlike most girls her age, Nina seemed to be happy to remain a little hairy. It didn't worry me; I've always thought of pubic hair as nature's dental floss, and anyway, it wasn't like she'd stuck an afro wig there - the hairs were quite sparse.

Anyway, I stroked around the outer lips, lightly caressing the outside of her pussy. Her inner lips were quite fleshy, and I was making careful contact with them as I explored. I teased her legs wider apart with my hands, slowly inching an inquisitive finger between the plump outer lips. I had hoped to find the little valley moist, promising further precipitation. To my delight, it was flooded.

I felt this called for a little liquid refreshment on my part, so I shimmied down the bed, leaving a wet trail as my mouth left her hard nipple, teased her navel and started to add my own liquid to what was already in her slit. I shuffled around until I was kneeling between her legs, in the perfect position to taste her. My hands pushed her knees wider apart.

"Don't - don't, Frank. It's - it's not very pretty down there."

Sure, I'd seen more elegant, demure pussies in my time - mostly in pictures or porn movies, I have to say. It looks sweet when the inner lips are tiny, enclosed by the outer ones, the skin hairless, smooth and almost adolescent-looking. That was not how Nina looked. The inner lips were fleshy, crinkled, dark pink - and fascinating. Her clit seemed quite large. As I said, there was a frame of dark hair around it. The effect was earthy, enticing and darkly sexual.

"It looks pretty gorgeous from where I am, Nina," I said. I dipped my head and licked across the opening to her vagina, making her cry out. "Tastes pretty good, too. I suggest you stop worrying that you might not pass some strange beauty contest and instead relax and enjoy being a very hot, very sexy young woman with an intriguing pussy that's going to get eaten until you scream." I dipped in again, softly nibbling my way along one side of her inner lips, and felt her legs fall wider apart as she seemed to thrust her pussy into my mouth. I lifted my head again. "Of course, I can't promise you a relaxing time. I'll keep trying things until you scream at least once." Another lick and nibble around this fascinating terrain, another little yelp from Nina. "Thanks, Nina. A little verbal guidance is always useful. I think I know the difference between a good scream and a bad one, but feel free to grab my hair and redirect my mouth if you want anything different. And I don't intend to stop until you repeatedly beg me, so hold on - it's going to be quite a ride."

And it was. I don't think I've ever enjoyed eating pussy as much in my life. My usual trick of teasing a girl's g-spot was not available to me, as Nina wanted me to keep her hymen intact. When I gently probed to see how far my fingers would go before meeting resistance, she gasped "No Frank! Please, you promised!" Instead, I tongue-fucked her. I traced every crinkly contour of those inner lips, every now and then moving to the outer surfaces to slow the sensations. It was probably ten minutes before I first brushed her clit. I circled it, worked my tongue behind it, explored the space between her clit and those fleshy inner lips. Finally, I used the fingers of one hand to pull the hood back, encircling the little rosebud in my lips and giving her the gentlest of blowjobs.

The moan that escaped her lips was enough to tell me I'd hit paydirt, as our American cousins might say. This was reinforced by the way both her hands fastened on the back of my head while she arched her back to try to drive the sweet little button deeper into my mouth. I steadfastly refused to be driven, keeping my caresses soft and oblique while she made little keening noises in her throat, her body writhing, seeking release.

"Oh God, Frank. Lick it, suck it - please make me come. Please!"

Bastard that I am, I ignored her. Despite her hands on my head, I eased back a little and went for another tour of her inner lips. I lapped at the overflowing well of her vagina, as she gasped and squealed. Then slowly, oh so slowly, I inched my tongue forward, as a finger from my free hand took over stimulating the entrance to her vagina, bathing in its juices, swirling back towards her perineum.

The flat of my tongue met her clit, stripped of its hood, and she cried out. She cried out again, even louder, as my wetted finger teased her puckered arsehole, and then slowly invaded it.

"Frank! Frank! I... OOOH"

The best way to determine whether a woman is coming is to have a finger up her arse at the time. She can't fake an orgasm that way; if she's coming, you can feel her arsehole going into spasm. Nina's arse was milking my finger as my tongue worked her clit like a mini cock. I sucked it, I buzzed the top with my tongue, and she came and came and came.

