A Christmas Kindling

Cara glanced at her watch and quickened her pace toward the nurses' office where she would sign out and head home. But then she stopped short. Her peripheral vision caught a glimpse into room C3 as she passed, a room that was supposed to be vacant for two more days. Someone was in the room.

In a large, cushioned chair against the far wall sat a very old woman staring at her. Cara had never seen her before, so she figured this had to be the new resident. But she wasn't supposed to arrive until the day after Christmas. Cara felt a pang of sadness for the woman being admitted to a long-term care home on Christmas Eve, a time when so many other residents were taken home by their families. She approached the woman with a smile.

"Hello. You must be Ms. Jacobs. I wasn't expecting you for another couple of days."

"I'm where I need to be," the woman said, her voice low, calm, clear.

"Well, we want you to feel comfortable and cared for in your new home, and I'll do everything I can to make that happen. I'm Cara. Normally I'd be the one to help get you settled, but I'm off early today, so Michelle will be in to check on you shortly. You're in my wing, though, so we'll get to know each other very well."

"I know you well," the woman said.

Cara was used to odd statements like that and took it in stride. The elderly residents often confused staff for other people, sometimes even their own children.

"I'm sorry I have to run, but it was nice to meet you, and I'll see you again in a couple of days," Cara said and turned to leave, anxious to get home. She still had so much to do and was already losing time. She felt the pressure of this Christmas Eve party being a success for her husband, hosting key people from his law firm. He had been so stressed lately, so distracted, working hard to get a foothold in the firm.

"When the flame has gone out, what no longer burns goes cold."

Cara froze, the woman's words somehow striking to her core. She turned back, unable to make her legs keep going.

"Sit for a moment."

Cara moved slowly to the edge of the bed and sat, as if directed by a superior.

"You care for these people with skill, compassion and sincerity. You are a good nurse."

"Oh, uh, thank you, I --"

"And you are a good wife."

How could this woman possibly know that? Cara wanted to leave, but the next thing she knew, she was answering. "I love Ethan. He's a good husband."

"And yet... the flame."

The strange words opened a chasm within Cara and she fell into it, feeling the distance that had grown between her and Ethan over the past year. They had been married for four years and the love was still there, but the passion had faded. There was no denying it. She and Ethan hadn't had sex in weeks, and the few times they made the effort in recent months felt more like conjugal obligation than burning passion. She couldn't remember the last time her husband had given her an orgasm.

A sudden pang of guilt struck her. Ethan was working his ass off to get ahead in a respected law firm, to give them a better life. And her own long nursing hours ate into their personal time as well. But she never doubted his love, not for a second. He was a good man, the only man she ever wanted to be with.

"I have everything a girl could ask for," she insisted.

"But you are not a girl. You are a woman."

Cara opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, held fast in the old woman's piercing stare.

"This night you will receive three visitations," the woman said.

Three? Cara thought, with a little smirk. More like a dozen visitors coming to tonight's party, which was why she had to find a way to end this weird conversation and get going.

"Heed me!" the old woman snapped, as if hearing Cara's thoughts. "You will receive three gifts of the kindling, three sparks to reignite the flame, lest it go forever cold."

"Sounds like a Charles Dickens story," Cara said, smiling in an attempt to join the assumed jest. "You know, the ghosts of past, present and future, three chances to fix everything?"

The old woman leaned forward in her chair, no amusement in her eyes. "The choice to accept each kindling will be yours," she said. Then she pointed her finger straight at Cara. "The last is the most important. The last is your future."

* * * * * * *

All the way home, Cara kept thinking about the strange old woman's words. Looked like Ms. Jacobs was going to be a weird one. But it was time to shake that off. Work was done until after Christmas; she had a party to host now.

The setup looked good so far. She found all the last items she needed at the grocery store, and everything was in place for her courses of finger foods to be presented throughout the evening. Ethan was busy with the final arrangement of furniture in the main room to ensure a good mix of seating and table options available for his dozen mingling guests, as well as easy access to the buffet table.

Cara had changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt to complete the final food prep, but she could tell by how dark it had gotten outside the window that it was time to get dressed for the party. Just a few cucumbers to wash and slice and all would be ready.

