Christmas Cash

Author's Note: This story is dedicated, with tongue in cheek, to the many friends I have made since I joined the Literotica community. A very special thank you to Bronzeage for his counsel and wit. Merry Christmas, everyone! Ella ©

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Angel sat on the floor, her back against the sofa, and stared at the tree. The twinkling colored lights should have enchanted her and caused visions of sugarplums to dance through her head. Instead, as Nat King Cole crooned about chestnuts from the radio, Angel's eyes filled with tears. Her despair swallowed her as she buried her face in her hands.

Brad had been out of work since September. Angel was a stay-at-home mom. Christmas was only a month away, and the money was running out. Brad made sure that he had put three months' worth of finances aside to cover the utilities, the mortgage, and the insurance, but unless Santa could pull off a miracle, the kids would have a meager Christmas. Angel had thought that by putting up the tree and some decorations, she could put some of the worry out of her head. Unfortunately, it just magnified the problem.

Nat King Cole faded away, and the next song came on. "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. " It was hard to sit on the floor, crying and miserable, with that coming from the speakers. She shook her head, wiped her eyes with her hands, and got up. She stretched her body out, fingers reaching high for the ceiling, up on her tiptoes, until she felt the blood start pumping again. Damn, that floor was hard.

Angel still had a pretty good figure for 47-year-old mother of two. Most of her 5'3" frame was her legs. They were graceful and lean, and they met at what was still a firm, tight ass. That's why the floor was so hard; there was nothing there to act as a cushion. She had never had much in the way of breasts before she had kids, but now she had what Brad called, "more than a mouthful." She loved the way he looked at her. She still felt attractive, and well, sexy. It made her feel young.

Ugh. Enough of the awful Christmas music. Angel turned the station to find something less depressing. She walked into the kitchen as a block of commercials started.

"Ho, Ho, Ho! Santa needs a Ho, Ho, Ho!" blared from the radio.

Angel stopped. She turned and stared at the radio; she couldn't have really heard that.

A sultry woman's voice continued, "Ladies, do you need some extra cash for the holidays? Why not be a Santa's Helper? Phone-a-Friend has lots and lots of unique positions, and we have one that's just right for you. Make new friends, have fun, and make some extra holiday cash in your spare time. All you need is a computer or a phone, a few minutes, and a positive attitude. Call now!"

Angel ran for a pen and paper and wrote down the phone number. This had to be something illicit. Or illegal. Or fattening. Or enriching.

555-538-7286. All she had to do was dial. Just pick up the phone and dial. What could it hurt? This could be the answer to their money problems.

Her curiosity got the best of her, and Angel grabbed the phone out of the charger and dialed the number. One ring. She was nervous; she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Two rings. She started to bite her bottom lip from anxiety. Three rings.

"Hello and thank you for calling Phone-a-Friend."

"Hi," answered Angel, only to be interrupted by the continuation of a pre-recorded message.

"If you are calling to inquire about being a Santa's Helper, please press 1. If you are calling to speak to a Santa's Helper, please press 2."

Angel's hands were shaking as she pressed the '1' on the cordless phone. One ring. Two rings. And then a very cheerful, female voice on the other end of the phone.

"Hi, this is Colleen. How may I help you today?"

"Um, hi, Colleen. My name is Angel. I just heard your ad on the radio about Santa's Helpers? Can you tell me what it is, exactly?"

"Oh, sure, dear," answered Colleen. "We offer a chat service for adults. Have you ever chatted with anyone online, dear?"

"You mean like social networks and stuff?" Angel asked.

"Oh, well, sort of. But this is more personal," explained Colleen. "What we do is offer adults the opportunity to have intimate conversations, either online or by telephone. As a Santa's Helper, you would just allow gentlemen, and sometimes ladies, to chat with you from the privacy of their homes, and sometimes to exchange photos and...

Angel interrupted. "Oh, my God. You're talking about cybersex and phone sex, aren't you?"

Colleen hesitated. "Now, my dear, that's not what we call our service. We are simply a platform on which adults can have conversations without boundaries. If it doesn't sound like it's right for you, that's fine. Thank you for your call."

"Wait!" cried Angel. The money. Ask about the money. "What kind of money can a Santa's Helper make for having, um, adult conversations?" She couldn't believe she was asking the question.