When she stopped thrashing, moaning and writhing, I backed off a little. My tongue went back to her vagina, but my finger stayed up her arse. Slowly my tongue worked its way around, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

"Oh! Oh my God, Frank. That was - that was - amaaaaaazing!" she sighed. "I've never felt anything - anything, like - like that! Please - please stop now, there's a - OH! I mean, please, please, AAAH! No, I can't! No Frank, not - not - agaaiiiiiiiiiiii.... AAAAAAAAAH!"

The jolts inside her arse were even stronger, and this time I was a little more forceful, sliding my finger in and out in a slow fucking motion as my tongue and lips again imprisoned her clit and made her buck and squeal.

After the fourth successive orgasm, she was begging me to stop. "Frank, please, please stop! Oh God, Frank, I - I really can't take any more! It's all too - too - oh fuck! Oh! Oh! Ohfuckohfuckohfuck! FUCK! FUCK!! FUUUUUUCK!!"

I think she passed out for a few moments. I carefully removed my finger from the clutches of her tight little bum-hole and shimmied up the bed. Her eyelids were flickering.

"Frank - you - you're a bastard. You know that? A fantastic, sexy bastard. You've made me come - how many times?"

"Five, I believe," I said, smiling gently at her.

"No-one - no-one's ever done that. Most guys - most of them, they can't manage one. Oh God, Frank, you are the best!"

She suddenly rolled over on top of me, her smooth thighs straddling me, and kissed me as if she were trying to eat my face. Her lovely tits were squashed against my chest, and I could feel the cleft of her wet pussy straddling my still-hard cock. If only - if only she didn't want to stay a virgin, I could have fucked her beautifully right then. We'd both have loved it. But I had a promise to keep.

Her kisses finally spent, she snuggled her head down into my shoulder, and I held her close in my arms. A few minutes later, I realised she was asleep. In a way, I was disappointed; my swollen cock wanted release. But in another, this felt perfect. It was like the child that had climbed into my lap; Nina felt safe and happy right where she was, and I was happy that she was happy.

***

She was still asleep when I brought her tea in bed. Her face in repose was really pretty. I'd often thought, since I'd known her, that she was a beautiful girl, trying to be spiky, quirky - even ugly. Whether this was a disguise, a rebellion or some sort of penance, I had no idea. I was just glad that I'd seen the lovely, caring side of Nina, and not the more-prickly Goth façade.

She opened her eyes and smiled at me. "Morning, Frank. Is this the butler service?"

"Morning, Nina, and Happy Christmas. This was meant to be tea in bed for a special young lady, but as she's turned into a cheeky little minx, I don't know that she deserves it." We were smiling at each other.

"Oh, that's harsh! Especially as I was about to offer to suck your cock again."

"Would that be before or after breakfast?"

"Before. If I'm sober, it's much better on an empty stomach. If I'm a bit pissed, it doesn't seem to matter. I suppose it must be easier to relax my throat after a few drinks. But I definitely need that tea."

She was still naked from last night. I'd put the central heating on again, so the room was warm, and she sat there, sipping her tea while I admired her plump breasts again. Then she put down her cup, leaned over and opened my robe.

"Nice Yule log, Frank. You could have decorated it with a bit of tinsel. Seems I'll have to help you make some artificial snow." Without another word, she lowered her mouth over my cock and bobbed her head up and down, gradually taking me deeper until I was in her throat again. I reached out and played with her nipples until they were hard, by which time I was on the verge of coming. Then she slid her tongue out and licked my balls with the head of my cock as far down her throat as it would go, and I came. I couldn't stop - the sensations were powerful, fierce, deeply erotic.

"Mmmm, nice brandy sauce," she said, sitting up, little flecks of semen on her lips. "And what you were doing on my nipples felt good. Want to do some more?"

We kissed softly, then passionately, then hungrily. My hands were on her fabulous tits, pressing, palming, sometimes pinching the nipples. Then my hand was in her pussy. This was, like my blow job, urgent and needy rather than slow and erotic. My fingers traced the outline of her pussy lips, the entrance of her vagina, her puckered anus, with just the smallest excursion to her thighs or even her outer lips. This was meant to be a fast track to orgasm.

When her eyelids began to flicker, her mouth adopted a sexy, soft pout, and her breathing started to become more laboured, I took that as my signal to go south. I threw the sheets back, slid her down the bed so she was lying back rather than sitting up and got my mouth onto her clit. As I worked a wet finger into her tight arse, my sucking and licking brought her to an abrupt, sharp climax. I refused to let go until a second, longer one followed, by which time I was finger-fucking her arse with some gusto and my tongue must have resembled that of a hummingbird drinking nectar.

