A Perfect Man for Christmas
An erotic serial in 12 parts
Blog HOP
2nd Day of Christmas
by Elaine Barris
Michael
crunched through the ice and snow on the sidewalk as he made his way
to the beast of a car sitting in Wynter’s driveway. His cock
twitched at the memory of being inside her tight heat. She belonged
to him as much as the 12 cylinder. If she didn’t already know he
owned her, she would by the time this holiday was over.
“Fucking
right, she will,” he growled and punched the car to life.
He
eased himself back into the seat, flinching at the pain of where she
had laced her talons down his back in passion as she writhed in
undulating waves of orgasmic bliss. His flesh had mended enough to
not be bleeding in rivers, but it stung.
His
phone chimed in his pocket, and he drew it out, looking at the name
displayed.
“Yeah?
What do you want?”
“Where
do I deliver the package?”
The
sound of chirping and flapping birds was in the background.
“What
the fuck do you mean ‘where do you deliver the package?’”
“What?”
Gustav yelled.
Michael
held the phone away from his ear before yelling back,
“Where do you
think you’re supposed to deliver it?”
“There’s
no address listed on the shipping label.”
“I’m
surrounded by fucking idiots!”
“Michael,
sir, I-- ”
“Forget
it! Like everything else in this operation, I have to do this myself.
Leave it where it is, and I’ll take care of it.”
He
tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and shifted into reverse,
muttering to himself about the lack of good help.
Minutes
later, he maneuvered the growling car up the ramp into the warehouse
where he kept his business. Shifting into park, he threw the car door
open with such force it bounced back, slamming him inside before he
had moved to get out.
“Goddamn
it.”
Gustav
came running up to the car. Feathers were stuck to his face and
hands; a few quills were between the rims of his glasses and head.
After
opening the door more gently, Michael got out of the car and faced
his inept employee.
“What
the fuck happened?”
“They
got out, sir.”
“How
the hell did that happen?”
“I
don’t know, sir, but they are trapped inside your office. We were
able to seal the room.”
Throwing
his fingers through his hair, Michael tapped his boots on the
concrete floor as he thought about what a clusterfuck he was in. If
he didn’t get those damned winged creatures back into the birdcage
and delivered, there’d be hell to pay.
He
turned his head to look towards his office, seeing the birds sitting
on his coat rack in the corner.
Maybe
this would be easier than he thought.
“Come
on.” He pointed across the room to the golden contraption they had
somehow escaped. “Bring it with you.”
Stalking
over to the room, he stopped when he took hold of the door knob and
looked behind him at Gustav.
“On
the count of three.”
Gustav
nodded and a few feathers fell from his clothes to the ground.
Michael
went through the countdown, and then opened the door with his lackey
at his heels.
“What
the--” Michael said as his feet slipped out from underneath him,
and he fell backwards, taking Gustav to the floor with him.
“Shut
the door!” he yelled as the birds saw their opening and took
flight.
The
latch closed before the two turtle doves were able to find their
escape.
The
men got up, and Michael raised his hands in front of his face and
cursed, seeing them covered in the white slime of the birds’
excrement.
“Oh,
dear.” Gustav handed him his handkerchief, and Michael grabbed it,
wiping his hands as he looked at the dotted floor.
“Open
the cage.”
Michael
lunged at the nearest bird, taking it by its feet as it fought him to
not be confined. Thrusting its squawking body inside the cage,
Michael locked it in, and then went to battle the other.
That
one was crafty and flew through air, dodging the men’s attempts to
capture it.
“Stop,”
Michael ordered, and then they waited for the winged menace to settle
down.
When
it did, it landed on Gustav’s head and started pecking his scalp.
“Ow!”
Gustav jerked at the pain of the pricks into his skin as pieces of
his hair were plucked out.
“Don’t
you fucking move.” Michael avoided looking the dove in the eyes as
he waited until the perfect moment.
“Sir.”
“Shut
up.”
Then
the bird began to coo in a serenade of love to its partner who was
locked up.
“That’s
right,” Michael whispered, and in a flash of motion, snatched the
bird by the neck from the nest it had been making out of
Gustav’s
tresses and thrust it into the cage.
Lifting
it by the handle, he took it to Gustav’s vehicle.
“Give
me your keys. I’m not letting these things shit all over my
leather.”
“Yes,
sir,” he replied and handed them over.
Michael
sat the birds in the truck’s passenger seat, securing it by
latching the seatbelt around it. After getting into the driver’s
seat and starting up the engine, he rolled the window down for fresh
air.
“Wynter
had better find ‘the man’ after all of this. I did my part. Found
the two fucking turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”
Check out Elaine's website for more of her terrific books -
For part 3 of the story - Andrew Jericho Blog
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