"Angel, if you're really interested, I would be happy to connect you to one of our Erotic Listing Finders. You do have a lovely voice, you know. I think you would be a wonderful Santa's Helper," Colleen answered.

This was the craziest thing Angel had ever done. What on earth was she thinking? She paced out of the kitchen and back into the living room...and saw the Christmas tree lights twinkling at her.

"Yes, I'm definitely interested," she said, with more confidence than she felt. "Please let me talk to one of your Erotic Listing Finders." -------------------------------------------------------

For the most part, Angel was having fun with her new "job." Through Phone-a-Friend, she had been given an identity and a client list, and was now officially a Santa's Helper. She was living vicariously through Holly, her online alter-ego. And frankly, Holly was a real slut. When Angel went through her orientation with the Erotic Listing Finder (or ELF, for short), she was told that some of the men to whom she spoke would want her to be "submissive. " Angel had no idea what that meant, and as much as the ELF tried to explain it, she still didn't quite understand. On top of that, she was reluctant to talk to any of her new "friends" on the phone. The ELF said that she could put that off until she felt more comfortable with the online role-playing. When Angel asked what the hell "online role-playing" was, the ELF had sighed so loudly that it sounded more like a growl. Angel stopped asking questions after that.

She had been really nervous about "talking" to her first client. It was bright and early on the last Saturday in November. Brad was out with the kids. Angel was all alone in the house, wearing her favorite fleece pajama bottoms with giant snowflakes on them, a long-sleeved thermal underwear shirt and a mismatched pair of fuzzy socks. She sat down at her desk with a mug of hot coffee in her hand. She turned on her laptop and clicked on the chat mode on the Santa's Helper page.

A message soon appeared on the screen. FMLYHM is online.

All she knew about FMLYHM was that he was a 33 year old male from somewhere in the U.S., and that he was described as a "Dominant." She figured that it was time to figure out what that was all about. Because of the early hour, she assumed that he was on the east coast somewhere, like her. A bubble appeared on her screen:

FMLYHM: Good morning. Holly: Good morning. FMLYHM: Are you ready to play this morning, my new pet?

Visions of collars and leashes briefly flew through Angel's mind. She looked at the clock; it wasn't even 10 a.m. A little early for that, wasn't it? Oh, well. She slouched down and tucked her feet up onto the edge of the chair and typed back.

Holly: Yes, I guess so. FMLYHM: You will address me as Sir. Understand? Holly: Yes, Sir. FMLYHM: Very good. What is your name? Holly: Holly. FMLYHM: I told you to call me Sir. Did you not understand completely?

Angel tilted her head to the side a little, and read the message again. "Really?" she thought. "Oh, what the hell. It's your dime."

Holly: I apologize, Sir. My name is Holly, Sir. FMLYHM: You may call me Master. I will call you Slut.

Angel sipped her coffee and considered what this complete stranger had just called her online. She tapped her fingernails on her mug -- click, click, click, one at a time --wondering about this man. "You are fucking kidding me," she thought. "This is what I'm going to be doing here?" She sighed, and put down the mug.

Holly: Of course, Master. FMLYHM: What is my slut wearing this morning? Angel looked down at her fuzzy morning attire. Oh, shit. She better make this good. Holly: I am wearing lace panties, Master. FMLYHM: Lovely. Take a picture and send it to me. Now.

Oh, thank goodness for that ELF. Instead of having a panic attack at that moment, Angel simply clicked into the files at the top of her screen that her ELF had placed there. The fourth file contained pictures of models with brown eyes and brunette hair, like Holly; she found one of a lovely lady in a pair of lace panties and forwarded it to the e-mail address on the chat page. While it loaded, she walked upstairs to the bathroom and found the nail polish remover, and grabbed some nail polish. Might as well give herself a manicure while she was between her groveling replies. Several minutes passed before she heard the familiar "popping" noise.

FMLYHM: Very nice, Slut. You will take two fingers on your left hand, and you will fuck your pussy with them, while you type to me with your right hand.

Angel looked at the fresh nail polish on her left hand, and made a face. Red Velvet nail polish all over her crotch? No way. She reached for the coffee mug again, and with one finger of her right hand, typed a response.

Holly: I-a-m-f-u-c-k-i-n-g-m-y-s-e-l-f-w-I-t-h-m-y-f-I-n-g-e-r-s-m-a-s-t-e-r

She backed the cursor up to change the "m" in master from lower to upper case.