I felt her grab my hair - not that there's all that much of it - and pull my head up.

"Enough, Frank - please! Save some for later if you like, but I need you to stop right now. And unless you like the taste of pee, can I please use your bathroom - like, now?"

Nina declined the full English breakfast. "Mum's lunch will be too big and too heavy, but I've got to show willing. And are you sure you don't mind me coming back this afternoon?"

"Nina, sweetie, I'm looking forward to it. There's no-one I'd rather spend Christmas with; not even my daughter."

I felt sure that she was about to say something like 'Bet she doesn't give you blowjobs like I do,' but thought it would be a bit tasteless - which it would've been.

"So how are you getting home?" I was a bit worried.

"Oh, I'll get a minicab or use the Tube," she replied.

"Nina, minicabs will be very expensive today, and I'm always worried about single women in them. I don't think they're safe. And if the Tube is running at all today, it'll be a skeleton service. Come on, I'll drive you."

"I don't want to be any trouble, Frank, really," she replied.

"Well, I don't know whether two blow-jobs that wouldn't shame a porn star could be called 'trouble,' but I think I've been so well rewarded already that a little bit of driving won't hurt.

Her mum's place turned out to be a rather run-down council house on a slightly dodgy estate, nearly ten miles from my place. If she'd tried to go by Tube, even if it was running, it would have meant at least two changes and would have taken all day.

"Now remember, when you're ready to come back, call me. It'll take me about twenty minutes to get over here, so give me a bit of warning if you can. I'll lay off the booze until we're back at mine."

"Oh Frank, I don't know how to thank you enough," she said. And kissed me.

"You already have. Twice, you naughty girl. Now, go and cheer up your mum and family. And don't let that stepdad of yours cause any trouble."

I went home and cooked myself the Christmas lunch for one I'd been planning; a large turkey drumstick, some bacon, roasties and sprouts - of course. There was a small glass of the red left over from the night before, so I sipped that and watched some stuff on iPlayer.

Just before two, the phone rang. "Frank, it's - it's Nina. Can you come round right now please - as soon as possible? And - and can I please stay for a few days? It's all kicked off here and I need to get away for a bit."

I jumped in the car and broke every speed limit on the way to Nina's. As I pulled into her street, I saw her, dragging a suitcase and being hassled by a guy who I guessed was her stepfather. He kept grabbing at her, trying to drag her back. As I pulled up on the other side of the road, she said something to him and he immediately slapped her face. I jumped out of the car and hurried up to them.

"Is this man bothering you, miss?" I asked. I didn't immediately want to reveal that we knew each other.

"I'm her stepfather, so fuck off and mind your own business," he slurred at me, belligerently.

"Really? Well, she doesn't seem to be appreciating your fatherly love right now, sir, so let's see what she has to say."

Nina's face was red where the blow had struck her, and there were tear-streaks down her face.

"He's a pervert! He's been groping me, and now he's started on Gemma and little Lily." Nina looked incandescent with rage. I'd never seen her so angry. "For fuck's sake, you perv, she's only seven!"

"You lying little fucking bitch," he growled and raised his hand as if to hit her again, but I stepped between them and grabbed his arm.

"Fuck off, you twat, and mind your own fucking business" he spat at me.

"Actually, it is my business. The girl's alleging sexual abuse, and I've witnessed physical assault, so I'd watch your step, my friend, if you want to avoid a visit from the Police. I believe that paedophiles rank slightly lower than grasses in prison, so if what your stepdaughter says is true, you'd have a bleak future if you ended up there. I suggest you go home now and calm down."

"Cunt!" he yelled and tried to throw a punch at me with the other hand. The thing about social work is that you meet some pretty unsavoury people in some very dodgy places, so you get taught a few self-defence tricks. I simply took the arm I already had in my grip and whipped it behind his back. This threw him off balance, so the punch missed and he fell forwards, onto the top of a low concrete wall. I pulled his arm up high behind his back and pressed my weight on him to pin him down.

