Christmas Cooies

Chester plodded through the mall like a soldier marching to his death, his feet aching, his ears ringing from the raucous commotion of the jabbering shoppers and the blaring racket of the Christmas carols. How he hated this yearly ritual; the cards on his wife's list that needed his signature, the stupid gifts for stupid relatives he hardly even knew. It was fun at first, marrying into a ready-made family, but as the years crawled by it became more and more complicated, especially this time of year.

As he passed the Frederick's window, a black teddy caught his eye. It wasn't so much the teddy as it was the mannequin wearing it; trim, small waist, jutting hips, pert breasts, just like his stepdaughter Ella.

Oh Lord,

he thought to himself,

I wonder what it would take to get Ella into that thing?

He had seen Ella in a bikini once, but that was before she turned eighteen, so of course he couldn't ogle her ripe, young body. But now that she was of age, he could ogle all he wanted. In fact, Ella's ripe young body had become somewhat of an obsession with him. The way she slept in panties and a T-shirt with no bra, sometimes parading around the house that way when her mom wasn't around, the way her running shorts showed the cheeks of her ass if the angle was right, these little episodes had become the very reason for his existence.

His face reddening, he strolled into the store and was immediately overcome by the smell of perfume and the giggles of the salesgirls behind the counter. Frozen with shame, he glanced about furtively. Ella's mom Margaret would kill him if he bought her lovely daughter a black teddy, but what if she didn't know? What if he did it behind her back? That had been happening more and more lately; the late nights at the office surfing for porn, the occasional stop at the stripper bar down on the Southside. Something had to give, and it was up to Chester to make it happen.

But a black teddy? Perhaps it would be more prudent to go with something less obvious. He spied a colorful rack displaying various G-strings and T-backs, some gold, some silver, all of them tiny and revealing.

Perfect

he thought to himself,

Margaret will never know, and if she does find them, Ella can just say she got them from one of her girlfriends.

With renewed confidence, he grabbed a five-pack of assorted thongs and took them to the counter.

"Will this be all?" the young Hispanic lady asked, her painted-on eyebrows arching dramatically. Chester nodded, glancing at her luscious brown cleavage spilling out of her top like gravy overflowing a big scoop of Margaret's mashed potatoes.

"That's all," he stammered, his face burning. The saleslady ignored him, punching in the transaction with one hand while texting with the other. Taking his change, Chester made his exit safely, with no one asking who the thongs were for, or why a fifty-something dude was leering at a young salesgirl's cleavage in a Frederick's store.

*****

It was Christmas Eve, Margaret was in the kitchen baking cookies, and Ella was upstairs in her room, her laptop on the bed, her long hair up in a casual Sarah Palin do. She was wearing Chester's old flannel shirt, the one she had 'borrowed' from him that day up at the lake when he saw her in her tiny bikini.

"Knock knock?" Chester said, gazing fondly at Ella from the doorway. Every time he saw her in that old blue plaid flannel shirt it was like the two of them were sharing a secret form of intimacy, an unspoken bond safe from Margaret's certain disapproval.

"Hey," Ella grinned, turning the laptop so he couldn't see what was on the screen.

"I got you something." He held out a red Frederick's bag.

"Shouldn't it wait till tomorrow?"

"It should," Chester sighed, "but it's probably not something you mom would approve of, so..."

"Really?" Ella grinned. "I like it already." She rose from the bed, her firm tits jiggling under Chester's old shirt, and grabbed the bag. "Oh my God!" she gasped, holding the five-pack up like it was a dead fish, "If Mom knew about these..."

"I won't tell," Chester assured her.

"Yeah but I might," she grinned, her blue eyes flashing like the lights of a police car.

Chester felt a chill run down his back. Why hadn't he thought of that? Ella could cause all kinds of trouble for him if she told her mom about the thongs. Of course he could deny it, but he had learned from experience that Ella's word carried much more weight than his did.

"Don't you think we should keep it a secret?" he pleaded.

"That depends," she said, finding a stray lock of hair and twisting it around her finger. "Am I getting a big screen TV this year?"

Chester's heart sank. He couldn't afford a big screen TV. But, on the other hand, could he afford not to get her a big screen TV? "Tell you what, Hon, I'll take you to the after-Christmas sales and you can pick out whichever one you want."

"Oh Chester" she giggled, grabbing him for a quick hug, "you're the coolest step-dad ever."