Holly: I-a-m-f-u-c-k-i-n-g-m-y-s-e-l-f-w-I-t-h-m-y-f-I-n-g-e-r-s-M-a-s-t-e-r

She pressed the send key while waving her fingernails and blowing on them to get them to dry. Where the hell did she put that top coat? Maybe it was in the downstairs bathroom...

The conversation with FMLYHM continued for another 45 minutes or so. By the end of the conversation, Angel...well, Holly...had been bent over and spanked with a bare hand, violated in various holes by several fingers, and gagged repeatedly while her master fucked her face, until he came in torrents of hot, steaming spunk that drenched Holly's face and hair, which she was then expected to lick up and swallow, so as not to waste a single drop of his 'sweet delicious seed.' She finished her third cup of coffee, with French vanilla creamer in it, and she decided to describe the sweet, delectable taste of said spunk through her written words as if it was the cream. She suddenly decided that she would never be able to look at the French vanilla creamer in the same way ever, ever again. She had been called a whore, a pet, a fuck doll and a dirty cum-slut. Angel wondered if she could include that somewhere on her resume. ------------------------------------------------------

Angel was very careful to arrange her appointment times for when Brad and the kids would be out of the house. She had only four regular clients, plus some "walk-ins" who were referred to her by her ELF. Now that she was beginning to understand the concept of role-play, Angel became more comfortable with how Holly was supposed to respond to certain prompts. Almost all of her new "friends" wanted to control her. In fact, FMLYHM seemed to be quite intent about making Holly a permanent toy in his collection. His demands became dirtier and kinkier every time they interacted. Angel was a little concerned about how long she was going to be able to keep him satisfied. The upside about conversations with him was that she had found time to give herself a complete pedicure to go with her manicure.

At the end of the week, Angel received her first paycheck. It had arrived at the house via messenger just before noon, while the kids were still at school. She had done about 12 hours worth of work. She sat and stared at the check for about 15 minutes before she started dancing around the living room, screaming and yelling like a madwoman. When Brad walked in the door from his late morning appointment with an employment service, he found Angel jumping up and down on the sofa screaming, "Thank you, Santa! Thank you, Santa!"

Brad looked at her in astonishment. Angel was wearing a t-shirt. Nothing else. For some reason, her bra and panties were dangling from the Christmas tree. Angel launched herself off the sofa and into Brad's arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. The sudden force of her weight made him stagger back against the front door.

"What is going on?" he managed to ask.

Angel didn't answer. She unlocked hers legs from Brad, and rested one hand on his cheek while she looked into his eyes. She lifted the other hand, which still gripped the check, up for him to see.

"Merry Christmas, baby," Angel whispered. Brad looked at the check. He looked at Angel, and then back at the check. He took it from her hand, trying to comprehend what was going on. As he stood there gaping at it, Angel slid down to the floor and unbuttoned his pants.

"Who the hell is Phone-a...."

Brad stopped talking as Angel, now kneeling on the floor with her thighs spread wide open, unzipped his pants and yanked them to the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, stunned at his wife's arousing behavior.

Angel looked up at him and gave him the most evil, seductive smile he had ever seen.

"Having a lunch break," she answered. She pulled down his cute plaid boxers and pushed Brad back against the door. She wrapped one hand around his cock, and tenderly kissed the tip. She deftly fondled his balls with her other hand, while she lightly kissed and licked and teased him.

"I love to feel you get hard for me," she whispered, looking up at him with that same hungry look.

"Oh, not a problem, baby. Uuuuhhhhhh...," Brad moaned and closed his eyes. His head leaned back against the door as Angel took his cock into her mouth.

"Mmmmmmm, I want to hear you moan while I suck you off," she said, momentarily taking him out of her mouth.

"Yes, dear," was all Brad could manage to say.

Angel stroked the base of his cock with her hand while she greedily sucked on the tip. Her other hand drifted lazily down to her pussy, where her fingers began to toy with her clit. Her tongue rubbed methodically against his shaft as she took him farther into her mouth. Brad dropped the check and slid his hands into her hair, and started to thrust his hips toward her to match the rhythm of movements. He moaned as he began to plunge harder into her mouth.

Angel could feel Brad's body tense. He was going to cum. She started to slide him as far into her mouth as far as she could, when FMLYHM's words slipped into her head.