"Miss," I called to Nina over my shoulder, "Put your case in the boot of my car and get in. I'll give you a lift to wherever you need to go. As for you, mister..." I leaned in close and growled in his ear, "Your card's been marked. Watch your step - 'cunt' - or you'll be in all sorts of shit. And if you really are abusing a seven-year-old, God help you, 'cos I know a lot of people who would love to take perverted shits like you to pieces. Now fuck off home and behave yourself."

I jerked up hard on his arm, making him cry out, then stepped away and returned to my car. Nina was in the passenger seat. Her stepfather was staring at us, clearly winded, and gave me a look of pure hatred - and the infamous one-finger salute - as we drove away.

"Nina, how are you?"

"I'm - I'm all right, thanks, Frank. Thank you for that. I just couldn't stay there any longer. I challenged him in front of my mum when he tried to grope me under the table, but she just accused me of flirting with the arsehole. I'm worried for Gemma and Lily - if I'm not there, I don't know what he'll do."

"I'll make some phone calls, and he'll get a visit from the appropriate people. But not today. I've given him a pretty clear warning, and I think he's too worried and bruised to try anything else for a while. What's more, I think your mum, your sisters and you have gone through enough. They say Christmas is a very stressful time, but it's not often like this. Let's go back to my place, so I can pour some alcohol down your neck and get you a bit more relaxed. Who knows..." I grinned at her and winked "I might even have my wicked way with you."

She smiled, but she still looked a bit sad. "Why did you pretend we didn't know each other back there?"

"Usually the less that filth like your stepfather know, the better. As far as he was concerned, I was just a stranger, coming to the rescue of a girl he saw being slapped in the street. Which reminds me; are you OK? Did he hurt you?"

"No. It stung a lot, but it's OK now."

She was quiet for most of the drive to my place. When we got in, I tried to cheer her up a bit.

"Right, I've got quite a bit to eat. You'll be disappointed to hear that I've finished all the sprouts, but I have some ham, cheese, pickles, salad..."

"Frank..."

"... as well as some mince pies and leftover Christmas pud, plus chocolates and..."

"Frank - just - just shut the fuck up and hold me - please."

She looked so vulnerable, I couldn't help taking her in my arms and hugging her tight. I was aware she was sobbing.

"It's OK now, baby. He can't touch you here, and I'm pretty sure that after the warning I gave him, he'll steer clear of your sisters, at least in the short term."

"My mum - she said she hated me..." she sniffled.

"I'm sure she doesn't. We need to get the boys in blue around there to feel his collar, as they used to say on the old TV soaps. That assumes that he stays long enough for that to happen. But for now, just try to relax. I'll get you a drink. What would you like?"

"Do you have any vodka?" she asked.

"Sure. Do you want it neat or with something?"

"Do you have any Red Bull?"

"Not really my tipple. I have tonic, orange juice, coke or ginger beer. It's nice with ginger beer - it's called a Moscow Mule..."

"Coke, please. Diet if you've got it."

I got her vodka and Diet Coke, poured myself a beer, put out some nuts and crisps and we sat on the sofa to watch a film on TV. I had my arm around her, and she was snuggled into my shoulder, when the doorbell rang. It was the police.

"Good afternoon, sir. We've had reports of you driving off with a young woman in your car, earlier today. We've been asked to check that she's safe."

So, the arsehole had got his retaliation in first. He must have given the police my registration. I smiled.

"Come in gentleman. Shame you're on duty at Christmas. Can I offer you a tea or coffee? Nina's in the lounge, watching a movie, recovering from the physical assault she received at the hands of her stepfather, who I'm guessing made the allegation. Have a chat with her to reassure yourselves, while I go and get something."

Nina was telling them what happened and assuring them everything was now OK when I returned to the lounge.

"Right, officers. Here's my business card and CRB check documentation. As you can see, I manage children's care homes, so I know domestic abuse when I see it." The card was from my previous employment, but it still reflected my new job. "I think Nina will have a few things to say about her stepfather in due course, which may involve bringing charges, but not today; it is Christmas, after all. Please forward your report to Chief Inspector Wallace, your Child Protection Officer. Tell him Frank Hammond sends his regards, and that I'll be discussing this case the next time I see him - possibly at the next committee meeting. And thanks for dropping by; it's good to see that the police take cases of alleged abduction seriously, even at Christmas. Nina will be staying with me for a few days until she feels sufficiently safe to go home, so if you need to ask her any questions, you know where to find her. Oh and Nina, give these gentlemen your mobile number so they can contact you independently if they need to."

