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I spun at the call of my name, the winter chill in the air punishing me with a brisk gust.

It was Christmas Eve and me and my flatmate still didn’t have a tree. There were lots of little reasons – busy schedules, paydays not syncing up – but they all added up to an empty space in the living room.

‘Andi, over here!’

Andi isn’t my full name – it’s actually Andrea, but starting school it felt a bit strange being called a name more fitting of a middle aged woman, so the teachers took to calling me Andi, and it’s stuck. Now, even after graduating Uni, I am and will forever be Andi, even though my dad’s called Andrew and has been relegated to ‘Drew’. He hates it. I find it hilarious.

I weaved between frustrated parents and dead Christmas trees, looking for the source of all the noise. They had obviously made the same mistake as us, their faces scrunched up against the cold, trying to think of clever excuses to put on Facebook.

I eventually found the source; my flatmate, Sarah, who was talking to the guy who sold trees from his little farm.

We had driven here in her mum’s pick-up which she had borrowed, so transport wasn’t an issue. What was an issue, however, was the fact that we were being shown a tree with a great gaping hole in the foliage.

‘Hey,’ I said with a nod as I approached.

Sarah turned to me, her long dark hair a reflection of my own, but her eyes were a shocking green as opposed to my squirrel brown. She smiled, grabbing me by the coat to pull me over https://www.bigbootyporn.tv .

‘This is the last good one,’ she whispered, trying not to tip off the parents around us.

‘It’s got a massive gap!’ I laughed.

‘Just put that bit at the back,’ said the guy selling, his flat-cap dark from wet snow and his boots as caked in white as mine. It wasn’t snowing now, but it clearly had been before we arrived, and the poor bastard had probably been out here all day – it was dark now, and, you know, Christmas Eve. Might be good for business, but can’t be a lot of fun. ‘Point that at the wall, tinsel up the rest, she’s a beauty.’

‘How much?’ I asked.

‘Twenty five, and I’ll bag her up and stick her on your truck.’

I looked at the thing; it looked thin, but less so than the others here. It looked gaunt, but it could be decorated just fine.

Besides the gap (which could, indeed, just be pointed at the wall anyway), it was lovely. I almost wondered why it hadn’t gone sooner, but decided not to bother asking questions.

‘Done,’ I said, shaking the man’s freezing gloved hand. Sarah beamed at me, her tartan scarf almost hiding it.

o-O-o

Ten minutes later, we were packed into the pick-up, tree in the back and twenty five quid worse off for the winter.

Ah well. Between the heating, the Christmas songs on the radio, and the company, it was hard to be upset.

I was tired as hell though, and ready for a bath and a crap movie with Sarah before bed. Our newfound nightly ritual.

She sang like a cat all the way home, as I tried to not join in. It was impossible, of course, so by the time we pulled into our building we were an easy noise complaint. Ah well. We’d done a lot worse in the past.

Our flat was on the first floor, so maneuvering the damned thing up there was killer. Even so, I noticed for the first time that the tree had a very… distinctive smell. Not unpleasant, but also not what I know a fir tree to smell like.

Me and Sarah arranged the plastic base between the TV and a little table, secured the tree, and called it a night. It was late, we’d both been working (my part time Tesco job was basically the only reason I was able to stay in Uni), and we both just wanted to get Christmas started. We’d decorate it then, and swap presents before starting the food.

We both had complicated histories with Christmas, which was why we were both happy to spend it away from home. Well, for me, I didn’t have much of a home to go to – growing up in care does that. Sarah’s parents had spli when she was young, and so for her Christmas had just become a pissing contest. It kind of killed the Christmas spirit when your parents spend so much time trying to out do eachother that neither of them seems to notice you. First opportunity she had, she’s spending it alone. Or, with me. It was perfect.

Satisfied with a day’s hard work, I crawled into bed.

After about an hour, though, I realised that I wasn’t tired. Or, I was, but apparently not enough to sleep.

Now, I’m no nympho, but as a healthy twenty-two year old I knew that one of the best ways to nod off was to masturbate. I had a few toys, but all but one of them vibrated, and with Sarah next door I wasn’t interested in broadcasting my activities. We’d learned the hard way that these walls are thin, and while I might have a little crush on my gorgeous roommate, I didn’t need her hearing me get myself off.

No, I went for my simple dildo, pulling it from my favourite drawer. It was rather small and baby blue on one side, silver at the base, but slightly curved – perfect for hitting that spot that made me squirm.

I lubed up, skipping any self-romancing, hoping to just crack one out and get to sleep https://freeadultcam69.com .

I rolled onto my front and slid my hands under me. It had always been my favourite position – face down, ass up, prone for the taking. Maybe it was the lack of control, giving someone that physical power over me, letting them fuck me like a toy. Maybe it was the fact that when a cock slid into me from behind, it felt deeper and bigger, my mind filling in the blanks as my face is buried in the bedsheets.

Plus, it was objectively the best way to do anal, and while I’d only taken that step with my last boyfriend (he was the only one patient enough and, frankly, small enough), it was some of the best sex I’d ever had.

I slid the dildo in, using that memory of Richard pushing into me as my mental starting point, letting myself become flush with the thought of him. One hand slowly sawed the slick toy in my slit, the lube letting me get straight to it, while my fingers deftly coaxed out my clit and started playing.