"That's it, slut, take it all the way into your throat. I want to fuck your face like a dirty whore."

Angel hesitated, trying to get the directive out of her head, when Brad exploded into the back of her mouth. She swallowed all that he gave her, thinking that it really didn't taste anything like French vanilla creamer.

"Angel?"

She looked up at him, still licking her lips and the tips of her fingers. Brad stroked the side of her face softly, and she closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his hand on her cheek.

"That was amazing. God, I love your mouth. But tell me, baby, where did the money come from?"

Angel's eyes snapped open in alarm. She bit the right side of her lower lip, the way she always did when her mind started churning. How was she going to tell him? What would he say? She reached up her hand to him, and he took it, helping her to her feet.

"I, uh, took a part-time job," she stammered. "It's a job I can do from home. I'm a customer service representative for a, um, website."

She realized how unconvincing her words sounded, but wasn't sure what to say. She didn't think Brad would understand what she was doing when he wasn't home. It certainly wouldn't make her mama proud, she thought. He was drilling his eyes into her, and exhaled loudly as he crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't say a word, knowing that she would just keep talking. She never knew when to shut up. He loved to watch her when she was squirming like she was at the moment. It meant she had done something he wouldn't like, which would lead to a disagreement, and end up with some incredible make-up sex.

"I mean, I, uh, I talk to people on the internet, and help them to solve their, um, problems."

Still no movement or word from Brad, other than the eyebrow over his left eye, which went up slightly. Her stomach dropped. She was screwed, and she knew it.

"Maybe you should come sit down, Brad," Angel said.

"Yeah, maybe I should, Angel," he answered, waiting for her to move so he could pick up the check and replace his boxers and pants back up to his hips. He followed her over to the sofa/trampoline.

Angel sat with her feet tucked up under her backside and chewed on her fingernail while Brad situated himself next to her. She looked over at him, took a deep breath, started to talk, and then stopped. She took another deep breath, tried again, and stopped. This went on two or three more times. Finally, she started to talk so rapidly that Brad could barely keep up with her tirade.

"IwastryingtothinkofawaytogetenoughmoneytobuyChristmaspresentsforthekidsandI heardanadontheradiotobeaSanta'sHelperforPhoneAFriendandIcalledandtheysetmeup withsomeclients--well,they'reallmen,really--andItalktothemontheinternet--well,Idon't talk,Itype--andI pretend that I'm having...sex......with.........them...." Angel's voice faded as she ran out of breath. She bit her lip again, anxiously waiting for Brad's reaction.

Brad stared at his wife, a smirk on his face. She looked so damned adorable sitting there in just her t-shirt, perched on her knees. Wait -- what did she just say? Did she just tell him she was having sex with men on the internet? It took him a minute to process what she'd said, because she talked so damned fast. The smile slowly disappeared as he finally grasped her words.

"Six hundred dollars, Brad. Six. Hundred. Dollars. And I didn't do anything but talk to these guys, I swear," she continued. Her heart was pounding in her chest. "Say something, Brad."

"I'm trying to think of something to say," he admitted. "I mean, at first glance, it feels like you're cheating on me. How intimate are you with these guys?"

Angel crinkled up her nose, and in a very tiny voice answered, "Very." She looked up at him like a penitent child and said, "I only did it because of the money. I'm sorry, Brad."

"Let me think about this for awhile, okay, Angel?"

"Sure," she answered. She got up from the sofa and retrieved her bra and panties from the Christmas tree, and went up to their bedroom, leaving Brad to his thoughts.

Brad looked at the check, and thought about what Angel was doing. He found the situation wrong on so many levels, but he understood Angel's motives. She was genuinely trying to help with the finances.

He knew she was a tremendous flirt. He would often watch Angel work the room at a party, knowing that she could say just the right things to get his friends worked up. It aroused him when she did that, because she knew he was watching, and she would put on quite a show. Then she would come back to him, completely turned on, and when they got back home they would fuck like rabbits. He had no doubt that she was just as effective over the internet as she was in person. The more Brad thought about it, the more he realized that he found it kind of erotic that his wife was the object of other men's desires. He was her number one fan, after all. He bounded off the sofa and up to the bedroom, where Angel was sitting, dejected, on the side of the bed. He kicked off his shoes on his way into the room. He walked in front of her, and slowly began to undress.