He savored their brief moment of intimacy, her stiff little nipples grazing his chest, her tummy nudging against his tingling cock, but it was over in an instant. Suddenly she was back on her bed, her fingers flying across the keys, perhaps entering into her blog the fact that her perverted step-dad had just given her five thongs for Christmas?

"Okay then," he stammered, backing out of the room. "If you need any help deciding which thong looks best on you..."

"Chester!" she blurted, shooting him an annoyed glance. "I can't believe you just said that!"

"I was just joking..."

"You were not," she countered, with a hint of a grin curling the edges of her wide mouth. Just then, Margaret's voice came floating down the hall.

"Oh Chester? Ella? The cookies are done."

He made a beeline for the bathroom, hoping he could get in there before Margaret caught him with his growing hard-on.

*****

Christmas morning was the usual façade of festivity - the three of them taking turns opening presents - until Margaret noticed the red thong riding up on Ella's hips when she bent down to grab a particularly large present.

"Ella!" she snapped, "are you wearing a thong?"

"Me?" she said, looking around innocently.

"Yes, you! I will not allow thongs in this house. You need to take that horrible thing off immediately."

"Whatever," Ella shrugged. She stood up, hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her warm-up pants and started sliding them down her hips.

"Oh my God!" Margaret hissed. "Not here!"

Ella froze, her pants clear down to the tops of her thighs. "You said to take them off immediately."

"Don't look, Chester," Margaret hissed, but it was too late. He'd already burned the image of Ella's round, firm ass into his brain forever. Margaret bounded up from the couch, jerked her daughter's pants back up, and ushered her down the hall.

Chester had to wipe his brow and catch his breath. The sight of Ella's naked butt intersected by that tiny red strip of cloth, it exceeded his wildest expectations. Her ass was a work of art, sculpted smooth as if from a slab of virgin marble. The gap between the tops of her inner thighs framed a most inviting camel-toe; twin puffy mounds hinting at succulent pleasures for the lucky suitor who would come to know her every curve and fold. Of course, Chester fancied himself as that suitor, but he was prone to being a bit of a dreamer from time to time.

Moments later Margaret came marching back into the living room. "I swear, I don't know what's going on with that child. One minute, she's singing hymns in church, the next minute she's acting like a stripper."

"I'm sure it's just a phase," Chester said, hoping to calm his wife. She did have a tendency to overreact, turning the most insignificant little incident into a huge family crisis.

"Well Dear, I certainly hope you don't encourage her. She's at a very impressionable age. If she were to cross over to the dark side, there's no turning back. Believe me, I know."

Chester sighed.

Not the dark side speech. Please?

He'd heard it a hundred times, the vague references to Margaret's sordid past and her long road to salvation through the Lord Jesus Christ. Everyone screws up. Did she have to be such a prima donna about it?

Fortunately, Chester didn't have time to ponder Margaret's mysterious past for long, because suddenly, Ella was sauntering back into the living room, the exaggerated swing of her peachy ass exuding a defiant confidence. She dropped the wadded up thong in her mom's lap. "Are we cool now?"

"Yes, Ella, we're cool," Margaret said, wrinkling her nose at the word "cool" which was not proper language for a lady of her stature.

The opening of the presents continued, with Chester keeping an eye on his sweet, innocent Ella, wondering which panties she was wearing now - probably the same high-waisted white ones Margaret bought for her every year. His favorites were the ones with the little red hearts on them. He'd glimpsed them that time he had to wake Ella up early for her summer job, and she had kicked the sheet off in her sleep. The image was still fresh in his mind; her legs splayed open, her T-shirt halfway up her chest, her funky sleep smell permeating the very pores of his being.

Seeing her in those accidental intimate moments always reminded him of Margaret. It was as if Ella was Margaret before he met her, innocent, unspoiled, with no sordid past to fuel her dark moods. It was as if Ella was his second chance at finding the essence of the woman buried inside his wife. This was how he could justify lusting after the girl - he was actually lusting after his wife, using Ella as the surrogate.

Just as the three of them were running out of presents, the phone rang in the kitchen. "It's probably Mom," Margaret said, setting aside her lap full of useless gifts and leaving Chester and Ella alone in the living room.

"I'm sorry about the thong," Chester whispered. "I'll buy you another one."