Then the lights went out.

In an instant she was plunged into darkness, frozen in place with water running over the cucumber she held in the sink. She called out to Ethan and he called back saying it might be the breaker and he'd go check it out.

She waited. There wasn't much else she could do. Unable to see anything in the inky blackness and with only the hypnotic trickle of water to focus on, she began to get a feeling of being a step removed, as if she was there but not fully real, like a dream self she could see and feel but not control.

A warmth crept up her back and neck, then down around her waist, up her tummy, over her breasts. She realized the warmth to be hands caressing her body. She blinked, but there was no difference in the darkness. She couldn't see, couldn't will herself to move or speak. A dream self. She let the surreal feeling sweep over her.

The hands gave her boobs one last squeeze then glided down to her hips, and the waistband of her sweatpants was pushed down to her mid-thighs. A warm body pressed against her back and she felt naked skin against her bare legs, but what she felt through her panties pressing into the cleft of her ass made her heart start pounding. Her visitor in the dark was making his manhood known.

Probing fingers glided down and up her thighs, then followed the lines of her panties until they stopped on the right side, where a finger poked into the hole that was there. Shame jabbed Cara as she suddenly regretted wearing the old pair of white cotton panties that had a hole in the side seam and should have been thrown out weeks ago. Another finger pushed into the hole and Cara heard a little tear, then a louder rip as she felt a yank and the tightness of the leg and waist bands were gone. Then the fingers were on her left hip and the material there tore with a snap. The feeling of the cotton being pulled from between her legs made her clutch the cucumber in her hands tighter.

The body pressed against her again and this time she felt that manhood, hot and hard, tuck between her butt cheeks flesh to flesh. After a few slow strokes, the firmness slid down the groove of her ass to between her legs. Tingles sparked in Cara's tummy as the hard length came to rest against her slick labia, awakening a thrill she hadn't felt for far too long.

Heat swirled within her and she couldn't think, didn't want to think, didn't want anything but that teasing cock rammed up inside her. She was wet and ready. What was he waiting for? She leaned forward over the sink and slid her feet apart, spreading her legs as far as the stretched waistband around her thighs would allow.

What made her do that? Deep inside, at her hot core, she knew. She was giving her answer -- I accept.

Strong hands seized her hips and in one smooth thrust she was penetrated and lifted off the floor. She inhaled sharply as she was impaled, and she felt filled -- filled with flesh, filled with fire.

Her exhale came out as a long moan of gratification as she was slowly lowered to the floor with the steady withdrawal of her visitor's first entry. Just as the head slipped out and she felt empty, he rammed back into her and she was filled again. Oh how good it felt -- that heat inside her.

Now coated in her slick juices, her visitor began a rhythmic full-length thrusting into her depths. Sturdy hips slapped against her ass and the smacking thrilled her with the sound and feeling of being spanked with each passionate plunge.

Cara couldn't remember the last time she felt so consumed during sex. She didn't care how crazy this all seemed -- real or fantasy, man or mystery. She was a woman and she wanted this. Nothing else mattered except what she was feeling and where it was taking her.

And it was taking her there fast. Every drive penetrated deeper, touching that place far up inside where she longed to feel her man, igniting a volcano within her. Rising onto her toes, every muscle flexed as she erupted. Her pussy clenched the thick cock filling her as lava burst from her core and flooded throughout her. Sharp gasps were all she could manage as orgasmic convulsions quaked her body.

When she felt her feet flat on the floor again, she was gasping for air. Calming her breathing, she settled herself and took stock. She no longer sensed any presence. She was alone again, still in the dark, her hands still clutching the wet cucumber. Had she been dreaming?

The lights came back on.

No dream.

Shirt and bra up over chest, sweatpants down around thighs, boobs hanging free, bare ass exposed -- what the hell was going on? Did she really just get fucked in her kitchen in the dark? Did Ethan...? Or did she have some mental episode and do this to herself? Or...

She heard Ethan call from the basement, "Got it. Just the breaker. All good."

Panic seized her. Dropping the cucumber, Cara jerked down her shirt and yanked up her pants and ran upstairs to their bedroom before her husband emerged from the basement.