We all smiled and shook hands, and they left. Nina turned to me and hugged me again.

"Frank, you're amazing. You're better than Santa. Would you like your cock sucking now?"

It was quite a surreal sentence. I laughed. "Nina, you're pretty incredible yourself. Tell you what; if you're bored with the film, how about I run us a bath? I'm out of champagne but I do have a couple of bottles of Sainsbury's Prosecco that was on offer, and we could take that up with us and be like Dex and Alexis."

She gave me a funny look. "Who?"

"Sorry, before your time. There was a TV series called 'The Colbys,' back in the eighties or nineties. Joan Collins - when she was still hot - spent a lot of time in the bath, drinking champagne, with her live-in lover. He was called Dex, and her character was Alexis. It all looked very sophisticated back then. My bath isn't as big as theirs, but I think we could both fit in. Unfortunately, you might have to sit on something hard."

She grinned. "You're a dirty old man, Frank. The nicest, sexiest, loveliest dirty old man I've ever met. That sounds like a great idea. And could you take my bag upstairs while we're going, please?"

I started the water running and added a little bubble bath, left over from when Celia was still alive. We put Nina's bag in the guest bedroom, just in case anyone came around asking awkward questions. I went down to get the Prosecco and some glasses while Nina undressed. When I came back up, she was already in the bath, luxuriating in the bubbles. I admired her full, pale tits, poking through the foam, as I opened the bottle and poured her a glass.

"This is gorgeous, Frank," she said as she took the glass from me and sipped. "It's like being in a luxury hotel - not that I know what that's like. The best we've managed is Butlins."

I lit a few aromatherapy candles - we had quite a stock, as Celia had liked them - and turned the main light out. Then I poured a glass for myself and started undressing.

"You know, Frank, you've got a good body," Nina said as I peeled my trousers and underpants off.

"For a dirty old man," I added, smiling back at her.

"Actually, for any man. You must be, what? Forty, forty-five? And you're pretty fit. You're not flabby like a lot of guys your age."

I took the compliment gladly. I was fifty-one, but I didn't want to mention it to Nina. Carefully I climbed into the bath at the opposite end to her.

"Glad you're still pleased to see me," she smiled, looking at my semi-erection. "It looks like that needs a good sucking later. I might have to have another protein shake for supper."

"Nina, you're a very naughty girl. That sort of talk is highly inappropriate around your elders, you know," I said, smiling back and carefully sitting down, spreading my legs to rest on either side of hers.

"Yeah, but you love it really, don't you?" she grinned. We chinked glasses and sipped again. "This is just as nice as the champagne you gave me yesterday. Are you trying to get me drunk, you naughty man? I can still suck cock when I'm sober, you know!"

I smiled. "Nina, why do you do it? I mean, I love it, and I'd be delighted if you'd do it to me again later, but why do you feel you have to suck guys' cocks at all? Can't you just let them be nice to you?"

"Well you see, Frank, that's the problem. Most guys aren't nice to me. Quite a few want to get in my knickers, and I don't want that. I guess it's a bit old-fashioned, but I want to give my cherry to a guy who's going to cherish me and be nice to me, someone who could be my partner for the long term. Most guys I meet just want a quick shag. Some girls like that. You remember Amy? She once boasted that she'd shagged three guys in one night, at a party. When I asked who they were, she said that she didn't know their names, but they were all buff. I don't know - something like that would make me feel used."

"So why the blowjobs, Nina? Surely that's just being used in a different hole, to put it crudely."

"I guess I first did it for self-defence. I felt sure that this guy I was with would rape me, so I sucked him off to stop him from doing that. What surprised me was that I liked it; the feeling of power over him, the sense of achievement - feeling sexy and all that - when I made him come. I also found I liked the taste of his cum. So I did it again, and soon if any guy got his hand in my knickers, I'd finish up sucking him off to stop him trying to - to have sex with me. Then one guy pushed his cock down my throat. He was really fit and I fancied him, so I let him do it, and I discovered that I didn't mind. In fact, I was proud that I was the girl who could deep-throat a guy. I once did it with five guys at a friend's flat."

I was intrigued - perhaps even a little appalled - that she'd felt the need to be so sexualised, so abused, just to feel accepted.

"So why was deep-throating five blokes better than fucking three of them?"