"No problem," Ella grinned, flouncing down on the couch next to him. "Did you see her face when I started to pull my pants down?"
 "Yeah," he chuckled, "I thought she was going to have a stroke."

"Speaking of having a stroke, guess which thong I'm wearing now."

"Um..." His mind went into overdrive, imagining the other four thongs that had not yet been confiscated. "The black one?"

"I'll give you a hint," she said, grabbing his hand and shoving under the waistband of her pants. "See if you can tell what color it is by feel."

Chester gasped. His hand was halfway between her hip and her mound, down far enough to feel a thong, but there was nothing there, just warm, bare skin.

"Go on," Ella grinned, shoving his hand deeper. He spread out his fingers, and suddenly, his pinky was touching the edge of her bush. "Eeek!" she squealed, "That tickles!" Giggling, she pulled his hand out.

"Oh my," Chester gasped. "I'd have to say that whatever you're wearing under there is probably flesh colored."

"Good guess Pops."

Instantly, Chester's heart was racing, the feeling of lust turning his body into an aching prison of desire. He crossed his legs, hoping to hide his growing dick from Ella's innocent glance, or Margaret's prying eyes.

*****

The rest of the day was a blur for poor old Chester, who was totally distracted by the intimate knowledge of Ella's lack of underwear. Every time he was near her, he had to fight the urge to plunge his hand down inside her pants and plunder the treasures that lay buried there. The image of her smooth white ass was so compelling, he had to start on the eggnog early, which only made matters worse.

Fortified by alcohol, Chester could be amazingly bold and adventurous. In fact, it was alcohol that gave him enough courage to ask Margaret for a date, all those years ago. How fitting that now it was alcohol that was fueling his raging desire for Margaret's hot little pantiless daughter.

With Margaret upstairs putting away Christmas wrappings, Chester sprung into action, pouring Ella a glass of eggnog and casually bringing it to her as she was chatting on the family computer.

"You know Mom doesn't approve," she grinned, snatching the glass from his hand. She downed it in three long gulps, and then handed it back to him. "Refill?"

Walking back to the kitchen, Chester was delirious with joy, having this forbidden adventure with his achingly beautiful stepdaughter. He refilled her glass, leaving room for an extra jigger of rum, which he dumped in quickly, hoping to achieve his devious task before Margaret came back downstairs.

"Here you go, Doll," he said, handing Ella the glass. When she took it and their fingers touched, his whole body came alive, as if there was electricity passing between them.

"You're a bad influence, Chester," she said, flashing him a sneaky grin. She didn't gulp the second glass down, but rather savored it as if it was hot chocolate. Chester watched as a tiny drop dribbled down her chin. The image reminded him of that time, years ago, when he got a blowjob from a drunk girl in a bar parking lot. Of course, he would never ejaculate in Ella's mouth, even if she wanted him to, because it was dirty and shameful, but he could still think about it.

Ella took her drink and headed upstairs, leaving Chester staring at her ass jiggling under her pink warm-up pants. He let out a long sigh, wishing his wife would walk around the house with no underwear once in a while. Would it kill her to just forget about Jesus for five minutes and fuck his brains out?

He reclaimed his seat in front of the TV, feeling a bit neglected, when the camera panned to the cheerleaders after a touchdown. Catching a glimpse of a spectacularly svelte brunette, he realized she looked exactly like Ella, or Margaret, long before he had ever met her. The image was a cold reminder of all the missed opportunities in his life. He felt a heavy sense of sadness descending upon him when suddenly, a hand was on his shoulder. He looked up to see Margaret, all bundled up in her winter coat. In Chester's addled state, he had forgotten all about the mandatory caroling excursion.

"Going caroling, Hon," said Margaret, with a cheerful lilt in her voice. "I didn't know if you were in the mood, but really, if you'd rather watch the game, that's fine."

"You don't mind if I stay home?" he asked, trying to hide his excitement.

"Hey, it's Christmas. You should get to do whatever you want." She bent down and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Okay Honey, see you later." As she hustled out the door, Chester wanted to call out to her "I love you" but he didn't.

After refilling his eggnog, he returned to the TV, but he had it muted, listening for the sound of the bathroom door upstairs. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he heard the creak of Ella's footsteps as she padded to her room. His heart pounding, his palms sweating, he got up, trying to figure out his next move. Would he get right to the point and ask her to model the thongs for him, or would he just drop a few hints?