It was time to get dressed for the party anyway, so she peeled off the already dishevelled top and sweats. Standing naked, she tried to figure out how she felt. Confused, for sure. But also strangely warm and tingly inside. She touched between her legs but felt only her own moisture. Did her visitor not come? Did anything even really happen?

She looked down at her pile of shed clothes: T-shirt, bra, sweatpants... no white cotton panties with the hole in the side seam.

Something really did happen.

Cara freshened her hair and makeup and laid out her burgundy evening dress. Guests would start arriving soon and she had to get a hold of herself. This evening had to go well. No time for distractions or fantasies.

She pulled open her underwear drawer and paused. Pushing past the comfortable beige bra and panties she had planned to wear, she pulled out a matching lingerie set that she hadn't worn in a while, a luxurious black satin design with golden lace trim. She felt sexy putting them on and slipping her burgundy dress overtop.

Finishing with a sleek pair of black shoes, she gave herself a final check in the full-length mirror. The sleeveless, form-fitting dress's plunging neckline and mid-thigh hem accentuated her full chest, slim figure and svelte legs. She gave herself an approving nod and headed downstairs.

Halfway down the staircase she met Ethan, heading up for his final preparations. He already had on his evening clothes -- black pants and slim-fit dress shirt -- and Cara stopped to look at him, noticing his sturdy build, his strong hand on the rail, his beautiful eyes set in a welcoming face framed with a tidy short beard.

Ethan's gaze glided up her body to meet her eyes. "You look stunning," he said. Then he looked away almost sheepishly and moved past her up the stairs. Cara wanted to follow him, to feel his eyes on her again, but the doorbell chimed announcing their first visitor.

* * * * * * *

Cara stood in the entry to the main room and granted herself a deep sigh of satisfaction. The party was progressing perfectly. The twelve guests had arrived in a timely stream and spent the past three hours talking, laughing, eating, and just giving off a strong vibe of shared enjoyment. All of her food offerings had gone over well and she had received several sincere compliments. But what really felt good was seeing how well this was going for Ethan, who was managing to divide his time nicely among all the guests.

She was able to join him at times and liked what she was hearing in the conversations. They were a good bunch of people and she could see why Ethan liked the firm and wanted to make a place there. But most of Cara's time was spent fulfilling hosting duties, which kept her on the move.

There was one thing she noticed, though, no matter where her movements placed her, and that was Ethan's glances. Always quick and subtle, but she caught them. Even when she wasn't looking, she could feel his eyes on her, and it stirred a heat in her she hadn't felt since their dating days.

The dinner foods were mostly eaten, so she decided it was a good time to make the changeover to a dessert table. She took a couple of empty trays to the kitchen and when she returned, she met Ethan by the buffet table.

"I think everyone's ready for desserts," she told him. "I'll clear the table and start bringing them out."

Ethan just stared at her, his expression hard to read, as if he was trying to articulate something. He touched his fingers gently to her cheek. "You are..."

When he didn't continue, Cara asked, "What?"

"Everything," he said. Then he turned back to his guests and joined two of the senior lawyers in conversation.

Cara efficiently cleared the food table and reset it with a variety of delicious sweets, completing the task in such a dazed state she couldn't even remember doing it. What was up with Ethan? She sensed something going on inside him. For that matter, she couldn't deny the strange stirrings happening within herself as well. And there was no way she had forgotten her experience in the dark kitchen, still unable to process what happened there... or at least what she thought happened.

Focusing on the dessert table, she saw she had succeeded in laying out a tempting spread. The variety of options gave plenty of choice as well as visual appeal. And it all looked beautiful set atop the ornate Christmas tablecloth, a family heirloom made by her grandmother. It was a bit large for their table and hung low around all sides, but that served to let its intricate design show better.

Guests happily filled dessert plates and settled into small groups enjoying laughter and animated discussion. Everyone looked joyfully occupied, including Ethan across the room in conversation with a couple, so Cara figured she had earned a moment off her feet and a taste of something sweet.