"I don't know. It just felt like I was in control. I wasn't just lying under one of them with my legs open, waiting for him to come."

"But you might have enjoyed it. I think more girls come from being fucked than from giving deep throat. Unless you're Linda Lovelace, you don't have a clitoris or even a g-spot in your throat."

"No, but I was playing with my clit while I was sucking, and then one of the boys licked my pussy until I came. It wasn't as good as when you did it, but it still felt nice."

"Well my girl, you can do what you like with your body, and I won't try to persuade you either way, but I think you're better than that - much better - and guys really should treat you with more respect and show you a good time."

"Like you have, Frank?"

"I'm just some shrivelled old git who likes looking after you and showing you that some people can care about you and want to be nice to you without expecting to get their cock sucked."

"Oh, so you don't want me to suck your cock again?" she asked with a naughty smile.

I thought for a moment before replying. "Nina, I've loved everything you've done for me, but more than that, I've really enjoyed our time together. Whatever I may have done for you, I've realised that I've got even more out of our relationship - and I don't just mean the most amazing blowjobs I've ever had. When I met you, I was in a bad place. After losing Celia, I thought my life had lost meaning. My daughter and granddaughter are rarely here, I was lonely and I needed someone to care for. I wanted to find someone I could give - someone who needed the sort of - the sort of affection and friendship I needed to give. I think we've been good friends to each other, Nina. I know you've been so good for me."

"But apart from the blowjobs, I don't feel I've done anything," she said with a look of slight confusion on her face. "You've looked after me, bought me lovely presents, got me a job, fed me, got me drunk, rescued me from my arsehole stepdad - and given me the best comes I've ever had in my life. All I've done for you is the same as I did for random guys who I felt nothing for. OK, they were fit and it made me feel sexy to suck them off, but - but you're special, Frank. Really special. You're kind of like the dad I should have had - although if you were my dad, what we've been doing in the last 24 hours would be seriously inappropriate!" She laughed.

Then she struggled to her feet in the bath, turned around and lowered herself down so she was lying on top of me, her firm buttocks in my lap, her lovely breasts within easy reach. In fact, I couldn't resist reaching around her and cupping one of those firm globes in my hand and gently palming its nipple.

I realised that my cock, which had remained pretty hard throughout our bath time, was now nestling in the crack of her arse. I think she realised it about the same time and naughtily began sliding her arse up and down along my cock, while I lazily stroked her tit and started sliding my other hand over her flat tummy and down towards her little dark bush.

"You know, Frank, I loved it when you stuck a finger up my bum. I wasn't sure at first - Damien tried it once and he scratched me with his nail, which hurt for days afterwards - but when you did it, it felt naughty and very, very sexy. If you wanted, we could try it with - with something bigger."

Nina's invitation for me to be the first to put my cock inside her peachy bum was almost heart-stoppingly erotic. However, I immediately thought about the practical difficulties.

"Nina, sweetie, that's an amazingly sexy and generous invitation. I'd love to, but I don't think it's such a great idea - at least not right away."

"Why, Frank? I think it could be very sexy, and it would be another hole you could try out. Two out of three ain't bad, as they say."

"Nina, firstly you're a lovely, very, very naughty girl, but there's a lot of difference between my finger and my cock. Even my modest dimensions would stretch you a lot, and I feel sure it'd hurt."

"I'm sure I'd get used to it if you were slow and gentle. I know you'd never hurt me."

I felt a lump in my throat at the trust Nina was placing in me.

"Look sweetie, I'm not saying I wouldn't ever do it, but there are some things we'd need to think about. For one thing, I'm as much of a novice as you are in that department. I've never actually tried to put my cock in a woman's bum before."

"Really? You seem so - experienced."

"Well, I guess I am in a way. Celia and me, we tried quite a few things, but although she liked a finger up her bum, and once or twice a small vibrator, we never progressed to anything bigger. I understand that it takes a bit of working up to."

"So where do we start? And when?" she asked, and I was momentarily stunned into silence.

"Nina, you seem determined to give me your anal cherry, when you've denied everyone your 'natural,' vaginal one, and probably taken more cocks into your throat than is healthy for any girl. I'm not criticising - God forbid - but you're quite a bundle of contradictions. I've known several girls of your age who seemed determined to lose their virginities as soon as they were of age - sometimes earlier." (I'd tried to prevent a few over-sexualised girls in the homes I'd managed from throwing themselves at inappropriate boys for that purpose, sadly with little effect. If I'd had any success at all, it was in ensuring that there were condoms in their bags when they went out, which would have been officially frowned upon but in effect saved several of them from unwanted pregnancies and STIs).