He crept up the stairs, sauntered down the hall, and stopped at her door to listen. He could hear the faint sound of her humming

The Little Drummer Boy.

She did have a beautiful voice, just like her mom. In fact, this was the first year Ella had decided not to go caroling with her mom - something about how uncool it was. Chester could visualize Ella's inviting lips on the

par um pa pum pum

part of the song. She had a way of turning a pout into a kiss-pucker, and it drove him up the wall, imagining her mouth melded to his in a passionate smooch. Flush with confidence, he was just raising his hand to knock when the door flew open.

"Eeek!" Ella screeched, jumping back from the doorway.

"Sorry," Chester mumbled, staring wide-eyed at his lovely step-daughter, who appeared to be wearing nothing but his flannel shirt. Her legs were bare, her untanned hips showing where the shirt tails parted at the sides. Normally, he would have been seeing her white panties there, but not this time.

"It's okay," she giggled, "I was just coming to get you." 
"Me?" Chester asked, amazed at his good fortune.

"Yeah. I can't decide which thong I like the best." She took a step back. "Come on in." She motioned for him to sit in her computer chair. As he got comfortable, she approached him, unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up. He stared in amazement as the shirt opened like a curtain, revealing a black thong hitched to her hips stripper style.

"That looks great," he stammered, staring at her firm tummy. She'd left the top button of the shirt fastened, but the bare skin showing made it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. She did a slow turn, lifting the shirt to reveal her butt.

"It doesn't make me look fat?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him. Her round ass rivaled that of any stripper he had ever seen, probably because of all that soccer and swimming she did in high school. She was, after all, a very athletic girl.

"You could never look fat. Not shaped the way you are."

"Shut up," she giggled, dropping her shirt. She sauntered over to the bed, her back to him, and peeled off the thong. He gasped as she bent over to step into the white one. Did he just get a fleeting glimpse of the back of her pussy? She spun around, pulling her shirt open again, and this time, her auburn bush was showing through the sheer fabric.

"Too revealing?" she asked, looking down at the view she was giving him.

"No, not at all," he gasped, staring at the faint outline of her slit.

She turned again, only this time, when she had her back to him and her camel-toe was in full view, he noticed a smidgen of her left labia hanging out. He swallowed hard, inhaling her sweet odor, imagining his face buried between her legs. He even imagined licking her asshole, something that, up until this very moment, he had considered the ultimate in depravity.

Lost in a daze of desire, he caught himself reaching for her. Just as he pulled his hands back, she turned around. "Let's try the silver one," she said, bending over to strip the white one off. With her shirt tail dangling between her legs, his view of her intimate parts was blocked, but he did catch a glimpse of her right tit, jiggling like one of Margaret's jello fruit cups.

Turning around again, she stepped into the silver one, pulled it up, and spread her legs open so she could snug the crotch up against her pubes. Then she faced him. "Well?" she asked, posing in front of him, the silver panel so low, the top of her trimmed bush was peeking out.

"Nice," he stammered, anxious for her to change into the gold one so he could readjust his aching cock while she was preoccupied. A moment later, she was wearing the gold one, her shirt bunched up in one hand, her hip jutting out like a Vogue model.

"I think this one's my favorite," he said, his heart aching with lust. "Is it itchy? It looks itchy."

"It feels nice," she said, with a fiendish grin on her face. "See for yourself."

He let his trembling fingers settle on the top edge of the gold panel, right where a few stray pubic hairs were peeking out. With a gentle caress, he let his fingers trail along the metallic fabric, his thumb venturing down onto her shiny gold mound.

"It's smooth on the inside," she said quietly. "Go ahead. Feel it."

Shocked at her bold invitation, he let two fingers burrow down under the top edge of the gold triangle. He felt her trimmed bush, warm, soft, inviting. Her hips twitched and she let out a little sigh. He slid his fingers back and forth, pretending he was feeling the inside of the fabric, when all he could think about was the fact that his fingertips were probably only an inch away from her clit.

There was an awkward silence. What should he do? Rip the thong off, throw her on the bed and make love to her? What if that's not what she wanted? What if she was just toying with him? What if he was being punked, and there was a hidden camera somewhere? He was just about to withdraw his hand when she grabbed it. Horrified that he'd gone to far, he froze, expecting the worst.