She chose a moist sliver of chocolate fudge cake and took it around to the back of the table, where Ethan had left enough space for access between the table and wall. She wanted a moment to herself to enjoy the cake while still having full view of the room. All the chairs had been set out for guests, but an old orphaned piano stool sat in the space. Ethan was supposed to stash it in the basement during the party, but now she was glad he didn't. It would serve fine for her cake break.

It felt good to finally sit down. Cara settled onto the cushioned leather stool, crossed her legs beneath the low-hanging tablecloth, poked a piece of chocolate fudge cake onto her fork and held it in front of her face. She was going to enjoy this.

Closing her lips over the morsel, she felt the fudge melt into her mouth as her taste buds sang their delight. Chocolate -- nothing tasted better. She took another bite and closed her eyes, savouring the flavour as she swallowed.

Her eyes snapped open and her body tensed.

Did she just feel a caress on her shin under the table? She looked down but couldn't see anything past the tablecloth. Had she imagined it?

She sat frozen, senses alert, but nothing more happened. Putting it down to imagination, she was about to dismiss it when she felt it again. No question, that was a hand caressing her ankle, where it was joined by another, both gliding up to her calf, where they gripped the muscle and gently lifted her leg to uncross it and set her foot on the floor.

With her knees now pressed together, the hands glided down and up the bare skin of her lower legs, then continued over her knees to her thighs, stopping at the hem of her dress.

Someone was under the table. But that was crazy. How could that be? Cara glanced around the room. No one appeared to notice anything unusual. Where was Ethan?

The hands slipped beneath the skirt of her dress and slowly glided farther up her thighs, reaching her hips, where the gentle touch explored the lacy trim of her panties.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and a tingle ran up her spine. Like in the dark kitchen earlier, a surreal feeling swept over her and she again found herself not resisting what was happening to her. The next thing she knew, she wasn't resisting her panties being slipped down her thighs, over her knees and down to her ankles. Mysterious hands lifted one foot at a time and her lacy satin panties were fully removed. Knowing she was exposed beneath the table excited her.

Cara's eyes focused on what was before her, which was one of their guests standing across the table reaching for a tart. It was the husband of one of the senior lawyers and he was giving Cara a quizzical look. Cara smiled reassuringly and poked another piece of cake onto her fork, raising it in a toasting gesture. The man smiled, complimented Cara's dessert spread and returned to his wife.

Cara let out a sigh of relief. Refocusing her senses to beneath the table, she felt the hands resting on her knees, unmoving, and she could swear she felt a warm breath on her thighs. Seconds passed and she waited... waited.

Words entered her head like a distant echo: "... the choice to accept will be yours..."

Cara slid forward to the edge of the cushioned stool and opened her legs -- I accept.

The hands moved again, this time gliding up the more sensitive skin of her inner thighs, skimming through the hair of her mound, then gliding back down to hook the hem of her dress and push it up her thighs.

She felt the breath on her thigh again, hotter this time, followed by the touch of lips kissing her inner thigh. The kisses continued, each one an inch higher, accompanied by the brush of beard whiskers as the kisses drew ever closer to her hot core.

She could feel the wetness gathering between her legs with the anticipation of what was to come. And then it finally came, that kiss that hit home, the press of firm male lips against the ultrasoft lips of her pussy. Her sharp intake of breath at the intimate touch drew the attention of the couple visiting the dessert table. She again pasted on a reassuring smile, which instantly changed to an open-mouthed O as a probing tongue pushed between her folds and licked from her wet hole all the way up to her clit.

Cara quickly put the piece of cake into her open mouth, hoping the action would cover not only her expression but also the uncontrollable moan that escaped her throat at having her pussy licked for the first time in more than a year. The couple across the dessert table left without comment, though Cara noticed the woman pause to add a little piece of the chocolate fudge cake to her plate before leaving.

Beneath the table, her visitor's lips resumed gentle kisses up and down her labia, teasing her with surface touches, making her want to feel that tongue again. She wanted to shove her hips hard against the unseen face and feel her pussy devoured, but she didn't want to do anything to break the spell or shatter the dream. Just like in the kitchen, she felt in no state to decide if this was real, so she decided instead to just let it happen.