"Look Frank, I know it sounds a bit weird, but I want to keep my cherry until I find the right guy. I want it to be special."

"Nina, I've talked to a lot of girls who've recently lost their virginities. I've never had the privilege of being the first with a girl - at least, I've never had to break a hymen - but just about every girl I've ever heard describe it had a rubbish first time. The common theme seems to be blood, pain, tears and a lack of orgasm. And in most cases, a guy who disappears in the morning, never to return."

"Frank, that's why I want to wait for someone special, someone who genuinely cares for me. Blowjobs are just - well, they're just about doing something to a guy's cock that he enjoys. Having him inside you, between your legs, that's more intimate. I don't know. It just seems to me that when you're sucking him, his cock's pointing at your stomach. When he's in your pussy, he's pointing up at your heart. You're wrapped around him and he's in you in a way that's closer than anything else. It should be making love, but for most guys, it's just fucking. I want it to be more than that, so I'm saving it for the right guy."

I was impressed by her logic, though I still thought it a bit strange. "So if I do agree to put my cock in your tight little bum, where's that pointed?"

"Just up my arse. I don't think that could ever be romantic, but I think it could be fun."

"It could be bloody painful too, Nina. A finger's one thing, but a cock's at least three or four times as thick. God created one nice hole in a woman to receive a guy's cock, made it able to stretch and filled it with natural lubricant - job done. You've worked out a way of opening your throat to take a cock in there. Well done, but again it's wet, and a mouth is big enough to accommodate a cock - maybe not normally as deep as you go, but at least the first few inches. But your sweet little arse is very tight - believe me, it wasn't all that easy to get a finger in - and we'd have to fill you with the right lube for the job and loosen you up. And you probably need to be clean in there. None of that process is going to be pleasant, and it's going to take some work."

"It sounds like you don't want to do it, Frank," she said, and then ground her arse down on me so that the cleft enveloped my cock. At that stage, I literally had my hands full - one on her lovely tit and the other in her slit - and the sensations she was causing on my cock were very horny indeed.

"I'd be delighted, and honoured, to do the dirty deed, my dear," I said, "As long as I didn't hurt you in the process. For now, I would suggest that we get out of this bath, finish our Prosecco and then I get to taste that sweet pussy of yours."

When we went back to the bedroom, I climbed onto the bed and stretched out on my back. "Nina, sit on my face, please."

Celia enjoyed spreading her pussy over my mouth and letting me eat to my heart's content. Nina hadn't long settled her hot, fleshy pussy lips over my mouth when she began to make some appreciative noises. I worked every place I could reach with my tongue and fingers. By the time I'd finished, she was squealing and literally sobbing. I was holding her thighs down so she couldn't pull away, and my finger up her arse - or now, because of her suggestion, a tentative two fingers - received almost bone-breaking contractions for a good five minutes before I released her.

The blowjob she gave me in return was no less spectacular than her previous efforts. This time she started by riding the cleft of her bum up and down it, which felt good, especially as it made contact with her still-very-wet pussy. Before I got too worked up, she progressed to a tit-wank, and then slowly engulfed my cock. She started by forcing it slowly between her wet, pouting lips, before opening wider and pressing deeper, deeper, until I was embedded in her throat. Then she just rode my cock with her mouth, pulling back to just kiss the tip with her lips, then swallowing me slowly until I could feel her nose pressing my abdomen. She gradually increased the pace until I was gasping and moaning like a wild thing. Not long after, I grabbed her head and held her tight against me as my jizz went down her gullet.

"You told me you wouldn't do that," she said, smiling and dribbling cum as she came up for air.

"Sorry - do - do what?" I said, confused and breathless.

"Hold my head down. Don't worry, I wanted you to. It gets me very horny, having my throat used like that. Maybe, now I know I can trust you, I'll let you tie me up and use my mouth as you like."

"Shit, Nina, that's hardly the way I want to treat you," I protested.

"What if it's how I want to be treated?" she asked, wiping away some of the cum with a tissue.

I looked at her in puzzlement. She just smiled and kissed me.

"You're a sweet guy, Frank. Now let's cuddle."